Random jottings from a week in Northumberland on sabbatical

 Our cottage had a rare week free of bookings, and I had some reading to do, so I decided to take my books to Northumberland and work in more inspiring surroundings. Benji the BMW had not been to Scotland before -at least not since I'd owned him, so a late afternoon walk in the Lammermuirs was called for using a book of walks we have just acquired. This was a short out and back to a Broch. Nice to sharpen your appetite for dinner.

 Over the rickety rackety bridge, keeping very quiet as I understand Scottish Trolls are particularly aggressive at this time of year.

 Safe from Trolls, but the Scottish midges more than made up for it. This river is Whiteadder, I believe, pretty well dried up but still picteresque

 A steady climb by the side of the river watching the threatening rainclouds fast approaching

 The pictures, as is often the case, don't really do justice to the beauty and serenity of the place

 The rain has arrived and I still have to climb that hill to find the Broch. Shame about the pylons and telegraph poles.

 This swing gate is, without doubt, the stingiest I have ever come across for allowing space for capacious stomachs like mine. I just managed to squeeze through without giving myself a hernia. Good job I went before dinner.

 The top of the hill approaches

The Broch! What is a Broch? I hear you cry. Well, it seems no-one is quite sure, except that it was somewhere possibly to live, or a fortification, or something.......

 This one (if you don't want to blow up the picture and read about it) is unusual because they are a rarity in the southern part of Scotland, usually being found in the Highlands, Northern and Western Isles. The theory was that someone migrated to the Lammermuirs from further north and built one.
I wondered if he was just on holiday, and the beach was a bit far to go so he built this instead of a sandcastle. No-one so far in academic circles has given this suggestion the credibility it undoubtedly deserves. 

 They are impressive - not so much from this distance, it just looks like a stone sheepfold...

 But when you get close up you see an inner and outer wall and lots of rooms like this one. Just enough room for a double bed, I think.

 Now who lives in a house like that? It's actually a retreat house of some kind. I drove round to see it and was accosted by a shirty Englishman who asked me what I was doing on the public road leading to it. I pointed to my tax disc; he said something vaguely unpleasant in a posh Surrey accent. I nearly told him that if I wanted some sort of a retreat and he was running a house it would be the last place I would go. Fancy - living your life somewhere like this and still being miserable.

Proof positive that I was in Scotland

Seen better days, but a lovely old rowing boat

 One last glance at Whiteadder Water before going home for dinner

 And of course I went to Lindisfarne and took some photos entirely identical to hundreds I have already taken. I apologise not!

 Harbour beach at low tide. I was having this conversation with God - I think he was listening, actually I'm pretty sure of that, but was he directing my thoughts? Anyway I got to thinking about faith, and whether it is a bit like having a boat. The boat you need is the one that does the job you need it for. For instance, there would be no point trying to use a cross-channel passenger and vehicle ferry to land at Lindisfarne harbour. It's too cumbersome, insufficiently agile and - well just inappropriate. But if you were setting out from here to cross the North Sea to whatever it is you hit if you go East (Germany, Denmark, Sweden or Norway I think, depending on how straight your line is) you would need something tough, robust and dependable.

 But if you just wanted to sail around the Farne Islands then a smallish dinghy would probably do the job, unless the seas were rough. Anyway I kept extending the analogy and decided it probably worked on a fair number of levels.So I had a jolly good look at the boats in the harbour and decided which one best matched me.

 Then I thought about the people who have dragged their boats in, turned them upside down and taken shelter in them from anything that threatens them. Safe from storms they might be, but they ain't going anywhere. Of course it's fine for fishermen to do this, and the upturned boats on Holy Island are one of its most iconic and endearing features.

 I made a fantastic discovery; I have been researching the history of the Primitive Methodists and one or two fascinating groups like the Magic Methodists of Delamere Forest, who I would have loved to have met. They were into things like trances and lying down in a stupor for hours on end. That's often how church makes me feel if the sermon is boring. Anyway I found that Berwick records office has a whole load of records on the Primitives Methodists in the area, and that there was a circuit based in Lowick, just a short distance from our house. Tragically Lowick Methodist has now been sold as a residence, but I really enjoyed dipping my toes in the water of the immaculate records they kept. This is a view from the walls that once used to guard Berwick. Well worth walking around if you are in the area.

 Berwick new bridge with haar coming in to obscure it.

 A better view from a little corner of the town I hadn't discovered before

 And a final walk round Lindisfarne. I love this kind of view - could have stayed for hours. Actually I think I did.

Took this one on a walk round the island, and you really can't see from the picture, but it was two ladies who were quite clearly together sharing an afternoon out. But they were both talking 19 to the dozen on their mobiles, clearly oblivious to each other and the wonderful beauty all around. I wanted to go and shake them and take the batteries out of their 'phones. I thought better of it.
Three weeks of sabbatical to go.

