Bishop’s Castle

Last Posting For Lens Artists: The Dew Pond Walk

Green lane, hollow way, sunken road: there’s a hint of mystery in these byways, not only in the names, but in the sense of times past, centuries of footfall embedded in the earth between ancient hedges; the passing of cottage folk, farmers, drovers with their herds and flocks; times when most people only had their feet to rely on if they needed to go anywhere.

This particular green lane is one of my favourite spots in Bishop’s Castle. The following photos are ones I forgot to post, taken on a late November walk. It was a brilliant day too, following a brief snow fall and several days of hard frost.

The frozen grass and leaves were crunchy under foot, gripping boots and making the walking easy as we climbed up Wintles Hill. We were heading to the dew ponds.

There are essential landmarks en route of course: a hoar-frosty Long Mynd…

The barns with their rusty roofs that always insist on having their photo taken…

The skyline ash tree that looks like an arboreal version of Munch’s ‘The Scream’…

As for the dew ponds, there are three on the hilltop, one very much in use, as you can see from the well-pocked mud around it…

One dwindling in the next door arable field and so only used by wildlife…

And the largest in a now enclosed enclave where it is producing a fine crop of bullrushes…

I don’t know why this corner of the field has been hived off, access provided by two stout kissing gates either side of it, but the Shropshire Way footpath passes through it.

It’s a good spot for holly trees, which reminds me. Holly was once grown in farm hedges both to shelter stock and as a valuable winter fodder for sheep (and sometimes cattle) when hay was in short supply. And yes, it does seem an unlikely foodstuff with all those prickles, but apparently the leaves become less barbed as the tree grows taller. And so it was the upper branches that were lopped off for the animals to feed on, the holly trees doubtless thriving on the pollarding (if our brute of a garden holly hedge is anything to go by).

Water was the other essential in hill country where streams were lacking. Dew ponds have been used at least since Neolithic times. They were also much used in mediaeval times and in the 18th-19th centuries, both periods reflecting a vibrant market for sheep wool.

Pond construction required skill and heavy labour. First a saucer shaped depression was excavated, about 3 feet (1 metre) deep. The diameter varied between 10 feet (3 metres) to 45 feet (15 metres). The whole surface was then covered with straw followed by a layer of mud which had to be puddled to seal the surface. (Canal beds were sealed in the same way, the puddling usually done by labourers in bare feet). Once sealed, rain and field run-off duly collected in the ponds.

In the past, Welsh drovers would have driven their stock through Bishop’s Castle, and on to the town and city markets of the Midlands. This next photo shows the country they would have trekked through – not so tamed and tidy in the eighteenth century. (Wales ahead, dewponds behind me). Perhaps the flocks and herds were gathered and watered at points like these before the drovers broached the town.

And it was at this moment that thoughts of watering holes had us turning on our heels and heading downhill to town. Toasted sandwiches at The Castle Hotel suddenly beckoned, plus a glass of delicious Clun pale ale.

Cheers and happy festive season to all the Lens-Artists (and their followers).

Many thanks for setting us so many diverting challenges through 2025.

Lens-Artists: Last chance for 2025 This week Patti sets the theme: last chance to post photos that missed previous posting opportunities.

A Shadowy Past

This is a fine spot for catching one’s breath after climbing Bishop’s Castle’s steep High Street. The bench sits on the footprint of a long gone market hall, built for the town by Edward, eldest son of Robert Clive (as in Clive of India) in 1781. At this time (and until 1926) the manor of Bishop’s Castle was owned by the Clive family, and above the bench is some surviving evidence. This is the Clive family’s (acquired) coat of arms: an Indian elephant and a griffin that once adorned the market hall, and so stood above the town, proclaiming the Clive wealth and power.

This, then, is the view from the bench in the Market Square. (I included it the other day on our walk around the town). All very picturesque. Except, even on a bright autumn afternoon, that Clive coat of arms sheds dark shadows that still linger.

Robert Clive (1725-1774), was the pugnacious offspring of a Shropshire land-owning family. He began his meteoric career as a clerk in the East India Company Madras in 1744. Once in India, he proved an able administrator and ruthless military commander, so efficient in fact, he is credited with securing the power of the East India Company and thus the establishment of British Rule in India.

He returned to England with a vast fortune, equivalent to some 30 million pounds by today’s values. That he was the subject of a parliamentary enquiry for corruption (including examination of his punitive policies while running the East India Company) did not stop him from securing an Irish barony and buying his way into government.

