I've adopted a new anthem for this crazy running challenge, Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder. The lyrics are fitting, and it gives me some sort of motivation to get up and keep going: "Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no, I got to keep on moving."
I have reached the town of Lorne, a little seaside town named after the Marquis of Lorne, Scotland, on the occasion of his marriage to Princess Louise, one of Queen Victoria's daughters. The town is known for its Falls Music and Arts Festival and Festival of Performing Arts, as well as its display of public artwork put on as part of the Lorne Sculpture Biennale. The Great Ocean Road Marathon also starts here, as does the more appealing three-quarter mile Pier to Pub swim, the largest ocean swim in the world according to the Guinness Book of Records. Around Lorne there are ten waterfalls to be found, including the Erskine Falls and Sheoak Falls, which I pass on my run out of town. Here, the waters of Sheoak Creek cascade 15m down a sheer rock face - it's very pretty.
Lorne
Sheoak Falls
Moving on from Lorne, within a few miles one comes to a memorial commemorating those from the barquentine Chittoor who drowned in three separate accidents, during salvage operations on the stricken ship WB Godfrey, which ran aground on 8 March 1891. On the rocks below the cliff here, some remains of the Godfrey can still be seen today, and it comes as no surprise that this part of the coastline is known as Shipwreck Coast. Another famous story here is that of the Osprey, a three-masted schooner said to have been wrecked in 1854 due to heavy storms. Rumours go that the ship was deliberately run aground so that the crew could escape to make their fortunes in the newly discovered goldfields here.
The WB Godfrey Memorial
Somewhere outside of Lorne, I achieve the distinction of passing the 20% marker of my journey, before heading onto the towns of Wye River and Kennet River, ten miles to the south. Both settlements are resort towns, with Wye River boasting an off-season population of only 66, according to a 2016 census. Kennett River, meanwhile, is a stronghold for koalas, and one of the best places to see them in the wild, along with a variety of birds and glow-worms. The winter season of June to October also sees the migration of Southern Right Whales along Australia's southern coast, as they head towards their breeding grounds in the Indian Ocean. Lucky whale-watchers have also been known to spot humpbacks, and even the occasional blue whale.
Wye River Beach
Moving on again, I'm slowly chalking off the miles towards the route's southern-most tip, Cape Otway, before the road begins its steady path northwards.
On a crisp and misty March morning, you get a sense of the spiritual about Wayland's Smithy. The Neolithic long barrow is accessible via a two-mile walk across big, flat open fields. It's easy to think that nothing has changed since this monument was first created, for there seems to be an old and other-worldly atmosphere about the place, a far cry from the disruption of the modern world.
Wayland's Smithy is a chambered long barrow, built during the early Neolithic period. Long barrow construction was widespread across Britain and Europe at this time, although Wayland's Smithy belongs to a regional variant of long barrow style, the Severn-Cotswold group, of which is is one of the best surviving examples. The long barrow runs 55m in length, 14m wide, with a peristalith edging of slabs.
Entrance Wayland's smithy long barrow, with two of the four sarsen stones in full view
The tomb here actually forms two phases. The first monument was made largely of wood with some stone, and was built between 3590 and 3550 BC, eventually housing a single crouched burial, with the further remains of 14 people scattered in front of this. This tomb consisted of a paved stone floor with two large posts at either end, thought to support a timber facade. There was then a period of disuse, during which time the structure was covered by an oval mound of chalk and earth, signalling the closure of the barrow.
After around 100 years of disuse (possibly as little as 50 years), a larger barrow was built directly on top of this structure using stone, and probably twice the size of the original, between 3460 and 3400 BC. This is the structure that we see today. This tomb contained two transept chambers and a terminal chamber, along with the long entrance chamber - forming a rough cross shape. Today, the entrance is guarded by four sarsen stones (originally six), which were returned to their upright positions during archaeological excavation in 1962. Within this later tomb, archaeologists uncovered the jumbled remains of seven adults and one child.
Entrance into the chamber area
It is interesting that the transition from timber to stone at Wayland's Smithy took place over a relatively short period. It's also worth noting that the burials in the second tomb were late in use, compared with burials elsewhere - the famous long barrow at West Kennet had seen burials in stone tombs of this style at least 200 years earlier. I'm particularly interested in why the long barrow was re-opened after a period of closure, which must have spanned enough time for the use of the original to be outside living memory. I would suggest that the site had a symbolism and significance that had been collectively remembered, a legend passed down the generations which kept ancestral ties to the site intact, and made Wayland's Smithy an important one in the culture, heritage and tradition of the people.
