The joys of spring!

30th March 2014

    British Summertime, and the clocks go forward. I left an hour late, but not really, as the watery Sun was just rising. A pair of Goldfinches busied about me as I crossed Carpenters Lane: flashes of gold with red faces. I crossed the pasture over the college land; the air full of the sound of sheep and lambs bleating in the chill. As I went through the kissing gate onto High House Lane, two lambs, with the remnants of umbilical cord still dangling, spoke to me. One said, baa, the other said, baa. I said, hello! How are you? The little one said, baa.
    Celandine and sweet scented Milkmaids were joined by white Stitchwort (which often grows with sticky willy) on the banks of the lane. And on the path through Poult Wood golf course, I was entertained by a pair of Greylag Geese honking at me with early golfers looking on. I said sorry! for disturbing them. The golfers had teed off, so I went on my way. At Grange Farm, some progress has been made with the old oast house, and an out-building, standing on concrete stilts, has been completed with bright white weatherboarding. The lane to Horns Lodge was quiet, until a walker overtook me, as fast as a speeding bullet. Good morning, he said, as he sped past. I answered as quickly as possible, but he was gone. On the path for Tinley Lodge, among the Celandine and Milkmaids, Bluebells were flowering; early this year. I stopped for breakfast nearby. I sat on a log by an old Hornbeam and discovered that I had left without tea again! Still, I had my soup (savoy cabbage and bacon - yum!) with fresh home made bread, and plenty of water. I took the road to Great Budds, then climbed to Willmot Hill, to the cottage there, which had blue smoke floating from the high chimney. Looking east, Gover Hill, that great promontory, was thrusting out toward the valley and in the south east the unmistakeable image of Hadlow Tower, thrusting out of the misty distance. On the Greensand Way toward Ightham Mote, I picked some Ransomes to add to the stuffing for Sunday dinner. At the Mote, I bought a cup of coffee and relaxed outside the restaurant joining tourists, enjoying the sunshine and left, refreshed, for the final leg home.
    I left the Greensand Way for the Fairlawne estate along the bridleway, and passed through, wondering what Peter Cazelet's old racing stables are used for now. The pastures and fields were peaceful passing through to Dunks Green and in each, a Skylark sang. At Hamptons Road, bobtail rabbits scattered as I came from the footpath to the smallholding there. Down at the Bourne River, as I stood  on a wooden bridge listening to the bubbling water, a Blackcap sang, a melancholy song, hoping to entice a girl. But she may not have arrived from France yet. I followed the river back to High House Lane. As I walked up the lane, a cyclist went by, totally stark bollock naked! He said, good afternoon. I said, good afternoon. I wasn't sure that I saw what I thought I saw. Two walkers came behind me. I said, did I see that? They said, yes! And we laughed! Oh! The joys of spring!