Here is a weather warning

It is said that the major topic of conversation in England is the weather. Well, that is hardly surprising when you think that we have just seen the longest day this summer come and go and still the rain pours down and gales continue to assault the house and do great damage in the garden. It has been so cold that we have turned the central heating on again – in June, for heavens sake.

We have always had one problem: the terrace faces south and the wall of the house is painted white. When the weather is hot, the terrace becomes rather unbearable as the walls act as heat reflectors and there is no shade other than that made by an umbrella. We have had a running battle with Dennis on this subject every since we came here. Dennis is the local painter and decorator and over the years has become a very good friend. Our reaction to this huge slab of white was to grow something up it – wisteria would have been good but then so would a vine or a Virginia creeper – but Dennis would have none of it. Apart from making painting the place very difficult there was the risk of damaging the walls.

Dennis, in Marcia's study.

So, not knowing that we would be leaving here this year, I had a brilliant idea. I would grow tall things in pots. I would stand the pots against the wall during the summer and they could be moved to a more sheltered environment from the winter and, of course, when Dennis came to paint the house (which he does every three years).

It was a very bad mistake.

For example, I have these lovely spindle trees – three of them are quite short bushes of the species Euonymus alatus and three of them are tall spindly affairs: probably Euonymus bungeanus although I am not sure as these were given to me by a friend. Being very invasive, there is merit in keeping them in pots (although that raises problems of feeding and watering) so they were perfect candidates for this going onto the terrace.

Two of the tall spindle trees flanking a Euonymous alatus and some lupins.

One of the other E. alatus. In the autumn the foliage turns a wonderful colour (which is why we bought these). We shall be taking these with us when we leave.

So, I thought would a container of sweet peas and a few lupins. These were also brought on in a sheltered part of the garden.

Of course, what I had not taken into consideration was the fact that we would be buffeted by so much wind. The taller spindle trees are now showing all the signs of suffering from damage to their roots thanks to wind rock (and that despite being staked), the poor sweet peas were wrenched and battered and we though we had lost them although they are now showing signs of recovery and the lupins have had chunks torn off as the gales howled.

Sweet peas, battered but bearing up bravely.

Meanwhile, Colin – he who helps me keep the garden from becoming a wilderness – has had very few days here because there is no point in coming over when the rain is pouring from the sky. Suddenly, about two weeks ago, we had three very hot days one after the other. He seized one of these to weed the lavender hedge that we planted last year and it was so hot he had to wear a hat to protect himself from the sun.

No wonder we talk about the weather!

FAREWELL FROGLETS

As I expected, the last of the froglets have now gone, returned to the margins of the upper pond which, being horribly overgrown, makes a perfect sanctuary for them.

Will there be any tadpoles to care for after we move? Tell you next year.

The proof of the pudding . . .

Last week a large parcel arrived from Transworld. It contained the proofs of the book that will be published this autumn under the title The Sea Garden.

It has always been one of my jobs to proof read the books. This is both a joy and a nightmare: a joy because I really enjoy reading what Marcia writes and a nightmare since it is so easy to get carried away by the story only to realise that for the last few pages I have been ‟reading″ rather than ‟proof reading″.

By the time we get to this stage I have already read the book at least four times (when writing, the first draft when complete, after the editorial requests have been included and at the copy editing stage). Thus Marcia is always very surprised – and pleased – when I burst out laughing since she feels I really ought to be bored silly by this stage. The fact is that I am not: unlike most, Marcia’s novels can be reread many times and each reading brings out something new: often an unexpected link in the webs of personal relationships she weaves with such dexterity.

This book is set in part in the old familiar scenes of Tavistock (where we catch up with some of Marcia’s old familiar characters) and, for the first time, Marcia visits the banks of the River Tamar. Many readers refuse to believe that Marcia finds descriptive writing to be extremely difficult because she does it so well. I have never read anything by any author which evokes a place with more precision and with more beautiful writing than some of the paragraphs in this book: they are a treat to read. And don’t say, ‟well he would say that, wouldn’t he?″.

Marcia is standing on the saltings at the high tide mark.
She and Jossie are returning from an evening walk.

The title comes from a garden that has been made behind an old quay which was built out into the river many years ago to enable trading vessels to tie up alongside. It is a large flat area, bounded by an old stone wall and a lavender hedge: the scene of many parties past and present.

Those proofs are now back with Transworld and so we now await the cover design and the blurb. I will keep you informed.

The other good news this week is that Linda Evans, Marcia’s editor at Transworld, has read and thoroughly approved the book to follow The Sea Garden. Like all books, it has a working title but I will keep that a secret. It was a mistake to talk about The Ginger Jar as that was a working title with the book being published as The Prodigal Wife. To this day barely a week goes by without someone asking where they can buy The Ginger Jar as they can’t find it anywhere. Well, they wouldn’t, would they?

THE TADPOLE TIMES

The old ‛poles seem to be developing more slowly this year than is usual. That is not to say that they are not growing at the usual rate but there is still no sign of legs. This is almost certainly because it has been so cold. They live in a utility room which is unheated but faces south. The usual problem is to keep it cool enough for them but not this year.