Finally, a note on the unusual name of this long barrow - the name of Wayland's Smithy appears to come from a Saxon Charter of AD 955, which refers to the site as "Weland's Smithy". It is suggested that the site takes its name because it was once thought to have been the home of Wayland, the Saxon god of metal working. There is also a local tradition stating that if you were to leave your horse tethered to the long barrow along with a small coin, an invisible elvin smith would magically re-shoe your horse while you were away.
I have been spending a lot of time in my sanctuary recently, and it is glorious. Cicero said (and I have it written on a cushion, so it must be true) that "if you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need", and I completely agree with him. The library is of course essential year-round, but takes on a particular significance in winter. As for the garden, it too can be enjoyed across every season, but it really springs to life about now.
We recently took a trip to Plant World, our lovely local garden park and nursery. Ridiculously not allowed to open until April (despite garden centres being allowed to open throughout lockdown!) it was very special to visit again. The gardens were their usual splendour, particularly the azaleas, cherries, and the last of the magnolias, whilst all over there was the promise of colour yet-to-come. Of course, as well as the gardens themselves, Plant World sells all manner of homegrown plants, which are consistently amongst the best quality you can buy locally, and a fair price too. Well, we filled two baskets and took note of other things, for which I will likely go back.
Back home for a planting session, and despite the frosty nights, spring has certainly arrived in the garden. My favourite thing at the moment is my honesty, not least because I grew them from seed myself. They've grown to a very good size, have billions of buds, and provide a massive splash of colour, leading the charge to May. They're also brilliant for butterflies - see the orange tip below, my first sighting of the year for one of those - and what's more, when the flowers are all spent and the plant dies, it will leave behind the most beautiful seed pods, well worth keeping in the border all year long.
Butterflies aren't the only wildlife visiting now, for the birdsong and general activity has been brilliant this year. It has taken a serious amount of time to attract a variety of birds, but our persistence has paid off, and I've now seen more than 25 different species in our garden, which I think is pretty good for a suburban estate. Most recently I noted the first ever sighting of a siskin, whilst greenfinch and goldfinch visits are massively up compared to past years. I've put so much effort into increasing feeding spots and observing which locations work best, and I finally think the balance is right - certainly the disappearing food tells its own story.
We've always had frogs in the garden, and frogspawn arrived for the first time last year. I've already seen the frogs two or three times this year, most recently when doing my annual sorting of the store behind our summerhouse (a truly unpleasant job). However the one creature I always look out for in spring is the slowworm. To me, they're like the harbinger of the growing season here - a bit like the Ravens in the Tower, gardening doesn't really work properly without them. If I don't see them by the end of April, I begin actively looking for them (the compost bin is the best place to start), but this year no hunting was necessary, as a mammoth specimen appeared out of the blue as I was carting compost up the steps. It didn't seem too bothered by my presence, and I lingered to watch it for a minute, its tongue flicking in-and-out in a relatively relaxed manner. I think it's the biggest one I've seen to date, and I was thrilled. After enjoying it for a moment, I carefully covered it over and went about my business, safe in the knowledge that the garden season has now officially begun.
So what else? Well, we've got hedgehogs. We've suspected it for a while, but after borrowing a trail camera from my parents, I can now confirm at least two regular visitors to our garden. Again, I'm thrilled, and have quickly fallen into the routine of leaving out hedgehog biscuits, dog food and water, every night. Hedgehogs visit at least two different parts of the garden, although I've no idea if it's the same pair in each place, or different pairs (which would really be something). At the moment I'm using the camera to try and establish if they're sticking to a regular route, so I can tailor the garden more to their needs. In the meantime though, here's some of the best footage I've captured so far:
Gardening for wildlife is a passion, and I feel that really for the first time since we moved here, the natural balance is now falling into place. I don't suffer the same problems with slugs these days, nor any garden pests really, and I think it's because we've tried to encourage nature in all its forms. I don't use slug pellets; I don't spray chemicals; I don't kill anything; and I leave wild areas. The result, in all honesty, has been life-changing for me - every day in the garden is a new adventure, I always see something of interest, and I get the sense that the garden as a whole is sending up a little bit of thanks for the style of stewardship we're trying to provide. We - the garden and I - are on the same page now, and that's a great place to be as we head into the summer months.
Actually that's not true, we're good friends these days, and I have spent many an hour pounding the belt here. However lately I've struggled with motivation, and so to remedy this I've joined the virtual revolution and signed up to a running challenge, with the aim of running the length of Australia's Great Ocean Road, all from the comfort of our garage. The challenge is hosted by Conqueror Virtual Challenges, via a pretty cool app which places me in a map, sends virtual postcards, and puts me in touch with other runners.
