St Judes Day

The great storm named after St Jude, the Patron Saint of lost causes, has come and gone and we got off pretty lightly all things considered. All the predictions from the Met office, BBC weather etc were likening it to the Hurricane of 1987 which caused wide spread devastation here in the South East of England.

Unlike 1987 however, this time we had plenty of warning so were able to take some suitable precautions. Likewise the Police, Fire Brigade and Council's Emergency Planning Departments had emergency crews on standby to clear away felled trees and other debris. From what I saw personally in my area, they did a fantastic job and deserve a well earned pat on the back.

Yesterday the weather throughout the day was wet and blustery with gusting winds, however by evening time it all became quiet; literally the calm before the storm. During the night St Jude made landfall in Cornwall and Wales and began to track Eastwards through the Midlands and East Anglia. We in the South of England were in the South West quadrant of the depression where the winds are always strongest.

As the hurricane force winds passed over my house they emitted a haunting low frequency moaning howl that was constantly being  interrupted by a sound like a freight train rushing down the tracks. The noise was so loud that it kept waking me and I had to bury my head in the pillow in order to drown it out and get some sleep. Little dog didn't appear to have much trouble sleeping though, she was creating her own perfect storm under our bed with her snoring.

After dawn broke I went out side expecting to see a scene of devastation. Thankfully I was relieved to find that the worst of the storm had passed and the only damage that we had suffered were two smashed fence panels. Local radio news bulletins told of several roads blocked by fallen trees but these were quickly cleared by the emergency crews and life quickly returned to normal.

We got off extremely lightly, because driven by the jet stream, St Jude apparently picked up speed as it crossed the country, passing over us much more quickly than anticipated. At its height, some gusts were recorded at ninety nine mph on the Isle of Wight, but inland they were closer to sixty mph. The storm gradually lost most of its strength throughout the morning, although we still had some gusting winds and showers, by this afternoon however, the sun was shining brightly again.

This evening as I was preparing to leave work the sky took on a sickly colour and there were some ominous looking clouds forming over the coast. Thankfully so far everything is still and calm. Little dog is dozing next to me on the sofa and after posting this blog I'm thinking of joining her.

Calm before the Storm

We woke up to a morning of sudden squalls interspersed with sunny spells. If the weather forecast is to be believed this is definitely the calm before the looming storm. Apparently it will hit the South East of England sometime around 3:00 a.m. tomorrow morning and continue throughout the rush hour with winds gusting up to 80 mph causing widespread damage to trees and buildings. On the television news they are still comparing it with the Hurricane of 1987; at least this time the Council emergency planners are preparing for any eventuality. We are very lucky in this country that we don't get such seriously wild weather as this regularly, as they do in other parts of the world.

I've been baking bread this morning which I find to be very therapeutic, particularly the kneading and knocking back. It really relieves any stress if while you are pummelling and stretching the dough you imagine that it is somebody that really annoys you. The Home Secretary Theresa May has been getting a really good hiding today; a bit of pay back for what she and this Government have done to the finest Police service in the world (Sorry I've gone all political again. I must stop doing that).

While waiting for the bread to prove and during a lull in the squalls I took Little dog for another walk on the Forest. I wanted to take some more photographs of the autumn colours before all the leaves are blown away. It is very wet underfoot now thanks to all the rain that we have had over the past couple of weeks. The little streams which were barely a trickle a few weeks ago are now in full flood and the Forest is becoming very boggy in parts.

Little dog has got no interest in hanging around taking photographs she was having a party of her own. I looked down from my camera to see her licking water from a very small puddle that had formed on top of a cow pat. You wouldn't believe that she is a pedigree Spaniel and kennel club registered, with habits like that. She is always happiest when wading into the streams and stalking the herds of sheep.

I always keep her on an extended lead to prevent her from chasing the sheep and causing total mayhem amongst them, unlike somebody who I saw in the distance whose dog was off of the lead and worrying some sheep, luckily he managed to get hold of it before any injuries were caused. There are signs all over the Forest warning people about sheep worrying and keeping their dogs under control. But you still come across the odd idiot who lets their dog run free convincing themselves that they won't follow their natural instinct to hunt.

Anyway we're back home now having a refreshing cup of tea, the bread has been baked and looks and smells delicious. Outside the wind is still gusting and the rain continues to pour down. I'm watching a ghost story on the television (it must be getting close to Halloween) while Little dog is having lots of fun licking her bits and generally grooming herself. I told you that she is a pedigree!

