Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. It seeks to convey a message or tell a story, but speaks for itself without using words. Mrs P took this photo of a lonesome willow tree, located at the southern end of Lake Wānaka in the Otago region of New Zealand, in 2019.
Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. It seeks to convey a message or tell a story, but speaks for itself without using words. Mrs P took this photo of a lonely bridge on the Old Military Road, near Braemar in the Scottish Highlands, in 2019.
Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. It seeks to convey a message, but speaks for itself without using words. Mrs P took this photograph from the Bay of Skaill on the Mainland of Scotland’s Orkney Islands in 2023.
Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. It seeks to convey a message, but speaks for itself without using words. Mrs P took this photograph at the Utah Golden Spike National Historical Park in 2018
The Western Isles of Scotland are home to many more sheep than people, and are therefore officially my kind of place. We were last there 30 years ago and a return visit was long overdue, so earlier this year we booked tickets for the ferry, packed plenty of warm, water-proof clothing and set off on our travels. The islands themselves didn’t disappoint, though sadly the weather did.
No people. Several sheep. My kind of place!
Also known as the Outer Hebrides, the Western Isles lie at the extreme North-West edge of Scotland. By British standards they are very remote. Head due west from one of the beautiful beaches and your next landfall will somewhere on the northern tip of Labrador, Canada.
The inset map shows the Western Isles in red, off the north-west coast of mainland Scotland. Map credit: ” By Contains Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright and database right, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link “
The string of islands that together make up the Western Isles stretches for over 100 miles (160 km). They are connected to one another by a series of causeways and ferries which allow tourists like Mrs P and I to island-hop along their entire length, passing scenic sea lochs, dramatic cliffs, rugged hills, sandy beaches, moody moorland and gloopy peat bogs on the way.
Water, water everywhere. You’re never far from the sea in the Western Isles.
You’re never far from the sea on the Western Isles. For tourists the sea’s scenic value is enormous; for many islanders its fish and shellfish have long been an important source of sustenance and income. And when the fishing boats are too old and broken to be safely used, they are left to slowly decay on the shoreline where they give endless pleasure to Mrs P and her fellow photographers.
The fishing industry has left its mark on the Western Isles, much to the delight of photographers.
The islands echo to the sound of bird calls, while gangs of red deer patrol the hills and clusters of seals chill out on the shoreline. We were thrilled to catch a glimpse of a White-tailed Sea Eagle, although it refused to pose for a photo. So too did the Short-Eared Owls, which hunted audaciously along the roadside in broad daylight. Other birds were more accommodating, including a handsome Red-throated Diver. But perhaps the most memorable wildlife experience of our trip was to be able to stand at the kitchen window in our holiday cottage and watch Red Deer in the garden, grazing on shrubs and grasses.
For us, wildlife is one of big attractions of the Western Isles. Here we see Red Deer, a Buzzard, Whooper Swans and a Red-throated Diver.
Glimpses of the islands’ rich history are everywhere. The Western Isles were first settled by humans as the climate slowly warmed up after the last Ice Age, around 8,500 BCE. Some 5,000 years ago their descendants erected one of the most extraordinary prehistoric structures in Britain. Calanais (Calanish) is a cross-shaped setting of standing stones, the tallest of which is 16 feet (4.8m) tall. It was an important place for ritual activity for at least 2,000 years, and is believed to have been a rudimentary astronomical observatory.
At over 5,000 years old the Calanais (Calanish) standing stones predate the famous prehistoric monument at Stonehenge in the south of England.
Another picturesque feature of the Western Isles is the scattering of traditionally designed domestic buildings. Thick stone walls and tiny windows are a reminder of the inhospitable climate that local people have had to contend with over the centuries, while the thatched roofs conjure up (somewhat misplaced!) romantic notions of a cosy lost world.
On the Western Isles, some traditional domestic buildings have been restored, conjuring up romantic notions of a lost world.
With a resident population of just 22,000, peace and tranquillity are never far away on the Western Isles: these are indeed roads less travelled. It’s a truly magical place in which to escape the stresses and strains of 21st century urban life, even if the weather is sometimes a bit challenging!
Painshill, in the county of Surrey, is regarded as one of the finest remaining examples of an 18th-century English landscape park. Having been rescued from oblivion by the local council, it has won awards and been used as a filming location for the Netflix blockbuster Bridgerton. In the past, however, Painshill struggled to hang on to its hermits!
