Critical Mass Legal!

Just found out via the Cyclist's Touring Club's e-newsletter that the law lords have stated that Critical Mass can go ahead without notifying police - see this report. And I see that it's an old acquaintance of mine, Des Kay, who has been at the sharp end of what seems to have been a protracted legal battle to prove that it is legal for people to cycle on the roads. I shall have to take part in Nottingham's Critical Mass now! Looking at those photos of October's meet, I'm sorry I chickened out.

Erbazzone

So, what do I cook for tea? I've lots of chard and cabbage from my volunteering job, there's the odd egg left in the fridge... not looking very exciting... but Antonio to the rescue! 'Erbazzone' is a 'swiss chard tortino', a sort of omelette with lots of chard, breadcrumbs and nutmeg in it. Very tasty.


You'll have to refer to the book in the background - 'Antonio Carluccio's Vegetables' - if you want the recipes. I wouldn't want to infringe the lovely cuddly Antonio's copyright.

And, yes, there is a LOT of cabbage on the plate - I LOVE cabbage!

Road closed

Ulrome, East Yorkshire

More about my East Coast/North Sea cycle ride. A major motivation for starting this trip (assuming that it continues through Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, and on the Belgium, the Netherlands and beyond...) is that it's a bit of a case of 'last chance to see'. The sea is rising - that's a fact. Large chunks of England are disappearing into it - also a fact. I wanted to find out what impact that was having on the local environment and the local people. Not a 'fact-finding' investigative journalism type thing, just I'm really concerned about climate change and what it's going to do to us.

In the event I was surprised how much coastal erosion came up in conversations, only slightly steered by me. A chatty ranger at the WatersEdge visitor centre at Barton-on-Humber 'got serious' and told me about the sea level rise and that a nature reserve along the estuary had recently nearly been lost. A dog-walker at Donna Nook in Lincolnshire told me all about the local anger at possibly losing some of their fields to make salt-marsh to replace some lost because of the work to save Hull from going underwater. In Tunstall I talked to a woman who explained why Holderness seemed so unspoilt: nobody wanted to build if there was no guarantee that the houses would still be there in 100 years. She saw it as a blessing as well as a curse: it kept the village one of traditional farming families.

If you look at the East Coast, you can see that the Holderness coast (from Flamborough Head to Spurn Head) is scooped, whilst the Lincolnshire coast is bulging. That's very simply because the way the sea moves means that the Holderness coast is washed down and lands on Lincolnshire.

It's a complicated area, and there are not the easy answers that some people hope for. The old-fashioned groynes are not being replaced, not just because of money. They didn't work, or if they did locally, somewhere down the coast suffered. Below are some of the photos I took of the most striking impacts of the dynamic coast. They are shown south to north, following my route in some lovely weather in late September.

Below: Easington Beach. The ruined structures out in the sea are World War II defences. Given that they were built about 65 years ago, this demonstrates well how fast the erosion is.

South of Withernsea: you can see the town's lighthouse in the background. The cliff are low, soft clay and the eroded gouges are obvious. The rough grassland in the foreground was prime farmland until a few years ago. Behind me was a row of houses, their sea view closer each year. A team of surveyors were setting up equipment to assess the situation.

This was until a couple of years ago a coastal road, a useful short-cut for residents of Tunstall. A storm undermined the road and the surfacing was removed in case it fell onto people on the beach below. A villager assured me that it was still safe to use: I pushed my bike very carefully as far away from the edge as I could!

Another destroyed coastal lane, this time at Ulrome. In one day's cycle ride I found three such lanes which were on my (new) map but no longer on the Holderness coast. Here I talked to a family who came here regularly. Even they were shocked by how much of the road had gone since their last visit - three months ago.

Below is looking the other way. The owners of the gardens had to have notices asking people not to walk through them. They will have much more to worry about soon: these gardens cannot last much longer, and some people may have to pay to heve their houses deolished before they fall into the sea, to prevent the sort of sight as above.

Below is at what should have been the other end of the Ulrome road. I get the impression that these works are being done by the caravan site owner, for obvious reasons, but I would not fancy staying here.

Gargoyles, Grimacers and Green Men

I've been interested in church architecture and sculpture for years. I also like the atmosphere and history embedded in what are often the oldest buildings in a settlement. I've visited churches all over Western Europe, and I've become particularly interested in the apparently pagan images which are found throughout. Probably the most famous is the 'Green Man', which is a modern term for a range of images which we (apparently) know very little about. I'm not a student of history and I've not had access to academic papers, and much popular writing about Green Men appears to be conjecture and imagination. We seem to know little about what the actual creators and observers of these images really thought about them. I'd like to look into this area in more depth, but I feel that this may become a 'retirement project' (if I ever get to retire)! So below you'll find just as much conjecture from me.

The following are some of the images which I saw in churches in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire on my recent cycle rides. They are described from North to South.

