Uncategorized - Random Walks in the Low Countries

One summers’ evening

July 6, 2015 by Dave Hampton

Shakespeare’s comedy Midsummer Night’s Dream was presented in the Savill Gardens over the weekend: it was a lovely show on a perfect summer evening. We walked through the gardens from one setting to another as 12 players surrounded us with the story of the games of the Gods, of loves lost and found. The encircling forest gave the production an immersive quality: the portion where the searching lovers cry out to one another over the reaches of rolling lawns and flower beds was especially effective.

The play continues through July and is well worth an evening.

I’ve been absent these pages for a month due to the sudden and unexpected passing of my son. I needed the time with family, and I want to thank all of the valuable, sometimes unexpected, support that I received from others. With time and reflection, I’ll find the wisdom and resilience to make peace with this crooked turn along life’s path.

Telling stories through photography, art, writing, have always helped me to be aware of my context and to make sense of my experiences. However, in this circumstance I knew that I needed to take a hiatus.

A month on, I feel ready to return. Despite the loss and sadness, I know that my life remains filled with remarkable scenes and stories, generous people and much happiness. There will be a time when I am ready to write my remembrance for my son. But, for now, recognizing and appreciating the best things in life through these daily perspectives is what I most want, and need.

Along the coast, across the moors

May 30, 2015 by Dave Hampton

I started the day as House-Dad, helping Greek-mom with her pronunciation and our resident cardiologist fix a flat tire. Both have had a lot of success in the past week: Laura passed her PhD defense and is officially a Doctor-Doctor-Fellow in Bournemouth, while the whole Greek clan has found new jobs in Poole. There were a few bumps in that, though.

In order to work in a pub, they had to pass a health and safety test with perfect scores. The on-line course was dense and technical, how to handle money and underage drinkers, which fire extinguishers and cleaning solvents to use for various jobs, how to move boxes and wash dishes properly. It seems unreasonable to expect someone just learning English to understand and absorb that amount off material in one go, and I ended up helping with an evening’s tutorial. In the end, everyone understood and passed.

Then Greek-mom, very sweet, came to me to ask for help pronouncing harassment, racism, prejudice. I sighed: what happened? Co-workers making remarks about Greek immigrants; others brushing her inappropriately during work. She argued that she needed the money; I argued that she needed to establish boundaries. In the end, the manager helped.

By midday, I was ready for some moments of Zen and took a long loop around the coast through Milford-on-Sea to watch the sailboats entering the Solant against the Isle of Wight, and up into the New Forest to go for a walk past Hatchet Pond into the moors near Brockenhurst.

It was a lovely day, sunny and warm, and helped to quiet all of the weeks’ (and the houses’) worries.

‘Better to be the day’s House-Dad, resourceful and reliable, than the proverbial Expat at the End of the Bar, the one nobody remembers when or how they arrived.

A wee bit ‘o techy trouble

May 27, 2015 by Dave Hampton

The problems first appeared last night, Windows Live Writer (WLW) returning an error when I tried to push a new essay up onto Blogger. It looked like an authentication issue: I checked passwords, then had a beer and waited for Google to sort itself out. An hour went by with no change.

A quick search turned up a number of frustrated WLW users complaining in Blogger’s Help Forum. Unhelpfully, we were informed that Google had changed it’s user validation process and that Microsoft had chosen not to update it’s software. Microsoft, in turn, saw no reason to update a legacy product that had not been updated in years.

As the evening wore on, it became apparent that none of the Windows blogging clients had updated when told to, from BlogJet to BlogDesk, so nobody was able to post to Blogger. Microsoft’s Word and Outlook interfaces were also broken.

Suggested work-arounds included migrating the blog to WordPress, but the importer likewise had not been updated, so all formatting was lost if I migrated using the Export Content To File / Import Content From File suggested by other users.

I took up the challenge and found that if I mailed a copy of the WLW post to Blogger, then copied Google’s HTML back to WLW, tweaked the format, and pasted the HTML back into Blogger, I could get a post published with pictures and formats. It takes a bit of hacking at the code to smooth it out – if you are noticing small formatting glitches, that is why.

Google is now promising to work with Microsoft on a fix, we apologize for any inconvenience caused.

Some days the Internet is sooo brittle…

Up the River Stour, Christchurch

May 25, 2015 by Dave Hampton

Christchurch lies at the confluence of the Rivers Stour and Avon, just east of Bournemouth along the Dorset coast. With a secure harbour and easy inland access up the river, the town (originally known as Twynham) has always been an important trading, smuggling, and defense point.

I usually see the town only on side view as I zip past on the A338 to Ringwood. Occasionally, if meandering towards the New Forest parks, I’ll stop at Mudeford Quay, straddling the entrance to Christchurch Harbour, for crab sandwiches or stormwatching,

I’m overdue for a good exploration of the town, so took advantage of the Bank holiday and a walking map in Dorset Magazine to spend time walking. The areas along the rivers and harbour are nicer than the town itself, which seems crowded and common with the flea market dominating the main road.

