Early spring in the woodland garden

On an afternoon where spring certainly felt like it had replaced winter, I took a stroll up to the back of the garden, to the woodland bank.  Often overshadowed by numerous trees during the heart of the summer, right now it's an airy and interesting spot, the perfect place to while away some garden time, and a wonderful escape from hubbub of life.

The woodland bank, indeed the whole woodland garden, feels as though it has taken on an air of natural establishment.  The planting here is part-natural, part-manmade, but I really feel - for the first time - like the balance between my work and nature's in settling into rhythm up here.  Nestled into the many ferns that form the backrdop to the main woodland border sit some stunning hellebores, in full bloom at the moment, robust and uncompromising, but a reliable choice for years of uninterrupted pleasure.  It seems to be a very common phenomenon for gardeners to remove the leaves during the flowering hellebores in order to highlight the blooms, but I like to keep mine in the way nature intended - and if this means stooping to get a better view of the flower, then so be it - seeking these things out is one of the joys of gardening to me.

Complementing the hellebores is the rich and dainty purple of the latest addition, pulmonaria - also known as common lungwort or, as I like to call them, lady's cowslips - a perfect woodland plant that I can already tell will become a firm favourite.  I really like these unassuming plants, not just for their flowers (which do strike a remarkable similarity to another favourite, the cowslip) but also for their mottled silver-green foliage.  They've only recently gone into the ground, but they look as though they've always been there, and more importantly, they look like they belong.

I was delighted and surprised to notice that snakes head fritillaries - both last year's, and new bulbs I planted in the Autumn, have come up.  I almost missed the new bulbs, until Lizzie pointed them out, their delicate little heads drooping solemnly and bobbing the the breeze.  Even more of a surprise was last year's plants, for these have returned, only with a white flower instead of the usual mauve.  I'n not really sure why this is, but I'll live with it nonetheless - the colour almost adds to the delicacy.

Dotted patches of daffodils rise high above the new green of the wild garlic to give a timeless, native atmosphere - I feel like the Romans may have seen a similar scene when they clambered around these slopes, two thousand years ago.  Periwinkle rambles through the undergrowth here, and in a few short months, for the promise of summer is a sure one - the bank will be littered with the pinks and whites of myriad foxgloves. The woodland garden will grow, flourish, nurture and delight for months to come - but it all starts here, in early spring.

Major's Garage

When I was young, I remember my grandma telling me about her own childhood, and how the appearance of a car in the neighbourhood was always a big event.  It seems alien to us now, with several cars per household and vehicles clogging up every artery of the road network, that there was ever such a time, when the roads were peaceful, and driving was an activity of pleasure and leisure.  I can only imagine Newton Abbot on a soporific 1920s morning - beach-goers waiting at the railway station for a locomotive to Torquay, children skipping in Courtney Park, the gentle pulse of the market town - shattered suddenly by the hum of an Austin 7.  And if that did happen in this corner of town, the chances are that the driver of this iconic vehicle would pull in for a refill at Major's Garage.

Cecil Major - my great-grandfather - developed a career which saw a lifelong relationship with motoring.  By the age of 18, he began working as a motor engineer and chauffeur in the employ of Sydney Williams, who owned a garage on Quay Road, Newton Abbot.  The mechanical knowledge he gained in this role led him into the First World War, where he served in the Royal Army Service Corps (ASC) in France, between 1915 and 1918.  The ASC were responsible for land, coastal and lake transport, the supply of food, water, fuel and domestic material, and the supply of technical and military equipment.

Cecil in his ASC uniform

Returning from the war, Cecil was able to establish his own garage in Oak Place, Newton Abbot, where he specialised in repairs and overhauls, and produced the beautiful business card seen below, in which Cecil highlighted his promise of the best possible service.  He was then approached by Mr Hendy, the landlord of a nearby property on Queen Street, and asked to start a new garage, a few doors up from the town's railway station.  Alterations were made to the property behind the house at 157 Queen Street to create Major's Garage, and Cecil arranged with local petrol companies to install the hand pumps and petrol tanks.  Major's Garage was also known around the town as Station Garage.  My grandma always said how hard Cecil worked, and how he put in long hours to ensure the business was a success.  