Quite appropriately, the run begins in the seaside town of Torquay - named after our own Devon resort - which is a renowned surfing centre. The global surfing brands Rip Curl and Quicksilver were both founded here, and the town beach hosts the world's longest-running surfing competition. Regarded as the surfing capital of Australia, the National Surfing Museum opened here in 1993, and is designated as "one of the most significant centres of world surfing heritage", by the International Surfing Association.
Torquay Beach
The Great Ocean Road itself runs 149 miles from Torquay to Allansford, along Australia's southern coast in the state of Victoria. It's said to be some of the most spectacular driving scenery on the planet. The road was built by some 3,000 servicemen who returned to Australia following the First World War, as a means of connecting sparsely populated areas, and provide a reliable link for the transportation of timber. Construction was hard - it took 13 years, and was built by hand using explosives, picks, shovels and machinery. The wilderness took some taming - so much so, that the speed of construction progressed at 1.8 miles per month.
Ex-servicemen working on the construction of the Great Ocean Road
My current progress sees me at Fairhaven Beach, in the town of Fairhaven, some 18.6 miles south west of Torquay. To get here, I've passed the Great Ocean Road chocolate factory (would that this were a real run), and the town of Anglesea, which was originally called "Swampy Creek" until the township was established in 1884. Now a tourist hotspot, the town's golf course is renowned for its resident population of eastern grey kangaroos, which are allowed to graze on the fairways. More recently my route took me through the small coastal community at Airey's Inlet, which people of my generation may remember from children's television - the town's Split Point Lighthouse was the home of the Twist family in Round the Twist.
Split Point Lighthouse
My next landmark, in just under two miles' time, will take me to the WWI Memorial Arch, before heading into the town of Lorne, known to be one of Australia's best places for bird watching. Not that I expect to spot any cockatoos, gallahs or kookaburras from my garage, but I can dream, can't I? Stay tuned for another update very soon.
As we know, Easter is all about rebirth, and the eternal hope that the resurrection of Jesus Chris brought to mankind. It's an amazing story, and one worthy of reflection, especially after such a tumultuous year for everyone on Earth. I think this message of hope often gets lost in our modern world, both by those who seek to detract and discredit religion, and those religious people who commit great evils in its name. But in its heart, what's not to love about the Easter message? Surely there's something in there to inspire each and every one of us.
Rebirth is a wonderful notion, and one that gardeners know very well. It's surely no coincidence that Easter is celebrated in springtime, when this renewal of life is abundant throughout the natural world. In our garden, spring is a time to reacquaint ourselves with old friends, and there are many - hostas are pushing their new spikes above the soil, the leaves of the asters are forming little mats, the primulas are flourishing after a long and lonely winter, and the fritillaries - always the fritillaries - are once again making their play across the bank. It's magical, inspiring stuff, and it arrives every year, right on cue, to gladden the heart beyond all measurable belief. Surely if Jesus Christ rising from the dead is the ultimate sign of heavenly hope for mankind, then this springtime miracle offers an equal hope here on Earth.
Of course, it's not lost on me that this spring we'll also be reacquainting ourselves with old friends of a human kind, as lockdown measures begin to ease. So, as far as spring 2021 goes, it's an all-encompassing affair, and there's an awful lot for which we can and should be thankful. I'm looking forward to seeing the people I like again, for the winter has been a long one, and I am ready to reconnect.
Back in the garden, I recently had cause to save a bumblebee which had fallen into our path. The bee was covered in mites, to the extent that it could no longer fly, infested under the wings and around the thorax. To save the bee, I got a tub of water and some thin twigs (I think a think paintbrush would work too); then with bee in hand, I slowly began to remove the mites one-by-one, dipping my twig in the water regularly to clean them off. This process took me about half an hour, but in the end I could see that the bee was pretty much mite-free.
The bee was by this stage bedraggled, and not fancying its chances on a cold, sunless day, I took it indoors and gave it a temporary home in a little carry case that I occasionally use for my fish. I put some sugar water into an unturned bottle lid, along with some garden foliage and some kitchen roll to help it dry off, then left the container on the windowsill for maximum warmth. We also named the bee, Bee T. Barnum.
Well fast-forward 24 hours, and Bee T. Barnum was much better, to the extent that it had begun flying around its hospital room. This day was a sunny and warm one, and so I took Bee out into the garden, opened the lid, and let it reclaim its place in nature. Every bee matters right now, so I was pleased to be able to help one live another day.
It remains to be seen if Bee T. Barnum returns to our garden, but I hope we'll be top of the list when it's choosing where to pollinate from now on! And so to anybody reading this blog, I wish you a Happy Easter and a wonderful spring.
