Wednesday, September 17, 2025
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When a Picture Paints a Thousand Words

By
MV
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A film shows a lone fisherman sitting in a tent on an empty beach after sunset, while a rusting yellow digger waits on the quay for its next job. The only movement is the tide and washing left to dance slowly in a gentle breeze. The camera finds empty shops, an empty takeaway, a single car crossing the bridge and a mother taking her toddler for a breath of fresh air. As the sound of a gentle wave washes the pebbles, two young people sit on the edge of an empty shoreline—a pink neon sign offers welcome and pizza.
Against the background of a simple piano soundtrack the film could easily depict the eerie silence that descended on towns and villages as COVID-19 lockdown enveloped the South West. However, much of the film, off peak, was made before the coronavirus pandemic hit. It was shot by Kilmington based student Jesse Adlam and is one of seven short films that Jesse has made in the last year before he goes to study Filmmaking at the Northern Film School in Leeds in September.

Jesse began to develop an interest in photography when he was about 13 by making simple short montage films set to music. ‘In 2016 I entered the Force 8 /Bridport Film Festival youth competition and won Best Director/Best Producer for a short film I made in the Scottish Highlands to a song track made by young musicians at bSharp in Lyme’ he explained. ‘One of the judges of this competition, Hester Schofield, offered to mentor me for a while and gave me some useful advice about developing my subsequent films, and also about where I might go to learn more about making films.’

Jesse’s A levels were cancelled this year but he is really looking forward to the next step in his education in Leeds. Fascinated by film and photography he says: ‘I can’t wait to meet people who are also passionate about film, and to gain further experience in working as part of a film crew.’

In another of his films, Are we living too fast, the wide open spaces of what might be Exmoor, where ponies ramble unconcerned by life beyond the next blade of grass, is juxtaposed against trains, tubes and the mad rush to work in cities—as well as the criss-cross of contrails left by jets in the sky. The film uses a soundtrack that builds to a crescendo leaving little doubt that these places are worlds apart.

Jesse explained how his interest in film developed. ‘Through studying Photography A-level at Woodroffe School I learned about a broader spectrum of techniques and experimentation as well as film history and criticism’ he said. ‘I came across photographers such as Henri Cartier-Bresson and Don McCullin, alongside my own discovery of film makers such as Paweł Pawlikowski. What I love about Pawlikowski is the way he takes great care over the cinematography of his films, how it is often striking and simple and dramatic all at once and how, in concentrating on the visual, he hones in on the characters and how they develop throughout the film to tell the story.’
Last year Jesse made a short film for Shute Literary Festival. It celebrated Devon’s natural beauty, its rolling hills and the deep history of Shute and its literary heritage. The film shows Jesse’s interest in imagery without clutter. ‘I am increasingly interested in films that are made independently and that do not adhere to big-budget mainstream film production, by doing away with stereotypes and cliched ways of storytelling’ he says. ‘I prefer films that express a story or an idea in ways that are visually experimental and innovative. For example, in the film Moonlight by Barry Jenkins I really liked the simple storyline which feels like it could have happened hundreds of times over in different peoples’ lives, and how the story never fully resolves itself which is truer to real life and challenges the conventional start/middle/end format we see in the majority of films.’

We may be living in bleak times and the future for young people could be a lot tougher than it has been for many generations, but films like Jesse’s show that creativity is alive and that’s something we need to support in the new world ahead.

Before setting off to Film School in the autumn, Jesse is keen to work on more films and is always interested to hear about potential commissions. If you would like to discuss a film idea he can be contacted by email at: jesseadlam8@gmail.com

Cuckoo Chorus

By
MV
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When the Lockdown travel restrictions were eased just over a month ago, we took the opportunity to venture further afield for our exercise walks. So, towards the end of May, we drove up to Two Bridges, high on Dartmoor, for a circular walk around the valley of the west Dart river via Wistman’s Wood, a rare example of ancient high-altitude oak wood. Our walk was graced by the sound of many cuckoos.
We began by heading northwards away from the Two Bridges car park on an uneven track running roughly parallel to the west Dart river. With clear skies, strong sun and barely any breeze, it was much hotter than we expected for Dartmoor, with sultry probably the best word to describe the weather. Soon after we set off, however, as we walked up the dry stony path to Crockern Tor Farm, we heard the unmistakable call “cuckoo cuckoo”. A few sheep and one or two walkers were our only company and the song of the cuckoo instantly grabbed our attention as it echoed round the valley. Further on, a jumble of rocks, Crockern Tor, loomed on our right and then another cuckoo called. Eventually, we reached the top of a ridge and Wistman’s Wood came into view ahead, a green-leaved mass standing out above the summer-dry landscape on the eastern flank of the valley while the west Dart river lay in the valley bottom below. The dry grass around us was punctuated by neat yellow tormentil flowers and unruly clumps of heath bedstraw covered with tiny white flowers and, as we walked, small orange butterflies (Small Heath, Coenonympha pamphilus) flickered upwards, dancing around briefly before heading off. Another cuckoo called and I began to understand how the simple but beautiful music of their song had inspired so many composers.

We made our way along the edge of Wistman’s Wood looking in on the seductive jumble of moss and lichen-covered twisted branches and smooth rocks. By now we had been walking for about an hour and were finding the temperature difficult so we decided to take a lunch break seated on smooth lumps of granite beneath one of the old oaks. A little cloud had helpfully bubbled up keeping the sun at bay. The river valley lay below us and the dense oaks of Wistman’s Wood and a few smaller clumps of trees stood out on the hillside nearby. Sheep bleated fitfully and small birds flitted about. Then the cuckoos started to sing as if to provide us with lunchtime entertainment. Several birds called from different directions, some nearer, some further away and at least two cuckoos moved between the trees in the valley. We recognised them in flight from their pointed wings and long tail. Most of the song was “cuckoo cuckoo”, the call of the male bird and sometimes this was extended to “cuckcuckoo”, not far off the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth. We also heard the burbling, gurgling sound which the female cuckoo makes when she is excited.