He lived in Mayfair, London and owned estates in Surrey and Ireland, but bought the Shrewsbury seat in 1761 and remained the town’s M.P. until 1774. (Shrewsbury is Shropshire’s county town and nowhere near London). He also deployed his wealth to secure the votes of Bishop’s Castle’s 150 burgesses, so ensuring that this town’s M.P. was also always a member of the Clive family fiefdom. The town already had the reputation as a ‘rotten borough’ i.e. votes for whoever could best bribe the burgesses. Now it became a ‘Pocket Borough’ ruled by Clive friends and relations, a situation that continued until 1832 when The Electoral Reform Act ended direct representation for the town and other ‘rotten boroughs.’

It’s astonishing perhaps to think how one man’s shadow can reach so far – through time and across the world. But then what about those among us today whose material ambitions and global reach affect the lives of millions; I wonder what future historians will have to say of them.

November Squares #23

Jude’s Bench Challenge Anniversary

Crab Apple Morning

A hard frost overnight, but this morning a big sun; the garden fence lit up; a glow of crab apples.

Passing on brightness among the shadows.

November Shadows #21

Snow!

We woke to snow this morning. Not too much and already melting at 8 a.m. but, even so, far too early an occurrence for the time of year.

The first photo shows the kitchen rooflight.

I think it’s likely to be an indoors day.

November Shadows #19

Becky shows us some very fabulous Norwegian shadows today.

Sun And Shadow At The Top Of The Town

Yesterday we had sun. We did! And a fine afternoon it was for a short tramp up and round the town.

As you can see, Bishop’s Castle is on a steep hill. The header view shows the High Street below the Town Hall. We’re around half way up the hill.

Now I’m walking you backwards, past the Town Hall, past Bamber’s elephant mural into the Market Square, and crossing Salop Street.

And now I’m turning you right around to look up Bull Street:

And we’re still not at the top.

Bull Street leads to Bull Lane. If we look right and downhill, there’s a fine view of farm fields, doubtless winter wheat and oil seed rape.

But we’re not going down, but left and up to the crossroads where Bull Lane meets Castle Street, Wintles Lane and Montgomery Road.

Now we’re at the top of the town, by the blue house that is growing a fine shadow tree:

And in the shade, on the house wall opposite, a tribute to our two local Morris dance teams, the Shropshire Bedlams and Martha Rhoden’s Tuppenny Dish

At the crossroads it’s decision time – to go left and back into town via Castle Street (where there is no castle, only some ground it once sat on and some more good views):

Or cross the road into Wintles Lane:

If you want to see the elephant sculpture, then you need to take the Wintles Lane option and follow the footpaths on the right. And climb another hill:

It’s also worth clambering up here for the view of the Long Mynd.

And from here, too, you can turn about and look down on the town. A fine spot on Planet Earth:

November Shadows #18

After The Storm ~ Six On Saturday

This time last week, the wind was racketing around the garden, threatening to uproot and mash the herbaceous plants. But in the end, damage was minimal. In fact some plants have been thriving since.

And especially

1) Cornelia rose

She’d been in a big pot by the greenhouse all summer. And as she was new, I’d been concerned about keeping her suitably watered during the long summer drought. She did flower a little back then, but not for long. But since the storm, and removal into a bigger, bottomless pot, she has sent out elegant arching stems laden with buds and blooms. She’s a hybrid musk, and the flowers, though small like wild roses, smell delicious. I’m hoping she will eventually fill the gap between the hedge and the greenhouse.

2) Cosmos bigger and better

The gale might have blown their frocks off, not to mention nearly scooting them out of the ground, but the Cosmos plants on the terrace wall have come back bigger and better, and are covered in new buds. I’ve been filling vases with them.

3) Tree tomatoes?

Nor did the big wind deter tomato production in the cooking apple tree. Daft, I know.

This plant was one of my rejects, a pot-bound Sungold seedling that had hung around on the garden path long after I’d potted up the main plants in early June. Eventually, I stuck it the ground , and generally forgot about it, though I did provide it with a supporting stick. Some time later I discovered that it had climbed way up into the apple tree, and so chopped off its top growth. And again ignored it. Then it began fruiting and has been doing so for many weeks – just a few tomatoes at a time. They’re delicious too.

Here it is – you can just see a strand of green fruit hanging down to the right of Jelly King crab apples, green obelisk behind.

4) The Kabuki calabrese gets the prize this week for making me smile a lot. I always find it exciting when my brassicas start to sprout. And this particular plant has survived remarkably unscathed after the summer attack of flea beetles which make holes in everything of the brassica family. The flower head isn’t exactly big enough for two. Well, not yet. Watching brief activated.

5) Grumble of the week

Well, there always has to be something. Now I’m wondering what on earth is making holes in my Swiss Chard (mature and seedling versions) and also the Perennial Spinach. I thought I’d finally protected all the edible greens from all comers with a covering of fine black netting. All summer I’d managed to fend off butterflies from the caulis and purple sprouting. And kept the pigeons at bay. But now I have holey leaves. He who is a sometime plant pathologist posits caterpillars, but I can see no obvious sign of them. Suggestions, anyone?