Autumn on the Forest

We recently bought Little dog a coat to keep her warm and dry after she caught a bit of a chill during our long wet walk in the Downs a couple of weeks ago. Mrs C wanted to buy her a vibrant pink one, but as I take Little dog for most of her walks I refused to be seen with a dog mincing around in public in such an effeminate colour. Therefore we came to a compromise and bought her a purple coat, which is much more regal. Today that coat got it's maiden outing when Little dog and I went for a walk up on the Forest.

This is my favourite time of year, the long hot days of summer have been replaced by cooler weather. I love autumn, as the leaves on the trees begin to change colour to various shades of yellow and brown, the mornings are misty and the weather is wet and blustery. It has certainly been wet over the past couple of weeks and now it is becoming blustery. In fact according to the Met office there is a storm forming out in the Atlantic ocean that is due to hit England sometime tomorrow night and Monday morning. They are saying that it will be the worst storm to hit us for many years and are even comparing it to the great Hurricane of 1987 (I slept right through that one).

I thought that today would be a great day to visit the Forest to take some photographs of the autumnal colours. In the UK we don't get the bright reds that are seen in New England unfortunately, as we don't have the sugar maples that they have in the USA and Canada. Our trees are only just beginning to turn, what we need is a sharp frost to help them along. Apparently we will get this frost around about next Wednesday or Thursday, the problem is that if this storm is as damaging as predicted there won't be many leaves left on the trees.

Dressed in her new coat Little dog and I set off in pouring rain from Gills Lap car park. Our route took us into Wrens Warren with panoramic views northwards towards the Greensand Ridge and the North Downs in Kent. The Conservators of the Forest have introduced some Exmoor ponies to this valley as an experiment in grazing the bracken and gorse that quickly covers the heath if left unattended. They are fenced in behind an electric fence to stop them wondering off as they do on Exmoor and in the new Forest of Hampshire. It is really great to see them up here on the Forest, even though they bully the cattle and sheep.

This part of the Forest is 'Winnie the Pooh' country, the author A A Milne lived just north of here at Cotchford farm near Hartfield. The setting for the '100 aker' wood in his books was the Ashdown forest; Gills Lap is Galleons Lap and the Enchanted place, Eyores gloomy place is a swampy area in Wrens Warren and a couple of kilometres away is Pooh sticks bridge. A few weeks ago I was walking in this part of the Forest when I met an American woman and her children who asked me for directions to the North Pole. This seems a strange request on the face of it as normally an arctic explorer from the US would not take a detour via East Sussex. Luckily I knew that she was in fact looking for the North Pole which Christopher Robin, Pooh and gang launched an 'exposition' to find, so I was able to point her and her children in the right direction. They wandered off muttering to them selves something about how unusual it was to find an Australian citizen walking about the Ashdown Forest.

We crossed over the road and followed the hill up past Gills Lap view point and memorial to A A Milne and E H Shepard who illustrated the books so superbly. We passed by Kanga and Roo's sandy pit on the way. The nearest car park to this place is actually called 'Piglets' also as a dedication to the author. In fact all the car parks on the Forest have picturesque names such as Shadows, Smugglers, Roman road and King standing for example. Now safely back at home Little dog is sleeping soundly on the sofa (much more comfortable than her bed apparently) and I am about to go and batten down the hatches ready for tomorrows impending storm.

Big Boy's Toys

Yesterday evening I was sorting through some old photographs when I came across a few that were taken while I was in the Army. Some of them are blurred and none of them are particularly clear but that is because they were taken thirty years ago on an old 110 format camera. However looking at them now has brought back some really good memories of when I served in 51 Port Squadron, Royal Corps of Transport based at Marchwood Military Port near Southampton in Hampshire.

Ensign flown on all Army vessels and worn on our uniform sleeves.

Mexeflote raft, Marchwood Military Port 1982.


I loved my trade, I was a Seaman working as part of a crew operating Ramp Powered Lighters (RPLs), Work boats, harbour launches and what I think is the best bit of kit in the world, the Mexeflote raft. Our primary job at the port was to perform a lighterage role, that is we transferred ammunition and other stores to and from Royal Fleet Auxiliary ships and larger Army vessels that were moored in Southampton water.

Mexeflote raft unloading ammunition from HMAV St George, Southampton Water.

Off loading ammunition from HMAV St George, Marchwood Military port 1982.


