- Location
- Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
With a wet week upon us, my lovely little wife and I slipped out the back door last week, and went off in search of some entertainment. Piloting the old truck East into the leafy stockbroker belts South of London, we happened upon the summer gathering of Riggit Galloway breeders we so enjoy. ‘My goodness!’ I declared, ‘what a coincidence’. This year’s jollies were centred on the gorse and heather clad slopes of Ashdown Forest, a common of 2500 hectares, on a sandy ridge above the Sussex Weald. The worthy body that oversee the management- the Conservators- struggle to get their commoners to graze livestock, due partly to problems associated with the visitor pressure – dog walkers make sheep grazing pretty fraught- and a lack of fencing against roads. Oh, and the minor problem that most households with a right to graze are now owned by awfully nice chaps who’ve made a few bob in the city, and are more interested in slipping over to the golf club in the Bentley than chasing hairy cows around a common. Subsequently the common is in constant danger of being lost in a sea of birch growth, much to the alarm of those whose task it is to count rare wild birds and butterflies and the like. As they point out, low grade second growth broadleaved woodland abounds in Sussex, while the lowland heath habitat the ‘Forest’ is renowned for is vanishingly rare. Subsequently, some of us heathens from the Atlantic facing moors and Northern Fells were faced with the novelty of meeting people gainfully employed by an official body specifically to manage Galloway cattle out on the rough. My goodness, imagine how much it would cost to replace all of us monkeys in the hills with salaried ‘rangers’!
The wider area had many other points of interest to occupy nosey parkers like us for a week, and our tour included all manner of architectural and historical curios, other farming outfits, landscape features, nuclear bunkers, stately homes and gardens, and a satisfyingly lovely ride on a steam railway. Oak forest spills across the landscape, interspersed with pasture and arable farms, with housing stock clad in ubiquitous red clay tiles. These made it hard to see whether a dwelling was a 1930’s brick built structure, or an oak framed house that had stood upright since the time of Henry VIII. Likewise, many farmyards still sport 400-500 year old oak framed barns. I was curious to note that a lot of the clay seemed to be yellow, but the local bricks were, like the tiles, all red. Flint was found in some walls, along with the soft local sandstone – although that had dark red/brown streaks indicating a high iron content. Indeed, the first blast furnace in Britain was to be found nearby.
We took in some of the ‘Arts and Crafts’ influences, including a snoop round ‘Standen house’. This graceful 1890’s pile was built for James Beale- son of a railway magnate and pal of Arts and Crafts guru William Morris. The idea was to celebrate traditional craft and styles, incorporating natural themes and medieval influences. The Wealden style houses typify the movement. I did try to read up a little on the ethos and philosophy, although I hardly sport a bushy enough beard. The endeavour to find a ‘simpler way of life’, and to ‘be able to live without servants’ is noble enough, if a little hard to swallow, given the money splashed about building such places. But hey ho…it’s still a pleasing structure, and helped spread the wealth around to the actual craftsmen who fired the bricks, felled the oak logs, and nailed such buildings together. And they stand as sentiment that you ‘can’t take it with you’.
Of course, you’re still in 21st century SE England, so never very far from the ugly motorways, seething masses of commuters, consumerism, and the constant sound of aeroplanes swinging round to come into Gatwick. I picked flowers from the hedges for my beloved most mornings, although some days I had to return with handfuls of less attractive roadside litter instead.
But it’s still there if you look carefully. Obviously, the money holds back some of the tide –really, the quota of Bentleys and Jags to the square mile was very notable. And when the clouds did part, the sun brought out the aroma of the lavender in the gardens to the delight of both the bumble bees and me. Tortured and gnarled yews quietly grow to immense ages in overlooked hedges and ghoyles, fallow does graze peacefully on woodland edges, and you’d hardly realise you’re half an hour from the capital.
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Anton's articles are syndicated exclusively by TFF by kind permission of the author and WMN.
Anton also writes regularly for the Dartmoor Magazine and the NFU
He has published two books; the second "The Complete Bullocks" is still in print
http://www.anton-coaker.co.uk/book.htm
The wider area had many other points of interest to occupy nosey parkers like us for a week, and our tour included all manner of architectural and historical curios, other farming outfits, landscape features, nuclear bunkers, stately homes and gardens, and a satisfyingly lovely ride on a steam railway. Oak forest spills across the landscape, interspersed with pasture and arable farms, with housing stock clad in ubiquitous red clay tiles. These made it hard to see whether a dwelling was a 1930’s brick built structure, or an oak framed house that had stood upright since the time of Henry VIII. Likewise, many farmyards still sport 400-500 year old oak framed barns. I was curious to note that a lot of the clay seemed to be yellow, but the local bricks were, like the tiles, all red. Flint was found in some walls, along with the soft local sandstone – although that had dark red/brown streaks indicating a high iron content. Indeed, the first blast furnace in Britain was to be found nearby.
We took in some of the ‘Arts and Crafts’ influences, including a snoop round ‘Standen house’. This graceful 1890’s pile was built for James Beale- son of a railway magnate and pal of Arts and Crafts guru William Morris. The idea was to celebrate traditional craft and styles, incorporating natural themes and medieval influences. The Wealden style houses typify the movement. I did try to read up a little on the ethos and philosophy, although I hardly sport a bushy enough beard. The endeavour to find a ‘simpler way of life’, and to ‘be able to live without servants’ is noble enough, if a little hard to swallow, given the money splashed about building such places. But hey ho…it’s still a pleasing structure, and helped spread the wealth around to the actual craftsmen who fired the bricks, felled the oak logs, and nailed such buildings together. And they stand as sentiment that you ‘can’t take it with you’.
Of course, you’re still in 21st century SE England, so never very far from the ugly motorways, seething masses of commuters, consumerism, and the constant sound of aeroplanes swinging round to come into Gatwick. I picked flowers from the hedges for my beloved most mornings, although some days I had to return with handfuls of less attractive roadside litter instead.
But it’s still there if you look carefully. Obviously, the money holds back some of the tide –really, the quota of Bentleys and Jags to the square mile was very notable. And when the clouds did part, the sun brought out the aroma of the lavender in the gardens to the delight of both the bumble bees and me. Tortured and gnarled yews quietly grow to immense ages in overlooked hedges and ghoyles, fallow does graze peacefully on woodland edges, and you’d hardly realise you’re half an hour from the capital.
-------------------------
Anton's articles are syndicated exclusively by TFF by kind permission of the author and WMN.
Anton also writes regularly for the Dartmoor Magazine and the NFU
He has published two books; the second "The Complete Bullocks" is still in print
http://www.anton-coaker.co.uk/book.htm