6) Sunbathing

And not to end with a fit of gardening disgruntlement, since the storm we’ve been having some wonderful sunny spells, warm enough to make one put autumn woollies straight back in the cupboard. Even the ladybirds have been sunning themselves. I’ve been finding them all around the garden, including some very tiny ones.

And that’s it from our Shropshire garden. Happy gardening, folks.

Please call in on our host Jim at Garden Ruminations.

Six On Saturday

Feeling Blustered: Six On Saturday

1. Storm-struck

This morning at breakfast time – with a high wind whooshing about the place and rain lashing the kitchen doors, the garden definitely looked a no-go area. I could see three dozen bean canes splayed like pick-up-sticks across the top path by the greenhouse. Drat and double drat. When I dismantled the runner bean rows a week or so ago, I had forgotten to tether them securely to the hedge. I could also see the cosmos at the top of the steps being tossed about. Since late September and the onset of rainy days, it has been flowering magnificently. Now it was having its petals blown off. More curses. And I could see that the Selinum (farthest right at the wall top) which is still flowering as well as seeding, was now rearranged at a 45 degree angle.

Not a happy gardener.

Cosmos unclothed; Helianthus blown away.

And then, quite suddenly, towards midday, the rain stopped and the sun came out, although we still have a mighty blow, with now-and-then gusts that lift you off your feet.

I did a quick tour of the garden, but there was not much to be done mid-gale, apart from attempting a bit of support for the Selinum.

2: Apples

With the wind, I was expecting another heavy crop of windfalls. But when I went out to check the damage, I was pleased to see that most of our remaining apples are still clinging sturdily to their stalks. Which is good news as I already had a stack of windfalls in the kitchen. And there’s only so much apple sauce we can eat, and all the neighbours are overwhelmed with apples too and putting them out at their gates for anyone to take. However, I recently discovered an easy apple chilli chutney recipe, and so, as gardening was out, this was what happened next.

3. In love with Michaelmas daisies

I’m not expecting the late flowering flowers to survive the wind, but that won’t include the Michaelmas daisies (Symphyotrichums/Asters whatever they’re called these days). I took this photo with the wind still blowing. Only a couple of small side stems damaged.

Its neighbour, a compact little variety (I think it could be Purple Dome) has only just decided to flower:

And at the bottom of the garden this tall white bushy version, White Ladies maybe, and…

…Aster x frikatii Monch have been flowering since the hot days of summer:

4. Great Dixter Nursery

And so like Jim, I’ve been doing some plant buying. I have recently discovered that Great Dixter House and Gardens has an online plant shop. They sell some very lovely plants (1 and 2 litre sizes) at very reasonable prices. That’s where I found Patrinia as featured in an earlier SoS. And it’s where I also found ‘Symphyotrichum Les Moutiers’ which is now planted in my front garden. We’ll have to wait nearly a year before we see it in action though. Do give the link a quick look.

5. Ongoing edibles

The salad stuff hasn’t been troubled by the unruly weather. The radicchio and endive, rocket, land cress, and Moroccan Cress lettuce are presently thriving, though everything has to be netted against pigeons.

We also have some Swiss chard, beetroot, parsnips and leeks, and a new bed of winter greens (planted out on the runner and borlotti bean bed) is looking quite good. And there are still a few climbing borlotti beans to pick in the side-garden wall bed.

6. A happy face

Now as I’m writing this, the rain is back and the wind is still blowing. So I’m finishing off with another garden stalwart. I was so pleased to find this marigold looking so fresh-faced as I went round the garden late-morning. Of course, we eat these too. Perhaps I shouldn’t mention that though.

Happy gardening folks – whatever your weather. Even on distinctly unpromising days, there’s usually something in the garden to be glad about.

Six On Saturday Please catch up with Jim at Garden Ruminations.

Season Of Mist and All Round Wetness ~ Six on Saturday

Here in Bishop’s Castle the rainy weather continues as we head towards the autumn equinox. Just now it’s pouring steadily, threatening to dampen spirits for today’s Michaelmas Fair. This is always a hugely jolly affair of stalls, parades, Chinese dragons, steam engines, vintage vehicles and street performances – assorted bands, Morris dancers, a jester from Chester, the singing farmer, to name but a few of the events. And then the whole thing is rounded off mid-evening with a magical lantern procession through the town (the lanterns made by children). All very much dependent of weatherly cooperation. But then I’m sure, this being the Castle, everyone will make the best of it, brollies and waterproofs at the ready.

Definitely not a day for gardening though. Also as the season winds down, it’s hard not a feel a touch dispirited by the ongoing sogginess. The few roses on their second flowering don’t like it much either. But come hell or high water, to say nothing of last winter’s three solid weeks of snow and frost, the little pansies, viola magnifico [1] above still soldier on. This plant has been flowering continuously for twelve months.