Filey, St. Oswald. This pair of 'mouth-pullers' were probably moved to this corner of the church at some point, as they are actually corbels which would originally have been where the roof and wall of the nave met. I used to visit this church a lot when I spent holidays at Filey as a child: we never noticed these faces! We were more interested in the gravestones.

Patrington, St. Patrick. An amazing church, with such a high spire that it was used by sailors to navigate safely round the hazards of the Humber. Here the gargoyle is being helped to eject water... Gargoyles ( it cames from Old French gargouille, or 'throat') had the specific job of shooting rainwater away from the church wall.

Barton-on Humber, St. Peter. As well as lovely carved capitals (which are between the tops of pillars and the arches above) this church has a rare Saxon tower and is a fascinating museum of archaeology.

Marshchapel, St. Mary. Not all church carvings are grotesque: particularly in the late middle ages realistic figures appear too. This woman appears to be taking her task of supporting the roof with equanimity.

Middle Rasen St. Peter. A rather fierce ram. I've seen several rams on older, Norman corbels: I don't think they have any relation to the 'lamb of God'.

Freiston, St. James. There's something not quite right about this monster - it's not actually holding anything up. Pevsner describes how the church, which was part of an abbey, was renovated in Victorian times, and the corbel stones were made redundant.

Boston, St. Botolph. A classic Green Man, with a typically ambiguous expression. It's just to the right of the main door, and was a shelf on which a statue of a saint would have stood. This location is often occupied by demons, as if the saint is standing on and crushing them.

Gosberton, St. Peter and St. Paul. This is one of the most terrifying carvings I have seen in an English church.

Walpole St. Peter. A huge and fascinating church with much carving. This one appears intriguingly oriental. Many people who are interested in Green Men see a link with oriental images such as the Kirti-Mukha. I wonder if here there is a connection with Chinese Lions?

More to follow.

Labels

When I was on teaching practice last year, I had a pot of plant labels for each of my Year 8 classes. Each label had a pupil's name on it, and the 'level' they were at. When I was doing the summing up at the end of the lesson - or the 'plenary' as it is known - I could pick pupils at random out of the pot and ask a question suitable to their level.

Now I am planting seeds hoping that I can have salads over the winter. I cleaned the permanent OHP ink off the plant labels with meths a few weeks ago. The names are still very faintly visible. Amy, who talked back at the slightest excuse, is now Perpetual Spinach. I remember well her slightly accusatory stare when I asked her for the umpteenth time to be quiet. Joe is now Chinese Cabbage. Far from it, with a level of 5.2 without even trying... I do, strangely, miss them.

Recipe: Sausage, Bean and Apple Casserole

I really love cooking! During my all-too-short Ryton stint I enjoyed finding/inventing recipes for the weird vegetables on the 'staff table'. During teacher training I unwound after a day at school by cooking dinner. So I've decided to share the occasional recipe which I feel has gone particularly well. These will be 'all my own work' unless I say otherwise.

This is a quick 'storecupboard' recipe. It fed two moderate eaters for two meals.


1 onion
1 tin chopped tomatoes
1 large cooking apple (e.g., Bramley)
1 pack veggie sausages - I like Cauldron ones more than Linda Mccartneys. (Piggy sausages would do just as well - about 1/2 pound)
1 tin Haricot beans
Dried or fresh thyme
Olive oil

Chop and gently fry the onion for a few minutes till transparent, and at the same time grill the sausages as per the packet instructions. Pop a few pinches of thyme in for a minute - apparently the hot oil helps to release the essential oils in the leaves. Add the tomatoes. Peel and chop the apple into chunks and put in with the onion and tomato. Cut the sausages into thick slices and add too. Cook for 5 or 10 minutes, and add the drained beans a few minutes before serving.

Where sea and sky and Lincolnshire meet...

My original aim of spending September cycling from Filey to Felixtowe had already been dashed (see below) partly by disorganisation, partly by having to return to Nottingham for a few days, and partly and most nicely because I kept finding too many interesting places and people. And this in one of the least-exulted of counties. Perhaps I should be keeping it to myself.

I headed back to the land of big fields and bigger skies, surrounding the biggest estuary: The Wash. (The title of this post is a paraphrase of a line from 'The Whitsun Weddings' by Philip Larkin, actually about Hull and north Lincolnshire). The idea was to continue where I left off in Boston, and wend my way through the coastal Fens, visiting nature reserves, and into Norfolk as far as Snettisham. Then back further inland, where there are many fine medieval churches. This meant that so I could at least say I'd done The Wash, leaving the rest of Norfolk and Suffolk and Essex for another trip, at an unspecified date.