The cuckoos had put on a real show for us that day but whenever I hear their call, whether it be one cuckoo or several, the sound has a profound effect on me. In my teens, living in small town Hampshire, near woodland, cuckoo calls were a standard fixture of spring, something I came to expect each year. With the decline of the bird, and having lived in large towns for many years I lost that expectation. Now when we come to Dartmoor and I hear cuckoos again, their song touches some deeply held memory for me.

After lunch, we headed down across open moorland to cross the west Dart river. Cotton grass with its fluffy, white cotton wool heads grew here, showing that the land is normally very boggy. I also saw a few delicate blue and white heath milkwort flowers, far fewer today than in previous years, perhaps a reflection of the dry weather. We crossed the river and scrambled up to the Devonport Leat, a narrow watercourse constructed in the 18th century to supply water from the Dart river to the growing community of Plymouth Dock 27 miles away. Nowadays it empties into the Burrator Reservoir which provides water for Plymouth itself. We followed the leatside path along the western side of the valley across the river from Wistman’s Wood to return to Two Bridges. This should, by definition, be mostly easy walking but degradation of the path stones makes it less so. Marsh violet with its pale mauve flowers, pink lousewort and good amounts of bilberry flourish in the damp environment by the leat and a few small fish dart back and forth.

About half way along the leatside path, two male cuckoos began to sing from the trees across the river in Wistman’s Wood. At first, their calls came at different times from different locations. One bird sang “cuckoo” and a short time later the other bird did likewise as if providing an answer. This call and answer pattern was then repeated. But the two birds were actually “cuckooing” at different frequencies so that gradually their calls moved together, then began to overlap and for a short time they sang at the same time before one bird stopped. For a brief moment, as we listened, time stood still.
The song of the two cuckoos initially made me think of a musical round where different groups of people sing the same melody but start at different times. “Sumer is icumen in”, also known as the Cuckoo Song, is a good example of a round. A better analogy for the calls of the two cuckoos, however, comes from the phase music of Steve Reich. In his composition, Piano Phase, two pianos play the same tune but at slightly different tempi, giving rise to novel musical effects, rather like the two singing cuckoos.

The cuckoo has suffered a severe decline across the UK in recent years with about three quarters of the population disappearing since the 1980s, probably a result of agricultural intensification. The pattern of the decline is, however, not uniform. In Devon, for example, cuckoos were found all over the county in the 1980s, whereas now they are largely confined to Dartmoor and Exmoor where they seem to be doing well. So, we weren’t surprised to hear cuckoos when we visited Dartmoor that day, but what did surprise us was the beauty and the musicality of the cuckoo chorus.

For more information about cuckoos, visit https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/wildlife-guides/bird-a-z/cuckoo/
To hear the call of a cuckoo recorded near Wistman’s Wood, visit my Youtube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVbm6yYdYJk

Philip Strange is Emeritus Professor of Pharmacology at the University of Reading. He writes about science and about nature with a particular focus on how science fits in to society. His work may be read at http://philipstrange.wordpress.com/

Are we There Yet?

By
MV
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The answer is not quite. I don’t know about you, but I feel a bit like I’m aged eight and sitting in the back of the car and I’m on a long, long journey and Daddy Boris is currently driving up front. Nobody in the back (that’s you and me) knows when we’re going to get there (wherever ‘there’ is) and we’re all hoping that somebody up front knows the way. Are we there yet? Not yet, so be quiet at the back and go to sleep. And stop pulling your sister’s hair…

Occasionally we get a glimmer of hope, a glimpse of the sun through the clouds overhead that means we must be getting quite near now. We get an occasional let-up of social distance and a quarantine easing, but it’s only a stop on the motorway—like a choc ice or a pee break at a service station. We’re still not actually there.

I am starting to realise (perhaps you have too) that perhaps nobody actually knows where ‘there’ is. And since the virus thing is likely to be around for some time (unless we miraculously get a vaccine) I am going to have to get used to wearing a face mask and not hugging friends and family! Certainly, the idea of hugging old Uncle Hugo whose chronic pipe smoking rendered him socially obnoxious at 20 feet (let alone 2 metres) never really appealed to me, so I expect it’s for the best. I also rather like my face mask—not only does it make me feel like Zorro or Batman, but my one is a fashion statement (sort of mottled leopard skin—very designer friendly).

I may then hopefully have more time to finish some of the projects that I promised I would undertake when the lock-down process started earlier in the year. Of course, I haven’t even begun most of them. All of them were a bit like New Year’s resolutions—positive thoughts to encourage activity, but not too depressing to bring on a sense of low self-esteem if they were not realised. So, here’s my lateral list of non-achieved tasks so far in 2020…

Sorting out stuff in the garage or the loft: Since this was something I had been longing to do for ages, the arrival of home-induced isolation was a great opportunity. All those boxes filled with useless presents I bought twenty years ago and then never gave away because they were too awful. For example, do you want a lurid pink ashtray from Truro? No, I thought not… What about those tangled clumps of old wiring and broken bits of ancient hoover and discarded table lights? And the plastic crates full of discarded camping equipment and ancient picnic plates and cups. Of course, I thought they were going to be useful one day, but that ‘one day’ never happened and perhaps after thirty years it’s now time to re-examine my storage priorities. And those cartons of books and old audio cassettes from my college days? It is surely the time to finally let them go particularly as nobody has a cassette player any more.

Well, it’s true I did make a start. I tidied up my office and felt really good about it, but the garage? That was a schlepp too far. I mean, how can one throw away the contents of one’s entire previous life in a mere afternoon? The emotional stress in losing my collection of brass corkscrews (painstakingly gathered over decades of wandering around white elephant stalls and junk shops) would have been too much to bear. I would have suffered even deeper anxiety at the thought of opening up my old train set and I’d have needed another year in isolation to get over the mental trauma of throwing away my old typewriter and the 14 boxes of spare ribbons (Olivetti Letera Type 32, if you’re interested).

