Tips for December

The Village Gardener Tips for December

Victoria of the Walled Garden. Tips for December.

  1. Secure your climbers to walls and supports.
  2. Tie up conifers to stop them spreading in high winds or snow.
  3. Prune apple trees by cutting out crossed branches and thinning out the middle.
  4. Stay off the soil in wet conditions to avoid compaction.
  5. Keep watering to a minimum in the greenhouse, especially the pelargoniums.

 

Pete Ferris. Gardening on a wet day.

  1. Check on the wine you made in the autumn.
  2. Sample the wine
  3. Share your spoils with friends
  4. Realise you are not supposed to meet up, pity.
  5. Enjoy spoils and wine by oneself.

 

What a year it has been, with all that’s gone on in the world, the garden has been a refuge from bad news. People who work on the land, whether farmers or gardeners, always knew the benefits of working with plants and the soil. Joining local walkers or the Wildlife Group with all their activities, will get you closer to nature and improve wellbeing. If you want to join one of these groups, the numbers are in the front of this magazine. We are all looking forward to a better time in 2021 when hopefully groups can start to meet again. I will be looking forward to the Wenvoe Open Garden event and an Autumn show.

Even at this time of year the green house is quite full, with plants that need protecting against wind or frost. If you can, put the plants outside on a mild day and give it a thorough clean. This will help keep the plants free of disease.

There is one thing assured this year and that is the amount of cardboard that we will need to deal with coming up to Christmas. It can be used a lot around the garden in a variety of ways. The compost bin will benefit from cardboard as it adds carbon and will help when you have lots of grass clippings to break down. It is brilliant for putting on ground that you need to clear, as by the time it rots down the weeds will have died. Putting cardboard down where you need a path, then covering with bark also stops weeds.

At the start of November quite a few new people started work on their allotments. Under the watchful eye of councillor Colin, they were getting stuck into the tasks at hand. These days we must be careful of thieves who see the allotments as a chance to pilfer. So, take note from some of the other allotment holders and don’t leave any tools on site. There is one thing the new starters will never be short of and that’s advice from the other plot holders.

Thanks for all your comments throughout the year. None of us are ever too old to learn, unless you go by the name of Gordon Jones who can give sound advice on everything. Special thanks to Joyce Hoy for being able to name any plant I show her.

Take care and have a lovely Christmas and a great new year.

 



 

Severn Bridges Footsteps

Footsteps on the Severn Bridges

Our plan to walk between the two Severn bridges, was postponed due to lockdown so we were going to go for it despite a wet weather forecast. We parked at Portskewett and set off in a north-easterly direction on a course parallel with the river but a short distance inland, we caught glimpses of the 2nd Severn crossing (the Prince of Wales bridge). The route took us through fields and past huge electricity pylons ‘marching’ across the countryside.

On a slight rise there is a group of stones and we climbed to look at them. We watched a group of long tailed tits flitting between trees. A herd of bullocks with their mothers and gorgeous coats of various warm shades of brown followed us along a fence. We climbed onto a low bank and found a small harbour with 6 boats stranded in mud – it was low tide. Starlings flew in clouds and landed on one of the electricity pylons, even knocking each other off to claim a chosen perch.

Now we headed towards the railway. This is a mainline, we had heard quite a few trains, and were careful crossing but as the track is straight, although misty rain was falling, we could see a long way.

Reaching the river, we were on the Wales Coast Path and could see the 1st Severn bridge to the north and the 2nd crossing (completed 1996) to the south. Looking towards England we caught glimpses of brightness coming our way through very dark clouds. Nearing the new bridge, there is a small island with a beacon and the nuclear power station was just visible.

Rocks underlying the Severn estuary are old red sandstone and carboniferous limestone, the same ancient rocks which form the Brecon Beacons. 15,000 years ago, this area was untamed grassland and forest. Early Britons lived and hunted here but global climate change at the end of the last Ice Age transformed it. Increased temperatures caused Ice sheets to melt, leading to major rises in sea levels and the result is the estuary we see today.

It is easy to forget as we trundle across the bridges to England that crossing the River Severn has been a challenge for centuries – even the Romans were regular users ferrying legions across to Aust. The Severn Railway tunnel was built by the Victorians, connecting Sudbrook with England, at a cost of £2 million, it opened in 1896.

