Category Archives: Wildlife

A-Z of Somerset: Part 4

Over half way through the alphabet, and it’s the last of four recaps of the alphabetical journey around Somerset so far. Lockdown 2021 means that I have been unable to complete the A-Z, but this brings us up to date with the stop offs so far.

Click on the links to see the full post for each village.


P is for Pilton.

The true home of the Glastonbury Festival, Pilton was something of a hidden gem I am glad I discovered.


Q is for Queen Camel.

Who’d have thought there was a Q but no J in the list. Well, had it not been given as a gift, there wouldn’t have been a Q either!


R is for Rodney Stoke.

Not another Somersetonian (Somersetter?), but this is one of eight villages in the county with something to be thankful for.


S is for Stanton Drew.

Another hidden gem, but not just the village. The Neolithic circle here rivals Avebury and Stonehenge.


T is for Tintinhull.

A manorial vicarage and stunning gardens, but no sign of Snowy the dog…


Twenty letters down, then, and five still to go. When life finds a sense of normality, the A to Z will continue, so watch this space.

A-Z of Somerset: Part 2

My recap of the villages of Somerset continues… Click on the links to read the full posts…


F is for Farrington Gurney.

Not an Edwardian detective, but a 12th century village in the north of the county.


G is for Godney.

When one village just won’t do, why not have three?


H is for Haselbury Plucknett.

Detective Gurney has to have a nemesis, so strike forth, sir!


I is for Isle Abbots.

A river names Isle, and countryside perfection.


K is for Kingweston.

There are no Js in Somerset, so, instead, the first of two villages beginning with a K.


Next week, it’s K (Mk II) to O…

Stile

The path ahead was clear, there was just one hurdle to cross and their destination would be within spitting distance.

A couple of steps, two up and two down, would lead them into the field and they would be away.

The hill looked ominous ahead of them, it was almost a mirage, they felt that, no matter how long they kept walking towards it, it would never be within reach.

But they also knew that they had to try, had to keep on going.

Just two steps up, and two steps down…


Crack’d

The stone had been like that for generations, from what he had been told. The chunk of granite had cracked from tip to base, that fateful night in 1874. Nothing else had been touched, no other graves affected, no other souls disturbed. Just this one stone.

The dedication had worn away decades before, the records lost to time. Nobody knew any more whose grave it was, nobody knew if their remains were still there. The rumour was that the devil himself had torn the stone asunder, ripping the body from the ground so that his own domain may remain unsullied.

Who could have been so evil that even the devil didn’t want them as his bedmate? What crimes must they have committed to anger Lucifer so?

And who came each month to lay flowers on the grave with no name?


Mellifont Abbey

The gate swung open unbidden. The creaking of the hinges shattered the calm of the trees surrounding him, bringing him sharply to his senses.

Beyond the gate he could make out a building. The windows were shuttered, but he had a feeling that the house wasn’t empty, merely sleeping, waiting for the moment when someone would arrive to wake it from its reverie.

The lawns were tended, and he wanted to take a step forward, to get a better look at the garden, but immediately felt as if he would be trespassing, unwanted, into grounds that had been perfectly manicured by a gardener who had every intention of keeping them that way, no matter what happened.

To walk forward or to turn and run? Intruders were definitely not welcome here, and, without any shadow of a doubt, he would be intruding. But he also felt that it was too late. With the opening of that gate, the barrier had been broken and he was left with only one choice.

He felt himself take a step towards the Abbey…