Writing a book: No, nor did I, but it seemed like a wonderful opportunity at the time. I got as far as page 12 and then put it away in a box in the garage. Another good idea to resolve in an isolated state…
My old photos: Like you maybe, I have drawers full of yellowing plastic bags all containing packs of 6 x 4 photos lovingly collated with different coloured rubber bands. Looking through them, I wonder just who are these people? Some of them look vaguely familiar but everybody looks so young… so youthful, so innocent. This is Life way before Coronavirus, before computers, before digital photography when people carried real cameras and counted the shots with stuff called film. And on my computer’s hard drive there’s even more of these pictures – digital heaps of JPEGs which (unlike my bundled packs of real photos), I have no idea what’s on them. Some of them are named in sensible folders (like ‘May 1990 Greece Holiday’ or ‘Family Easter 2004’) so at least I know what to expect, but others—and probably the more interesting ones—are in cryptically labelled albums such as ‘Sailing with Alice’ (who on earth was Alice?) or ‘Various 2001 Cyprus’ which is worrying to me as I swear I’ve never ever set foot in Cyprus. Perhaps these photos are of other people, other lives… Or maybe I’ve got senile dementia…

Repairing the clock: It stopped working two years ago and I knew I’d mend it when I had a moment. Well, the moment came back in April but have I done anything about it? No, I haven’t. Sorry. I could also add repairing the lawn mower and painting the outside of the door. And learning Spanish, taking up the flute and painting a masterpiece. But I will… I really will. The longer the pandemic isolation lasts, the more time I’ve got not only to start such things but to maybe actually finish them! Perhaps the real answer to “Are we there yet?” is not quite, but if I just sorted out a couple of boxes in the garage, I might start to see the outskirts of the promised land. In the meantime, there are so many really useful things to do such as watch another Netflix movie and order yet more stuff online which I can then store in the garage. Cynical, moi? Surely not…

When Fred Flintstone met Asterix the Gaul

By
MV
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This was one of my pleasant daydreams sitting in my comfortable armchair. I seem to have more daydreams these days, as probably many have, since the lockdown. Another recent daydream was of memories of driving down Cheddar Gorge on the B3135 road through the southern Mendip Hills in Somerset on the way to Cheddar Caves. The gorge is an interesting sight itself, one side being near-vertical limestone up to 137 m (449 ft) at its highest point, the other steep grass slopes. At one side a series of 274 steps known as Jacob’s Ladder climbs the steep face. After an Ice Age one million years ago the gorge was formed when water from the melting ice formed a river, it is believed.

On to the caves: Gough’s Cave is well known for “Cheddar Man”, a reasonably complete skeleton found in 1903, of a human male fossil thought to be about 9,000 years old. Gough’s cave is said to be one of the largest in Britain and it contains stalactites, said to take 2,000 years to grow 2.5 cm (one inch) and the opposite stalagmites. These are very beautiful especially in coloured lighting and some of the caverns have been given fanciful names, e.g., “Solomon’s Temple” and “The Chimney”, the latter having been formed by water flowing down for many years. Minerals in the rock faces have leeched out over the years to produce attractive colours. The cave was probably an underground river bed for many years. Since it was found steps and a tunnel have been made for better access. Some Cheddar Cheese is now matured in the cave! The cave has flooded on occasions.

Returning to Cheddar Man, it is not known if he was buried in the cave or died there. The original skeleton is now housed in the Natural History Museum which has carried out DNA tests (by drilling a small hole inside the skull and checking the powder produced). From these they concluded that he was from the Mesolithic (middle stone age) at around 7,100 BC and probably had died violently and may also have been suffering from an infection from a skull bone infection. It is suggested that he may have had dark skin and dark curly hair with blue eyes, aged in his twenties with poor teeth. At this time people were nomadic hunter gatherers and had not converted to farming or drinking milk. No artefacts were found with the skeleton. His origins were likely to have been in Northern Europe, e.g. Luxembourg or Spain. A replica of “Cheddar Man” now resides in the cave where he was found.

I can remember some years ago a television programme which featured “Cheddar Man” and his DNA which brought together many local village people to hear about the discovery. A replica of his head was produced with colouring and hair as suggested by the DNA and local people had given their own DNA for comparison. The speaker said that two good matches had been found in children and one young man. The audience was requested to look around their neighbours and see if they could see a good likeness and one man was agreed by most present that he was a good match! This caused much merriment.
Other sources describe the Mesolithic people like Cheddar Man as being small, lean and slender, with a long skull, hence a long lean almost dainty face. The men were short at about 1.7 metres (5.6 ft) height, women 1.4 metres (4.6 ft). Most died by 40 years, although some may have survived to 70. They wore supple leather clothes, fastened toggles or possibly bone pins.

Gough’s Cave is said to have yielded prehistoric and Roman artefacts, including stone and wooden tools. Some material is 5,000 years old and then there is a gap until spears, bows and arrows and stone axes were found in the caves. It is likely that the first people in Britain came across a “land bridge” from the continent. After the Ice Age, the Channel filled, so successive people must have used some sort of boat.
Of course, as the advertisements often tell us, “others are available” and this goes for caves also. Wookey Hole near to Wells is a limestone show cave on the edge of the Mendip Hills, now a tourist attraction. In addition to the stalactites, etc., of Gough’s Cave it has more recent additions for family entertainment such as the Witch of Wookey Hole and a lake in her parlour, with a boat and a Fairy Garden. I believe it may be open for Weddings!

I was a consistent follower of Time Team on television in their heyday. One episode was a three day visit to Cooper’s Hole, not far from Gough’s Cave but separate and owned by the late Lord Bath, who appeared during filming. The usual team of The late Professor Mick Aston, Phil Harding and Tony Robinson examined items previously discovered in the back of the cave such as horse and cow bones and flint tools. This is now inaccessible after a flood which brought down a huge amount of rock. They were largely restricted to excavating in the cave entrance, where they found teeth from red deer. Dr Carenza Lewis presented a small bone with marks of a stone tool, showing evidence of early habitation.
Another of my day dream memories is of a visit to “The English Riviera”, Torquay, on the south coast of Devon, where we found “Kents Cavern”. This was rather like the Cheddar caves, with parts 350,000 years old, later evidence of early human habitation and a tooth from a woolly mammoth.