Sometimes tadpoles just fail to grow up in one season and then overwinter as rather oversized individuals who wait until the following summer to change into frogs. As far as I know, thy have no problems with this. I just hope that I don’t have any like that as looking after tem through the winter would be a bit of a nightmare.

To go or not to go? That is the question.

As many of you will already know, I have been having fun and games with my eyes so that for two years and a bit I was not able to drive. Happily I am now back in the driving seat but . . .

When you live as remotely as we do this sort of thing makes you think about what would have happened if, at the same time, Marcia had not been able to drive: through sickness (‛flu perhaps) or an accident (a broken wrist may be). The result is that we have days when we find ourselves seriously considering that we should move nearer to civilisation. Yesterday was such a day, the successor, I should add, of many such days.

It was a gloomy, overcast day with occasional spits of rain and a bitingly cold south easterly wind. The sun remained behind this boring veil of cloud, sulking to itself, throughout: the worst possible day in a house like this which needs the sun to be warm and cheerful. So we decided the time had come to move. The question then becomes: where?

Since we are talking about creating a lifestyle which would work well should neither of us be able to drive, clearly that means in the middle of a town but which one?

The obvious choice is Tavistock. We know it very well (I used to have an office in Tavistock) and know quite a lot people there. One of our closest friends is nearby and everything you could possibly want is contained in quite a small flat area. Tavistock has the best taxi service that I know of outside London, and Dartmoor is just up the road. Yes, Tavistock should be on the list.

Then, of course, there is Totnes. This is our old stamping ground and we have a host of friends living there or thereabouts. The main drag – High Street and Fore Street – is quite steep. This poses a problem: unless you live at the bottom of the hill. Still, Totnes is a contender.

In both cases it is extremely difficult to find houses that are in the right place for walking to and from the shops and yet allow the sun to pour in on good days. This is essential to Marcia; as is somewhere private outside where she can sit with a mug of tea or coffee and brood.

Of course we could consider going back to Dartmouth. Again the shopping area is on the level even if the houses mount the hills behind. Father lived in a first floor flat on the Embankment after my mother died and he had a wonderful view over the river to Kingswear on the opposite bank. There was always something to look at and that is another factor we are considering. What do people do all day? The thought of day time television brings both of us out in a cold sweat but with no garden (and therefore no contact procession of birds as we have here), no ponds (and no frogs, toads, tadpoles or newts – and no fish and herons) and all the work these entail, what would we do all day? Yes, we need a view, a busy view. It could be people or boats but it has to be something. As far as Dartmouth is concerned that means down near the water, and the prices there are indeed eye watering.

Of course, on the assumption we move while at least one of us is still driving we need somewhere to keep a car. Tricky in Tavistock, difficult in Totnes and almost impossible in Dartmouth.

Then we have to consider when we should move. Do we go now and spend the next twenty years wondering why we went too soon or wait until we are pushed so that we have to jump to whatever is available at the time.

Life is just so difficult at times.

Of course we could think about this as the time to do something totally different, to branch out and become part of a scene that is new to us. Neither of us have spent any appreciable time living in a city. Perhaps we should try. Marcia went to school in Bristol and I was a student there. Actually we were there at the same time although it was to be another twenty years before we met. Could we have had another twenty years of happiness or would the younger Marcia have found me too much to take?

Anyway, we decided to have a look at some of the houses for sale in Old Clifton (the only part in which Marcia would wish to live that could be within our means).

Then we had the mad idea of living on a narrow boat and gently exploring the canals and river. There is one for sale on a newish marina on the River Avon to the east of Bristol and not far from the Ariel Rowing Club to which I belonged when I was a student. This is not that one but is pretty typical of these boats.

This morning, however, the wind has dropped, the sun is out, the kitchen doors are open and we are drinking our after breakfast coffee to the sound of sparrows, great tits, one of the warblers (not sure which) and the occasional black bird. Oh, and just then the croaking of a pair of crows flying up the valley and a ewe calling to her lamb.

Perhaps we will postpone the move for a wee while longer after all.

THE TADPOLE TIMES

The good news is that the toad eggs have hatched. There are only a few and they will be kept separated from the frogs as I want to see what differences there are.

The bad news is that I now start on that balancing act is so crucial to this whole thing: feeding tadpoles. If you put in too much food, or food that they reject, you soon contaminate the water and that causes all sorts of problems. If you don’t give them enough food, they will eat what is at hand and that is, of course, smaller tadpoles.

We talk about the loss of tadpoles thanks to predators such as herons, blackbirds, back-swimmers and dragonfly larva but probably the biggest losses are caused by cannibalism. It is estimated that a thousand frog eggs will produce no more than seven adults and sometimes less.

Since I see no point in trying to increase numbers just for them to eat each other, I tend to over feed and to compensate for this by changing the water every other day or so. Tap water should stand for about a week to ensure all traces of chlorine and other chemicals that the water authorities have added have gone. I have two sources: from the top pond which is connected to the house roof drains and the water tubs which stand beside the potting shed. In both cases this is rain water and, because we are so far to the west, it is almost pollution free.