The Woollett Bridge: installed in autumn 2022, replacing Hamilton’s original while copying its design
The creator of Painshill Park was Charles Hamilton (1704-86), the 14th child(!) of the 6th Earl of Abercorn. Although Hamilton was plainly not at the top his family’s pecking order, his father was wealthy enough to buy him a “classical” education and to pay for him to undertake two Grand Tours of Europe in 1725 and 1732. It was these tours that helped inspire him to abandon formal, geometric garden layout at Painshill, adopting instead a picturesque and more naturalistic landscape.
The Five Arch Bridge, with the Gothic Temple beyond
Hamilton’s vision was to create a pleasure park offering visitors a series of sinuous trails and scenic vistas, with a range of eye-catching follies – including a Crystal Grotto, a Temple of Bacchus, a Gothic tower, a Turkish tent and a mock-Gothic “ruined” abbey – scattered amongst them. It was a revolutionary approach to garden design, one that influenced a generation of landscape gardeners. Today, Painshill is regarded as one of the finest examples of the English Landscape Movement.
The Gothic Temple…it’s a folly!
Work began in 1738 and continued until 1773, at which point Hamilton was forced to sell up to cover his debts. Over the next two centuries Painshill passed through a number of owners. Some of them bought into Hamilton’s vision, most notably Sir William Cooper – the High Sheriff of Surrey – who installed a suspension bridge and a waterwheel, and planted an arboretum. But ultimately the dream began to fade, the Park became neglected and its features started to decay.
View from inside the Gothic Temple
Painshill was recued by Elmbridge Borough Council. In 1980 the council purchased 158 acres (64 ha) of Hamilton’s original estate, enabling work to start on the restoration of the Park and its features. The following year responsibility passed to the Painshill Park Trust, which was newly created with a remit “to restore Painshill as nearly as possible to Charles Hamilton’s Original Concept of a Landscaped Garden for the benefit of the public.”
An alternative angle on the Five Arch Bridge, with the Turkish Tent (another folly!) beyond
At the heart of the Painshill landscape is a man-made serpentine lake, fed by water pumped from the nearby River Mole. Eye-catching in its own right, the lake also enabled the creation of picturesque islands and gave Hamilton an excuse to build some pretty bridges. The Five Arch Bridge is particularly elegant, and featured prominently in an early episode of Bridgerton, a hit Netflix drama set at the start of the 19th century.
Hidden in the trees, the Temple of Bacchus. Yes, it’s a folly!
Bridgerton is a story of upper class secrets, lies and love, in which the poor and the ordinary are notable by their absence. This was also true of the early days of Painshill, when it was only well-bred or otherwise prominent folk – including future US presidents Thomas Jefferson and John Adams – who were personally shown around by the head gardener.
The reflections on the serpentine lake were superb on the day we visited, although the grass was brown and parched after a long period without much rain.
Luckily, these days Painshill Park is open to anyone prepared to pay the modest entrance fee. Mrs P and I visited last year, and loved the place. It’s incongruous, quirky but strangely appealing. Sadly the day of our visit was very hot, and we didn’t feel up to walking into the woods to find the Hermitage, another of Hamilton’s flights of fancy.
The waterwheel – one of Sir William Cooper’s creations
Hamilton was clearly an eccentric, and had the resources to indulge his eccentricities. One of these was that his park should host an “ornamental hermit.” Unlike genuine hermits who locked themselves away from the outside world for devotional or spiritual reasons, ornamental hermits were employed by rich estate owners to live in a hermitage on their land and amuse guests by making appearances.
An advertisement was duly placed to secure the services of a hermit to live in Painshill’s purpose-built Hermitage for a period of seven years. The fee was 700 guineas, to be paid as a lump sum at the end of the contract period, but only if the hermit was still in residence at that time and had not broken any rules.
The rules were explained in an advertisement for the position, which advised that the successful applicant “shall be provided with a Bible, optical glasses, a mat for his feet, a hassock for his pillow, an hourglass for his timepiece, water for his beverage and food from the house.” He was not allowed to speak, to cut his hair or nails or to leave the grounds of the estate.
The Hermitage. IMAGE CREDIT: Rictor Norton & David Allen from London, United Kingdom, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
This appears onerous, but the fee was generous: 700 guineas is equivalent to around £135,000 (USD 170,000) in today’s money. It’s said, however, that the first resident hermit liked an immediate beer rather more than the prospect of a pot of cash in the distant future. He lost his job after just three weeks, having run away and been tracked down to a local pub, where he was found to be as drunk as a skunk!