To revert to my heading I think it unlikely that Fred Flintstone and Asterix the Gaul would have met! This was a figment of my imagination and sense of humour.

Fred appeared on our screens from 1960 onwards having been produced by Hanna Barbera and his era would have coincided with Cheddar Man. However he progressed over many centuries including his invention of a wheeled vehicle in the agile minds of his creators. Asterix came later, around 50 BC when he fought the Romans invading Gaul. He appeared in comic book form wearing a cross between a Viking and a Roman helmet.

They entertained me and our children over the years as did the cave visits.

Cecil Amor, Hon President of Bridport History Society.

Beer Quarry Caves

By
MV
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The ‘Ford, Dagenham’ production line of the Stone Age

If you thought that Beer was just about smugglers long ago, and fishermen like me nowadays, think again. Once upon a time, and even if it was a very long time ago, the folks of Beer did more than fish, quarry limestone, and run contraband. Beer did flint, big, like it was once the Ford Dagenham production line of the stone age. Well everyone knows there’s flint in Beer; it front faces many of our houses. It’s a beautiful material to look at and even more beautiful material to work with. Flint is dark and gleams. It is also the oldest tool known to mankind. The first traces of flint tools were found at Gona in Ethiopia and are dated to 2.6 million years ago. Prior to that the earliest flint tools known, dating back 1.7 million years, were found at Olduwa gorge in Kenya’s rift valley by the British palaeontologist Richard Leaky and his wife.
Its important to mention at this point that the toolmakers of Ethiopia and Kenya were not Homo sapiens, but ancestors of Homo sapiens. The distinction is important here in Beer because as far as we can make out the stone age flint makers of Beer, who were here from around 11000 BC until the Romans arrived in 43 AD, were homo sapiens or modern human beings.
However, we should not forget the wonderful flint axe heads in the Royal Albert Museum in Exeter, which come from Broom in Axminster. They are dated to 350,000 years ago and were made by the last Neanderthals in Britain. That species of humanity vanished from our island sometime between 350000 BC and 124000 BC. It was climate change that drove the Neanderthals out, and it was the end of the last great Ice age that brought modern humans back to Britain, and to Beer around 12000 BC to 11000 BC.
Now, the best way to think of Beer and its flint workshops is to take a slightly wider view of East Devon in the Stone Age. There are three well established settlements; Farway Castle, Blackbury Camp, And Sidbury Fort. The inhabitants of those three settlements left behind one of the largest Stone Age cemeteries in Britain, the Barrow graves and Tumuli graves at Putts Corner, opposite the Hare and Hounds pub. There are about 160 graves identified, but most of the graves have never been fully investigated or researched because of cost. Ancient history, especially if you are digging it up, is very expensive. But the direct link to Beer is the barrow grave at Bovey Fir Cross, on Quarry lane. The people burying their dead at Farway were also using the same burial schemes, almost in Beer village itself.
And this is how we get to flint in Beer and the mystery that surrounds it. Phil Clarke of Arrowhead Archaeology in Bridport did a survey off Quarry Lane for a new barn structure in early 2010. He discovered flint tool making all over the fields there. Here is what he wrote.
“Of greater significance for the present study, Beer Head is the most westerly outcrop of upper and middle chalk in Britain, with the densest source of high quality (black) flint in the entire southwest peninsula (Tingle, 1998). The chalk at Beer contains distinctive seams of high quality flint which has been exploited through much of the prehistoric period as a source of flint for tool manufacture. The occurrence of high quality flint as a raw material would undoubtedly have been of high importance to prehistoric populations; the low quality flint and greensand chert, a form of flint, otherwise available in west Dorset and east Devon west of the chalk on the Ridgeway is an inferior material for flint tool manufacture. Although both occur as components in local assemblages (collections) (e.g. at Mare Lane, Beer. Tingle 1998), the preference for high quality flint over chert is indicated in Tingle’s assemblage (collection) at Bovey Lane where only 18 pieces of chert in an assemblage of 4144 pieces of worked stone, the remainder being flint (Tingle, 1992). An intensive exploitation of this raw material is to be expected, and this is reflected in the concentration of flint tools in the area (of Beer) from at least the Neolithic onwards; (especially at Bovey Lane)”
What Clarke does is link the various parts of Beer in which flint tools were being produced. He cites flint workings (assemblages) at Quarry Lane, Bovey Lane, Mare Lane and at Beer Head. The entire prehistoric population of Beer would seem to have been engaged in the production and distribution of flint tools! Flint from Beer has been discovered at Carn Brae in Cornwall and may have been found at Stonehenge.
Clark also says why the study was necessary, further indicating the extraordinary extent of flint tool making in the area of Beer.
“The archaeological work was recommended on the basis of Historic England Records (HER) records of artefact scatters and tool working sites near the development area, (the field by Quarry Lane) reflecting activity in the prehistoric period “,
Here is what Clarke found in just this one field at Quarry lane.
“An assemblage (collection) of sixty-nine pieces of worked flint was recovered from topsoil and an underlying deposit of colluvium (stones found at the bottom of a slope) occurring on the upper edge of the scarp forming the northern side of the valley floor”.
But what Clarke didn’t find was the Beer settlement, the place in Beer where the flint tool makers lived. There are two things we are looking for around Beer Quarry caves now. The first is the local source for the beautiful black flint on Quarry Lane, that was not coming from Beer Head. The second is the Beer stone age settlement itself, in Beer.

Beyond the Vale

By
MV
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In an introduction to Ron Frampton’ book Beyond the Vale, former president of the Royal Photographic Society, John Page, highlighted the ‘wonderful visual history’ contained in the book. He described it as a ‘moment in time, captured by the camera and pen, and preserved for posterity.’ It is an apt tribute to a man who had spent a lifetime compiling photographs that capture the essence of the West Country.

