Season’s Greetings and Best Wishes for 2015!
And to those of you who sent us news and good wishes in seasonal emails, cards, and letters, many thanks! We read them with interest and pleasure, every one; and then used them to deck the Hall, the Dairy, the Back Porch, and even the Kitchen with cards, ivy, and holly. Very nice. LSF in deep midwinter looks so very different to LSF in midsummer. No one sunning themselves in the yard or playing in the barn. All quiet, cold, and windswept. Just a couple of ducks looking at a bucket of ice and a red tractor, white-furred with frost. Would you like to know more, about the rest of last year? If yes, read on.
Introduction
Quite simply, for LSF, 2014 was a Golden Year, or let’s at least say that the middle bit was a Golden Summer. Chief among the golden bits was garden produce, resident helpers, a steady flow of volunteers, and a fabulous flood of visitors to our events, big and small, the events that is, not the visitors!
Among the many straightforward and welcome phone calls during the year, we did have a few that left us memorably puzzled, and tickled. One caller said, ‘Sorry to bother you but have you lost a fish?’ We hadn’t. - Another rang to ask, ‘Have you lost a bird? It’s like a dove and is stuck in our bush.’ We were tempted to reply, ‘It would be worth more in your hand!’
Repairs & Maintenance
In the contract we have with our landlords, regarding the care of the Grade 2-listed building that is our workplace and home, and sometimes yours too, our responsibilities are manifold. We have an agreed list of structural matters of consequence that need to be looked after to ‘maintain LSF in a tenantable state of repair’.
Well, one of these structural things was the decaying floor in the west-facing front room. The builders came in to effect repair and soon realised it was more a case of replacement than repair. Everything had to come out and soon they had dug deep down into plain North Wiltshire earth, and clay. It was an alarming sight, to see one of our favourite rooms looking like a massive muddy indoor excavation site. But now, with its new floorboards, repainted walls, and radiators, it’s one of the best rooms in the house.
Another major structural feature is the Pantile and Cotswold stone roof. For a decade or two it has had a couple of leaks that needed us to strategically place buckets and bowls when it rained, one by a bedroom and another by the Hayloft. We could have gone on this way, and might well have done in any other era (Middle Ages… ?) or some other place (Paraguay… ?) but not in the twenty-first century in good old Swindon, where we are thankful to have a serious old listed roof over our heads.
So, in late August, three sullen-eyed scaffolders, who looked tough but were probably more likely just hardened, in a vulnerable kind of way, arrived with a lorry load of pipes and planks; and clanked and banged their way up our walls and onto the roof. Their towers were tremendous and made you want to climb them. They stayed on into the evening, hauling and hammering away, way past their usual finish time, because, they said, ‘The boss says it’s gotta be ready for the roofers first thing in the morning’. When, well past teatime, they were asked if they were hungry, they replied, hungrily, ‘Yeah, you bet! Have you got summat to eat?’ - Quickly, I put together a picnic basket of finest home-grown apples and pears; a bunch of Fairtrade imported bananas; plus a selection of crunchy carrots and terrific tomatoes, fresh from the garden. ‘Here you are’ I said, pleased with my healthy choice offerings. Sullen looks returned to their hard young faces. ‘We don’t do fruit and veg.’ muttered their leader through his broken tobacco-stained teeth. ‘We’ll be all right with this.’ he added, taking a swig from his canned power drink, re-lighting his skinny roll up, and heading back up the ladder.
Next day, just before 8am, the roofing gang rolled in, in a van and a couple of pick-up trucks. Turns out they are a family of roofers, three generations no less, and the oldest were soon up on the roof, and, before you could say, those tiles have been up there a long time, they were taking them down, in handfuls. In fact, they were doing it all with bare hands, sans tools, just wiggling each pantile free from its ageing moorings, and, by mid-morning, one side of the Hayloft roof was tile-less and bare.
But when they got round to the Cotswold stone tiles of the main house, the big wasp nest was a challenge too far for bare hands. We had to bring in a wasp-killer!
For three months, the work went on, old tiles crashing down into the dusty skip; lengths of ageing battens piling up on the flat Cats’ Room roof in an unsightly tangle of nails and splintered wood; and hammers and angle grinders making noises that reminded Yoga practitioners in the Hayloft that they were still rooted to a world that was real.
As well as occasionally and slightly naughtily taking people up the ladder on roof walks with fabulous farm views from the topmost part of the scaffolding towers, one exciting bit of the building process was the uncovering of old oak beams and roof trusses. From marks on some of them, the roofers reckoned they were once part of wooden sailing ships, that had plied their trade across the world’s oceans, probably for a couple of hundred years. Now they have been on the farmhouse roof for another two hundred years. They could be from oak that was growing in England more than 500 years ago! If only they could talk and tell us their stories! We have kept a couple of pieces to show on our Oaks: Ancient & Modern Weekend in June. Maybe they’ll ‘speak’ to us then, through oak ‘medium’ Patrick.