The Hermitage eventually fell into disrepair and was finally demolished for firewood in the 1940s. It has since been rebuilt by the Painshill Park Trust, based on drawings of the original structure. Mrs P and I plan to make a return visit to the Park, and when we do we’ll be sure to track down the Hermitage. I may even take up residence…the prospect of living in splendid isolation, insulated from rantings of crazed politicians, random so-called “celebrities” and all their media cronies is strangely appealing!
Two of the features that have drawn us back to the Orkney islands again and again are the picturesque coastal scenery, and the magnificent birdlife. Marwick Head Nature Reserve, which comprises rugged sea cliffs 87m (285 ft) high, ticks both these boxes. And there is no better time to visit them than in spring, when the seabirds are nesting on the cliffs and the narrow fringe of coastal grassland is ablaze with flowers.
Marwick Head, with carpets of sea thrift in the foreground and the Kitchener Memorial to the rear
We returned to Marwick Head a few weeks ago, full of trepidation. Last year avian flu wreaked havoc on bird populations across the country, and we were anxious that its impact would still be apparent. As it happens, the number of birds on the cliffs remains high, although the seabird city was perhaps not quite as spectacular as we remember it. Avian flu could be responsible for the change, but perhaps climate change is also an issue?
One of the most common breeding birds at Marwick Head is the guillemot. They’re also known as murres in North America because of the murmuring sounds they make when nesting together.
Guillemots (aka murres in North America)
Guillemots belong to the auk family, and lay their eggs on bare rock ledges. Millennia of evolution has rendered these eggs pear-shaped to minimise the likelihood of them rolling off into the sea! Both male and female birds take turns incubating the eggs, and about three weeks after hatching, the chick takes the plunge into the sea. It won’t return to dry land until it’s ready to raise its own chick.
Another common bird at Marwick Head during the breeding season is the fulmar. It was not always so. Just 250 years ago this species was absent from the whole of the UK, but since then its distribution has expanded enormously. Once the season is over, however, fulmars make their way out to sea and will not return until the following spring. This is common amongst seabirds, which is why we prefer to visit Orkney some time between early May and late June.
Fulmar, also sometimes know (for obvious reasons) as the tubenose
The name “fulmar” comes from two Old Norse words – fúll meaning “foul” and már which means “gull.” This refers to a kind of stinking stomach oil, a defensive weapon that fulmars spit out to gum up the wings of predatory birds, causing them to plunge to their deaths. Perhaps it is for this reason that wild fulmars have an average life expectancy of at least 40 years. The lesson is clear: never, ever annoy a fulmar!
Razorbills are superficially similar in appearance to guillemots and breed alongside them, but – at Marwick Head, anyway – in much smaller numbers. They can be distinguished from guillemots by the thick black beak with a white stripe, which contrasts clearly with the thinner bill of the guillemot.
Razorbill, like the guillemot a member of the auk family
It was no great surprise to see a few razorbills at Marwick Head, but the close view of some gannets gliding past the headland was unexpected. Although gannets are not uncommon around Orkney we normally only spot them with binoculars, patrolling far out to sea.
The Northern Gannet may soon be breeding at Marwick Head?
This time we were treated to much better views, and one of the birds appeared to be carrying nesting material in its bill. Maybe a new breeding colony is establishing itself on Marwick Head? We’ll have to check it out when we return, as we surely will, in a couple of years time.
Man and moustache – Kitchener’s iconic recruitment poster *
If watching birds is your thing, Marwick Head is a fabulous place to visit. For students of 20th century British history it has an additional significance, as the location of the Kitchener Memorial. Field Marshall Lord Kitchener was once a national hero in England (but hated by many in Ireland, Sudan and South Africa), boasting a military career that extended far beyond his image in an iconic WW1 recruiting poster. In 1916 Kitchener – then a minister of war – was a passenger on the HMS Hampshire when she sank in mysterious circumstances off Marwick Head.
The tower visible in the central and right-hand images is the Kitchener Memorial
The Kitchener Memorial, an unremarkable stone tower on the clifftop at Marwick Head, was erected in 1926. It commemorates those who died after the Hampshire sank, including Kitchener himself. The Memorial is without doubt the most recognisable single feature on Marwick Head, but for me it is the wonderful seabirds that make this a must-visit destination whenever we are in Orkney.
* Lord Kitchener image credit: Alfred Leete, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
At last, after a gap of six years, we’re on our way back to Orkney for our 11th visit over a period of around 30 years. We were due to come here in 2020 but the pandemic got in the way, so it’s a relief finally to be back on the ferry for the 90 minutes long crossing from Scrabster on the Scottish mainland to the Orcadian port of Stromness. As the ferry passes the iconic Old Man of Hoy, we know we’re nearly there. It’s good to be back!