So I caught a train to Spalding. Reason - this was where I wanted to finish off, so it'd save time at the end of the trip. I cycled to Boston, to stay overnight in a semi-neglected campsite with cats, rabbits and birds roaming freely. An early start next morning, as I'd been urged to re-visit Freiston Shore at this week's spring tide. I was at the reserve by 7am, and I wasn't the first. Just as well - three very experienced local birdwatchers kindly let me tag along with them and told me what was what. I did spot a Black-tailed Godwit all on my own though - learning!

One reason I was interested in this place was that it has a good example of 'managed realignment' where the sea had been allowed to reclaim land which had had a brief spell as arable fields. The full story is here .

Freiston Shore managed realignment: low tide

Freiston Shore managed realignment: Spring tide. You can see in the background the old sea wall with nicks in it where the sea comes in.


Although I knew what it'd look like, it was still a bit of a shock to see how much land the sea coverd at high tide. Back at Donna Nook, I'd heard local consternation about managed retreat plans, and the feeling that they were losing land to save Hull. I was struck by the way that rising sea levels were talked about, and the role of global warming: being on the climate change front line in England.

The Fens are an area of great contrast: you can feel you are miles from anywhere, with wildlife wheeling about your head, but just down the road vast amounts of veg are being packed into trailers for lorries to dispatch round the country. As well as the odour of cabbage, it was also obvious that the cabbage-pickers had started work before I got up for my birdwatching jaunt, and as I was settling down in a very pleasant campsite at Gedney, warm and full and ready to doze off listening to Radio 4 podcasts, the sounds of farm machinery was still present to help to lull me to sleep.

Greater industry was expected of the Fens: the two lighthouses below were built as a gateway in the River Nene. However this time the wildlife has apparently won out: instead of heralding the development of a new industrial hub at Sutton Bridge, the left-hand lighthouse was the home of the wildfowler then naturalist Sir Peter Scott for many years. It's now the start of the Sir Peter Scott Trail (nice article from The Torygraph).

Sutton Bridge does have a small but busy port, and some rather sinister industrial buildings, but it is an unavoidable pinch-point on a route through the Fens. Away from the noise of the A17 it was more pleasant, and had a cafe serving a fine cuppa and cake. These things matter: one good reason for cycling is the amount of food it allows one to eat, and if one is foiled in that, one is not only disappointed, but decreasingly able to cycle too!

Rather too many straight roads later, I got to King's Lynn, and to a campsite which should have been nice, but which was right next to an A road. After being woken at 5am (earplugs already in!) I changed my plans. No Snettisham, as that would mean another night here, and this trip wasn't meant to be an endurance test, it was a holiday, well, sort of. But a more leisurely ride through the inland Fens, and more time to look at the fine old churches there. And SURELY by turning round I'd have the wind behind me!

The powerful role of the church in the Fens is shown by the village place-names. I'd already been to Terrington St Clement, and over the next couple of days I also visited Wiggenhall St. Peter, Wiggenhall St. Mary the Virgin, and Wiggenhall St. Mary Magdalen, then Walpole St. Peter and Walpole St. Andrew. There were also the churches of Long Sutton, Whaplode, Weston, and Moulton. (For photos visit my Flickr site). That's if I've loaded them up yet!

My last day before I was due to return to Nottingham was supposed to be a half-day cycling, a wander round Spalding, and an early afternoon train home. But the weather had been improving daily, and now the sun shone, and the wind had dropped, and the cycling was blissful. I looked at the map, saw the tempting-sounding Croyland Abbey, and headed south for 10 miles.

It's a stunning sight, honey-coloured stone drinking in the afternoon sun, the fragments of what must once have been a wealthy abbey, but which started as a lonely place for the hermit Guthlac to live.

Crowland, the village created around the abbey, (not a typo!) also has a unique three-cornered bridge, and one of the priciest tea-shops I've seen in a long time. Fortunately I noticed that there was a fundraising 'do' at the Methodist Church, and had a nice cuppa and a delicious slice of carrot cake for a jolly reasonable amount, and got to meet some locals too.

By then it was mid afternoon, and I was still 10 miles from Spalding. Better get a move on. But the cycle ride on a lane next to the River Wellney was lovely, and it was such a nice day, that it was 5.15 by the time I got to the Railway station and looked at the timetable for the next train. The last train had gone at 4.45. Bugger! What now? The only trains running were to Grantham, where I could get home, but it'd cost lots extra. There weren't any campsites around to stay in. I could cycle to Sleaford, where I was supposed to change trains, but it was a nasty route of about 25 miles with unavoidable A roads. The answer was to cycle - to Boston! About 20 miles, I'd already done the route, and I knew that trains ran all evening from there. Just a shame I hadn't just got a return ticket to there in the first place! I'd already done about 40 miles that day, but the sense of urgency lent energy to my legs, and I sped along, the sun setting to my left.

Two hours later I was at Boston railway station drinking tea and eating up all my leftover emergency rations, with a train due in 20 minutes. Best of all, the guard was so impressed by my story that he let me off the extra fare between Boston and Sleaford. A real professional!