Now that the roof is fixed, it’s also brilliant that, after decades without, we now have central heating in the house. It’s amazing! Why didn’t any of you tell us about it?! There we were, shivering proudly for all these years and, when anyone asked about better heating in the house, we’d say, ‘Oh, it’s fine. We stay warm by putting on an extra layer and keeping on the move!’ in complete denial about frozen ankles and chill-blained hands.
The radiators were put in by Justin, one of our many lovely neighbours, who just happens to be a qualified gas fitter, a phenomenally hard-worker, and very nice person. He discovered all sorts of unexpected and ageing things under our floor boards but remained discreet, industrious, and uncomplaining throughout the process of installation.
Other skilled manual workers, and for some lucky reason, all very nice and honourable people, have made their beneficial marks on LSF this past year. Ex-resident Martin came up with the idea of skylights in the Centre. He has now fitted three, which, with along with the new windows, flood the place with glorious daylight.
Electrician Luke, son of ex-resident Kay, has put ten LED lights along the drive wall that, when triggered to go on, frighten off cats and foxes, and light up the entire Paddock and half of West Swindon. The original intention was just to make it possible for visitors to see the puddles!
Events
Much as we love the familiar events and courses, such as Easter Weekend, Yoga & Massage, Juggling & Circus Skills, Summer and Autumn Activities, Mosaics and Mushrooms, Women and Wildflowers, Cookery and Bread Making, LitFest and Poetry, we have also had the courage to put on a couple of new courses, namely a Spoon Carving and a Spanish Weekend.
Carving spoons was cool, creative, and companionable. Participants looked so happy, so at ease under the watchful eye of master-carver Alex. As they whittled and carved, they connected, with one another, and from a slow beginning, because good work takes time, all ended up with beautiful wooden spoons, each one uniquely hallmarked with perfect imperfections of its own. – And learning Spanish was hot, in the best possible senses of the word, partly because the sun shone and partly because Maria, Nuria, and Cristina were profesoras maravillosas, absolutely on it, bringing a true Iberian flavour to every part of the weekend: to the ‘classes’, the walks, the games, and the food. And then there was Richard con guitarra y la musica de Augustin Barrios. Fenomenal!
We have also enjoyed many events here organised by others, what we call outside groups. These include Annukampa’s regular Yoga weekends; wonderfully warm and playful afternoons and evening with refugees and asylum seekers from Swindon’s fabulous Harbour Project; and visits from various local artists’ groups who find the LSF setting inspiring. Thanks to them, we now have some striking paintings of sheds, flower tubs, and tractor! The ones in this newsletter come from Pat and her Royal Wootton Bassett and District Art Society; plus Andrew Carnie, and Alan Moses, whom we thank.
Animals
At the start of the year, there was a kitten called Felix. He got and gave loads of love during his all-too short life. He was adventurous. He’d go hunting. One day, he did not come back from one of his forays. So Jessica organised a team to go out hunting for him. They found him, on the edge of a road, severely damaged by collision with a car, and dead.
Even more severely damaged, but by a fox, was our lovely Mrs T, the turkey hen. She was such a beauty, especially serene and superior when looking down on us from her favourite perching places on outhouse roofs. Early one morning, she made the mistake of coming down too early from her night roost, before daylight, while the fox was still about. He killed her, and left us a mess of blood and black feathers all over the yard.
But it’s not all been nature raw in tooth and claw. We have had lots of successful chick and duckling hatchings, and the grown up results of these fill the farm with movement, colour, eggs, and countless opportunities to watch three therapeutic marvels: hens in a dust-bath, ducks in water, and ducks preening in the yard. Watching the latter activity is especially good for the soul, and informative and fascinating too. Did you know that, with its bill, a duck can reach every part of its body bar its head? Do you know where the waterproofing uropygial gland is located? Did you know that the waterproofing effect is assisted by the application of an electrostatic charge to the oiled feathers through the process of preening? (If you want to know more, come to the Chicken Course at the end of May.)
People
Apart from those of you whom we welcome on our courses and weekend events, other key short-term residents at LSF are volunteers and wwoofers. Of these, we are thankful to have a steady stream. They come from all over the UK, Europe, and the world. The help they give us in running LSF is amazing. Without it and them, we could not manage.
And their input is not only work. We feel blessed by the presence of our helpers. They bring an international flavour to life at LSF. Often too, they bring the beauty and joi de vivre of youth, experience, and/or difference; and frequently, reminders that life is for learning. We have great conversations at the breakfast table, in the yard, and at supper time.
Jessica had been with us for a good while but has now successfully completed her childcare course, and works as a nanny in town, and also lives with and looks after her ageing grandma.
Maria and Nuria spent most of the year here and continued to make a huge, beneficial, and lasting impression on life at LSF. They do not live here now but their spirit does, and returns occasionally in the flesh.
Another wwoofer who found fertile ground for roots here is Hugo. He is returning, not only to help with general duties but to see through a project he started with stalwart builderman Stewart H and greenwood specialist and storyteller Chris: a new compost loo! It may be hard to believe but it’s a beauty, a decidedly happy-looking hut!
Other wwoofers who have been a memorable and helpful presence during 2014 have come from France, Spain, Italy, Germany, Israel, and the USA. We thank them all.