During my time with the Squadron I was fortunate enough to serve a tour of duty in Belize in Central America, where the Army was assisting the Belize Defence Force in keeping the countries borders safe from threat of attack from neighbouring Guatemala. Belize is only about the size of Wales but the southern half of the country is covered in primary jungle making it difficult to travel  by road. We therefore transported all the necessary supplies to the bases in the south by sea. While the Infantry spent their time up to their eyeballs in snakes and mossies in the Bondu (Jungle), we cruised up and down the coast topping up our tans (Not a bad way to make a living).

RFA Landing Ship Logistic Sir Bedevere and RPL, Belize 1981.

Two RPLs in Belize 1981.


Although I enjoyed everything that I did in the Squadron I particularly enjoyed my time in Mexe Troop working on the 125 foot rafts. The Mexeflote is like a giant floating Meccano set for big boys, there is nothing delicate about it, every part of it is heavy and solid and the tools we used to construct it were large crowbars and sledge hammers. The main components of the rafts were three different types of floating pontoon, bow sections with hydraulic ramps, mid sections and stern sections. These various sections could be joined together in different formats to make floating jetties, bridges, landing pads etc. However they were normally joined together to make a standard 125 foot raft which was fitted with large out board motors and could carry the weight of a main battle tank.

RFA Landing Ship Logistic taken from a Mexeflote raft in North Norway 1982.

Mexeflote raft, Norway, I am standing on the ramp lower right.


The rafts could be broken down into their component parts and transported by air, sea or land to any theatre of operations in the world, where the pontoons could be craned into the water and reformed. However the usual way of transporting the rafts though was to side lift them onto one of the RFA Landing Ship Logistics. An LSL could carry two rafts, one on each side of its hull, with all the ancillary equipment carried on its upper deck.

In March and April 1982 I was lucky enough to be part of a Mexe crew taking part in a NATO exercise in Northern Norway approximately 200 kilometres above the arctic circle. After undergoing a basic arctic survival course near Trondheim, we spent a couple of weeks operating a raft as a ferry across one of the Fjords. The temperature was about 30 degrees below zero taking account of windchill as I recall, luckily we had excellent kit to keep us warm. On one particularly memorable night, I was extremely fortunate to witness one of the most fantastic sights in my life, the darkness was suddenly illuminated by the shimmering green and red curtains of the Northern lights high above the mountains.

This is me during my basic Arctic survival course, it was -37 degrees C on top of this hill.

Over the years my mind has blanked out the bullsh*t and boring bits of serving in the Armed forces and now looking at these photographs I remember those days with a sense of pride and fondness (That sounds a bit twee I know, but they were great days).

A Pagan Ceremony

A few weeks ago I posted about a wedding that we were invited to at the little Norman church in the lost village of Dode. After the civil ceremony in the church the now married couple took part in a pagan celebration called a Handfasting. I had never heard of this ritual before but Mrs C who reads a lot of Mills and Boon romance novels turned out to be a bit of an expert on the subject. Apparently  handfasting goes back to Celtic times before the Romans paid us a visit and slaughtered all the Druids. The tradition carried on however and was still held as being a lawful form of marriage in Scotland until 1939.

Originally a handfasting was held to bind the couple together for the period of one year and one day as a kind of engagement or trial marriage to see if they could get along together. After this time had elapsed they would either decide to call it a day and go their separate ways or return to the sacred site to be handfasted together for life. This period of a year and a day appears to be symbolic in British law as it is also recognised in cases of murder. If the victim is assaulted and dies within this time then the assailant can be charged with their murder (I'm sure that there is no connection here).

The hand fasting ceremony is usually held out side preferably at a place of great religious significance to the Celts such as a sacred grove of trees or a stone circle. There is a stone circle at Dode which looks similar to ancient ones but is in fact only a few years old. However the stones were carefully selected from a local quarry, each was given a mystical name and the circle was laid down and blessed in a pagan ritual. Although the stones look shiny and new at the moment, after a few more years of weathering they will look as though they have been part of the landscape since the iron age (this should cause some confusion to archaeologists in the future).

Prior to the commencement of the celebration all the wedding guests formed a large circle around the Bride and Groom within the confines of the stones. A circle is a very significant symbol in the ceremony as it represents eternity, a sign that life, love and happiness have no beginning and no end. Two men from the congregation were chosen to protect the circle, in ancient times they would have probably been warriors but our chosen ones looked more like civil servants or computer geeks (Luckily our circle wasn't under any kind of threat). They were both given ceremonial daggers and patrolled around the circle opposite each other keeping  all within safe throughout the handfasting.