The Old Man of Hoy, a 137m (449ft) high sea stack, formed from Old Red Sandstone.
For the uninitiated, Orkney is an archipelago around 16km (10 miles) off the north east tip of mainland Scotland. There are around 70 islands, of which some 20 are inhabited. Orkney’s total population is around 22,000, meaning there are more sheep than people, and many more birds than sheep – both signs of the perfect place to spend time, in my view!
Orkney’s attractions include some magical coastal scenery and a wealth of wildlife, particularly seabirds. It also boasts numerous important archaeological sites, including stone circles, standing stones and Skara Brae, the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in Western Europe.
More recently, beginning in the late 8th century, the islands were invaded and colonised by Norse raiders. For several centuries they were ruled by Denmark and Norway, and did not come under Scottish control until 1472. The Norsemen thus left an indelible mark on Orkney, and today’s Orcadians remain intensely proud of their Viking heritage.
The Ring of Brodgar is a prehistoric stone circle dating back to the 3rd century BC.
Unsurprisingly tourism plays a big part in the local economy, alongside the more traditional pursuits of agriculture and fishing. A growing number of cruise ships visit during the season, something that is regarded as a mixed blessing by locals and “regular” tourists alike. But it’s easy to see why they come: Orkney simply has so much to offer.
For many years Mrs P and I harboured a secret dream of relocating to Orkney and building a new life here in this wonderful sea of tranquillity, which is light years away from the stresses and strains of our 21st century suburban lives. Sadly this was not to be, due to our family responsibilities back home. So, for as long as we are able (and always assuming the world is not struck by another pandemic!) we will continue to visit this great place regularly.
Meanwhile, over the next few months, I will publish several more posts about Orkney, sharing some of its many highlights and demonstrating why this is, without doubt, our favourite place in the whole world.
Here in the UK autumn ends today, 30th November. Unless, that is, you subscribe to the notion that the seasons are astronomically determined, in which case you’ll need to wait until around 22nd December for the official start of winter. But as a cold wind whistles around the house and I look out at naked trees, a garden littered with fallen leaves and sullen skies devoid of swooping swallows, I know that autumn’s over. Sigh!
“Release“, cast in bronze by sculptor Leonie Gibbs, is flanked here by glorious autumnal foliage. We saw it at The Sculpture Park in Surrey.
After a difficult few months in which we found ourselves mostly confined to the house by wardrobe woes, the horrible heatwave and the Covid blues, autumn’s been a welcome opportunity to spread our wings a bit. When we visited Surrey and Sussex in October, a few trees were just beginning to turn. They made a perfect backdrop for the artworks at two sculpture parks we visited, and also for Arundel Castle and the Polesden Lacey Garden Cottage.
Left: “Release” and reflection in the lake. Top right: Arundel Castle in Sussex, viewed from its grounds. Middle right: Autumn foliage at the Hannah Peschar Sculpture Garden in Surrey. Bottom right: The gardens at Polesden Lacey Garden Cottage in Surrey.
Fungi were also much in evidence, a sure sign of the changing seasons.
In terms of its symbolism, autumn is ambiguous, a season of immense joy and unbearable sadness. On the one hand it is a time of plenty, ripening, harvest, and abundance. And yet, on the other hand, it represents decline, decay, old age, and the imminence of death. The colours of autumn are glorious, a celebration of life, but we know it won’t last. The golden leaves will inevitably fall and perish, and greyness will prevail. Autumn is the ultimate proof that All Things Must Pass.
Hidden amongst the autumn trees is “Inca” a one-off sculpture, hand forged from iron by sculptor Nimrod Messeg. We saw it at the Hannah Peschar Sculpture Garden.
