Sheep Wrestling at Norton Conyers! 12th March 2018

Today was wet. The rain fell relentlessly, unceasingly. And it was cold too. For the first time I felt a pang of regret at choosing a career in the outdoors.

I let out a sigh as I zipped up my jacket, lifted  my hood and ventured out to face up to this miserable day.

I drove along the Wath road - less of a road, more of a lake patched with tarmac - and the water sprayed up above my windscreen.

The snowdrops to the West side of the house lay jewelled with shimmering droplets and the daffodils were beginning to unfurl their sunshine - much needed on a day like today.

As we dropped off our belongings, the mood was that of dread. We looked to Giles - where would we be working today?!

Giles must have seen the desperation and pleading in our eyes, and taken pity on us; we were to give the garden's benches their annual linseed oil treatment in the Bothy. We were all delighted at this news - the mere prospect of working indoors was quite exciting; it didn't really matter what we would be doing!

As I opened the door to the bothy for the first time, a dead Woodland Jumping Mouse (Napaeozapus insignis) was revealed in the entrance on the gravelled floor. Plum hadn't found it - yet. It could have been sleeping - such was its almost perfect, clean fur. Bex picked the poor dead creature up and buried it.

A roll of steel wool was gathered, along with a bottle of linseed oil and a few rags. The benches were positioned in the dull bothy, and we split into pairs. Balls of rough, crunchy steel wool were rolled and scraped along the wooden surfaces, removing debris and damp grime. 

Next, the two groups battled for one bottle of Linseed oil - its sweet and fragrant aroma quickly filling the bothy. Oil was rubbed into every crevice, before the bench was turned over and the process repeated. Leather wasn't a good choice of glove for this task; they quickly absorb oil, so the yellow material quickly turned black.

And, so the benches would be fit for another year in the British weather.

I headed towards the apple store next to treat the garden tools. A knife was needed to scrape of layers of dried mud and soil, peeling back the layers of different days in gardens.

The oil was applied, and also to the metal ends. They looked sharp, new and shiny - pieces of equipment to be proud of.

However, before my work was done, Alan arrived, and set to work dismantling the greenhouse outside the apple store. I would be needed to help him with this process.  A ratchet was used - quickly

whipping out nuts and bolts and the frame was soon dismantled - going into storage for the time being, with potential for relocation in the future.

We returned to the Orangery for our tea break, which was welcome in this cold, saturated atmosphere. I warmed my hands on my cup and let my jacket drip-dry on the back of a metal frame. Following a rest and a chat, Giles lead the way into the adjoining peach house. The peaches were beginning to blossom, and a robin sat on the branches, before darting away. 

In the absence of the helpful bees in the cold weather, we would soon need to pollinate the peaches ourselves.

The gooseberry bushes still needed pruning. We had started the previous week, and it was a job none of us particularly looked forward to. The thorns are sharp, hard and abundant - spiking straight through gardening gloves and into tender skin. The job was huge - it took three of us two and a half hours to complete, wheeling barrow loads through to the woods.

Gooseberry Bushes

After lunchtime, Alyson was recruited by Giles to start a fire in the old tennis courts outside the garden walls. They were built in the 1950s, but have seen decline over the last 30 to 40 years. It is now a useful area, which I believe was cleared at the beginning of this year. A well-contained space, it was perfect for a fire.

The fuel, and reason for the fire? Junk wood from the stables. Giles was in 'clearout mode.' It's fantastic to see a space being transformed, but also to bear witness to snapshots of peoples' lives; objects were left in the stables by individuals - most of whom would now certainly be dead. Bex drove the tractor - full of wood and earthy detritus, along the edge of the walled gardens. I followed with an old, broken ladder on my shoulder.

The fire burned - with pallets, table legs, broken boxes, ladders, earth - and Beth and I soon returned to the courtyard - I hitched a ride on the back!

After ridding the stables of the main debris, we looked around to see what else we could find. Old turpentine and linseed oil bottles; fire buckets; a beautiful page from a 'His Master's Voice' calendar from Harrogate; chains; small tools and bits of metal - all would have had their place and use in days gone by. Recovered items from the stables were later arranged in the bothy. 

Items recovered from the stables

I took a barrow of junk metal to the yard, and on my return popped in to see Walter's horse. She is a smashing, noble creature. Tame and faithful. We rubbed our heads together and I stroked her warm velvet nose. 

Shortly after this, Giles received a call from the house; Sir James had spotted a sheep in the grounds! We ventured towards the front of the house - it stood, proud of itself in the distance. It kept this distance as we advanced; I soon realised that pace was needed. I marched forwards - beyond the house and through the woods, gathering speed as I went. The sheep disappeared. I ran in its direction, hoping that I would lead it towards a break in the fence. Sadly this was not to be the case. 

I caught up with the sheep on the edge of the estate. It was skittish and lively - they are fast creatures! Thankfully I was faster, and had more stamina. I wouldn't catch it - I would exhaust it. After cornering the creature two or three times (it scarpered on all occasions), it soon began to tire (and so did I). As we darted from side to side, the creature finally realised it could not escape; it fell to its knees, in white flag surrender. I held it down and waited for backup. The sheep was huge - a heavy mass of matted cloud.

