Dog stories told at Willowford Farm ...

Perhaps it was the sight of a bold toddler astride a pit bull that prompted Alyson and Julia's stories - 

We were lolling upon white sofas in Willowford Farm - 

We'd seen the tiny pitbull jockey in the pub garden of the Samson Inn - 

I'd imagined a steeplechase of pitbulls, sponsored by the Emir of Dubai - 

Alyson leaned forward, her eyes bright - 

My great uncle had a dog she said - it was kept chained up - it was very fierce - he would stand next to it, smoking his pipe - 

The dog would be snarling away - he'll have your leg off he'd say - 

My great aunt would say - he's a bit saucy - 

Julia then told a story about staying in a country house and being trapped inside her bedroom by two alsatians - 

No midnight trips to the loo that night - 

Alyson remembered a friend who had a mountain dog - 

He was alright - but he didn't like anyone turning their back on him -  

21.30

July 11 2014

Willowford Farm

Richard places some bets ...

Richard's with us this weekend - he's watching Channel Four Racing - I can see the beautiful horses, carrying their fearless jockeys, flying it seems over bright green turf - 

Richard said earlier if Balty Boys comes up on the treble, it will be four thousand - 

This morning, Richard listened to tipsters murmuring secrets - he inscribed numbers and wonderful names into his record book - 

Yesterday evening I listened fascinated to talk of jockeys rowing away, horses ballooning a fence, being given the office, slipping the field - 

I heard about McCoy lifting the horse over the line and the exploits of Carry On Derek - 

I wanted to place an each way trixie on Not Now Lewis, Assault On Rome and Honey Required - 

You have to be philosophical about your system Richard says - 

15.45

August 30 2014

The Old School House

Willowford Farm, monk fish & bacon pie, memories of a cat I'd known ...

Willowford Farm was only yards from the Wall - we'd walked a mile or so from Gilsland - 

A high arched bridge spanned a shallow river - dark trees overlooked shining water - purple campion bordered our narrow path - 

I had eaten monk fish and bacon pie in the Samson Inn - I felt a little tipsy after the Golden Plover - 

I'd seen no sign of life inside the stone cottages of the village - I imagined shadowy figures climbing creaking stairs, fireplaces full of cold ashes - 

There were two sheep dogs waiting for us in the farmyard -  they looked at us with their calm, wise, eyes - 

My room was simply and elegantly furnished - I walked barefoot upon slate floor tiles - the shower was a wonder of glass and chrome - jets of warm soothing water played upon my body - 

I lay on the bed, staring up at the gnarled wooden beams above me - a tiny purring kitten leapt upon my chest - I thought of Galloper, a cat I'd known one desperate summer - my eyes filled with tears - 

Later, we all met in a warm room, adjoining the farm kitchen, reading and talking - I felt that I'd known my companions for years - 

Set into the wall of the barn was a stone carved with Latin names - 

Outside, darkness covered trees and stone - 

22.00

July 11 2014

Willowford Farm

Getting a haircut at Ian's ...

I'm sitting upon a red chair in Ian's - Ian is trimming a young bravo's rug - Ian's head is very closely shaved - 

I pick up a copy of Rugby World - across the road there's a large McDonalds - 

They do body piercing and tattooing here as well as haircuts - 

I fantasize getting a tattoo done, perhaps one depicting David Lynch - 

It's my turn now - a younger barber cuts my hair - 

He's had his chair here for seventeen years -  

I'm in here, in the warm - my mates are out there in the cold, working on the roads - 

I can see my face in the mirror - the wicked scissors shine - 

A dark haired girl walks past us - I wonder if she's going to get a tattoo - Richard's daughter, Kate, had one done of a whale shark - 

Kate's now back in India, drenched in wonder - 

I'm being asked if I want my eyebrows trimmed - 

So shame making, I think - 

10.30

27 August 2014

Ian's Barbershop

Havant

 

Driving in the rain on the motorway ...

