A glimpse through the mist

Three of us (only) met for our weekly walk yesterday morning at the Craven Arms, Brockhampton. The fog thickened as we climbed up through the Quarry en route for Hawling, and only began to lift as we descended Baker's Wood Lane. The Upper Coln Valley unfolds mysteriously beyond the newly-laid hedge, no houses, main roads or pylons to disturb one of my favourite views.

On the Quarry itself, my eye was drawn to four curious stone sculptures leaning against a wall. They are inspired by prehistoric rock art, so we were informed by the artist, Liz Poraj-Wilczynska, who lives there: she has been making a specialist study of the Archaeography of Belas Knap.

Liz's neighbour is Doris, instrumental in our meeting up with my cousin Trevor from Sydney. Just up from there, I admired Nicole and Charles' hunting scene weather vane. A minute or two later, I heard with sadness from Di of Ellen Timbrell's recent death, and then, before lunch, chatted to Sid and Gert. about fuschias and family, just like old times. Steve Leach, working opposite them at the moment, reminded me how - many years ago - I had introduced him to Classic FM, which he listens to all the time. Another memory lane trip, in other words.

Memory lane

This week's Wednesday outing started from the Royal Oak car park, Andoversford. Apart from the task of finding (lost amidst the new houses) the footpath opposite the old market, it was plain sailing. This is because of our time (1973-94) living along the way we took.

Mind you, everything has changed, as Gill Hyatt agreed when we chin-wagged briefly in Sevenhampton Churchyard. Syreford's once-reasonably humble dwellings are all mansions, with the trappings of the prevalent horsiculture, electric gates, weathervanes and the like. Sevenhampton seemed deserted, many of the properties being second homes. A large house seems to be going up along the tranquil lane to Brockhampton (Gassons). The trees on Elsdown have been thinned no doubt to afford the now-converted barn there a view. Did the walk make me homesick? It's not a world where I would now feel at home, but I was glad to have renewed its acquaintance, especially on a fine Spring day.

The same goes for Saudi Arabia. Wajda, at the Film Society film last night, unfolded a delicate, wry and at times painful-to-watch picture of life in that country, all the more affecting because filmed by a female director. "Is it any wonder," Caroline asked, "that Muslims criticise us for the laxity of our children's behaviour?"

Spring is in the air

We walked up from the Kilkeney viewpoint and along the ridge towards Withington, as I had done in the rain the other Thursday. Severe weather warnings remain for many parts of the country, but with us the outlook has changed completely. So it was a revelation that today, looking over the upper Coln Valley, you could see Baker's Wood and Brockhampton Quarry clearly in the left distance, and Foxcote near to hand. Even the rash of conifers fail to mar this grand landscape. Skylarks and buzzards accompanied us on a still, warm morning. And for once it wasn't muddy.

Memory lane

It's been warm and dry again today, too warm for wearing my dark suit. I put it on as we were attending Val's memorial at St Andrew's, Sevenhampton.

Brian too, in order to see his mother off, was smartly suited - a new one might even have been bought for the occasion: the village would not be used to seeing him look so tidy. Pat of course was her usual naturally elegant self. She would have been proud of her three daughters, for the well-chosen contributions they made. Matt's family too was out in force, including his two lovely-looking Woodmancote nieces.

Val's good friend Carol took the service with just the right degree of affection and seriousness, another nail in the coffin for those clinging to the idea of an exclusively male clergy. As usual, Gill told us where to sit and Muriel played the organ.

Everyone was there. Skip's sideboards, as bushy as ever, are now newly-back in fashion, thanks to Bradley Wiggins. Vera and Dennis hadn't changed much, but Clem looks older: her daughter Georgina has clearly taken over a more presidential role in the village. Ann and a deafer John, Robert and Lynne represented the Manor Farmers.

Robin and Sarah of the extended Smith family were alongside us in church, Sarah still playing hockey, and looking not much different from when she arrived as our efficient office cleaner a couple of decades ago, possibly more. Moving closer to Val's late husband, his nephew Jess, for ever known to us as Young John, was smiling as broadly as ever. And then there was David, in our early days in the valley, the young entrepreneur: now he enjoys the best position of all, up at Elsdown. From just over the fields beyond there came Ian: we reminisced about times even longer ago, when we both had back row seats in the sun around Elsa Marland at Dover's Court, and were spooked by her friend Ken Hay's Captain Hook arm. (Had he been in the wartime SOE asked Ian?)

Last but not least a clutch of Val's closest, including Bill and Sally, who helped us at Hill View as young teenagers.

Val Smith RIP

News has just reached us of the death of Val Smith, aged 80. She was one of those people whom it was a privilege to have known. I first met her nearly 40 years ago, when I went to live in Sevenhampton. She, her husband Alan and their then young children Brian and Pat, lived along the lane at Gassons Farm, Brockhampton. Val lived on there following farmer Alan's far-too-early death, and (later) the happy day of Pat's marriage to the vicar's son, also a farmer.

Val and her sister Gill, still in Brockhampton, were born Coombe. They were brought up in the old family brewery next to the Craven Arms. It first came to a Coombe more than 150 years ago - possibly won in a game of cards from a Wood, ancestor of the family who lived in our old home, Hill View, Sevenhampton.

Not many people like Val and Gill these days live their whole lives within just one community. And Val didn't just live there: she was - with one or two others - its life and soul. Nothing was too much trouble. The newspapers needed delivering on a snowy morning? Val would do it.

It goes without saying that when the village Produce Show came around - it always used to be the second Saturday of September - she would be helping, and nothing gave her and everyone else more pleasure than when she won a cup, or (as here in 1988) two.

HFA

"HFA" stands for "Hadfield Fine Art", which was unknown to me till yesterday, when we tumbled upon its Autumn Exhibition.

We had been visiting Caroline's brother, to wish him a happy birthday (and to admire the work they have been doing on their house restoration). I vaguely knew that there was an art exhibition on nearby, so we sought it out: round and round the parish of Sevenhampton we drove - stopping to admire an incongruous paddock full of rheas (see photograph) as we went along Gassons - when eventually we came across the HFA sign only a door or two from where we had started.

The gallery was once a indoor swimming pool: it is big enough to show off well the work of 14 contemporary artists (potters as well as painters). The paintings are principally landscapes, still lives and abstract subjects, very varied. Caroline (the expert on this sort of thing) thought the work was of pretty uniformly high quality. And I agreed.

If you want to see the show, hurry: it finishes on 12th. Though the Gallery is open at other times, you need to ring for an appontment save during the exhibition at weekends between 10 and 5: see their website for details. (We arrived late in the evening, without an appointment, but we realised quickly that that wasn't really fair.)

Besides the high quality displays, it's worth visiting HFA just to see the view across the infant River Coln towards Brockhampton Quarry: one of the best in the Cotswolds.