This June marked a year since Ron died and in keeping with his wishes, his partner scattered his ashes on the land that was close to Ron’s heart.

Being in the middle of a worldwide viral pandemic seems to make it even more fitting to look back on some of the work that Ron compiled to remember the countryside and people that he loved so much. As he said in his own introduction to the book, ‘Everything past and present is somehow interrelated’. He believed that the tales of our ancestors and their social structures are ‘interwoven, in time and space, with the land from which they came.’ Looking now at the images from the book it is hard not to feel the power of times past and see the influence of our ancestors on the way we live today. In some ways, the use of the land is a little different but the essence of the love for countryside, people and place is still there within the descendants of those that went before.

Ron taught photography at Dillington House for over twenty years and over those many years—and through those many classes—he inspired his students to admire the area in and around the Marshwood Vale with much of the same affection that he had. More than that he instilled in his students an instinct to see the beauty and history etched on the faces and landscape of people and place wherever they travelled.

Beyond the Vale is Ron’s own tribute to the photographers he worked with over the three years it took to compile the project. Many of the stories and photographs had already been published in the Marshwood Vale Magazine and we are fortunate to have an archive of fascinating accounts and images to share with our readers. While this work of recording and publishing the stories of those that walk the land that our ancestors marvelled at continues, we will also take the time to look back and pay tribute to those that went before.

This month, to celebrate being in print again, we are giving away ten copies of Ron’s book Beyond the Vale. Just send us a postcard or email with your name and address and the first ten names chosen out of a hat will receive a copy of this wonderful book.

Email: info@marshwoodvale.com or postcard to Beyond the Vale Book, Lower Atrim, Bridport, Dorset DT6 5PX.

Life after Lockdown – Part 2

By
MV
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Continuing her series of observations from those looking at what we may have learned from lockdown, Margery Hookings hears from more local people.

Jo Neary, Team Vicar/PIoneer Priest Beaminster Area Team, wife and mother of three

My first reflection is personal. I have lived the whole of my life being busy. I am and always have been involved in projects, hobbies and volunteering right from the age of five. I am often overstretched and stressed, giving more of my time to others than I do to my family. I find no a very difficult word. It gets to the point when sometimes I am overwhelmed. So being forced to stop living that pace of life has been a surprising blessing.
I thought I would find it difficult to slow down. No, turns out I’m very good at it. Perhaps it is because I haven’t completely stopped: work has continued but in a very different form. But I have found it delightful to not have to go out in the evening to meetings, to not have to dash everywhere picking up and dropping off children. I have lunch, every day, sitting at table, eating from a plate and having conversations with my family. I never did that before.
I have been able to sleep better, waking up naturally instead of using an alarm. I have had the energy to talk to my husband in the evenings and not fall asleep exhausted at 9.30 at night as soon as I sit down.
I have time to hang up my washing instead of using the tumble dryer because it is quicker. I cook a roast dinner for my family every weekend. I talk to my family on the phone and video chats. I have taken walks with my children, played frisbee and have time, every single day, to exercise and take care of my body and mental health. I have had time to pray and read and reflect and laugh and chat and just be. I do not want to go back to being overstretched and stressed and under pressure. This is a better way to live. Shame it took a global pandemic for me to notice.
What have I learned about being at home? The surprise for me is how much I enjoy my family’s company. Today, for example, my husband and I and our eldest son, 13, sat after lunch and talked about racism and colonisation, slavery, history, science, black holes, philosophy and religion. We don’t do that every lunchtime. Often our conversation is much more prosaic. But we had time to take the conversation which had started at black lives matter and the death of George Floyd into a much wider sphere—just because we had time and we didn’t have to rush anywhere else.
Doing school at home has in many ways been a matter of doing tasks set by the school and ticking them off the list, but it has also inspired some moments of joy: watching my children video a science experiment involving a bag full of water held over a head and a pencil, enjoying the fruits of food technology and independent baking, having time to read the book that my youngest is studying so I can support him, building river models and damming rivers in the sand tray, learning the cup song from Pitch Perfect with my daughter. Just moments of everyday fun that usually get gobbled up by having to rush off to evening meetings or do homework or catch up on chores. Time has been the biggest blessing. I have been a working parent for the whole time I have had children, apart from nine months off to have my youngest son. The eldest two arrived ready made in my marriage, so I have always had children for the whole time I have been married to Harry. I would like to carry on taking the time to enjoy my children and be more available and present for them as they grow.
Church: God in the everyday. As a priest I have been surprised by how much I haven’t missed the churches being open. Much of what I do day by day is point to God in the everyday. I see my calling and vocation to tell the story of God and offer that story to others to become their story too. Worshipping in a church is part of that story of God, but only part. To me, God is as present in my study as in the church, as present at the top of Lewesdon Hill as behind the altar, as present in my daily walk, my morning cup of tea, my meals with my family as in bread and wine. God is present, by the power of his Holy Spirit, in everything we do and everything we do is in praise and worship of him.
I have been excited about how social media has enabled me to continue telling the story of God’s activity in the world and let other people encounter that story and see themselves as part of it. Our daily updates on our Beaminster Team page are viewed by about 300 people every day and sometimes many more. I post about exercise, cups of tea, mental health, schools, being kind, the walks I’ve been on, the things I struggle with. And every day I pray that God will show us his presence in the everyday things. That has been a huge blessing.
And people who wouldn’t come to church but consider themselves spiritual and open to the presence of God in their lives like and comment on things. One of the comments was ‘God is louder in lockdown, or perhaps there are fewer distractions to tune him out’. That has been my experience. I love the way that social media can be a huge encouragement, a huge blessing and a way for people to see and hear something of God in a way that connects with them and is anonymous. There is no pressure to have to turn up or conform or be asked to join a rota! Social media allows people to engage at their own pace, in their own way and explore faith, belief and spirituality in their own way. I will continue being a social media vicar after lockdown. It is a good place to be. Our social media, our website and our YouTube videos ‘RevChat’ all existed long before lockdown. We were slightly ahead of the curve in that respect. But their importance and value has increased exponentially in lockdown and I now view them as an essential part of our ministry rather than an add-on.
Pastorally—it has been hard to connect well with our older congregation members. Not all of them have access to the internet or feel confident to join in via social media or on Zoom. That said, we have a couple of 90 years olds who are regular Zoom attendees. I think we need to work on better networks of support so that people don’t fall through the net and don’t feel left out.
It has been harder to keep effective contact with our larger congregation in Beaminster. However, the villages have been excellent at keeping in touch with each other, with supporting each other, with looking after one another. The villages are good at looking after one another and noticing when things are amiss. I give thanks for that generosity of spirit that means people look out for each other. We need to make sure we keep that. As a vicar with multiple parishes I rely on congregations caring for each other and not being reliant on the vicar always knowing or noticing. I often don’t know because no one told me and I didn’t notice because I wasn’t there.
It is our collective responsibility as human beings to take care of each other. Lockdown has reminded us how important that is and how easily we can take care of our friends and neighbours. All we need is a little time and a lot of love. Being kind is perhaps the most important thing we can do each and every day. That and breathing. Finally, lockdown has made me realise what is important: time, nature, breathing, sleep, exercise, laughter, family, books, music, the internet, technology, the environment, love, kindness, generosity, community spirit, the common good, God’s love, truth, trust, accepting people as they are. What isn’t important: rushing, saying yes to everything, more stuff, more experiences, dashing around, being successful, being powerful, being liked, conformity, what other people think.