Rain sweeps over the motorway - the windscreen wipers dance back and forth -

Anne drives with narrowed steely eyes - plumes of spray obscure our vision - brake lights flare - rainwater floods the carriageway - 

Overhead gantry signs warn of an incident ahead - 

My heart is racing - I'm aware of the fragility of my body - the red Peugeot enfolds it like a brittle shell - 

9.00

August 26 2014

M27

Approaching Southampton

Remembering being spooked by mannequins, walking barefoot upon wetgrass ...

Late yesterday afternoon, the rain eased, then stopped - 

We'd just come back from shopping in Poole - Anne had bought me a red checked shirt - 

Walking through the Dolphin Centre, I'd been unnerved by the pale mannequins in their brilliantly lit windows - 

I inagined them moving, very very slowly - their slender flawless bodies would assume new positions - they would turn their heads and open their beautiful sightless eyes - 

I put down my crumpet, heaped up with silky dollops of blackcurrant jam - I went outside, into the newly washed garden - 

I walked barefoot over the chill shining lawn - I stared up at the clouds - 

I watched two rooks, flying above the pine trees - 

Raindrops glittered upon each blade of grass - 

I had no need for my watch - I listened for hunting horns - 

17.00

July 25 2014

Standing on the lawn

The Old School House

The half pint of Badger First Call, thinking about Augustus ...

It was a warm August afternoon in Wareham - the river was brimming with shining water - a yacht motored up to the Town Quay - a girl with slim brown arms secured the painter - 

Later, Purbeck's legend, Jim Etherington, would play some growling blues - 

Summer visitors thronged the High Street - dads in chinos gazed at the seagulls flying up the river - their wives licked gaudy ice lollies - bare legged boys paddled canoes upstream, past fragile willows - laughing girls took selfies with their I phones - 

We called in at The Granary - I ordered two half pints of Badger First Call - 

Up on the roof terrace, we sipped the rich hoppy beer - 

I felt the beautiful fragility of the moment - I thought of words attributed to Augustus - the gods, if they exist, do not matter - 

16.00

23 August 2014

The Granary

Town Quay

Wareham 

Reference to John Williams' "Augustus"

Vintage Classics 2014

Walking to Willowford farm after sunset ...

We arrived at Willowford Farm just after sunset - for the last mile, everything we saw was bathed in a glowing, poignant, light - 

It was as though the world was ending - I felt that I was in a waking dream - 

I looked up to see the sky full of marvels - 

I remembered when I'd seen jewelled birds in Stanley Park - the trees had shone like glass - this  moment took me back to that earlier time - 

Once more, I knew, my eyes were truly open - I treasured every step we took along our path - 

19.45

11 July 2014

Approaching Willford Farm

Gilsland

The black cat of Thirlwall ...

Late in the afternoon, in sight of Thirlwall Castle, I saw a black cat, tail delicately curled - there was a blue ribbon around his neck - 

I have always admired cats - they have the sangfroid of elegant assassins - 

This cat ignored us, as they will - he was engaged upon some unfathomable quest - 

I looked for a moment at the splintered shell of the castle - 

When I glanced down, the cat had vanished - 

18.00

July 11 2014

Thirlwall Castle

Will plays me a song by Nick Drake ...

Will came round to see us this afternoon - Benni and Bruna were with him - Will used to be our postman - he's an Ulsterman, very softly spoken, an ardent collector of rare vinyl -

Will drank a Tanglefoot in the garden - earlier I had collected wind falls from the apple tree - we sat under its lichened branches - 

This year, the apples were small and bitter - when we made our Autumn bonfire, we would throw them into the pungent blaze - 

Will played me one of Nick Drake's songs on his I phone - the sweet sadness of the song stayed with me for a long time - 

Will's new round takes him out to Kimmeridge - he delivers letters to Edward Fox - 

We went to the river - Benni and Bruna walked out into the clear rushing water -  

I thought again about Nick Drake - I imagined him, heart sick, fated, playing his guitar - 

16.00

July 22 2014

Under the apple tree
The Old School House

On the Flybe Turbo Prop ...

