Black
The weather here today is wild and terrible. The street lamp at the end of my road looks set to stay on all day. My garden birds are hopefully all sheltering somewhere but there are a few wind tossed crows out over the valley who actually seem to be enjoying themselves. So I'm watching black clouds and black crows and wondering what Boris will have to say about Christmas.
It's been a busy couple of weeks here. My hares have gone to a new home and I got to make an unscheduled visit to the seaside to deliver my wren.
On my imaginary journey around the whole island of Great Britain we are also going to the seaside, pulling ourselves out of the mud around Lewes and heading south. We are visiting a place called Bright Helmston or Bredhemston if you prefer. It is a poor fishing town, much at the mercy of the waves. More than a hundred houses have been eaten up by the sea in the past few years. The people of the town are trying to raise money to build sea defences which will cost eight thousand pounds. Daniel doesn't think it will be worth the expense because it is more than the value of the remaining houses. So we move on. You might suppose that Bright Helmston must have been completely washed away but this is not the case. You might not immediately recognise this town as Brighton.
Next is Chichester where the cathedral has been recently repaired. It was hit by a fireball which blasted several large stones out of the spire. The largest, narrowly missing the surrounding houses, fell at someone's doorstep and another large stone landed in his back garden. A miraculous escape as the weight of the first stone was estimated to be at least a ton. The eyewitness who tells us this was sorry he 'had not the curiosity to measure them' and so am I. But it seems the gap left in the spire was large enough to drive a coach and six horses through.
We pass through Portsmouth which is, I'm sure, a wealth of information for those interested in naval history, then on to Southampton. It is a town he describes as 'dying with age' and briefly mentions tales of giants who once lived close by, in the New Forest. Frustratingly, he glosses over this because he is not at all interested in folklore so I can’t tell you about them.
North east of Southampton are Farnham and Guilford (Guildford) connected by a road that runs along a high and narrow ridge which slopes away precipitously on either side. Daniel doesn't care to take this path. Quite apart from the danger of actually falling off it, the surface is chalky and reflects the heat of the sun. So in the summer you will be scorched along the way. On the Guilford side of this ridge, they have built a gallows. As it is high on the hill above the town, people can sit in their shop doorways and have a really good view of criminals being executed without really having to put in much effort.
Also from this ridge we can see, in the distance, the most surprising thing I have come across so far. It is the enormous black desert just slightly to the south and west of London. He claims this desert covers not less than a hundred thousand acres. He compares it to the 'Arabia Deserta' and describes its terrible sand storms. He tells us that it is 'horrid and frightful to look on'. He says you would have to travel as far as the north of England or the Highlands of Scotland to find anything as awful as this. Its name is Bagshot Heath and he hates it. Daniel Defoe, along with many others in his day, derives no joy from wild places. He likes to see land that is cultivated, producing something and preferably sending some of that produce to London. I've never been to Bagshot Heath but it sounds like what he's describing is just a moor. I've tried to see what he sees in the moors above my house and maybe I can, on a bad day. It can seem empty but its emptiness and space has been a saving grace this year while we have all been kept so much at home.
Speaking of staying home, I'd like to add my voice to the growing plea to make no rash plans this Christmas. It's easy for me to say because I'm not a fan. It holds the anniversary of my partner's sudden death, so many of the things associated with the celebrations are tinged with trauma. I’m not looking for sympathy. It was a long time ago and there are far too many people with more pressing problems. But I do know what it is to be haunted by the ghost of a chance, however small, that if I'd done something differently someone might still be around. It's not easy to live with and it never fully goes away. So keep yourself and your family safe this Christmas and long may your memories of it be happy ones. The future in not entirely dark and things may improve sooner than we hoped. Things might seem grim, but even black deserts have their redeeming features.