Long-term residents, the Hirsch-Hollands, are thankful and thriving. Rosa’s business, Rosa Bloom rosabloom.com is blooming and takes her to the biggest summer festivals, small but central pop up shops in London, and an annual sojourn in Bali, where much of her clothing is made. Jacob, while still a bread and butter juggler, see jacobhiho.com, both challenges and pleases himself and others with amazing slack rope and highline walks but has now also found time for running on the ground, especially at good old parkrun. Talking of challenges and running, Anna has taken up a post with the Norwegian Refugee Council. She runs a Camp Management Project in Lebanon for Syrian refugees, drives a 4x4 on roads that are not always safe and likes to have her yoga mat with her wherever she goes.
And for yoga too, Andrea went to Austria, but also spent time in her father’s old haunts in Carinthia in the south. She is her usual multi-tasking self, making LSF both blooming and bounteous but earlier in the year, had a little accident. This is what happened. In the mornings, we make it a matter of principle to feed the animals before feeding ourselves. What with other non-animal pre-breakfast duties, this sometimes leaves us a little hungry and weak at the knees.
Well, early one morning, Andrea was getting hay for the sheep from the barn and, in order to do so, had either to pull back the yard-high green wire fence, or step over it. Being in a hurry, she decided to do the latter but caught her trailing foot, and fell, ‘saving’ herself with outstretched arms. One arm hit a pallet hidden in the straw, and that did the damage.
Not wishing to ‘make a fuss’, she came into the Dairy, sat down, and looked at her now misshapen hand and wrist, and reflected. That is where I found her, quietly cursing her pre-breakfast haste. We comforted and consulted, and looked at a very particular part of her hand and wrist that was swelling strangely. Pain, she said, was moving up her arm.
‘It feels broken’ she said. ‘It’s A & E’ I said.
So I took and left her at the hospital and went on to tennis vet John’s funeral (he who, same age as me, was hitting balls on court in October; was told he had pancreatic Cancer in November; and lost his life in January).
When I got back, Andrea was home, with a plastered arm, in a sling. She’d caught a bus, ‘no fuss’. - Turns out it’s a break but a ‘clean break’, which will need to be in plaster for 4 to 6 weeks, first few days in a sling. Andrea said that she felt fine, and was fine, but looked funny with her right arm in a green plaster and trying to do all things with her left hand, like finding cards from her purse in a supermarket, and dropping it and its contents all over the floor. As we scrambled about picking up the bits and pieces, we were like two funny old people in a pickle; well, one funny and old and the other just injured.
As for Matt, well, in ’14, he was too busy at LSF to go to Paraguay; ruptured his proximal biceps tendon playing tennis; and, in spring, got a tractor, a poppy-red Nuffield Universal 1952. It’s made an appearance at the phenomenal twenty-first Swindon Festival of Literature, inspired a poetry-writing competition and a song, and is much-loved by small children, and by big ones too, like Jake, and John, and Marc, and even by some other men, and women too.
There was a significant sadness for Matt and for many others too, when, on 20th October, Dominic Winter died, unexpectedly. Dominic was key in the founding of the first Swindon Festival of Literature in 1994. It was his idea and his wish that there be ‘something bookish’ in Swindon. His company, Dominic Winter Book Auctions supported the Festival throughout its twenty-one years. Dominic was a fan of the Festival, and a loyal supporter. He was a good friend and is sorely missed.
Peroration
Everyone likes a good start to a new year and doubtless, for many, it is. We hope that you are among those for whom the year has started well. We certainly feel blessed.
But there are also many for whom 2015 is already a dark, difficult, and challenging year. We think of them.
In Swindon, each year, on 27th January, we mark Holocaust Memorial Day, reflecting on genocide, intolerance, and persecution the world over, both in the past and present, with readings, words, and quiet time. In 2014, the theme was ‘journeys’. This poem, by Sue Boyle, was central to our day. We’d like to share it with you.
The burden of bells, the trains, curving their way across a continent
i
I will take my tools -
hammer, chisels, augur, whetstone, saw.
There is strength in my arm.
My eye is clear and true.
We shall need houses at this journey’s end.
Life lies ahead and a builder is what I am,
a father said.
ii
There will be space for everything we need -
pianos, poems, songs, a violin
to stir the hearts of friends in shuttered rooms.
There is always music at a journey’s end.
Life lies ahead and a singer is what I am,
a mother said.
iii
They will let me bring what makes me beautiful -
bracelets, ribbons, brushes for my hair.
A young man is waiting there to take my hand.
I shall be married at this journey’s end.
Life lies ahead and my beauty is what I am,
a daughter said.
iv
These are the gifts of my lovely shining life -
the new moon’s arc, the star, this evening sky.
I am abundant with unfolding love.
Strong hands will hold me at this journey’s end.
Life lies ahead and delight is what I am,
a baby said.
v
Hamburg, Vienna, Salonica, Turin,
Leipzig, Bergen, Amsterdam, Berlin,
Padua, Paris, Avignon, Lublin, Zagreb – the trains.
vi
The empty trains returning.
The burden of bells.