I'm now sitting in aisle seat 20 D on the Flybe turboprop - I can see KLM 747s, sleek behemoths of the stratosphere - I can hear seat belts being buckled - the captain of the plane was taking a breather by the aircraft steps - he had a finely chiselled face and a calming voice - I'm in no hurry he said -

The safety ritual is now taking place - the plane is reversing - the engines are sighing - the cabin crew are holding up the orange life jackets - Anne's reading A Passage to India - 

Schipol was a glittering Alphaville - we were scanned in a glass booth - 

We're taxiing past the 747s - there are pale greyish blue clouds in the sky - 

We're turning onto the runway - we're poised between earth and heaven - 

Brilliant flaring lights mark the edges of the runway - we're racing - faster, faster - joy and terror - we're rising into the sky - soon we'll be above the clouds, closer to the angels - 

21.10

July 22 2014

Flybe turboprop

Flight 1018

Looking at the cathedral from the Cafe Xaverius ...

I'm sipping a capuccino in a cafe opposite the cathedral - the pale tower brushes heaven - 

Inside the cathedral, there is an exhibition of religious paintings by Peter Paul Rubens, Frans Floris, Quinten Metsijs and other masters with strange names -

I gazed upon fallen angels, a slender half naked Christ, the severed head of John the Baptist - 

Candles burned before a silver statue of the Virgin - sombre tombs were beneath my feet - 

The waitress puts down a tray of drinks - I look out for Anne and Nelleke - Peter sips his coffee - 

15.00

August 20 2014

Cafe Xaverius

Antwerp

Nelleke's father ...

This afternoon, we drive to Someren, to meet Nelleke's father, Hein - he's 95 years old, bright eyed and upright - he's chatting to his good neighbour, another retired farmer, in his eighties -  

Hein strides across the room to fetch delicate tea cups - we drink coffee and eat slices of lemony cake - I try to follow the conversation - I can make out only a few words - 

On the way here, we saw a statue of Van Gogh - his father was a pastor here - the painter leans forward slightly, bearded and with yearning eyes - 

Hein's handshake was very firm - Nelleke told me he loved horses - I imagined him guiding a strong horse, under enormous skies - 

When we were leaving, Hein grasped my hand - until the next time he said - 

16.00

19 July 2014

Someren 

The Swan Cafe, Maastricht ...

We call in for lunch at the Swan Cafe - young waiters dart around the terrace - silky haired girls exchange secrets - 

Dutch newspapers are fanned out upon a dark wooden table - slender glasses of beer are brought to our table -

The flags of Limbourg and Maastricht are flying from the roof of the town hall - 

Peter tells me that he spent his teenage years in a seminary - a farmer wanted a skinny horse, a wide hipped wife, and the eldest son in a seminary he says - 

We try hard to imagine Peter in a soutane, but I can imagine him playing billiards, defeating the champions from the quiet villages - 

Later, we gaze upon golden reliquaries - we wander though the dark nave of an ancient church - 

16.00

18 August 2014 

Cafe de Zwaan

Maastricht

Breakfast in Lieshout ...

We went to our beds just before midnight 

- there were red tiles under my bare feet - my head was reeling with tiredness and stories - we'd got up at three in the morning - my sleep was deep and dreamless - 

This morning, we sat down to a breakfast fit for a pasha in exile - I reached out eagerly for mellow cheese, artisan bread and Parma ham - I drank cups of potent coffee made by Peter - 

Berthe and Anton were leaving today - we hoped we would meet them again - 

Nellecke told me about the books she'd read - Peter showed me two albums of family history he'd compiled -

I stared fascinated, at the photographs of women in dark dresses, postcards from Lourdes, letters to the bishop -