At Black Rock we stopped for lunch and the heavens opened, rain hammering down. It was here that the ferry, established in 1930s, crossed to England. This avoided the drive up to Gloucester though at times queues (possibly of several hours if you missed the tide) could mean no time was saved. It stopped when the bridge opened in 1966 (initial toll 2s6d – 12.5p).

There is a large wooden sculpture of a lave fisherman and a salmon towering over the area. The Estuary has the second highest tidal range in the world. Knowledge passed down over generations allows the lave fishermen to wade out into the estuary to fish for salmon with their lave nets. Fishing can only take place for 1.5 hours either side of low tide. It was first recorded on the Severn estuary in the 1700s, but almost certainly predates this time. The craft was featured in a BBC Countryfile programme about the Gwent Levels earlier this year. We were disappointed that birds seemed to be in short supply, as we could have expected to see migrating birds at this time of year but enjoyed the call of the curlew and a flock of terns.

Sudbrook village was created, between 1883 and 1876, to house the 3000 workers, with their families, who built the Severn Railway tunnel. As well as houses a school, mission hall, two hospitals, a coffee house and reading room were constructed. In 1883 a 6ft tidal wave flooded the village and people had to be rescued from their single storey homes.

During construction, the Severn tunnel was completely flooded by a breach of the Great Spring and the project was saved by a diver, Alexander Lambert, who had to walk through the drowned workings in complete darkness to seal it off. Sudbrook pumping station was built to extract water from the Great Spring; it still pumps millions of gallons of water daily.

Following the estuary, we came upon the ruin of Holy Trinity Chapel and then walked under the 2nd Severn Crossing before travelling inland towards Portskewett. We walked through the Cornfield project which is an open space maintained and enjoyed by the community. An historic map of the village is on a notice board near St Mary the Virgin C12th church.

Driving home the motorway had speed restrictions because of heavy rain and standing water affecting visibility – we were very lucky to have escaped with only one short heavy shower.

A flat walk of 6.5 miles

 



 

“The Confession” by Jessie Burton

OFF THE SHELF

“The Confession” by Jessie Burton

A young girl called Elise Marceau, life model, meets the dazzling, older and alluring Connie Holden. Connie is a very successful author and Elise is easily encouraged to follow Connie to the glamorous and glitzy Hollywood, as her latest book is being turned into a film. Elise is unsettled and an event changes her life’s direction which has many consequences.

The narrative switches to the future where Rose Simmons, another lost soul, is seeking answers to the disappearance of her mother. After realising that Connie Holden, now a reclusive novelist, had a connection to her mother she entangles herself in a story to find the threads of her past.

The themes of the book are concerned with motherhood, pregnancy and independence and the characters of Rose and Elise do mirror each other. Given these themes it is surprising that we all agreed the relationships are rather unconvincing. You do not get the impression that the characters actually really care for or love each other. Having said this, we all enjoyed the book possibly because Jessie Burton knows how to hook you into a plot. It does have a slow start but definitely worth a read. We gave this book a score of 8/10.

 



 

The Welsh Have No Use For Orchards!

The Welsh Have No Use For Orchards nor Gardens!

(The Welsh) have no use for orchards nor gardens’. So said Gerald of Wales, the 12th/13th century historian and archdeacon of Brecon.

We described in the previous two issues something of the background and history of the sweet apple – so did Wales really miss out? You will often come across old farmhouses called Ty’n y Berllan (the house in the orchard) and apples feature prominently in Welsh mythology. In the Mabinogi collection, Pwyll’s men are ordered to ‘wait outside the court in the orchard’. King Arthur’s Avalon derives from the Welsh ‘afallen’ or apple tree.

The Welsh king, Hywel Dda, set out in the 10th century the values of different assets and a sweet apple tree was worth 60 pennies, equivalent to 60 lambs or 15 pigs. There are many references in the Middle Ages to apple-growing whether in poetry, land-use records or folk traditions. There were 12 acres of orchards on the lands of Llanthony Priory and even this far back vines, pears and other Mediterranean fruit were grown. St Donats featured orchards which were ‘fair things to behold’. The Physicians of Myddfai (visit our Welsh orchard to find out more) praised the medicinal value of apples.