Emma Gale, singer songwriter, Weymouth

I used the lockdown to write and release my debut single Let’s See What the Earth Has to Say. Written, composed, produced and recorded remotely in just one week, the track explores my take on life in lockdown and our rapidly changing reality. It’s my vocals on the single, alongside ukulele by my husband, Peter Kirkbride and percussion, bass, acoustic guitar, keyboards, vocals by Chris Pepper. The track is produced by Chris Pepper at Saltwell Studio.
Using the crisis to concentrate on creativity, I wanted the song to be reflective, soothing and hopeful. It examines how quickly life can change and how nature thrives when humanity retreats indoors.
It seems that many of us are struggling to adapt to life at home and it makes you realise that despite feeling like we are in complete control of our lives, we’re actually part of something much bigger. This is the sentiment behind Let’s See What the Earth Has to Say—it’s about all of us surrendering control and realising we don’t actually need all of the things we once thought we did.
I never planned to write a song in response to coronavirus, but the time in lockdown has given me the chance to focus on making music, and before I knew it, I had a debut single ready to go. I hope it strikes a chord with people listening from their own homes.
The single is accompanied by an animated video by Nik Newark which shows the contrast between life now, and life before lockdown. Schools have shown an interest in learning the song so I have made the sheet music available free of charge at www.emmagale.com

Andrew Hookings, Chairman, Broadwindsor Community Stores

My first thoughts when the lockdown, self isolating and shielding came into being and many of our volunteers were unable to volunteer, was what could be done to keep the shop open as usual.
Well, with the Leader family trained by their volunteer daughter, Rosie, and a couple of other volunteers who were now unable to work, we have managed to keep the ship afloat. In addition, three members of the shop committee, Sandra Burrows, Nathalie Roberts and Teri Small, established a delivery service, with the help and support of volunteers from Broadwindsor and Drimpton. They have been taking orders and organising deliveries twice a week to the vulnerable and self-isolating throughout our community.
The response from our community has been overwhelming and the business has seen an upturn in trade, as people now appear to prefer shopping locally as opposed to going to town. Our hope is that as we get back to normal, whatever the new normal will be, our customers will continue to support us.
Initially, we experienced some difficulty with our suppliers being able to maintain our deliveries of stock, especially staple products such as flour, tinned fruit and sugar. However, working together with our major supplier, Booker Yeovil, we have managed to keep our shelves stocked with most products.
Of course, having to reduce the shop to one customer at a time, due to social distancing regulations, we have often seen queues forming outside the shop. Fortunately, we benefited initially with the provision of a gazebo, until the wind one evening caused it to collapse and break. But we have been blessed with such wonderful weather that queuing has not been a problem. In fact, quite the opposite as it has been an opportunity for many to make new ‘friends’ as they pass the time of day and have a natter. Strangely, I guess this has in some way brought our community closer together, if that’s possible.
We have been very conscious about the safety of our staff, volunteers and customers, and in addition to limiting the number of customers in the shop, at any one time, we installed a Perspex screen in front of the counter, and provided staff with plastic gloves, face masks, visors and sanitising hand wash, which we recommend they use. Counter tops are regularly sanitised.
As we move forward and the lockdown is relaxed we hope to see more of our regular volunteers return to the fold and our customers old and new continue to support their community shop.

Unsteady Progress – A History of Axminster from 1701 to 2000

By
MV
-

Just as Covid-19 was laying waste to everyone’s plans for 2020, we received a copy of a hefty new local history, written by David Knapman, one of the volunteers at Axminster Heritage Centre. Now that life and business are starting to return to normal, Fergus Byrne caught up with David to find out more.

What prompted you to write your book?
As many Marshwood readers will know, last Easter Axminster Heritage Centre re-opened after a complete re-furbishment. I had been involved in providing our professional advisors with the raw materials they needed to tell the story of Axminster, from its earliest origins to the present day. Not surprisingly, many choices had to be made, and even key stories had to be boiled down to their very essence. Priority also had to be given to events and themes which could best be illustrated by artefacts, images and oral history.
I was conscious of thin patches in the story, and gaps in our knowledge. The history of Newenham Abbey prior to its dissolution by Henry VIII had been written by James Davidson, as had the comprehensive destruction of Axminster in 1644, during the Civil War. But no-one had documented in any systematic way how Axminster had then re-built itself, or what else was happening in the town as its fame was spread by Thomas Whitty’s carpets, from the middle of the 18th century.

