West Wittering Beach

http://pacificindustrialmarine.ca/wp-json/wp/v2/pages/30 We’ve finally made it to the day the world has been waiting for. Yep, it’s my 54th birthday. Not only that, but it’s also the US election. I’ve been a very good boy it this year, so I’m hoping I get what I asked for.

Bambuí It’s my dad’s birthday today too, although sadly he’s no longer here to celebrate it. This year has a particular resonance because he died aged 53, and it makes me realise just how young that is. So I just want to give a shout out to Robert (Bob) Frank Greenwood (1932-1985), whose name doesn’t appear anywhere on the internet. Well, it does now.

http://iksdome.com/event-schedule/•-revival-music-festival-may-26-harmony-park-music-garden-in-geneva-mn/ Birthdays and elections aside, there’s only really one milestone I’m concentrating on, and that’s Christmas with my (very small) family. Throughout this year, with all of its losses, that’s what’s kept me going. But this week England goes into a second lockdown that nobody believes will end by the promised four weeks. A lockdown that scientists and half the country think should have happened weeks ago, and the rest of the country thinks shouldn’t happen at all. I’m not going to get political, other than to make a general point, because I’m seeing and feeling something I’ve never felt before in my lifetime. When the overwhelming majority have completely lost faith in the leadership, particularly during a crisis, it’s a scary prospect. When you realise just how thin that line is between civilisation and going full-on Lord Of The Flies and running round in your underpants covered in blood, well…it’s actually rather unsettling. I’m sure my friends in America are feeling something similar.

Sensuntepeque None of which has anything to do with these photos of course, other than to point out that our little trip to the beach last week may be the last outing for a while. As we wandered along the coast, I couldn’t help but think of that pivotal beach scene from John Wyndham’s 1951 post-apocalyptic classic, Day Of The Triffids. Josella and Bill stare out to sea, contemplating the future for what’s left of society:

‘Don’t you still feel sometimes that if you were to close your eyes for a bit you might open them again to find it all as it was, Bill? – I do.’

‘Not often now,’ I told her. ‘But I’ve had to see so much more of it than you have. All the same, sometimes…’

‘Do you think we really are finished with, Bill?’

‘I think,’ I amplified, ‘only think, mind you, that we have a narrow chance – so narrow that it is going to take a long long time to get back. If it weren’t for the triffids, I’d say there was a very good chance indeed – though still taking a longish time. But the triffids are a real factor. They are something that no rising civilization has had to fight before. Are they going to take the world off us, or are we going to be able to stop them?

‘The real problem is to find some simple way of dealing with them. We aren’t so badly off – we can hold them away. But our grandchildren – what are they going to do about them? Are they going to have to spend all their lives in human reservations only kept free of triffids by unending toil?’

All photos West Wittering Beach / Fujifilm X100F

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

West Wittering Beach

Three Churches And A Watermill

I’ve always been a bit of a walker, but it wasn’t until a girlfriend walked away in 2014 that I started to take it more seriously. At the time I needed something else to fill my mind, and ironically, the prospect of those long, empty weekends ahead felt suffocating. I’m within easy reach of some of England’s most beautiful countryside, so I set out to walk and explore as much of it as possible. Over the next few years, it wasn’t unusual for me to clock up 25-30 miles over the summer weekends.

Fortunately, Jane’s an even more avid walker than me. Not that she has a choice, sharing a house with two insane spaniels with broken off-switches. A few weeks back, on the type of warm day that already seems like a distant memory, we took the dogs on a ten mile walk through the West Sussex countryside. I packed my Nikon F100 and a roll of Ilford FP4. These days the Nikon, coupled with the spectacular Nikkor 35mm f/2 AF-D lens, is typically my first choice when I’m shooting 35mm,

We parked up and set off from Burton Mill, near the ancient village of Petworth. The current four storey watermill dates from 1780, and was built on the foundations of an earlier forge or fulling mill.

In the early 1960s, part of the mill dam collapsed. Since then it’s been in a fairly chequered cycle of decay and refurbishment. By 1978 things were so bad the mill was used as a derelict building in an episode of the BBC detective series Shoestring [photos]. The good news is it’s been up and running again since 2018, and produces flour using heritage machinery and simple water power. You can see some of the old mechanism on the right.

All photos Nikon F100 / Ilford FP4 / Developed in D76 1+1

Burton Mill

Bertie’s looking quite lanky in his adolescence.

St Agatha’s was the first church we came to, in the download village of Coates. It dates back to beyond 1100, although exactly when is unknown, as is why it has the unusual dedication to St Agatha.

This was an interesting day for a skywatcher like me. Clear blue skies, big fluffy clouds, and this; the beginnings of a half-decent mackerel sky.

Sutton is a tiny yet immaculate Sussex village. There are just a few hundred residents, and they’ve not had a shop or school since the 1970s. But us Brits take our pubs seriously, and the White Horse survived thanks to the stubbornness of the villagers. In the 1950s Sir Ian Anstruther moved to nearby Barlavington. Finding that the White Horse was under threat, he bought it to ensure its future as a pub. When his family finally sold it, it was only with the condition that it would always be a pub. A true British hero…

Sutton Church is dedicated to St John the Baptist, and dates back to the 11th century.

There was just enough light to get a handheld shot of the altar. It’s quite something when you think of all the people who’ve stood here over the course of a thousand years.

This nice little cottage stole my eye.

The lost Anglo-Saxon village of Burton is recorded in the Domesday Book as “Bothechitone”. Only this wonderful little church remains. Dating from around 1075, it was rebuilt in 1291 and (partly) in 1636.

Finally, just before we got back to Burton Mill, Bertie made a dash for the water and narrowly escaped an alien attack. Or maybe the Nikon’s light seals need some attention?

Song Of The Week is an old Astor Piazzolla number performed by the extraordinary painist Jacob Koller and violinist MAiSA.

Race With The Devil

The South Downs Way is a 100 mile national trail that follows the old routes along the chalk ridges of the South Downs, many of which have been used for 8000 years. Jane’s lucky enough to live in this part of the country, and last Friday we took a nine mile walk that included several sections of the trail. It turned out to be a race against the weather. A race in which we lost. Massively.

All photos Fujifilm X100F

Through the wayward pines, and some early indications of the weather to come

Lambs! Hundreds of ’em…

Some serious rain starting to close in….

The Devil’s Jumps are a group of five large burial mounds on the South Downs Way, just outside the hamlet of Treyford. They’re around three to four thousand years old, and the main line of five barrows is aligned with sunset on Midsummer Day. We had our sandwiches on the top of one, and now I’m wondering if we’ve been a bit disrespectful. I mean, I’ve seen Poltergeist and Pet Semetary. Don’t mess with ancient burial sites.

The Devil's Jumps Fingerpost

The Devil's Jumps

These guys know something is going down

All along the watchtower

Just a few miles to go, but things ahead are not looking too good…

…but we’re also being chased from behind

That was the last snap before we were hit by just the type of end-of-times rainstorm you’d expect in 2020. Obviously I dealt with it in my usual stoical way1, but it’s always good to know: in the rain, no one can see your tears.

1. The original title of this post, ‘How I Survived a Hurricane’, was rejected by the fact-checkers.