Business card from Cecil's first garage at Oak Place, Newton Abbot

Cecil worked his garage, and the family lived in the upstairs building, for 20 years, during which time the re-alignment of street numbers meant that the property was re-numbered 177-79 Queen Street.  The property was leased under "Queen Anne's Bounty," an historic scheme offering assistance to poorer living.  This came to an end in 1946, and due to his age - and the fact that his son Derek seemed unlikely to pursue a career in the same business - Cecil declined the opportunity to purchase the property.  When the lease ended, a Mr Cecil Jackson and a Mr Albert Carpenter paid Cecil for the goodwill of the business of Major's Garage, the electric petrol pumps, oil cabinets, electric battery charger, tools and equipment, and also paid his legal costs in connection with the sale.  The money was enough for the family to buy the house at 8 St Michael's Road in Decoy, Newton Abbot.

Cecil at the pumps with his son Derek - my grandfather - in the car.  c.1935

Major's Garage was marked on the OS maps of the time

Thus ended the family's connection with garage work and mechanics.  After Cecil had sold the business, it became Ted's Garage for many years, before being demolished.  The site is now home to flats and a sewing shop, betraying nothing of its automotive history.

Parisian weekend part II

Tour Montparnasse stands some 210 metres above the Parisian streets, shattering the otherwise low-rise landscape of the city centre.  Controversial since construction began in 1969, the tower obviously enjoys a love-hate relationship with city dwellers, and two years after its completion, a blanket ban was imposed on all buildings more than seven stories high in the city centre.  In effect, this has only highlighted the tower even more so, standing out as it does in apparent jet-black, visible from all over town.  In 2008 it was voted the second-ugliest building in the world (they've obviously never seen Newton Abbot's multi-storey) and locals quip that the view from the top of the tower is the most beautiful in Paris - if only for the fact that it is the only place from which the tower cannot be seen.

We ascend the top of Montparnasse Tower is super-quick time, and are soon admiring a view that, on as clear and sunny a morning as you could wish, stretches out infinitely over the city.  From here, you begin to understand the size of greater Paris, 95% of which we will never visit.  The best view, of course, is of the Eiffel Tower itself, with a clear line of sight straight down the Champ du Mars, whilst in other directions is Parc des Princes, home of the famous Paris St Germain Football Club, Montmartre, and La Defence, the business district with its own cubed arch.  Directly below the tower lies Montparnasse cemetery, one of the largest cemeteries in Paris, amongst whose tiny tombs lie the graves of Parisians Charles Baudelaire and Jean-Paul Sartre.  The importance of the Jardin du Luxembourg as a green space is also apparent from up high, cutting a crater of trees and space in a sea of concrete and tarmac.  The view is fantastic, but besides it, there isn't much to do on the 59th floor of the building (the souvenir shop is pretty unremarkable, save for a couple of lovely books) and so we descend once again, satisfied that the views over Paris will live long in the memory.

Metro line 6 links Montpartnasse to Bir-Hakeim station, near both the riverside and Eiffel Tower, and is one of the best stretches of line on the network.  Rising from below the ground to above the roads and pavements, the passenger is offered a lovely view of the streets of the Grenelle district in the 15th arrondissement, with street scenes and buildings that I would describe as typically Parisian.  The line actually continues over the river, affording the best possible views of the Eiffel Tower en route to Etoile, but we alight at Bir-Hakeim for a spot of lunch and a riverside walk, which ultimately takes us to Pont de l'Alma, and the famous Bateaux-Mouches, which ply the Seine with their fabulous cruises.  Yes, it's packed with tourists, but there really is no better way to see the city than from the river, wind racing through our hair, scarves tucked firmly inside our coats.  Even our travel mascot, Diefenbacker, got in on the action!

Returning from our exhilarating ride, we spend the remainder of the afternoon at Musee Quai Branly, an ethnographic museum with a fine collection of artefacts from Oceania, Africa, Asia, and the Americas.  It's a well-presented little museum, in which the gardens command their own fee during the summer months, the perfect antidote to an otherwise very busy day.  In particular, we enjoyed the Polynesian masks and Mayan artefacts, but the whole collection is a reminder of the role that Paris and France have played in world history.  A new museum for both of us, it's right up my street, and well worth an hour or two.

A final evening, one final stroll up to Montmartre (with the added benefit, given our tired legs, of taking the Montmartre funicular,) where the Saturday night crowds are slowly filling the restaurants and bars, and there's a smattering of artists in the Place du Tertre.  The souvenir shops are fun for a quick browse, but beyond a few postcards, there isn't much we're looking for, and so we retire to a good looking (and great smelling) creperie for a classic cheese and tomato crepe, which is a total mess to eat, but is a very tasty farewell after a wonderful, packed-out, beautiful long weekend in the French Capital.  As always at this point, it's farewell Paris - and see you again soon.