The ceremony then began with the priest calling on the guardians of the four Cardinal points of the compass representing the four elements, to bless the couple and congregation starting with the East, as this is the direction from which the sun rises. The four elements are East (Fire), South (Air), West (Water) and North (Earth). The couple then clasped hands and the priest asked them a series of questions, as they answered each one he looped a cord around their hands eventually tying it off in a knot. They then shared a drink from a pewter goblet sealing their handfasting.

This particular ceremony ended with the couple jumping over a broom stick which symbolised them sweeping away the past and starting their married life together. If they wished they could have jumped across a sword as well as the broom stick. The sword represents the masculine protector and the broom stick the feminine home maker. Apparently there are several variations on the actual words used in the handfasting ceremony and the one that I witnessed was originally used in Victorian times. It was a really cool thing to witness and as it predates christianity I felt that this ceremony probably holds more significance to many people than the civil ceremony. It was more interesting that is for certain. I wonder if we will be invited back after a year and a day!

Wet Dog in the Downs

Little dog is chin-strapped! She is asleep beside me on the sofa covered with my old fleece jacket, snoring gently. She will probably spend the next two to three days comatose, only getting up for her meals and the occasional call of nature. The reason for her being in this state is that we went for a long walk across the South Downs today. Little dog is not as young as she used to be but she won't let a little thing like her age prevent her from joining me on a long walk. In fact if I went without her she would spend the day sulking and being a nuisance to Mrs C, who would behave in a similar fashion if I dragged her for ten miles across the Downs in this weather.

Talking about the weather, the Met office forecast  said  that the rain would stop at lunch time yesterday and the rest of the weekend would be clear and sunny. They got that seriously wrong! The sun was shining yesterday and today it's been raining all day long. Still I've been promising Little dog a long walk all week and it will give me a chance to try out my newish light weight waterproof jacket. I bought it earlier in the summer to replace the jacket that I left in the donativo box in an albergue in Spain after it leaked one too many times.

We started the walk from the Long Man car park at Wilmington at 10:00 am and it was already raining steadily. There was only one other car in the car park, the driver was from a rambling club awaiting his compatriots who should have arrived thirty minutes earlier. They had apparently made the decision to stay in bed and forgot to inform him, either that or they don't like him. There was low cloud blanketing the top of the Downs above the Long Man as we set off, a bit different from the last time we were here a few weeks ago.

Our route led us in an anti-clockwise direction around the base of the Long Man and up onto Windover hill. There were no 'shucks' or cows here today, they had apparently sought out the relative shelter of the valley bottoms. I had to scramble up a short section of chalk path which had been polished smooth by constant use, it was like walking on ice. I nearly fell over on several occasions but Little dog had no problems with her four foot drive and crampons on the end of her paws. At the top we met three Australian women who were on the last day of their eight day walk along the South Downs way. After a brief  exchange of pleasantries I left them standing in the murk as Little dog and I followed the fence line up to the Trig point at the top of the hill.

After locating our exact position we back tracked 100 metres to another fence line which ran parallel to the route of the South Downs way. We followed this fence through the mist, passing the ghostly bodies of sheep looming out of the cloud. Eventually coming to a wood where we picked up a track that led us down to the village of Jevington, the birth place of the Bannofee pie.

Just outside of the village we met the Australian ladies again who were looking a little lost. They were trying to find the village of West Dean but had missed their turn off and were about three miles off course. I walked with them into the village and gave them directions to Eastbourne via the alternate route of the SDW. Little dog and I carried on walking to the top of Bourne hill whilst they went to the pub for a cup of coffee. Upon reaching the top of the hill we turned right and walked two miles to the outskirts of Friston.

My new jacket was holding up well to the constant down pour although I was still wet from perspiration. Little dog was soaked through but still happily wagging her tail. Our route took us into Friston Forest where we stopped under cover of a beech tree for lunch. Little dog may be small but she managed to devour half of my Cornish pastie in double quick time.

A short while later we came to a small clearing where several paths went off in different directions, some of them weren't even marked on the map. One of the Camino Angels must have followed me back to Blighty because while trying to work out my route I discovered two yellow arrows painted on the ground pointing our way. We followed the slippery muddy path uphill into Lullington Heath nature reserve but the only signs of life that we saw were sheep and rooks. In the distance about two kilometres away I could see the Long Barrow on top of Windover hill above the Long Man .