Later, I would stand in a Catholic church with a roof reaching heaven -  

9.30

July 17 2014

Lieshout

Brabant

Cappuccinos on the Herengeracht

I'm sipping a cappuccinno on the Herengeracht - delicate trees line the canal - bicycles are chained to the railings of the bridge - raffish houseboats are overlooked by elegant houses - in one window, I saw an antique globe - 

We shuffled down the Damrak, part of a vast dazed crowd - in an alley off the Langestrat, Anne told me not to take a photograph of the women in the windows - 

They're all smoking ciggys or they're on their mobiles - 

We bought some grapes in a tiny shop - the dark skinned man asked if he could wash them for us - 

Slim girls cycle by, with bright scarves around their necks - 

It's started to rain - 

11.23

August 16 1014

Brasserie Baton

Herengeracht 

Amsterdam

Wind swept paths ...

Whenever we walked high above the moorland, following the Wall over the ancient land, I felt my spirits soar - I forgot my anxieties about my mum and dad, my vague terror of what lay ahead - 

I felt the wind against my face - I saw the path before me - I wondered if I'd seen this landscape in my dreams - 

Before long, surely, I would fly with my outstretched arms sprouting feathers - I would land in this sunlit wood - I would lie on the soft grass, hearing songs which would heal my heart - 

July 11 2014

Between Great Chesters and Walltown

The flooded quarry ...

The flooded quarry reflected the clouds - we rested in the shade of some trees, near a stream with a bed of shining pebbles - 

Alyson had gamely hobbled along Cawfield and Walltown Crags - she'd picked her way down steep stony paths like a delicate dowager - I was impressed by how spirited and brave she was - 

The newly qualified doctor had examined her ankle, reassuring her that it was badly sprained, not broken - 

I knew that I would have been a whey-faced misery if I'd been in Alyson's place - 

Yet her she was, telling me one more of her crazy wonderful stories - 

The headmistress had a cottage in the Yorskshire Dales - she said we could drop in anytime we were there - we turned up one summer, and she wasn't there - so we broke in, and made ourselves a cup of tea - 

15.30

July 11 2014

Walltown Quarry

The Bogle Hole ...

As we drew nearer to Caw Gap, we saw a shepherdess on a quad bike, rounding up her flock - a sheep dog was cannily perched upon the back of the bike - the sheep fled before them, fearful and agile, leaping over lichened stones - we watched, fascinated, as they were herded from one pasture to another - 

Alyson stood there, for some moments more, whilst we walked ahead - I was counting them she said - 

I thought of Isserley, in Under the Skin, gazing at sheep, snaring vodsels - 

A dry stone wall, constructed using stones from the Roman Wall, ran along Winshield Crags - we followed this downwards, towards the Gap - 

A largish gang of walkers went past us - I thought the woman in front was wearing a hijab - she was, in fact, wearing a Roman matron's hood - many of the walkers were wearing Roman costumes - 

Salvete she said - 

Salve Julia and Alyson chorused -  

My teacher used to say that said Alyson - she'd come in the class and say salvete puellae! - 

I remembered my own Latin teacher, Mrs Lawford - she called two boys in the class the Heavenly Twins - I still had my Kennedy's Shorter Latin Primer - 

We were looking out for the Bogle Hole, shown on Map 24 of our guide - we wondered what a bogle might be - perhaps it was a a troll like creature, we thought, skulking in a burrow - 

We then thought there might be an obscure forgotten verb, to bogle - 

Woman unused to bogling court told I said - 

Alyson was laughing - then she tripped and fell - there was a loud crack, like a stick being broken - she lay on the ground, clutching her ankle - 

Julia stopped two men who were walking past at that moment - 

Are you doctors? she asked them with magnificent insight - 

Ish said the older man - he graduated last week in Edinburgh - 

11.15

July 11 2014

Caw Gap

The Van Gogh painting ...