When did you start your researches?
I had previously researched and written up several topics, including local farming, the challenges and politics of the town’s water supply, local industries other than carpet making, and the step-by-step 20th century expansion of the town’s footprint.
A few people told me that I ought to put everything I knew about the town into a book, and as the summer went on I started to think “what if …”. Once I had reached that point it was probably too late to turn back, though I wish that someone could have told me then just how much free time I would have in the first half of 2020.
So, when I started planning seriously, I already had some of the necessary building blocks, and I was also aware of the links between apparently separate themes. For example, as well as bringing brush making to Axminster at a time when new employment was desperately needed, James Coate supported many local institutions, and also harried the parish and district councils to improve the water supply, and in doing so laid bare the inadequacies of the local political arrangements. Knowing all of those facts affects how you respond to each one individually.

How did you decide on the very precise period, from 1701 to 2000?
From family history research which I have carried out in Devon over many years, I was aware of the growing range of county-wide digitised records from the 18th century. Whereas the rich and powerful can often be traced back to the 16th and occasionally the 15th century, it isn’t until the 18th century that most records concerning ‘people like us’ become more than simple lists of names and (occasionally) addresses. I was also very familiar with the British Newspaper Archive, which is a key source from the middle of the 18th century onwards, and one to which no earlier generation of researchers has had such ready access.
I wanted to cover a defined period, and to get as close to the present time as is reasonably possible without treading on too many very clearly living toes. I also saw the real benefit (reflecting my interest in family history) of telling a generation-by-generation story, rather than producing a series of topic-by-topic chapters. This is particularly important in a small town like Axminster, because at any one time, the same people pop up in all sorts of different contexts.
So, having settled on 30 years as a good proxy for a generation, it seemed sensible to go for a coverage of 300 years and 10 chapters. In reality, Chapter 1 really sets the scene for Chapter 2, and draws on some earlier references to explain how things came to be the way that they were in 1701.

What were the stories that most surprised you?
I was intrigued by the sudden rise of one local family, who may well have owed their large fortune to a lucky find of treasure at Newenham.
I was surprised to find how much the imposition of a national structure of local government disadvantaged Axminster, particularly in the Victorian era. The town and its needs were continually thwarted by a much larger rural hinterland whose voters declined to pay for things they saw as of little benefit to themselves.
I knew that the 1824 sale of the Manor of Axminster got bogged down in the law courts for decades, but none of the earlier histories reveal that this was mainly because the buyer was a serial embezzler.
I had no idea that the Workhouse was almost overwhelmed by the flood of refugees from the Irish potato famine.
I had not appreciated just how often the town had burned, sometimes losing up to 30 dwellings at a time. Two of the most spectacular fires even required appliances to be sent by special trains from Exeter.
The infrastructure that was not built (canals, railroads and railway lines) was as influential as what was (roads and the railway), and when.
I had not expected the depth of rancour between some of the clergymen and their parishioners, or the fact that two Victorian rectors of Axminster went bankrupt three times between them. Also, the church’s new organ remained locked for well over a year while a legal dispute was played out between the churchwardens and the organist (George Pulman, the founder of Pulman’s Weekly).
Even though I was brought up just outside Axminster at the time, I had forgotten how close traffic came to throttling the town in the 1970s and 80s. What seemed ‘just the way it was’ at the time was actually an extreme case when viewed from a wider perspective.

Finally, how does Axminster compare with its neighbours?
Honiton, Chard and Bridport were all poorer, but bigger than Axminster by 1801, but they all grew more rapidly. I believe that a significant factor driving their relative performance comes from the topography and lay-out of the towns. Honiton, Chard and Bridport are all less constrained by hills and flooding than Axminster, and whereas Axminster always had narrow streets and tight bends throughout the town centre, the other three all have long, straight, wide main streets, not to mention systems of governance which focussed on the towns much more than their hinterland. As in most local history, context is all!

Up Front 07/20

By
Marshwood
-

Sitting here, finishing off the last pages of our first print issue in three months, on the same day as the ‘final’ Downing Street coronavirus daily briefing, it’s hard to know what to think. We are obviously a long way from any feelings of elation yet, but with a little effort, I think we can conjure up a hint of hope. No doubt there are potentially more problems ahead, but for me, part of that hope is driven by the many calls for a new normal. The idea that we should slow down our rush to ‘progress’, or at least channel it less materialistically, resonates with a lot of people. Three months ago, like thousands of others, I went into self-isolation and we faced the prospect of shutting down this magazine after nearly twenty years of production. With little else to do other than keep working, we decided to continue. So now, looking over these pages, I’m glad we persevered. Since March we have produced three full issues online, each with a mix of voices from local people, along with stories of people’s lives in and around the Vale. We also launched a free Virtual Gallery to give a platform to artists and galleries whose events and exhibitions had to be cancelled. Then we created a monthly Mid-Month Special issue to give readers a sense of continuity. All these are available through our website and for those without access to the internet, we will try to republish some of those stories in future print issues. But all this is for nothing if we don’t highlight the importance of our contributors and advertisers. Over the years there have been hundreds of contributions and they have all been hugely valuable in their own way. However, this month especially, one person stands out. June marked a year since Ron Frampton died and his contribution to the history of the people and places in and around the Marshwood Vale has been enormous. I am delighted that we are able to remind readers of just part of that contribution with a look back at some of his photographs and an offer to win copies of his wonderful book Beyond the Vale. The second important element to the continuity of this magazine is the advertisers. For some local businesses, as they try to figure out how to rebuild after huge losses, the next few weeks and months will feel like pushing back flood water with a rake. So if there ever was a time to shop local, now is that time. Our advertisers are the only support this publication has and now is the moment to support them and our local community, more than ever before.

