Exeter dreams of its past, through paintings and photos which capture the romance of years gone by. I love to look at old photographs of the city, but even more I love gazing at the old postcards with softly coloured paintings, bought and were sent in their thousands during the early days of tourism. In …
This time of the year is one of transition, but moving so slowly that it can feel as though we are caught in a spell of darkness. Is this really the turning point of the year? It seems as if we are suspended, despite the thrust of New Year celebrations. But from this place, I write about one year when I called on a group of female friends to help me renew the spirit of the home. And introduce you to our three hens! (simply because they are delightful.)
It’s still the Spooky Season, so I’ll continue on this theme by braving the spirits of Dartmoor, where you can encounter something spooky at practically every bend in the road or on each granite tor. In fact there are many, many different types of ghosts on Dartmoor, from black dogs to ghostly hunters, from hairy hands to phantom monks and invisible drivers (who run you over). So I’ll just pick out some of my favourite and personal stories to share with you here.
A romp around Widecombe on Dartmoor, accompanied by the Grey Mare, the ghosts of Uncle Tom Cobleigh & all, and perhaps some phantom piglets. Also a solemn reflection on the divine retribution of a lightning strike, washed down with a pint at the Rugglestone Inn. Join me at Widecombe Fair!
I think we’ve just had our summer holiday this year – a day on the sea, sailing with Stuartline Cruises from Exmouth to Brixham. Like most other people, we’re not expecting to travel far afield this summer. But what could be better, on a warm sunny day, than to set sail along the beautiful Devon …
‘…There’s whisky in the jar!’ – A tuneful roar of voices giving out the last line of the chorus…a moment’s hush…a thunder of clapping – laughter – chairs scraping on the floor – feet rushing, coming my way, downstairs. I make my way up, cradling my guitar carefully, against the flow. Smell of cigarette smoke, faint wash of stale beer, touch of rough jackets, knobbly jumpers as I push my way up and through into the warm fug of the club room…This is the story of my love affair with folk music in the 1960s, beginning in the back room of Birmingham pubs and ending with a visit to Cecilia Costello, an old lady renowned for her compelling version of ‘The Grey Cock’, also known as ‘The Lover’s Ghost’. Along the way there was a showdown with my headmistress, a friendship with Radio Ballads producer Charles Parker, and many meetings with delightful Irish singers. I hope you’ll find it entertaining! And there are a few musical recordings to enjoy as well.
Happy New Year! Here’s a round-up of Cherry’s Cache since it started up last spring. With updates on old favourites like Cosmo the ‘six-dinner-Sid’ cat of Topsham, and a tribute to Spitalfields Life and the blogging course that started me off here. I’ll also reveal how my Twelfth Night Cake (or is it a loaf?) turned out!
Over a thousand years ago, an Irish monk sat in his cell in the depths of the night, watching his cat hunt for mice as he tried to write a philosophical text. However, what he composed that night was in fact a poem, a touching tribute to Pangur Ban, the white cat who kept him company. Enchanted by the poem, I looked a little further into the role of cats in old Ireland and medieval society, and have illustrated it with portraits of cats from the period.
We’re about to celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas. Or are we? The calendar at this time of year is a complex tangle of Old Christmas, New Year, Ephiphany, Twelfth Night Old and New, which is surprisingly hard to navigate! Here I uncover the fundamental tradition, of the twelve days which are ‘time out’, both for humans and as part of a strange astronomical phenomenon. With examples from Russia, Spain and the UK.
Cherry's Cache 