Quiet week away

 

One of the most amazing treats on my sabbatical so far was a week when our cottage was empty so I headed up to Northumberland on Benji (My BMW R1100 RT) for a week of reading, talking to God, reflecting with the odd bit of gratuitous hedonism thrown in. This is a fantastic time of year in our village - our neighbour looks after our garden so well, and this is the trellis on the patio with whatever it is in full flower.

 I don't really do gardening, so don't know the names of many flowers, but I guess someone will put me right.

I love this old toilet that looks fantastic with flowers growing out of it..

 I say I don't do gardening, but I do like seeing the garden looking so nice. I sometimes wonder whether gardening has no appeal because until recently we have never had our own house so I haven't had much of an incentive. The plan is that one day we will live here all the time (Yippeeeeee) and then I might have some motivation to look after the garden.

 This (in case you don't know) is St. Cuthbert's island, about a 6-iron from the shore of Lindisfarne, with the church of St. Mary and the old priory in the background. St. Cuthbert, who was in charge of all the monks, used to come here to pray to get away from them - especially when they were quarrelsome. I took this picture to imagine the view he would have had from his little chapel back to Lindisfarne. Not that the church or the priory would have been there in those days - they are much more recent. This is also my favourite spot to be in the whole of the UK - with the possible exception of Villa Park when  my team are doing well (rather rare these days.) 

 

It was such a glorious week for weather that  even the views that are normally just really nice were beautiful. This is the view looking out towards the sea from the old bridge over the Tweed going into Berwick. It was so tranquil I could have just stayed there for hours drinking it in.

Then the other side of the coin - in more senses than one, and a sign of the times. One of these has taken root in Berwick and it makes me sad and cross. I hate the idea of people running these places making money from people who are so desperate they will sell their jewellery and other valuables. I know they're just providing a service that some folk want, but it still makes me angry. Hoping it closes down and reopens as a Ramsden's fish & chip shop.

End of sermon and back to the village - another ordinary view of the place we call home made to look extraordinary by the Spring feel and the warm sunshine

 Reports had reached us that "Woolly Bulls" (Highland Cattle or Muckle Coos) had come to our village so I went to investigate. Mrs. L. has a real fixation with these cute beasts, and I wind her up by saying it's not a real Woolly Bull if you don't see it in Scotland. I make an exception in the case of the village as it's only a few miles from the border.

 And whilst the adults are of course gorgeous the baby was irresistible. I mean - how could you even contemplate eating one of these?

 

Mom made sure she was close enough to look after junior just in case I decided to try anything

 

This beauty knew she was cute and was clearly used to posing for the camera

My favourite walk from our cottage, and the bench where I pause before the final walk down the track to go home. Perhaps one day when I am only a fond memory in the minds of those who have loved me they will put a little brass plaque on a bench on this site in my honour.

Bank Holiday break from 19th century nonconformity

Three full days to enjoy the company of my wonderful wife and some glorious weather. Well two actually because Saturday in the summer involves wearing whit(ish) flannels and chasing a little red ball around a field after people hit it with a piece of willow. I'm not very good at cricket, but they let me play and we have rather a good team this season - undefeated so far and this week involved another comprehensive if not slightly embarrassing win.
Sunday dawned bright and sunny, so ignoring our puritanical instincts to attend a place of worship we went to Wicken Fen instead.

 






This is a gorgeous piece of traditional undrained fenland in Cambredgeshire owned by the National Trust and boasting some amazing wildlife as well as relaxing places to walk and eat yet another of Mrs. L's fantastic packed lunches.
There were lots of butterflies (we are both into butterflies - me in quite a big way) but they hadn't read the signs as most of them were to be found elsewhere than on the butterfly walk
 

 This is a Brimstone for the uninitiated - it is designed - or has evolved, depending on your belief system to look like a leaf when at rest, but bright yellow (the males especially) in flight.
We also saw a lot of damselflies but they were all mating so it seemed a bit intrusive to take pictures - not that they seemed to mind being on public display.

 OK - Mrs. L and I have a thing about canals, and no Bank Holiday weekend would be complete without at least a casual visit to see some narrowboats. We've never owned one, used one, taken one through a lock, slept on one or driven one (or whatever it is you do to move the things) but we have a bit of a mutual fascination with the things.

 We thought we'd go and look at the boats moored on the Leicester Branch canal for the Crick Boat Show - being too stingy to pay to go in this year. What better than a walk down the towpath to Crick from the other end of the mile long Crick tunnel. OK we can't walk through the tunnel, but there must surely be a path over the top and into Crick
Frustratingly not - there must have been once because when the canals were cut the barges were all drawn by horses, which had to be led to the other end of the tunnel by land while the owners of boats "legged it" through, i.e. used their feet against the walls of the tunnel to propel the boat through.

 

But wherever it was it isn't there now, so we drove to the other end of the tunnel...

 ... in time to surprise some boat owners who we had already watched enter the tunnel at the other end.

 Duckling season - this mother had an entire cricket or football team of offspring, but as I said to Mrs. L. they will all be off her hands in a few months.

 Just couldn't resist the temptation to keep saying "The only gay in the village."