Forty minutes later we were back at the foot of the Long Man where the fields were full of Canada geese feeding in the stubble of the cropped wheat. A few hundred metres more and we were back in the car park and out of the rain. It was now 2:15 pm and apart from a ten minute break for lunch we had been walking constantly for four hours into the non stop rain. Little dog slept throughout the drive home and is now chasing rabbits in her dreams. I'm enjoying a much needed refreshing mug of English Breakfast Tea. A brief look at our route on the map tells me that we have walked approximately ten miles today. Not bad really for a little old Spaniel.

Note: For those of you who have never served in the Army, the term chin-strapped refers to a soldier being so tired that he is only being held upright by the chin strap of his helmet.

My Camino de Santiago ( Ghost town and Chicken dinners)

I woke up exhausted after starring in that classic film remake 'Sleepless in Azofra'. My lack of sleep  was brought on by the stomach bug that I picked up in Logrono, or was it last nights bottles of cheap vino collapso. Either way I didn't bother with breakfast so was marching on an empty stomach. Even in this state and carrying a full pack I was still managing to walk at a rate of one kilometre every twelve and a half minutes, not bad going for day nine. It's like they used to say in the Army it's a question of 'mind over matter' that is the Army doesn't mind and you don't matter, whatever, it certainly works.

It was raining all night so Henry and I were walking through red mud which clung to our boots making each step harder than it should have been. At about lunch time we came to a new urbanisation  on the outskirts of  the tiny village of Ciruena. The streets and houses were very neat and tidy and would have been an idyllic place to live, particularly if you played golf, as the estate was adjacent to an eighteen hole golf course.

Unfortunately the builders must have completed this project just as the global recession hit Spain because only one or two houses in each street were occupied the rest were boarded up and sporting 'For Sale' signs. Henry and I wandered through these streets together thinking that we had entered some sort post apocalyptic ghost town. The streets were eerily deserted with absolutely no sign of life, not even the warning bark of chained up dogs which we had grown accustomed to when walking into Spanish villages.

As we entered the old village we passed the albergue and commented that it looked really run down and decrepit. Later that day we bumped into a fellow peregrino who had spent the night there and she described it as an absolute hell hole. It was apparently freezing cold, there were no blankets, no facilities to cook a meal and the Hospitalero was very unfriendly bordering on hostile. She said that if it was not for some other really nice pilgrims arriving she would have walked out even though she was really tired and it was several kilometres to the next refuge.

We walked fifteen kilometres today to the town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada where we booked into the municipal albergue which was close to the Cathedral. After taking a shower and washing my clothes I was resting in the communal area when a few other peregrinos who we knew arrived, they included Lucy and Pablo who had travelled by bus as his injured leg was playing up a bit. That night we all shared a wonderful meal together washed down by wine, however I must be really feeling out of sorts because I only drank water.

The town of Santo domingo owes it's inspiration to Saint Dominic of the road who lived here in the eleventh century after being evicted from the monastery for being illiterate. Because of this he dedicated his life to improving the pilgrims route and was responsible for building many of the roads and bridges which we have travelled along. He built a pilgrims hospital which is now the Parador and also a church which over the centuries evolved into the Cathedral. Both buildings are situated in the historic town square the Plaza del Santo. I decided to visit the Cathedral which is another one of the iconic landmarks of the Camino Frances. The building and adjoining museum contain many beautiful religious artefacts but more importantly I wished to see the cockerel and hen which are kept in a coop in the rear of the church.

The chicken coop relates to the story of the cock which is one of the more endearing stories of the camino. Legend has it that during the middle ages a German couple on camino with their son stopped at a nearby inn for the night. The Inn keepers daughter apparently fell in love with the son who being devout, rejected her advances. So in a fit of anger she hid a silver goblet in his backpack then reported him for the theft. The innocent boy was hanged for this crime and his parents oblivious to his fate carried onto Santiago. On their way home they once again came to the town where they found their son still hanging on the gallows but miraculously still alive thanks to the intervention of Santo Domingo. The couple rushed to the sheriffs house and found him just about to tuck into a roast chicken dinner. They told him the news and he retorted that their son was no more alive than the chicken that he was about to eat. At this the cockerel came to life, stood up and crowed loudly. The sheriff was so impressed with this miracle that he had the boy cut down and given a full pardon.

In honour of Santo Domingo and the miracle of the cockerel our communal meal that evening was chicken. However in order to stop it jumping off of the plate and crowing loudly we cut it into pieces, coated it in flour and deep fried it and as they say in Kentucky it was finger licking good.