Category: Uncategorized

A bit of a ding dong

The church bells are still silent in Lush Places.

Meanwhile, I’m in France where the church bells in our village chime the hour twice, every hour (it’s about to strike three o’clock and they’ll go dong, dong, dong. And then a break and then dong, dong, dong again).

But the bells here do shut up at night. However, during the day, at noon and at seven o’clock, they chime until they’re fit to burst, calling in the workers from the fields for lunch and evening meal respectively.

Last week, a former colleague reminded of a notice I’ve seen in many French villages, drawing outsiders’ attention to the perils of rural life.

This is the country where village signs up and down the land have been turned on their heads. This latest farmers’ protest alludes to having their own lives turned upside down by contradictory instructions. See the BBC story here.

I hope a solution can be found to the silencing of our village bells back in Dorset.

And wouldn’t it be wonderful if, in addition to the automatic hourly chiming being restored, a new team of bellringers steps forward to pull the ropes on Sundays and high days and holidays?

The bells aren’t rung on a Sunday at the moment because there’s no tower captain nor regular team of ringers.

It would be lovely if the positive outcome of the silence of the bells story was that volunteers joined forces for bellringing to happen once again.

The sound of silence

Well, that didn’t last long, did it?

This time last week, I was waxing lyrical about the arrival of spring and the long-missed sound of the chiming of the church clock on the hour.

I even wrote about its repair for my not-yet-published editorial in the parish magazine, which has gone to press but isn’t out yet:

It is a joy to see it working again and chiming the hour, too. It’s been a part of village life for so long, it’s like welcoming back an old friend.

And then that ‘old friend’ promptly turned around and fled.

You see, after just two days, the church clock was stopped from chiming.

Apparently, someone new to the village complained that it was keeping them awake.

I’m not angry but I am saddened and upset. Village life is precious and the clock has been there for generations, an aural reminder of the passing of time. It takes one person to complain and then the bell is cancelled.

Now I know there are more important things in the world to worry about right now, and I don’t wish to go all Wicker Man, but the chiming on the hour, all day and all night, has been part and parcel of this village for years.

Which is why it was such a delight to hear it again.

Could there be a compromise? Maybe the clock could chime the hour only during the day. Apparently, though, that comes at quite a cost. I’ve heard £2,000-plus mentioned. And I’m not happy that the church would have to pay that just to satisfy one complainant. I’m not prepared to chip in, either.

I live near the church and I can honestly say that the hourly chiming has never kept me awake. You become accustomed to the sound. Your brain tunes out.

I do hope church leaders can resolve the problem swiftly.

The arrival of Spring

There are rooks flapping overhead, twigs in their beaks and heading for nest-building central.

A pair of male blackbirds are sparring vigorously, spiralling in an upward and downward dance which goes unnoticed by drivers on their way to work and children who are late for school.

The daffodils and narcissi proclaim ‘we are here‘ and the tulips emerge from the soil, ready for their chance to shine further down the line.

In Lush Places, someone has mended the church clock. It’s been stuck at the same time for ages and its chiming of the hour has been a thing of the past.

But then, on Sunday morning, I passed by just as it struck nine o’clock. It was if I’d suddenly been hurled into the present, the bell an aural reminder of the arrival of Spring.

After a sunny day here yesterday, with garden clearing a priority before the waste bin is collected this morning, the weather has turned grey and dismal. A meh sort of day.

But still the blackbird sings his joyful and mellow song, ostensibly to impress potential lady friends but, in our world, causing us to stop, close our eyes and soak up the sounds of nature.

In the garden, the hellebores are doing their thing, which is truly wondrous.

The rain it do raineth

It’s a dismal day here yet again, with grey skies and intermittent rain.

The water gathers in big puddles at the side of the road. If you’re walking along the pavements, you have to be aware of the traffic, otherwise you’ll end up soaked.

There is a particular spot where the road narrows at a pinch point, which is intended to slow down the traffic. If you don’t walk past it pretty sharpish, you can be guaranteed a car will come zooming by and splash you to smithereens.

In the mornings and evenings, many of the motorists on their way to and from work – and also, surprisingly, school – tend to ignore the 20mph speed limit and belt by at 30 and 4omph.

It’s a terrible advert for some of the builders, plumbers and electricians who shoot by in their liveried vans. Still, they obviously have plenty of work on and don’t need business from village folk.

Anyway, enough complaining. It’s World Book Day on Thursday, 7 March and I’m looking forward to my morning walk coinciding with the children all dressed up as book characters and making their way to school.

A few years ago I encountered Roald Dahl’s Mr Twit followed closely down the road by Dr Seuss’s Cat in the Hat.

I wonder what lies in store for us this coming Thursday?

I’ll get my coat…

It’s a rare day today, the 29th of February.

And what’s it like out there, on that day that comes round only once every four years?

It’s a day full of rain, that’s what.

Yet still teenage boys run to the school bus without coats, getting soaked before they even reach their classes. What is it with kids and coats? At what age do they decide that wearing a coat to keep them warm and dry is for idiots? And why?

I’ve never understood it.

Turning up waistbands to make your school skirt appear shorter or smuggling platforms to change into on the bus, to replace the trusty Clarks specials your mum insisted you have when you were thirteen, well, I totally get that.

But coats? What ever did a coat do to upset a teenager?

I’ve always loved outerwear – hats, jackets, coats and shoes – far more than any other type of clothing.

My current favourite is a hot pink, fake fur coat that I madly bought after seeing it in a shop window in the rather swanky Dorset town of Sherborne. I justified the price tag after receiving an unexpected pay bonus for a job well done.

There’s something about bright colours that warm the soul, especially on dark winter days. Although the hot pink coat has to stay in the wardrobe in this weather, which sounds like a cue for my bright blue raincoat to emerge or the spotty one I got from Vinted for a fiver.

So happy 29th of February to you all. And, to paraphrase the poet Brian Bilston, here’s to making the most of this and each and every day.