A wonderful couple of days, topped off by the fantastic news that our youngest son had proposed to his girlfriend who has agreed to marry him. So happy - they are so right for each other.

Now to return to the seemingly anal retentive nonconformists of the 19th century.

Froom Prim to proper

Had a wonderful two days at the Primitive Methodist Museum in Englesea Brook near Crewe, discovering the story of the Prims. An amazing story of how a movement started, and of what seems to happen to all new religious movements when they attain some kind of respectability and become part of the establishment. So many thanks to Jill (very clever and the source of an amazing amount of information) and Margaret (for just being really nice and welcoming and making me feel at home - and for the cake.)

An early Prim pulpit - maybe the first - a converted kitchen chest of drawers with a shelf added for a Bible and a preacher to peer over. They began in the open air and in homes / kitchens and parlours.

Then they moved on to the "mahogany" stage - building chapels, becoming more affluent, respectable, refined, educated, clever, sophisticated and eventually wound up reuniting with the Wesleyans from whom they had split some 120 years earlier. So they had become less Prim and more Proper.

Fascinating story behind this grave in the chapel. The theory is that there was a new vicar at the parish church who decided he wouldn't allow the Prims to be buried in his churchyard, so when one died they had to decide where to put him and could only think of under the chapel in the cellar. Then they bought some land and made a graveyard before the next one died. Only a theory but very attractive.

This wonderful quilt was made to present to the Countess of Carlisle to express appreciation for her patronage of the Temperance movement - a really big thing for Prims. Thought the ladies might appreciate this.

Came back with copious notes and a shelf full of food for thought

Sabbatical start

The blogging must get under way, my wife (who in deference to her nomenclature for me I shall call Mrs.L) is so good at it - see nicemurderknitter@blogspot.
Nearly 6 years into my current job - mainly being the minister of a Baptist cum Methodist church in Leicester and also a university chaplain and various other bits and pieces, none particularly important.
I started this job after a two year break from being a cleric when I drove a taxi to recover from the rather vicious beating I had experienced at my former post. Not a literal beating, you understand, just the slow torture of character assassination, undermining of credibility, endless passive aggression and a final coup de grace when the opportunity arose - or I should say was manufactured by some amazingly clever conspirators who would have been so wonderful had they put their time and energy into something useful.
I love my current church to bits - they are wonderful, and the last 6 years have flown by.
Now I am due a three month break from church duties and I have so much to get done in that time.
Yesterday I spent writing; I want to relate the story of my time in a private hire cab in West Yorkshire, because it was such an interesting and rewarding period in my life. I began writing when I stopped driving, so it has been coming along in dribs and drabs for 6 years. Yesterday I was very proud of myself - 4,000 words and now through the 70,000 word barrier.
I am planning a bit more today, then I am off to visit a church in Manchester where they work with people from deprived backgrounds - something I want to explore is communicating faith to people who have low literacy skills and little education (not that it will help much in my current church where half the congregation seem to have PhD's or other doctorates!) Then to the Primitive Methodist museum and library in Engleseabrook for a couple of days because I want to look at what may have been an authentic working class movement of the 19th century to see how they went about reaching people today's churches are so pants at connecting with. 

A different weekend. Changed the fork oil seals on Bertie the BMW - much easier than I was led to expect by my local expert, but idscovered a stripped thread on a brake caliper, so will need to replace that. Difficult Sunday morning telling my little congregation I had decided to finish there in August. Evening was first event at Costa Coffee. Great fun, but not sure if it will be viable long term. We need to buy enough off them to justify them opening extra hours, but not sure we can get enough people into the bit of the shop we use to make that happen. But terrific fun, and great to see youngsters from church taking a lead so us old fogies can sit back and not look too out of place with our mops of grey.
Mind you one lady who came was nearly 90, with more life about her than many teenagers I know.

Jubilee weekend

I love it when invitations to do things come out of nowhere. Saturday we were at a wedding at Rutland Water; I knew the bride when she was an adolescent in church youth club, and they asked me to do a wedding blessing. Great to do soemthing vaguely spiritual with a whole load of people who don't go to church.
Sunday was also interesting - preaching in a parish church for the jubilee service, not before taking some flak that I wasn't preaching at my own church on such an auspicious occasion. I began my sermon to the Anglican folk by pointing out that for most of the first 100 years of Baptist church life (the tribe I belong to) a succession of monarchs supported by the established church did their best to wipe us out. But I graciously forgave them.
Then a community lunch - we invited the neighbours - and served over 100 lunches to people, and the church bought a tv licence so we could show the river pageant on the big screen in church. This was a great success. Sunday evening back to preach on "work" and listen to my erstwhile shy as a mouse wife talk with great confidence about her work helping people stop smoking. So proud of her.
Yesterday off work!!! (more or less) and to Crick boat show where we managed to resist putting an offer in on a delightful little narrowboat we fell in love with.

Another day off today - to a National Trust property or should I replace the oil seals on my BMW K75 forks before any more oil seeps down onto the brake discs?