Ring Out, Ring Solstice Bells!

Now is the solstice of the year,

Winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.

Join together beneath the mistletoe.
By the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.

Praise be to the distant sister sun,
Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.

These four churches have been brought together into one parish - Kingsdown, Ringwould, Ripple and Sutton.

Apart from the Victorian Kingsdown, they seem to have grown organically from the ground, as the buiders used local materials - flints, marl and possibly their roofs may have originally been thatched.
From simple beginnings, each has benefited from different additions - Ringwould's tower and cupola, Ripple's spire and Sutton's hemispherical chancel.
They may well have been built on sites of pagan worship, and of course many of the Christian rituals have been adapted from the earlier local customs.

The burning of the Yule log, the decorating of trees, the hanging of boughs, holly and mistletoe are all practices associated with the pagan Yuletide celebrations.

In these dark days of winter, it is easy to understand why many diverse civilisations have developed cheery traditions to brighten the spirits.

In the churchyards, as in the countryside, there is little natural colour at this time of the year, but a clump of Feverfew was flowering above the fallen leaves in Kingsdown, and a hawkweed decorated a wall in Ringwould.

Light relief

Thatching

In the gloom of a winter's afternoon, I checked out a thatcher's work in a nearby village. The roof had been replaced completely about 15 years ago, and it is time for a few repairs including the replacement of the ridge. This roof is of straw, of a variety that is especially grown for thatching, as it needs longer stalks than the commercial corn straw. Bundles are pegged in with staves.
It can't have been pleasant working on the roof, with frost and winds to contend with.
The week's strong winds provided some activity on the sea, with divers and grebes showing on and above the waves.

Numbers of garden birds have increased, and it's worth checking for continental races of Blackbirds (with dull bills, above) and Coal Tits (with slate-grey backs, below) among the British birds.

RIP Oliver Postgate

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there were two overgrown boys called Oliver and Peter.

And Peter lived on a farm near Canterbury. It was a rather unusual farm because it didn't grow any crops and there were no sheep or cows, but it was the home of Ivor the Engine, Noggin the Nog, the Clangers and of course Bagpuss.

And there they made the most beautiful, the most brilliant, funny old Small Films in the whole wide world.

Very sad news that Oliver Postgate has left us.

But he has left us with some wonderful memories.

A brief programme is here.

Short-eared owl hunting

Standing around, waiting for owls, while mist gathered across Lydden Valley, and the setting sun gave way to frost.

Swans flew to their roost at the Scrape,a Woockcock was flushed, and when one Short-eared Owl appeared, quartering the fields, it was too dark for photographs.

So I'll have to resort to a picture taken by the redoubtable SteveR (the handsome one) earlier in the week:
...and one that I took three years ago, also on the Sandwich Bay estate.

Undercliff and garden birds

It was good to meet Ben, another local birder, at last on our 'shared' patch. The male Black Redstart was obligingly showy, and Ben took some great photos.

My free time was short, so I had to leave, thus missing a couple of Ravens. Ben took some great photos. Dammit.

Meanwhile, back in the garden zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It's raining again

With two cats in the family, bird feeding tends to be of the hanging variety, to avoid feline temptation. This is good for the tits, but less good for ground-feeders like blackbirds, robins and dunnocks.
These unfortunates hang around the feeders anyway, trying to work out how to get a mouthful - normally they pick up scraps that fall, but the dunnock has now managed to leap from a nearby twig and hang on for long enough to get a peck.
Under the cliffs, a kestrel lies dead - one of the pair that bred this summer?

But on a happier note, the male Black Redstart is still hanging around the far end of the range.