In the wild, tadpoles live on dead fish and invertebrates – and each other. At the moment, I am trying Cumberland sausage and cat food (tuna in jelly). As far as I can make out sausage is far more popular than the tuna. Whether the fact that it is Cumberland or not I have yet to discover.

March madness

It is not the hare alone that suffers from madness in March. It is at this time of the year that Marcia begins to come towards the end of the book she is writing. She will be somewhere between sixty and seventy thousand words when this particular form of madness kicks in. It is, I suppose, a neurosis if one becomes extremely neurotic. It is all to do with the book, as you would expect.

The problems are threefold and can be summarised thus:-

Marcia is terrified that she will forget all that she is carrying in her head: all the little loose ends that need to be tied up before the book reaches its natural conclusion. The fact that she has a note book in which reminders are written when thoughts occur is not enough to quell these fears. As she rightly explains, if the notes were fully developed you would end up writing each book twice. There is no point in my reminding her that she has happily finished twenty-six books already so her fears are unjustified. She is, as she points out, a year older than last time and therefore must be approaching unqualified senility.

The second problem is technical. We have both had enough computers die to know that this is a real possibility and she has never forgotten the time, five books back now, when she dropped her laptop on the slate floor of our kitchen. That was that. The work she had done that morning was lost (we copy the book each evening but not during the day) and she remains convinced that what she lost was far better than what was eventually written. I say eventually because the model of laptop she had been using was no longer available so we had to buy something different. Poor Marcia, it could not have happened at a worse time. She was already in the neurotic zone and trying to finish that book with a new bit of kit proved extremely stressful.

Then there are the fears associated with fire and burglary. I used to carry a copy on a memory stick when we were out but that opened up other terrors. Suppose I lost it? Suppose someone got hold of it and stole the plots and the characters? So I stopped doing that. Before we leave the house, Marcia hides her laptop (sorry, not going to tell you where) and the book is copied onto my PC and at least one – usually two – memory sticks which are held in separate locations. Of course, if someone where to break in, steal my PC and then set light to the house . . . The answer to that came from Marcia's agent, Dinah Wiener: leave a memory stick in the fridge where it stands a good chance of surviving a fire. So we do.

Fortunately this period of March madness is usually very short lived. The first fear drives Marcia so once she is in this danger zone she works incredibly hard – it is not unknown for her to write five thousand words in one day. So, after a week or ten days the final words are written and life returns to normal. Normal, that is, for a household in which lives a novelist and a man who writes blogs and articles on the political scene in the UK.

* * * * *

Long-tailed tits are amongst our prettiest visitors. They live in flocks of anything from four to fifty. They live on insects and each flock seems to have a feeding route that they will work around twice or even three times every day. We are very lucky to be on one flock's feeding route which includes the small wood that adjoins our garden and takes them along the hedges of two fields before coming back to us. Being one of our smallest birds, they are terribly susceptible to the cold and it is thought that over 80% can die in a really bad winter.

According to most authorities they are strictly insectivorous and so cannot benefit from the food that is put out in bird feeders and on bird tables. That is not our experience. Twice a day they pop in and eat from both the peanut feeders and the fat balls. Incidentally, you can buy fat balls in green plastic nets which is a pity as not infrequently birds get their feet tangled in these nets when there is little food left inside. That is usually the end as they are either taken by a predator or die of a combination of hunger and cold. As you can see, you can buy feeders that take fat balls which are not in nets. The same problem can happen if you hang up nets containing peanuts.

Two long-tailed tits on a fat ball tower

Anyway, a few days ago one long-tailed tit started to behave in a way I have never seen before. It would swoop at the kitchen windows time after time. For a while we thought this one had 'lost' the flock but he (she?) would carry on swooping even when the flock called for a quick snack so it can't have been that. Was he (she?) seeing a reflection and assuming it to be either a potential mate or a rival? Has this bird discovered a new way of feeding? It does look remarkably like the way the pied wagtail behaves when feeding. We shall probably never know.

Every now and then he (she?) would take a short rest.

*     *     *     *     *

Time to reveal the truth behind the mystery photograph. No one got it quite right although some of you were close. All of you opted for food but actually it was a bucket of mineral and vitamin lick such as the one shown below. The green circle in the middle was where the bucket had been standing. Almost every farm animal was suggested: pigs, cattle and sheep as well as one donkey and some chicken. It was, in fact, the feet of sheep that had caused the muddy ring. It rarely looks as bad as this but over the six days they were in that field it absolutely poured down and so it soon became a quagmire. It has dried out now but it will be a while before the grass starts growing again. 

THE TADPOLE TIMES

Not a great deal to report. Most of the eggs have now hatched and turned into tiny tadpoles. Most of them are still spending the day resting on the bottom but some are beginning to feed. At this stage they seem to be quite happy browsing on the algae on the leaves of water plants so I make sure that they have some fresh vegetation (I so nearly said vegetables) every day.

On Sunday they will have to be moved into fresh water – taken from the pond with some weed. Last year was the first time I realised the importance of constantly changing the water and I think this is probably the main reason why it worked so well then.

We are growing, nearly a quarter of an inch long now.