Thursday, 5 January 2012

My New Manor

Yet again my London ancestry is apparent in today's post title.  For any posh people out there, my manor does not refer to a blinking great house with far too many toilets that sits at the end of a half mile long driveway. Imaging all that cleaning fills me with terror. Instead it is a slang word for patch or territory.  For two days of the week, my new job takes me to West Devon and there's a whole load of exploring to do.  Lunchtime on Wednesday saw me in the vicinity of the 12th century Brentor Church where I'd intended to carefully compose a beautiful landscape photograph that might have left Ansel Adams speechless with admiration. But boy, was it parky and so windy that  it's no exaggeration to say that it was hard to keep my camera steady. Instead I quickly snapped this rather unimpressive shot before nipping back into the fuggy cosiness of the car's interior.  It's not worth freezing your nadders off for the sake of art, whatever any aesthete might say.

Now would it surprise you if I said that a leyline  passes through this holy place on its way to goodness knows where, via Glastonbury, from St Michael's Mount in Cornwall?  'Of course not,' I hear you all reply.  And of course legends abound  about how this building came to perch at the top of the hill. Surprise, surprise some of them feature the devil!  You can read these on the excellent website 'Legendary Dartmoor' which recounts the rather topical story about the theft of a few hundredweight of lead from the church roof, not recently, but in the 1950s.  Metal thefts from churches is currently at an all time high at the moment but today's thieves are far more namby-pamby than those of earlier generations.  It seems that their most prolific activity is in much flatter areas of the country - like Essex!

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