By the end of the 18th century the colourful Iolo Morganwg was compiling a list of 147 apple varieties then growing in Glamorgan and Gwent. From the large country houses to the small peasant cottages, apple trees could usually be found and all the way from Glamorgan to Anglesey. By 1899 there were 6,500 acres of orchard recorded of which 4,000 were in Monmouthshire. Love spoons were often carved in applewood and the old custom of wassailing was celebrated. Even David Lloyd George was praised for the quality of the apples he grew. Many varieties were of Welsh origin such as Cissy and St Cecilia. Others like Morgan Sweet were a favourite with the miners (which they enjoyed with Caerphilly cheese) as the juice, which was tangy yet sweet, was refreshing when working down the pits.

All of these can be sampled in our Wenvoe orchards with St Cecilia judged the top apple this year. Did Gerald of Wales get it right? What do you think? Much of the information here is taken from a little book called the Apples of Wales by Carwyn Graves, published in 2018 and a great read if you find the topic interesting.

 

And finally, just to get the little grey cells working, where are the ruins featured in the photo and what is the connection with this article? A clue for you – it is less than 10 miles from Wenvoe.

 



 

Where the Crawdads Sing’ by Delia Owens

Where the Crawdads Sing’ by Delia Owens

After the success of last month’s inaugural Page Turners Walking Books meeting, the group met outside once more, following appropriate social distancing guidelines, to discuss their latest book. The venue this time was Cold Knap in Barry. There were spectacular views across the Channel as we ambled along the promenade in bright sunshine. The book was then mused over by the group as they stopped for a discussion under one of the shelters overlooking the lake.

The book under discussion was ‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ by Delia Owens. It has topped the New York Times Fiction Best Sellers of 2020 for 32 consecutive weeks. The book is set in late 1969 in Barkley Cove, North Carolina and tells the story of Kya, who has survived for many years alone in the marshes, with gulls and sea creatures as her only friends. After a young man is found dead, Kya is a suspect in the ensuing murder hunt.

There was a very positive response to the book from the entire Page Turners group…which seems to occur rarely! Helen loved the elements of whodunnit; Nicola enjoyed the vivid descriptions of the sea and landscape. There were discussions about the role of men in the book, the ending of the book and alternative suspects…(no spoilers!!), the author’s background. Everyone certainly gained something from reading it…and it’s easily a book which could be read again.

It is a book all members of Page Turners would recommend…and scored a 9.5/10.

 



 

Christmas Cookies

MR GREEDY’S KITCHEN
Christmas Cookies

White Chocolate Cranberry Cookies

1/3 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1/3 cup sugar

1 large egg, room temperature

1 tsp vanilla extract

1-1/2 cups of plain flour

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking soda

3/4 cup dried cranberries

1/2 cup white baking chips

Pre-heat oven to 180C. In a large bowl, beat butter and sugars until crumbly, about 2 minutes. Beat in the egg and vanilla. Combine the flour, salt and baking soda in another bowl, gradually add to the butter mixture and mix well. Stir in the cranberries and chocolate chips. Drop a tablespoonsful of mixture on to prepared and lined baking trays 2 inch apart. Bake until lightly browned 8-10 mins. Cool slightly and transfer to wire racks

 



Fruitcake Christmas Cookies

1cup butter, softened

3/4 cup packed brown sugar

1 large egg, room temperature

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1-2/3 cups plain flour

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

1-1/2 cups dates, finely chopped

110g red candied cherries, halved

110g candied pineapple, diced

1/2 cup whole hazelnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped

1/2 cup pecan nuts coarsely chopped

1/2 cup walnuts coarsely chopped

Pre-heat oven to160C. In a large bowl, cream butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the

egg and vanilla. In another bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda and salt, gradually beat into creamed mixture. Stir in remaining ingredients and mix well to combine. Drop teaspoons of dough mix onto prepared lined baking trays about 2 inch apart. Bake until golden brown, about 15 mins. Cool and transfer to wire racks



 

Lemon and Rosemary Shortbread

2 cups plain flour

1/4 tsp salt

1-1/2 tsp lemon zest

1 tsp minced fresh rosemary

1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

3/4 cup icing sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp fresh lemon juice

Preheat oven 160C. In a small bowl, whisk the flour, salt, lemon zest and rosemary together, set aside. In a food mixer, beat the butter and icing sugar together until smooth and creamy, about 3 mins. [ NOT HIGH SPEED TO START ]. Beat in the vanilla extract and lemon juice. Slowly add in the flour mixture and mix until just combined. Form the soft dough into a disk shape and wrap in cling film. Chill for at least 1 hour or until firm in the fridge. Prepare and line baking trays.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to about 1/4 inch thick. Cut dough into squares, rounds, or shape of your choice using lightly floured cookie cutters. Re-roll until all the dough has been used. Place shortbread on the prepared baking trays and bake for about 10-12 mins, or until cookies are lightly browned around the edges. Sprinkle with caster sugar while still warm, remove to wire racks to cool. Be careful handling while still warm, they will be crumbly and break