On the wall of the dining room in my parents' house, there's a copy of one of Van Gogh's paintings - Fishing Boats on the Beach at Saintes-Maries - 

I'll look up at the fishing boats whilst I'm eating Aunt Bessie's finest crinkle cut chips - 

My dad will dust his cod steak with black pepper - he'll have just drunk a can of Tanglefoot - pages of The Times will be strewn on the carpet my Uncle Derek laid - 

My Dad will ask me - do you remember - Mister Gatt - he painted that for me - do you remember - 

I do remember - it's as though I'm staring into a smoky mirror - 

There I am, twelve years old, thin and brown, walking through narrow streets under a sky brimming with stars - 

Mister Gatt is in front of us, proudly carrying the painting - we've come from his house, where I drank sugary lemonade - a beaded square of lace covered the top of the jug - 

We'd sat in a high ceilinged room, filled with dark furniture - moths circled hanging lamps - I'd stared fascinated at a lurid picture of the Sacred Heart - 

I'd been thrilled to see Mister Gatt's paintings - he was the first real artist I'd ever met - 

A warm wind blows from the sea - I can smell the incense from the gilded churches - 

I turn to my dad - I do remember I say - 

14.30

July 12 2014

Havant 

A

The sound of a bee and the sighing wind on Winshield Craggs ...

We'd slept untroubled by bad dreams in Saughy Rigg - we were like pilgrims in a welcoming house - 

I would remember the bold silverback, the balloonist, the stories we told over our evening feasts, the chilled Pennine Pale - 

Now we were on Winshield Craggs, approaching Green Slack -  

I looked up to see vapour trails in the sky - the Wall ran across the empty land -

The grass was stirred by the wind - I felt the tender warmth of the sun upon my neck - 

A bee settled upon the purple flower of a thistle - 

Apart from the sound of the bee, and the sighing wind, the world was silent - 

10.35

July 11 2014

Winshield Craggs

The silverback ...

The Australian leaned forward, smiling - he was like some magnificent silverback, I thought, with his bright eyes, barrel chest and that shock of white hair - 

There's plenty of nothingness in Australia he said - a lot of emptiness - 

He told me that he'd seen dolphins swimming up the river near his house - as big as those two sofas put together -

We spoke of the lost shipyards of the Tyne - 

It's all gone East he said to China - 

He told me that he had a young Chinese wife - she thought Saughy Rigg a little down at heel - 

I imagined them, stepping into a gleaming lift, in some pristine tower in Guangzhou - it would be after midnight - the lights of the vast city would be like new stars -

I murmured good morning to the balloonist standing by the ziggurat of our bags - 

9.00

10 July 2014

The room of red sofas

Saughy Rigg

Vindolanda ...

We spent the day at Vindolanda, visiting the elegant museum, lolling on the warm soft turf, watching the young volunteers delving with their sharp trowels, lingering in the Shrine of the Nymphs - 

Our host gave us a lift to the Roman settlement - we all squeezed into the worn family Peugeot - 

Julia said that the farm house seemed sheltered in its valley - the young father replied in winter we feel the weather - 

I saw the shadows of clouds moving over windswept moorland - I imagined snow, or rain, chilling bones - 

Soon we were exploring the ruins of the Roman settlement -

In the museum, behind cunningly lit glass, were some of the Vindolanda Letters - I gazed for some time at these poignant fragments - 

There were translations provided of the delicate scratches of Latin - 

Chrautius, to Reddius, his old messmate, greetings -

An intaglio depicted a youth entwined with snakes - a bowl was decorated with images of nervous hares - a glass bowl was decorated by a scene of gladiatorial combat - vessels of Samian ware invited wine - 

We met the Californian once more - his wife and son were with him - they were working on the dig - the willowy boy told us that he had unearthed a small stone head - I pictured him, cradling the delicate marble head in his hands, brushing the dry earth from its frozen curls -

Despite my fears, the bus arrived on time to take us back to Steel Rigg -

The farm's just over the bank the driver said - I could already taste the Pennine Pale - 

10 July 2014

Vindolanda