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.

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.

Appalling calling

Soon after leaving Whittington in the Coln Valley on this morning's walk across to the Churn, I passed this gateway into Sandywell Park. Sadly, little remains of that estate's grand past, as depicted by Kip 300 years ago: the house itself was converted into flats some time ago.

It was dry then, but this was the only photo-op. I had: the rain came down, continuing relentlessly till I reached my destination, the Colesbourne Inn. And as I set foot inside the front door, mine host appeared to say, "Sorry, no food: we've had a power cut."

On the ridge below St Paul's Epistle, Mark Vestey's boundary wall is under repair. Briefly, I joined the friendly man from Chedworth labouring away under his tarpaulin, placing stone on stone: though not nearly as elaborate a construction as at Sandywell, it seemed to bear out the truth of Pam Ayres' lines:

I am a dry-stone waller,
All day I dry-stone-wall,
Of all appalling callings,
Dry-stone-walling’s worst of all.

Up the Coln Valley

We drove through the mist to Arlington for the start of this morning's walk. A late start became later as the three of us - well, me actually (as I had the map) - couldn't find the way out of the village: the bonus was a glimpse of the tucked-away Baptist Chapel - 1833, "with windows with odd straight-sided Y-tracery" (Pevsner). Why so much non-conformism in the Cotswolds?

The sun struggled through as we passed amongst the horsiculture and many million-pound mansions in Ablington, Winson etc. (This view was taken looking back between those two villages.) Entering Coln St Dennis, we passed a weather vane featuring a gaff-rigged yacht - a long way from the sea. St James' was where Caroline and I were married 38 years ago, a June day rather warmer than today. I could not be sure I'd been inside the church since. Candles were carefully placed upon every surface: when lit they would make the Norman nave a pretty place indeed. Cutting across the Fosseway, we walked up through Chedworth, which must be one of the longest villages in Gloucestershire. At least, it felt like it: I was exhausted.

Fresh Air 2013

Caroline's trusteeship of the 11th biennial Quenington Sculpture Show secured me a free lunch there today. We arrived in time to have a good look round most of the exhibits before the rain came down. Lucy always seems to find something striking to be placed on display in the river: I rather liked this cheerful object, "Metal paper boat" by Lewis Davidson. Yours for a mere £550.

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.