Giles, Beth and Bex arrived, and two of us lifted the sheep into our arms, before heaving it to the fence. It took three of us to lift the massive creature over the barbed wire and back into its pasture. The sheep ran off in pure joy and relief, bleating merrily to its grateful family.

We all wondered how it had managed to get into the grounds at all!!

We made our way back to the gardens - myself quite exhausted from the exertion. Giles pointed out the huge ice store on the edge of the estate. As I approached it, I was given no sense as to its sheer depth - a huge bricked wall inserted into the earth - an echo of unrefrigerated times.

Giles pointed out a 200 year old Sycamore tree on our way back, explaining- "It may still live for another 30, 40 years" he said. He also showed us a badger village, which lay along this route - multitudes of setts raised above the earth.

Sycamore tree

A Pet Graveyard lay nearer the house , with 19th Century pets being given particular prevalence. "Tiger, Died 15th June 1896, Aged 4 Years" "Nigel J.S. Graham" was the inscription.

And so, as another day drew to a close, I could again be thankful for the sheer variety of the work that I was undertaking.  The girls went home; I stayed with Giles and pressure washed the pond. The moss flew into the air, and the dirt removed itself from the sides of the pond begrudgingly. It cleaned up nicely - even if it does need resealing later this year!

I returned to my car wet, muddy and hungry, but with a deep sense of satisfaction in my heart.

This was another varied day, but I never thought I'd be a professional sheep wrestler!!

Buried Treasure at Norton Conyers?! 8th March 2018

After my alarm goes off on a Monday or Thursday, it’s become a custom for me to check the weather forecast on my iPhone. I only use it as a guideline I suppose - it’s rarely accurate. So after the previous weeks’ weather seemed to indicate winter’s finale, I was surprised to see it was snowing - right now - well, according to the forecast.

I didn’t even give this much thought - not even venturing to open my curtains. There might be some sleet in the air - perhaps a little flurry of actual snow. But last week was a freak March weather phenomenon… wasn’t it?!

I’d forgotten about the forecast when - after getting ready - I stepped into the lounge to see the monotone veil outside.

I ventured out well prepared. I’d baked a 'Torta di Nada' - a Jamie O blueberry and olive oil cake the previous day to sustain us gardeners. I hoped it would be a match for Bex’s clementine cake…

The snow fell - thick and rapid yet silent. A thin layer on the road. The car well covered and icy. I put my bags in the boot - the car interior dark like a windowless room.

The windows were scraped. De-icer sprayed. Engine on. Heating on full. I gingerly engaged the clutch. I would turn back if necessary, but the forecast - although not to be trusted - indicated a wet, mild afternoon.

The side streets were slippery; leaving Harrogate slow.

The sliver of snow belied the treacherous conditions. A windy, hilly road. Rarely over third gear. 

The conditions worsened - a grey blanket surrounded my car. I turned into the Wath road into almost virgin snow; the car gently slid despite the slow speed. 

Here was the challenge. The narrow road winds and weaves. Blind corners and undulations. I meandered - barely over 20. 

Relieved to have arrived, I turned into Norton Conyers, making fresh tracks and I looked forward to seeing the gardens under a blanket of snow for the first time.

I was early again, so wondered out towards the house with boots crunching underfoot.

The atmosphere was still and quiet - the soft, persistent fall of white a faint whisper through the air.

Giles, Plum and I strode through the gardens, making our mark on the perfect, untouched covering. Alison soon arrived, but after a conversation with Giles - there wouldn't be much to do today - left. The other girls had already called to say they wouldn't be coming due to the weather.

Today was a job outside the gardens. We grabbed spades and forks and ventured towards the house.

Pollarded Willows in the Snow

An outside wall of a building adjacent to the house had a damp problem. Giles had been advised by an architect to dig a trench alongside the outside of the wall in an effort to expose any problem. The trench could then be filled with stones to improve drainage.

This side area brought the house's outer buildings to the edge of the woods; unmanaged and a little overgrown, but scattered with snowdrops and perfectly natural. The weathered ancient wall told its own story of change - blocked up windows and doors - newer brick amongst the old stone.

The digging began - Giles and I spread along the wall. But we were to dig with care; Giles explained that parts of the house were Anglo-Saxon, so buried treasure might be lurking beneath!!

The unrelenting snow continued to fall, but I was hot before long. The earth lifted easily, blackening the white earth as it was deposited, and progress was rapid.

I noticed how effortless Giles made it look. I felt to be wasting a lot of energy; my technique would need adjustment!

It wasn't long before my spade hit pottery, glass and metal, and the harder work would begin. There was nothing of value - they were the bones of the building's previous fittings. 

Long sections of metal guttering came up as worms wriggled their way free. The first drain seemed a little blocked - we would come back to it later. 

