twig circle – derrickjknight

Running Hill was full of ponies as I set off to walk the ford ampersand on this crisp sun-kissed day. Others, throughout the route, had begun their day-long quest for fodder. In ‘Furzey Gardens road’ some half a dozen were lined up as if in a trough. One was forced to turn its head to stay in frame. They are reaching higher and higher for prickly greenery. Sheep in a fold munched, basked, and idled away the morning. The avian residents were very vociferous. I recognised a blackbird in a hedge, and robins and pigeons flitting and flirting across the lanes of Minstead.

Close to the ford, opposite an aptly named house called ‘The Splash’, lies Minstead Study Centre. Taking the motorists’ warning sign literally, I have been calling this establishment a school. On passing the centre and the nearby twig circle mentioned in posts of 4th, 26th, and 30th December 2012, I was reminded that Berry had clarified both the purpose of this educational facility and the source of the ‘pagan’ circular constructions. The truth is far less mysterious than I had imagined.

The Study Centre is a forestry learning establishment for schools who send groups of children to discover the delights of the New Forest. I have, in fact, seen crocodiles of escorted children emerging from the forest track. One of the exercises these young people are given is the creation of the circles. So I am not likely to encounter ‘The Wicker Man’, from the 1973 British horror film, remade in America in 2006.

This afternoon wagtails wandered about our lawn. When Sam phoned to give me an estimated time of arrival for him and Malachi, who are staying for a few days, Malachi asked to speak to me. Sam passed him the phone. This little chap, who is not four until March, began with ‘excuse me’. He went on to tell me he had just seen a sign which said you could buy coffee.

When they arrived, Malachi, taking off his shoes, asked the question we had feared. ‘Have you got an iPad?’. We hadn’t of course. Fortunately Sam had an iPhone. This meant we were half way there. We still had to access the internet. Our old laptops were not adequate to download Malachi’s games. The iPhone was, but we required a password to access our home hub. Of course we couldn’t remember it. Eventually, I remembered how to access BT wifi with Fon. And we got Sam on. I ask you, its enough to remember all these terms, without throwing passwords in as well. Malachi was soon esconced on the sofa with a game he had downloaded. With a little help from his Dad he played games of varying degrees of difficulty.

Jackie produce a delicious beef stew and bread and butter pudding. Malachi drank milk. Sam and I enjoyed Selexione Sangiovese Shiraz 2011, a rather nice Sicilian wine. Malachi had to be persuaded to eat enough of his dinner before he was allowed to get back to his games. After his bath I struggled to maintain his interest in my rendering of Winnie the Pooh. My own son seemed more intrigued.

Just before mid-day I took the upper drive route down to Minstead; turned right by the red phone box; walked up through Fleetwater; took the right turn at the junction towards Stoney Cross; and right again on the A31 back to Castle Malwood Lodge.

The thatchers in Minstead continued their work. A house in Fleetwater had been demolished and a wooden structure was being built. I couldn’t tell whether it was a replacement house or a rather splendid shed.

Walking up from the ford by the school you encounter a fork in the road by a clearing at the edge of the forest. The left fork takes you nearer to Emery Down, and the right to Fleetwater. I was intrigued by a large perfect circle of twigs laid out, some way off the road, on the turf. Is this The New Forest’s answer to miraculous crop circles?

On the road past Fleetwater which runs between the A31 and Lyndhurst there were numerous ponies of varying sizes. One came trotting down the tarmac towards me, as if straight out of a Thelwell drawing. Its mane covered its eyes and almost reached the ground beneath its short, stubby, legs. I half expected to see a similarly shaped dazed schoolgirl in jodhpurs and a crash helmet, planted in the bracken festooned with saddle and trappings, having been dumped by her dumpy steed. Another silver haired grey-dappled horse, much taller than the others, blended beautifully with the forest birches. Many of the ponies were haloed against the light of the low winter sun.

Arriving at Stoney Cross, and not wishing to walk back along the scary A31 which has no footpath, I did my best to find a path running parallel to that road which should return me to upper drive. I was unsuccessful and therefore had to brave the buffeting of blasts from the vast vans speeding past.

In Fleetwater I spoke to a man who was blowing leaves from his drive. He was proud of the old LNER cast iron sign he had fixed to his gate. LNER was the London and North East Railway that had been one of the four major companies which ran UK’s pre-Nationalised railways in their earlier privatised incarnation. Forty shillings was a lot of money in those days. Once upon a time most street name signs were made of similar material painted black and white. They can still be found, but are gradually being replaced, in London at least, by lighter, less substantial signs put up by the Boroughs which came into being in 1965. In 1987, Gracedale Road, SW16, in Wandsworth, just before Jessica, Sam, Louisa, and I left it for Newark in Nottinghamshire, boasted such a sign at each end. Two weeks before our departure flimsy substitutes replaced them both. One old one was left in the gutter and never removed. Not until we departed, that is. With the sign in our car. Matthew cleaned up the trophy, gave it a fresh coat of suitable paint, and bolted it to the brick wall of the old boiler house attached to the back of Lindum House. I like to think that little part of Nottinghamshire still bears the legend:

For our evening meal Jackie produced an excellent chicken korai with an elaborate pilau rice which was eaten with paratas from Portswood International Stores. She drank Hoegaarden whilst I imbibed McGuigan Estate shiraz 2010. For sweet we had gulabjam. Jackie was a bit concerned that she hadn’t any cream to go with it, but the evaporated milk we used was a good complement. When I suggested cold custard she called me a philistine.

Tag: twig circle

Have You Got An iPaD?

Gracedale Road S.W.