But even though All Things Must Pass may sound depressing, it is, for me, a message of hope. Although hard times will soon be upon us, they too shall pass. Nothing is forever, and, in the fulness of time, spring’s awakening will be with us once more.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Musical postscript
Forever Autumn, written by Jeff Wayne, Gary Osborne and Paul Vigrass, and sung here by Justin Hayward, is a plaintively beautiful love song in which autumn serves as a metaphor for despair and loss. The song features in Jeff Wayne’s musical adaptation of H G Wells’ War of the Worlds. Here’s a selection from the lyrics:
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old And darker days are drawing near The winter winds will be much colder Now you're not here ... Through autumn's gown we used to kick our way You always loved his time of year Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now 'Cos you're not here 'Cos you're not here 'Cos you're not here ... A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eye As if to hide a lonely tear My life will be forever autumn 'Cos you're not here 'Cos you're not here 'Cos you're not here
Listen here, and gently weep for the loves you have lost…
Back in the early 19th century around 10,000 windmills graced this green and pleasant land. These days they’re pretty thin on the ground, but luckily my home county of Derbyshire boasts one fine example: Heage Windmill. Just a couple of miles up the road from Platypus Towers, it is a sturdy, reassuring presence in the local landscape, popular with locals and tourists alike.
Sadly, however, looks can be deceiving, and not for the first time the mill is currently in danger. Major repairs are urgently needed, so it’s all hands on deck to raise the money needed to get it fixed.
* * * * *
The village of Heage (pronounced heej) lies 13 miles (21km) north of Derby. The name is a corruption of ‘High Edge’ and comes from the Anglo-Saxon Heegge meaning high, lofty and sublime. It’s therefore an ideal spot to locate a windmill, a fact that did not go unnoticed by an enterprising businessman in the late 18th century.
Reports in the Derby Mercury imply that construction of Heage Windmill began in 1791, and was completed by 1797. It had four sails, and as such differed little from a host of other windmills scattered throughout Derbyshire at the time. The local population was expanding rapidly in the early days of the Industrial Revolution, and with it the demand for flour. In the circumstances it seemed certain that the new mill would enjoy a long and busy working life.
But any structure that is deliberately located to catch the wind is inevitably vulnerable to being wrecked by it, so it should come as no surprise that in February 1894 the cap and four sails were blown off in a violent storm. Repairs were soon underway and Heage Windmill was reborn with its now familiar six sails, which would have provided more power to the millstones than the standard four sail configuration.
The repairs were doubtless well made, but the wind kept on blowing and in 1919 Heage Windmill was once again severely damaged by a howling gale. This time there were no repairs: the country was in a financial mess as it sought to recover from the horrors of World War 1, and wind power was in any case regarded as outdated technology.
The mill languished, unloved and unlovely, for some 15 years before being sold for £25 (USD 33). However, its milling days seemed to be over for good: the tower was used only for storage and fell into ever greater disrepair, a situation made even worse in 1961 when it was struck by lightning.
Heage Windmill’s fortunes began to change in 1966, when a legally-binding Building Preservation Order was placed on it. Two years later Derbyshire County Council stepped in to buy it for the princely sum of £350 (USD 456). Although this meant the mill was now in public ownership, finding the money to restore it to working order was – inevitably, I suppose – beyond the Council’s capabilities. The sails would only turn again a generation later, when the local community and a motley band of mill enthusiasts took up the challenge.
In 1996, with the Council’s support, the mill’s supporters formed a charitable trust with the aim of getting it going. Hope at last! But just a year later, as Heage Windmill Society was finalising its plans, lightning struck the tower once more. The mill’s supporters were devastated, their dreams seemingly in tatters.
Luckily this time the damage done by the lightning strike was not serious, and work to restore the mill soon recommenced. It was an expensive project, but the Society rose heroically to the challenge, raising nearly £450,000 (USD 588,000) from various sources. Their efforts, together with the hard work of countless volunteers, prevailed and Heage Windmill finally opened to the public on 1 June, 2002.
Job well done, you might think. And it was, but of course nothing lasts forever. In 2015/16 severe rot set in, and a major fund-raising effort was needed to sort it. The money poured in and Heage Windmill was saved again. I guess the Society thought it could finally relax, but it was not to be. Earlier this year further structural defects were identified, and they need rectifying urgently. It feels like we’ve been here before!
* * * * *
Heage Windmill officially opened for the 2022 season just a few days ago, and there was a good turn out to see local television personality and celebrity auctioneer Charles Hanson cut the ribbon. But although the weather was uncharacteristically balmy and a fine time was had by all, everyone “in the know” probably had just one thing on their mind: how do we, once again, raise a vast sum of money to save our precious windmill?
It sounds daunting, but this is no time to be downhearted. Like Lazarus, Heage Windmill has a track record of rising from the grave. It’s an iconic landmark hereabouts, and as the only working six-sailed stone tower windmill in England it is also a building of national significance. Losing it is unthinkable. This iconic mill has survived countless misfortunes in its 225 years of existence, and given the scale of support that was evident at the official opening I’m confident it will be saved again.
Now I'm 64 
