On our way again

From Withiel, we drove off this morning to lunch at the Finnygook Inn above the sea at Crafthole. This pub's name apparently commemorates the murder 300 or so years ago of a double-crossing smuggler by his partners in crime.

From there it was a short hop to look at St Germans church, before crossing the Tamar to find a parking place for our car, while we are away for our week in France.

The weathervane sits on a former pub in Withiel, the Old Pig and Whistle.

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?"

Still mild

Apart from the first bit, I walked today without gloves. Not often can I write that in January. Five of us set out from the Miserden pub car park at 9:45 and returned there around 12:15. We had walked clockwise via Sudgrove, Througham and Wishanger. (This is the landscape to the left of our path between the last two places.)

It was not just warm and windless, it was 99% dry too, and a wan sun even tried to poke through the clouds at times. Underfoot, the going was slippy at times - hardly surprising in view of the rain we have had - and care was needed over the stiles; but a near perfect light. I photographed a Concorde weather vane near Ian McEwan's house at Sudgrove, mist in the steep valley below it and my first lamb of 2014. All very satisfactory.

The Royal Oak

The only pub locally well recommended by the Good Pub Guide is the Royal Oak in Prestbury, which used to be run by Tom Graveney. In all my years living in these parts, I had never been there till yesterday.

We booked a table for lunch. 12 or 1.45, we were told: I chose the latter, but it was 2.15 before food arrived. Clearly, it's an institution at lunchtime on a Sunday, the bar being thronged, and people playing cards and reading the papers. But the service was cool, when we wanted it to be attentive, and the food wasn't brilliant. Not somewhere I'll rush back to therefore.

Today, in the morning sunshine I finished the main ladder work on our hornbeam hedge, with the blackbird singing: here he is above Old Father Time on the neighbours' summer house.

The Frome Valley

We had a gentle outing today, exploring a couple of areas North-West of Cirencester. We parked first at Daneway, to inspect the Gothick West portal of the canal tunnel, restored by Cotswold Canals Trust in 1996. The canal itself is barely visible, but one day...

Up the hill behind the pub, we peered over the electric gates of Daneway House, to admire a weather vane by the Miserden blacksmith, Michael Roberts. It's in the form of a golden phoenix alighting on a blue sphere - but alas too distant for me to get a decent photograph.

This unspoilt view down the valley was taken when exploring the site of Sapperton Manor, demolished nearly three centuries ago. Some of the panelling was salvaged for embellishing St Kenelm's Church, just to the East. But where did the church's Jacobean bench ends come from? Atlantes on each of them, and all different.

We were guided round and asked to lunch by a friend, a widower for eight years now. Not one to complain, he nevertheless admitted that "Living alone is lousy."

After lunch, we detoured to snoop at Middle Lypiatt, some or all of which has recently been on the market. A Bentley sits in the garage, overlooked by a polo player weather vane, which I could and did capture - maybe for an updated edition of my book.

A beautiful day, mostly sunny, no wind to speak of, and the colours splendid.

Adult content

For the recent sixth birthdays of our two younger grandchildren, I put together a book of weather vanes. This has now evolved into something a bit more grown up, with others' poems to complement my photographs.

It was interesting, finding out something about the subject. A wind or weather vane pivots, as I say in my brief introduction, so the pointer can move freely, the surface area being unequally divided: the side with the larger surface area is blown away from the wind direction, so that the smaller side, with the pointer, faces into the wind. For example, in a 'Nor-Easter' (a wind that blows FROM the North-East), the pointer points TOWARDS the North-East.

The word "vane" derives from the Anglo-Saxon word "fane”, meaning "flag". Originally, fabric pennants would show archers the direction of the wind: the cloth flags came to be replaced by metal ones, decorated with the overlord’s insignia, and balanced to turn in the wind.

Sometimes they are called weathercocks. St Gregory the Great having described the cock emblem as a suitable Christian identifier, churches often displayed (as many do to this day) the rooster symbol. It serves as a reminder of the Maundy Thursday prophecy, recorded by all four Evangelists, that before the next cock crow, Peter would three times deny knowing Jesus. A weathercock still describes someone changeable or fickle, tending to go whichever way the wind blows.

In April 2010, when walking in Spain on the Via de la Plata through the Province of Salamanca, I noticed a rash of varied scenes portrayed on weather vanes. It made me pay more attention to examples of our domestic tradition: it seems no less rich and varied. However, of the weather vanes I have photographed so far, only the Spanish ones incorporate an anemometer, to indicate wind speed.

As with most of my books, "The Weather Vane" is available print-on-demand. This is the link to the paperback version: it's also available in hardback.