Under Dartmoor Skies

Last rays of the sun

 

Last week end we put back the clocks and reverted to GMT that means it starts getting dark about 4.30 p.m. Time to draw the curtains, make a cup of tea and sit in front of the fire. It also got a lot colder, and suddenly there was an influx of wild ponies into the village. Sometimes they can be better than a weather forecast because they sense when the weather turns for the worse, and come off the high ground to seek shelter.

 

Today when I went for a walk I met Michael and I would like to tell you a little more about him. He is the sort of person that people describe as 'the salt of the earth.' He was born in a neighbouring village, and has lived in this village in the same woodland cottage for most of his life. A man of few words, he is tall, and as slim as a rake. Turn him sideways, and he wouldn't cast a shadow. A life long bachelor he works as handyman and gardener to many, including me. He is also the chairman of the Parish Council; a member of the PPC as well as grave digger, church warden, sexton and verger, and holds the ancient post of portreeve (the position of portreeve dates back to Saxon times and it refers to the guardian of the city gates.) He is the eyes and ears of the village; he knows the moor and all its moods, its customs, legends and laws. If there are any queries which cannot be answered the usual refrain is 'Ask Michael.' What he doesn't know about the village and the countryside can, as my French teacher once memorably remarked about my knowledge of French, be written on a bee's knees.    
The following is a short version of a conversation I had with Michael earlier this summer. We were 
discussing cleaning the church before a wedding, and I was on the church cleaning rota for that month.

Michael (in soft West Country accent):What about the poos?
Me (alarmed):What about them? What poos?
Michael: The poos in the church. 
Me: Have the sheep got in?
Michael (slight exasperation that I was being so thick): No, not the poos, the POOS!
At last the penny dropped.
Me: Oh! you mean the pews.

 Soon I shall be exchanging this season of 'mists and mellow fruitfulness,' and wonderful October starry night skies - we have no street lighting - for the bright sun, blue skies and the hustle and bustle of Sydney. In fact in just over two weeks I should be in Singapore's Changi airport en route for Australia. I shall have to get my skates on at Changi because my transit time is under two hours, and Changi is a vast airport complete with a train to take passengers between terminals. And why is it you always seem to arrive at Terminal 5, or something like that, and depart from Terminal 195?
But I will be here for Halloween, and I have my bag of sweets ready for the village children's annual Trick or Treat. I know there are many people who don't like this, and I can understand their reasons, but here it's organised by the Youth Club, and all the youngsters, small ones and not so small, come around in one large group accompanied by several adults. If you don't wish to participate, don't leave your light on by the front door, and you'll be left alone. As for the lanterns, there's a big debate whether or not you should have the large bright orange pumpkins favoured by our American cousins, or the more traditional ones carved out from a turnip or 'neep. Personally, I find the pumpkins soooo much easier to carve.
Now, where's my knife .....