THE HONKEYMOON CAFE

Constance and Bernard have been an item ever since he didn’t win the Longest Carrot competition. They eventually decide to marry and move in together. They have been single for a good few years and the prospect of being part of a couple again is exciting. What could possibly go wrong? You may recall my next door neighbour is Constance, a retired horticulturalist, whose small garden puts to shame most of us in the village. You may also remember Bernard, who’s garden I likened to the gardening version of an intensive case unit, his enthusiasm was for vegetables, the bigger, the better. He was expected to win the longest carrot in our annual produce show, as he had done for several years before, but when he didn’t, the shock was such that Constance, having been a member of the St. John’s Ambulance, had to come to his rescue and nurse him back to health. Judging by the creaking gate that Bernard built between their two gardens, the nursing has been continuing ever since.  You see, Bern...

A very large animal, a cat perhaps, or a dog, seen at night could just be imagination. Shadows cast by a bright silvery moon and a gently breeze can give the impression of something huge moving silently through the countryside. But if a victim of the beast proves its existence, what a story that would make! Not far to the south-west of our village on the edge of a vale stretching almost to the coast, is Black Fenn Common, as its name implies it was once a rancid stretch of bog and peat marsh. Drained and cultivated over the years it is now a productive region with a fine reputation for what the area produces.   Flat lands are regularly the source of rumour and superstition and the Vale is no different. Swirling mists over dark pools, dancing marsh gas and those who lost their way never to be seen again, were more than enough to give rise to all sorts of superstitions. Vale folk were inclined to encourage the tales, so as to discourage the casual visitor. The mists are now mostly li...

Spring and summer heralds the season for garden parties and open air events, but with our weather, success or failure is in the lap of the Gods. Some can afford to take no chances but others risk it and the results can be a calamity or great fun, and divide the village forever. In like a lion and out like a lamb, goes the saying regarding June, supposedly the first month of Summer. ‘Ne’r cast a clout till May’s out’, is another which supposes overnight on the 31st a revolution takes place in the weather. Stranger things have happened, which is what makes our weather a popular topic for conversation. Taylor Bradford, who with his wife ‘Babs’ moved into the Old Mill, is a Californian and found the British pre-occupation with the weather baffling, until he realised you could hardly tell from one day to the next what it was going to do. Not something he’d experienced in L.A. I look forward like most people, to warmer weather and longer days, but I nearly always forget, so does everything e...

Whether you walk just to walk, or just to look and listen, the countryside is a beautiful place to explore, and we are lucky to have it, but there used to be more of it, and it’s there, the other side of a wall. The ‘Enclosures Act’ robbed the people of one fifth of the whole country! It was the common land that ordinary people had used and enjoyed for centuries, but the gentry put a wall round it and called it ‘theirs’. Our small village numbers four or five keen walkers, and their emphasis is walking. They are members of various walking organisations and take walking very seriously. There are others like myself that do not take walking seriously, instead we take looking and listening much more seriously, and use walking merely to get us to places where we can look and listen. If I was walking with serious walkers I would be left behind staring at a view, trying to identify a flower, or what bird it is I can’t see, whilst they have disappeared into the distance. I would catch up just ...

More Dawson catastrophes, this time in respect of the Dawson’s historic connection to steeplechasing, and Davinia Dawson’s interest in animal rights and her loss of several snakes. It was while I was compiling some notes on ‘Our Best friends’, a compilation of stories regarding the village pets, that Rachael, our village historian mentioned what progress she was making with the Dawson’s history, a book she is writing with Gill Dawson, a local family steeped in academia that have had a long and illustrious past. For a century or more their interests have been to do with publishing and it is that arm of the family which resides locally. Besides their academic prowess, another area in which they excel is being accident prone. I have suggested that their family motto be ‘An accident waiting to happen’. Whether this mis-happish tendency is due to carelessness, bad luck, or just a lack of common sense, is difficult to tell, though Rachael has examples of them all. The Dawsons appear to have ...

The village’s first singles dining club attracts attention when an alliance between one of the pub’s helpers and a complete stranger who is not to be trusted. When proof is found, it’s time for friends to act, and save a lovely but naive, vulnerable lady from being taken advantage of. Penny Marshal, you may remember, after the Bridge club failed, Dave at the pub said she was starting a singles dining club. It wasn’t given much credence but word got out that it was happening and the founding members were those of the bridge club that were single. Liz Wintern, and Donald Spears were the first, though strictly speaking Donald was not single being married and still living with his wife. Donald assured Penny that a divorce was imminent and, other than sharing the same address, his wife and he were ‘estranged’. Penny being desperate for men, was prepared to bend the rules until more men were forthcoming. Roger Cleverly turned up out of the blue apparently having maintained some contact with ...

Animals can be our best friends, they can also create chaos,  and destroy relationships. As you know the Old Mill was the home of Lucy and Mark Musgrave. After they met with their accidents it was some time before the mill was sold due to the bizarre nature of their deaths and the reputation that the mill had that it was haunted. Several couples pulled out and it is presumed because of the mill’s history. It was eventually bought by Taylor and Barbara Bradford who I met when the mill developed a series of on-going calamities, now fortunately in the past. Taylor was someone important in the music industry and although I had met them, most of the villager’s introduction to the Bradfords came by way of their two Cockers, Joe and Jarvis, presumably named after the singers. Animals had not been kept at the mill for some time. Previous to the Musgraves the Morrisons had no pets and they had been at the mill for as long as anyone could remember. The sprawling garden and orchard that ran a...