In the space of a couple of metres, hundreds of pieces of glass lay on and under the surface. I looked up; as I expected, a window sat directly above this spot. A broken plant pot served as a receptacle; Plum didn't want a poorly paw! She was cheerful, keeping herself busy as she snuffled through the snow. She seemed to have grown a white beard as she looked up at me. Her sister was in the van - just happy to have been brought along!

I unveiled an old rake head; a guttering bracket; terracotta piping.

We were nearly half way, and it was time for tea. The snow had slowed. My jacket was saturated at this point, my sleeves wet and filthy. We left a muddy trail in the snow as we marched in front of the house, back to the Orangery.

I filled the kettle using the outside tap, and cut the cake (which was fit for 6 people!) 'Are you hungry, Giles?' I asked. 

I greedily ate my ample portion and warmed my hands on my tea. The snow had stopped.

Giles received a call from the builder shortly before we were due to recommence our work. He would be here in a minute to discuss work on the orangery with Giles. 

We waited for him, and Giles took the opportunity to show me the peach trees. They had been planted in around 2008, after the previous trees (planted in the 1940s) grew tired and ragged. They were neatly trained. Giles explained how prolific they were. It is important to quickly take remove weaker fruits to promote healthier, bigger crops. The lesser number of fruits wasn't an issue for Giles: 'After all, you soon tire of peaches'! At this moment, an avalanche of snow fell from the sloped orangery roof. Plum jumped - to coin a phrase, she was all peaches and plums (!)

Giles continued to tell me about the peach trees and pest management, and he was interrupted as the builder entered. At this, Plum found her voice.

I left Giles to continue his discussions and cracked on with the digging. There was no need for waterproofs now, and I quickly warmed up again.

It was a struggle to get back to work - too much cake - but I plugged away. My arms jarred as I brought the spade down. I uncovered a huge section of terracotta piping; a little further along was the next drain. Here, the earth quickly became sloppy and boggy; it seemed I had discovered one source of the damp.

A pygmy shrew darted into the trench, seemingly towards the dead end of the drain. But it climbed out effortlessly, and scarpered towards the snowdrops. And it disappeared, as quickly as it had arrived.

Giles returned, catching me catching my breath. 'You're not finished yet are you?!' he joked. I laughed. 'Where's Plum?' I asked him. 'Talking to Shandy' he replied. I laughed again.

Wooden frames, a pitchfork head, metal guttering, more broken glass... but no treasure.

I heard Giles let out a shocked grunt, and I turned from my work - his spade had plunged deep into the earth. He had come across a rabbit hole!

We continued to work. I was 'entrenched' in my work, so didn't notice when Giles left. He returned with a wooden pallet, which he proceeded to lean it against the wall. He climbed to an upper shuttered window to find out the level of the floor.

This prompted him to tell me of a ghostly encounter. He had been working in this area at Norton around 20 years ago when he heard footsteps above him - clear as day. There was noone around. No explanation was to be found. One of his colleagues heard the steps - the other did not. 

This reminded me of the incredibly convincing ghost story at the Treasurers House in York, where plumber Harry Martindale saw a Roman army unit march past him in the cellar. He confounded historians by describing their attire - it did not match historical records. However, years later, a discovery was made that showed Harry's description to absolutely match the uniform of a specific rank. I paid no attention to ghost stories until I heard that story. I have no real superstitions, but perhaps there is something about buildings of this age? Who can account for what Giles heard or Harry saw?

The Yew trees (Taxus Baccarta) rained their melting snow on us. The sky had cleared and the sun shone. The snow would quickly disappear.

Another builder appeared as we finished the trench. 'I thought I was hearing things.' he said. 'Well I've heard things here before.' replied Giles, before repeating the story he'd told me. They talked about the damp wall and the potential causes we had discovered. He was doing some work inside and had lots of plaster to dispose of.

I left them to discuss the work, and began tidying up. We would return with a digger to clear the earth at a later date.

Lifting the lid on a blocked drain!

As I crossed in front of the house, the view revealed itself - further than I had ever seen from this point. It was clear - the sky a pastel blue and patched with radiant clouds. This beat being in an office.

We took a wheelbarrow each - I cleared foliage to the rear of the orangery (they had been cleared by the builder, who had been assessing work needed on the wooden boards behind the guttering), whilst Giles returned to gather the metal. He collected this to take to a scrapyard.

We ended the day early - it would still be a while before the snow melted sufficiently to allow worthy work to continue. I gave Giles the rest of the cake 'I hope Mrs G likes it!'. He was grateful. 'Where did you get it?' he smiled in his comic deadpan - something I would get used to regularly experiencing.

Giles thanked me for coming in 'It wouldn't have been much fun digging that on my own.' he remarked. I removed my windscreen protector (which was redundant now the snow had melted), and took off my soaked boots.

The completed trench!

The road leading to the A61 had lakes across it - a stark contrast to the morning. As my car rolled through, the water gushed up to the top of the windows, the muddy water mocking my decision to wash the car the previous day...

It was bright and cheery; I got the sense that this Spring weather wasn't a repeat of last week's false start.