 



 

Overland to Jordan

THE ROAD TO PETRA

As a teenager, I remembered my father telling me about Petra “the rose-red city half as old as time”. What a colourful description that was of the ruined city, carved out of rock in deepest Jordan that lay undiscovered until the 19th century. Years later in a long summer holiday, I found some friends from university who I persuaded to join me in a drive across Europe to visit Jordan and Petra.

Ad-Deir (“The Monastery”)

This was in the late 1960 and international travel was not as it is today. So we bought an old Ford Zephyr, a reliable car and large enough to carry four friends and our gear. We were given masses of food by some sponsors we had approached and to an extent, this was more trouble than it was worth. I remember packing the boot with large green tins of Golden Syrup which we never felt like eating.

The drive across Belgium, Germany, Austria and Yugoslavia all went reasonably well. The car flew along and we all took turns driving the long stretches of motorway. To save money we camped each night and one evening after a particularly long day we set up our tents and the duty cook has just about prepared a large stew for us all to share when it fell off the primus stove and was lost. I could have been the moment for anger and recrimination but he just said “oh well – these things happen” and stated all over again. It was a great example of British sangfroid or composure.

We had been warned that driving through Istanbul was a nightmare with mad Turkish truck drivers causing mayhem on the roads to cries of “Inshallah” or if God wills it. However, we crossed the Bosphorous without incident and set off for the long haul of about a thousand miles across Turkey to the Mediterranean port of Iskenderun. The days were now very hot and our ancient car was seriously overheating so we began to drive by night when the air was cool and sleep during the heat of the day. One day we were parked off the side of the road and stretched out in the shade of some trees to sleep. I was woken by some sound or movement and sat up at once to see a figure skulking into the undergrowth. I feared we had been robbed and woke the others to see what had been taken but there – lying between us – was a wooden platter of figs and pomegranates which had been left as a gift. It was a most generous gesture by a local farmer and that act of kindness has stuck in my mind ever since.

Crossing the border from Turkey to Syria was a slow business but there was no queue it was just a problem of language and bureaucracy. We were soon motoring on our way along dusty unmade roads when our engine spluttered and died. We had no idea what to do but it seemed that the radiator had burst as clouds of steam were coming from it. There was no AA or RAC or anyone to help us so two of us walked to a village where we found a man who was willing to help. He walked back with us leading a large unwilling donkey. In no time at all he had hitched the car behind the donkey and the car was pulled to the village and the house of the blacksmith. Here the radiator was removed and a charcoal fire blown into life so the radiator could be patched up by brazing up the hole. This was a great success and having put it all back together we drove to Jordan.

We stopped in Amman the capital as one of the team had a relative working in the British embassy there. We were entertained to a lavish supper and spent a couple of days at the Embassy swimming pool which was marvellous, but my real memory of that was getting very sunburnt.

From Amman, it was a long desert drive to Petra where we exchanged our car for camels and rode through the siq, a cleft in the cliffs, to reach the massive buildings which had been carved out or rock a hundred years after the birth of Christ. We spent a hot day climbing around the temples and other ruins before heading back to our car. We had spent weeks reaching Petra and we were pleased to have reached our objective. Now our sights were on getting home as fast as possible. We retraced our route stopping only to visit the magnificent castle in Syria known as Crac des Chevaliers, which is a Crusader castle in Syria and one of the most important preserved medieval castles in the world.

Crac des Chevaliers

We stopped in Istanbul for the night in a cheap hotel and celebrated our success with a meal in a café. I drank some cool Ayran, a drink of curdled milk with mint, from a street vendor and became very ill. I spent the next days feeling wretched in the back of the car and was thankful to get home where a doctor kindly gave me some antibiotics and I was soon much better.

 



 

A Winter Tale

 

WHO PUT IT THERE?

John loved this time of year. The summer was long gone and now Christmas was just two days away. The cold crisp mornings looked beautiful. The sun low in the sky shone through winter snow clouds, lighting up the frost along each branch of bare trees and twinkled like Christmas lights. The cold air made breath linger, looking like fog.