Freya Morgan

By
Marshwood
-

‘Music has always played an important role in my family especially with my dad’s side having come from the Welsh valleys. My grandad was the son of a miner and brought up in South Wales where rugby and singing were at the centre of the community. My grandad followed both passions, eventually playing rugby for London Welsh and singing baritone in a Welsh male voice choir. He was a regular churchgoer and enjoyed nothing more than belting out his Sunday morning hymns. Working-life later brought him to Sidmouth where he married and had three sons.
After working abroad, my dad returned to the UK, settling in the South East where he met my mum. I was born in Stoke Mandeville, Buckinghamshire in December 2001 but shortly after, when I was eight weeks old, we moved to Uplyme where my parents had bought Hook Farm Caravan and Camping Park. It was a complete change of lifestyle for my mum but my dad had ‘come home’, having grown up in Sidmouth. I had the best childhood growing up on the campsite. My parents worked long hours but my brother and I had a lot of freedom and we’d often make friends who would come back year after year for holidays.
As a young child I was very shy. I was often in my own little world, singing or dancing around the garden, but in public I would always hide behind my mum to avoid talking to anyone. My grandparents suggested that I try theatre school to strengthen my confidence so, aged six, I joined Stagecoach Performing Arts. From that point, I knew that performing was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. My grandparents were my biggest fans and they came to every performance with flowers in hand. Theatre school didn’t eradicate my shyness completely but I found a way to hide it by putting myself into another character’s shoes. Shortly after that, whilst still at primary school, I was cast in my first main role, that of Alice in our Year 6 production of “Alice in Wonderland”. I loved every minute of it.
Aged 11, I was attending a local theatre school, ‘Back to Broadway’, where I was cast as Galinda in our production of ‘Wicked’. The singing coach, Anna Gregory, who trained with the English National Opera, suggested that I start private lessons to build my technique and I have received classical training from her ever since. During this time, I have accomplished grade 8 London College of Music (Musical Theatre) and am currently working towards grade 8 ABRSM (singing).
Unfortunately, as my grandparents aged they both developed Alzheimer’s dementia, meaning that they were no longer able to come and watch me perform. However, much to my embarrassment, when we went to visit my parents always showed them videos of my performances as they still loved to hear me sing. My grandad’s personal favourite was ‘Ave Maria’ which I often used to sing to him in their living room. He always believed in me and wanted to see me achieve my dreams one day.
Theatre school has helped my confidence grow over the years because when I’m on stage, playing a character, I don’t need to worry about myself. However, singing in front of people as myself, was still a big fear as I felt a huge amount of vulnerability. Knowing this, in 2017 some family friends invited me to sing at their summer wedding reception. It was a brilliant experience and I was very grateful for the opportunity. Then, in October of that year, Anna and I organised a recital of classical and musical theatre songs in aid of charity which I performed with another student of her’s in Uplyme church. We donated all the money to ‘The Project’, an adolescent mental health charity; a cause close to my heart. As a result of this, I was invited to sing at a Remembrance Day centenary concert organised by the local branch of the Royal British Legion. It was an honour to sing ‘We’ll Meet Again’ to veterans and their families.
In the spring term of year 11, I was asked to sing at The Woodroffe School’s annual Senior Award Ceremony and I was given a free song choice. Knowing that pupils from years 10, 11 and Sixth Form, as well as parents and teachers would be in the audience, my first thought was a popular ballad, maybe something by Adele. I was hesitant about singing anything classical since that genre of music doesn’t necessarily conform to the stereotypes of my generation and I just wasn’t sure how my peers would react to it. However, I wasn’t comfortable singing a pop song either as I haven’t been taught those certain techniques. So, I settled on a ‘light’, well known classical piece; ‘The Prayer’ by Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dion. I had been in pressure situations before and I had performed in front of big audiences, having danced at the Sadler’s Wells Theatre in London, but I can honestly say that I have never been so nervous in my life as that night in the school’s Sports Hall. Despite my ‘mild’ concerns, the feedback I received from the teachers, parents and especially my peers, was amazing and my confidence grew so much more.
The following year Woodroffe staged a performance of ‘School of Rock’ in which I was cast as Rosalie Mullins, the headteacher; this was to be my last musical at the school. We performed it in July after six months of rehearsals. It was the most amazing experience working alongside over 100 members of cast and crew who were just as dedicated as one another. It was the best possible way that I could have ended my time at Woodroffe and I will never forget it.
Last February, I staged another two recitals with a classically trained friend of mine, one at St Peter’s church in Shaftesbury and the other at the St Peters & St Pauls in Uplyme. By this point, we had raised over £3000 in total for charity.
The following month I was due to stay in London for two weeks, having been offered a place on a course at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. Unfortunately, three days before I was due to leave, my grandad passed away. Of course, it was a very difficult time for my family and I found it especially hard leaving so soon after when all I wanted to do was to be there for my dad. I was allowed to leave the course a day early to come home for grandad’s funeral. The service was beautiful and I sang ‘The Prayer’ in the church which I know would have made him very happy. It was also the first time my extended family had heard me sing formally. As I sat in that church and listened to my dad and my uncle talk about his life, I realised just how brave and inspirational grandad had been to so many people. Coming from such a humble life in South Wales, he had built his success from next to nothing. He had been the heart and soul of the family and had done as much as he could to provide the best opportunities for all of us. From that day, I decided I wanted to make him proud and continue his legacy by achieving as much as I could in the performing industry.
Music is incredibly powerful and has the ability to bring people together, but there have been times when I have felt very low and insecure about my voice. However, as mum always reminds me, I’m very lucky to have been given this gift. Last September I was invited to join the music and enterprise charity ‘B Sharp’ as a trainee music leader. This has given me the opportunity to break down the stigma attached to classical music by showing young people that it can be enjoyed and performed by anyone. I also want to use it positively to give other young people more confidence in themselves and hopefully inspire them to pursue their own path.
Having now finished Sixth Form, I am taking a break from education. I want to gain as much experience as I can using my skills in acting and classical singing and eventually I hope to go to drama school. But in the meantime, I plan to offer singing at weddings and other special events and to perform in as many theatre productions as possible. These are difficult times for all of us but my parents tell me to be patient, work hard, and allow my dream to unfold when the time is right.’

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