Thursday, July 15, 2010
On holiday
in furthest Isle of Wight but now made it to the internet bureau in Brading Town Hall (more of which later).
Yesterday through Brading Marshes, part of which is owned by RSPB. Where there is a different take on nature preserve management to that at Epsom Common. Unlike Epsom, where the chain saw gang and the cow huggers are clearly in the ascendant, at Brading there is a stand-off between the chain saw gang and the tree huggers with the result that they have come to an agreement whereby the chain saw gang is allowed to chop down trees at one end of the preserve and the tree huggers are allowed to plant trees - including much hazel for their nuts - at the other end. Part of the mix here is the preservation of red squirrels.
There were also quite a few older hazels, but none of them were very big and most of which had stolls cluttered with feeble new growth. Perhaps the only way to get a big hazel is to manage the thing oneself; nature is not going to make it by herself.
Lots of birds, including buzzards, sky larks and sparrows, none of which pop up very often at Epsom. But irritatingly, lots of birds which I could not identify. By the time I could focus on them they had gone. Eye reflexes clearly slowing down, might be regarded as a species of senior moment.
Pushed onto Brading Windmill, a site of historical interest managed by the National Trust. With a bearded and knowledgeable volunteer in attendance to tell you all about it. A volunteer who could chatter about Brading windmill in particular and windmills in general for ever - but who also took cues about when to stop. Clearly a superior trusty. The windmill itself was interesting, particularly as a piece of machinery. The sort of mill where the top bit which holds the sails can rotate on the tower bit so that the sails face the wind; I forget the proper name for such a thing. Now this top bit is just sitting there: why does it not blow off on a windy day? The sails make for plenty of wind resistance, a lot more, for example, than a chimney. The sails were mounted on an iron shaft, while the shaft up the centre of the mill and which drove all the machinery was a trimmed tree trunk. Interesting to see how rotary force was transmitted between the shafts and the large wooden gears. Quite differant situation to a waggon wheel where one only has to carry weight. I learned that the mill wheels themselves come from France in an early form of flat pack. That is to say in pre-shaped lumps of a very special sort of rock which are stuck together on site with plaster of paris and tied together with an iron rim. The rather rough and ready booklet told me that the mill stones needed to be be sharpened about once a month - from which I inferred that plenty of mill stone must have got into the flour.
The whole thing had been heavily restored, which must have cost a packet. Lot of woodworm and I spotted one bit of elm.
Back to Brading via the Propellor Inn. Steak and kidney pudding, mushy peas and chips for tea, sitting next to the bull ring. Pudding was a substantial affair, said to weigh 0.75lb and coming in a sturdy white plastic pudding basin. First time I had come across this particular sort of pie. The bull ring was a large iron ring concreted into the ground. The idea was that when you wanted some beef you tied a bull by the nose to the iron ring and then baited it with dogs for a bit to bring the flavour of the meat on before slaughter. I don't think the RSPCA could have been invented at the time. Nearby was an ancient pub called the Bugle, which, so the blue sign informs us, is not a sort of trumpet, rather a sort of bull.
In fact the whole town very ancient, a genuine rotten borough. Once upon a time it was a reasonably important sea port, known to Canute and William the Conq. and people like that. So it boasts a town hall, a very old church (in foundation at least), several pubs and several very old buildings. Including the Brading Experience, now shut, the taste for this sort of display having, it seems, past.
Yesterday through Brading Marshes, part of which is owned by RSPB. Where there is a different take on nature preserve management to that at Epsom Common. Unlike Epsom, where the chain saw gang and the cow huggers are clearly in the ascendant, at Brading there is a stand-off between the chain saw gang and the tree huggers with the result that they have come to an agreement whereby the chain saw gang is allowed to chop down trees at one end of the preserve and the tree huggers are allowed to plant trees - including much hazel for their nuts - at the other end. Part of the mix here is the preservation of red squirrels.
There were also quite a few older hazels, but none of them were very big and most of which had stolls cluttered with feeble new growth. Perhaps the only way to get a big hazel is to manage the thing oneself; nature is not going to make it by herself.
Lots of birds, including buzzards, sky larks and sparrows, none of which pop up very often at Epsom. But irritatingly, lots of birds which I could not identify. By the time I could focus on them they had gone. Eye reflexes clearly slowing down, might be regarded as a species of senior moment.
Pushed onto Brading Windmill, a site of historical interest managed by the National Trust. With a bearded and knowledgeable volunteer in attendance to tell you all about it. A volunteer who could chatter about Brading windmill in particular and windmills in general for ever - but who also took cues about when to stop. Clearly a superior trusty. The windmill itself was interesting, particularly as a piece of machinery. The sort of mill where the top bit which holds the sails can rotate on the tower bit so that the sails face the wind; I forget the proper name for such a thing. Now this top bit is just sitting there: why does it not blow off on a windy day? The sails make for plenty of wind resistance, a lot more, for example, than a chimney. The sails were mounted on an iron shaft, while the shaft up the centre of the mill and which drove all the machinery was a trimmed tree trunk. Interesting to see how rotary force was transmitted between the shafts and the large wooden gears. Quite differant situation to a waggon wheel where one only has to carry weight. I learned that the mill wheels themselves come from France in an early form of flat pack. That is to say in pre-shaped lumps of a very special sort of rock which are stuck together on site with plaster of paris and tied together with an iron rim. The rather rough and ready booklet told me that the mill stones needed to be be sharpened about once a month - from which I inferred that plenty of mill stone must have got into the flour.
The whole thing had been heavily restored, which must have cost a packet. Lot of woodworm and I spotted one bit of elm.
Back to Brading via the Propellor Inn. Steak and kidney pudding, mushy peas and chips for tea, sitting next to the bull ring. Pudding was a substantial affair, said to weigh 0.75lb and coming in a sturdy white plastic pudding basin. First time I had come across this particular sort of pie. The bull ring was a large iron ring concreted into the ground. The idea was that when you wanted some beef you tied a bull by the nose to the iron ring and then baited it with dogs for a bit to bring the flavour of the meat on before slaughter. I don't think the RSPCA could have been invented at the time. Nearby was an ancient pub called the Bugle, which, so the blue sign informs us, is not a sort of trumpet, rather a sort of bull.
In fact the whole town very ancient, a genuine rotten borough. Once upon a time it was a reasonably important sea port, known to Canute and William the Conq. and people like that. So it boasts a town hall, a very old church (in foundation at least), several pubs and several very old buildings. Including the Brading Experience, now shut, the taste for this sort of display having, it seems, past.
# posted by Jim @ 1:40 AM 