It wasn’t easy getting up so early on these cold mornings to do a paper round, leaving behind a warm cosy bed. But John had to help his parents to make ends meet; these were difficult times. His father had suffered a severe head injury at work six months ago, and this had stopped his working life abruptly. Mum had increased her working hours at the local hospital. John aged thirteen was still at school, but he wanted to contribute to the household budget. Each week he would give all his wages apart from £5 to Mum. There was a reason for this – he was trying to save enough money to buy the beautiful model car that stood in the window of the Model Shop he passed twice each day whilst on his rounds. The Lamborghini was silver with such detail it was breath-taking. The shop owner could set his watch by John’s daily visits.

The time was 5.30pm, his paper round was finished and it was payday. As usual, John would open the small brown envelope to take out his £5 and then put the rest safely in his pocket for his Mum.

It started to snow and the little town lights were throwing a misty glow along the busy town centre. People were filled with the Christmas atmosphere. All the shops were staying open until late. John stood a while longer to take in the scene. There was a stall selling roasted chestnuts and the Salvation Army were playing Christmas carols. As John walked through the narrow streets to the bus station, he worked out his savings and knew with today’s money he had enough to buy his beloved Lamborghini. The rest of the money was at home and he would return the following day, Christmas Eve, to buy the car.

The snow had fallen silently all night and by morning there was quite a covering. Buses crunched the fallen snow into clearways for other vehicles to follow; cars inched their way carefully.

John helped his Mum with the rest of the decorations and despite money being short, the house was filled with Christmas cheer. The mince pies and sausage rolls were in the oven and the cake was ready for icing. This was always Dad’s job. He enjoyed putting a Christmas scene made from icing in the middle of the cake. It was a work of art – little snowmen and children making their way down a snow-covered hill in their toboggans. And finally – a beautiful gold band around the side.

The tree was always dressed on Christmas Eve. Tinsel ornaments and twinkling lights carefully draped the tree from top to bottom. Yet another masterpiece! With everything finished, John left for the short journey back into town. He had already

bought Mum and Dad’s presents. So now was the time he had longed for, over weeks of careful saving.

The bus was full of families with young children longing for this day to be over. At the station it was Christmas chaos. Hundreds of people thronged the pavements. John turned the corner into Liberty Square. The model shop was just down the end on the left. He could see the sign just above the door; he would soon be carrying his dream home. As he passed an alleyway John heard someone crying. A small figure of a girl was sobbing; her hands covered her face. John approached slowly, not wanting to frighten her. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, kneeling down in front of her. The little girl looked up at him, eyes wet with tears. ‘I can’t get home’ she said ‘I’ve lost my bus fare’.

John was always a kind lad and the scene of a lonely and frightened little girl stole his heart. ‘Come on’ he said ‘ Let’s get you to the station and find the bus you need to get home.’ He stood up and the little girl put her hand in his. Warmly dressed and well spoken, Jasmine said she had lost her purse and become separated from her friends. John found the next bus to the girl’s village, paid for the fare and saw that she was safely inside.

Making his way back to the Model Shop, John realised that he did not have enough money to buy the car now and when he arrived, the shop had closed. His heart sank. He pressed his face against the window. The Lamborghini had gone! What a Christmas this was turning out to be. He decided not to tell his Mum and Dad about it. He did not want to spoil their Christmas too. So, he put on a smile and when he arrived at the door he sang carols and laughed when Mum arrived at the door carrying a tray of goodies.

Christmas was wonderful as usual. John could not remember having a bad one. Good company, good food and presents. What more could he ask for ……

Before long it was Twelfth Night and time for the decorations to be packed away. John always felt sad on this day. The tinsel and ornaments were packed in their boxes and stored in the attic. As John manoeuvred the container holding the tree towards the front door, something fell from behind the tree. He looked across to Mum and Dad but they looked puzzled too. John unwrapped the brown paper parcel tied with string. He opened the box and looked – mouth open, eyes wide. Words failed him.

‘What is it?’ asked Dad. John lifted the item out of the box. ‘How did it get there?’ ‘When did it arrive?’ His parents did not seem to have the answers, but that did not matter. The moment was very special. There in all its glory was his beautiful Lamborghini. He would cherish it always.

To this day, John would wonder about that Christmas years ago, still puzzled over that one question – WHO PUT IT THERE?

By Maureen Richards

 



 

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