A good walk begins at the Priory: the most visible landmark, an 11th-14th century monastery established where the rivers flow into the tidal estuary at Place Mill. The church is one of the larger ones built in England, and (with help) I followed the architectural changes where the nave was extended an additional story, and the addition of the Lady Chapel.

Outside, there is a nice walk along parks bordering the River Stour. It’s mostly high-end homes and boats along the north side, boardwalks through the southern marshlands are accessible via the Wick Ferry.

It became a walk/sit, walk/eat, walk/read, walk/coffee sort of ‘casual morning, relaxed and warm. I fiddled with improving the light and composition in my photos, ‘took some notes for the upcoming week.

On second visit, I’m most likely to explore further upriver, renting one of the kayaks and getting either further into the tidal marshes or up past the main bridge, where homes and sailboats give way to woodlands and wildflowers.

Rambling along Warbarrow Bay

May 24, 2015 by Dave Hampton

Rounding the crumbled cottages of Tyneham Gwyle, I found several families stopped along the trail, taking pictures. I expected it was either framed by the ruins or the rhododendrons, but the star was Flower’s Barrow ridge, a spectacular chalk cliff luminous against the blue waters of Worbarrow Bay.

Lining up to take my turn at capturing the scene, I found that it became even better as I descended toward the crescent stone beaches below.

The path down to the water leads from the corner of the carpark opposite Tyneham’s entrance: I found it by walking the barb-wire perimeter that keeps visitors off of the tank artillery range. From there, the path winds down a deep gulley among ruined cottages until the Bay comes into view.

The Bay itself is an enormous crescent bordered by the sheer white cliffs of Flower’s Barrow, collapsing into the sea above Cow Corner. The colors range from dark greensward on the headlands over red mineral and earthen strata towards the eastern end, white chalk filling the western arc. Dr, Ian West has a well illustrated and very detailed web page describing the geology of the Bay which makes absorbing sense of it all.

The path splits approaching the Bay, one part leading up to a promontory, Worbarrow Tout (=lookout), while the other forks down to the water’s edge. The beach is large-scale gravel, warm and crunchy, with absolutely transparent glass-like water. Various shells dot the shore: I started collecting up the unfamiliar cuttlefish blades.

Finally, though, I just sat along the rocks and took it all in: there were only a few people about and no sound at all.

The South West Coast Path grazes the beach, rising steeply in both directions east and west. I would love to spend a week doing the full ramble one day, but contented myself with a brief exploration to establish the general direction and to see how equipped people were.

I’m definitely going to need the ‘sticks when the time come

Abandoned Tyneham

May 23, 2015 by Dave Hampton

If you can find it, you should visit the old village out past Wareham… The fellow across the table waved his fork sort of westerly as I dipped into another portion of fish pie. The dinner party was approaching 11 pm, and my host passed the wine bottle again, asking “Tyneham Village?” Right, the one that nobody ever returned to.

‘Made a mental note, checked the map once I got home, and off for a drive in this morning to try to find the place.

And I agree, it can’t be done without directions, nor without checking whether tanks are having artillery practice that day.

1943, and D-day preparations are underway in England. The soldiers need a staging area to practice taking terrain, and the Jurassic Coast is similar to Normandy. The mining parish of Tyneham is chosen for the mock assault and the residents are all displaced. None ever returned: after the war, the entire area became an artillery range for the British Army.

Now, on selected days, it’s possible to weave over the hills and down the slopes to visit what’s left of the village seventy years later.

The drive out is really worthwhile all by itself, with spectacular views across Dorset and the seacoast. The Grange Hill viewpoint is especially good, carpeted with spring wildflowers.

The village tucks into a forested hollow at the base of the ridge, easy to overlook if not for the car park nearby. A signpost gives the history and a map of the trails at the entrance. Then its in to explore the village, all roofless weathered red-brick walls bordering weedy overgrown floors. It’s a tiny Pompeii.

The old church and cemetery are tended, and the school has been partially restored (original furnishings and a charming nature table that, unfortunately, seems to have fallen from favor in modern England).

And absolute tranquil silence: the area is surrounded by fences warning that live fire can fill the woods and slopes beyond the wire from time to time.

The nearby farmstead is being restored as a museum. It’s a collection of both old farm machinery and random bits of munitions scavenged from the surrounding fields. The barn is used by a local theater group, although with the poor signposting, audiences must be word-of-mouth.

People will say that this was a FOMO chase (Fear of Missing Out), but the village is an interesting artifact and worth an hour to explore. The trip is worth it if you find a way down to the beaches, or want to make the diversion from the nearby South West Coast path.