And talking of pansies, what is it that nibbles the yellow ones? And is it the same thing that bites off the buds from my only lupin whenever it tries to flower?

The Cosmos [2]doesn’t mind the weather either. In fact it seems to be having a new lease of life, and I’m enjoying the drifty looks of it, its stems hanging in raindrops.

The Japanese ‘Uchiki Kuri’ squash [3] plants weren’t as productive as I’d expected, and I had high hopes of some later planted plants. They’ve produced a couple of tiny ones, and I’ve nipped off extraneous shoots, but I think it’s probably too late for them now.

The borlotti bean crop [4] is looking more promising. I picked all the dwarf variety some weeks ago, but the climbing ones are just beginning to dry in their pods. I love them for their looks alone, though they’re pretty good in the pot too.

Despite my weather whingeing, the garden is still looking colourful. The rudbeckia and Michaelmas daisies certainly brighten the place up. There are also still some sunflowers at the bottom of the garden, and my two very small crab apples trees [5], Evereste and Jelly King are looking their vibrant best.

This miniature Evereste is in a corten steel raised bed, along with some origano Kent Beauty, and Santolina. Silvery Artemesia Powis Castle behind.

Jelly King is lighting up the furthest corner of the garden. I’m not sure I want to sacrifice the apples to making jelly (perverse I know, considering this is why I chose it). They look so lovely, and in fact, now I have found sources of wild apples (see previous post) I think I will leave them, first for us to look at, and later for the blackbirds.

Finally, here’s one of my newish garden plants that has been so glad of the rain, Persicaria Blackfield [6], red bistort. It really struggled all through the summer, despite my hand watering. But then with the first of the recent showers, it perked up and began to flower. It’s interesting that the drought seemed to have had a miniaturising effect on the whole plant, as if it was making itself small to save itself. I’m hoping it will settle in now and come into its own.

Six on Saturday Please visit host Jim at Garden Ruminations. He’s been very busy despite the weather.

Wild Apples On Wintles Hill

Come September and the months of drought simply switched off. Instead we have rain between showers. There have been days and days of lowering skies and serious downpours, and although this may be considered ‘typically English weather’, it comes as a shock after months of wall-to-wall sunshine.

But then last Tuesday we had a reprieve. Cloud yes, but rain on hold.

Let’s go for those crab apples, I say to he-who-builds-carports-that-aren’t-for-cars. He was not keen. The crab apple tree we first spotted in August is on top of Wintles Hill. It’s quite a haul up the green lane from town, followed by a gasping scramble up a steep sheep field. But he kindly yielded and came along too. It’s glorious once you’re up here, he says.

Back in August, when were are last here, the world felt toasted, the farm fields bare from an exceptionally early harvest, the grass brown and dead looking. But this week, after so much watering, all was mostly green again – the pasture fields rejuvenated. We even found some field mushrooms, the first I’d seen in years.

When we arrived at the tree we found it as crammed with fruit as it had been a month earlier, but now there was a mass of tiny apples underneath. (We’ve also had gales).

Since August I had been dithering about gathering the apples. It seemed too early. I had inkling they were better for making jelly after they’ve weathered a cold spell. But oh well, we were there now and with bags to hand. The fallen apples were anyway ripe and it occurred to me, that given the mass of apples still on the tree, I could come for another forage later in the year. And then I’d know, one way or the other – before or after a frosting.

As I was crouched, head down, picking over the fruit, I noticed the tree’s trunk – or rather trunks: talk about the drive to survive come what may…

Wild art as well as wild apples then.

There is definitely a remnant slip of hawthorn in the melee of roots and stems. But it makes me wonder: how ancient is this tree or trees? And how amazing that, here on so exposed a hilltop, and with so many gaps in its infrastructure, it can still produce such a prodigious crop.

I collected a couple of kilos of fallen fruit. The apples on the tree did not want to be picked, holding fast to their twigs. We headed onwards and homewards down an easier slope, glimpsing the Indian elephant sculpture through the trees. We didn’t visit it this time, but it amused me that this view was often how we saw wild elephants when we lived in Kenya. In fact you were lucky to see this much of them…

And it was here we found yet another crab apple tree, the fruit pale yellow, smaller and rounder than the hilltop apples. And it too was laden. Well! No need to worry about jelly supplies.

I also wished I could think of something useful to do with hawthorn berries. There was a profusion of them on a nearby tree. All around Shropshire this year the fruit is providing a spectacular show, seemingly quite unaffected by the rainless spring and summer. The berries are of course very important in herbal medicine: tinctures and teas deemed restorative for the heart and arteries, and more besides. Simply looking at that glorious red made me feel brighter:

And so to the kitchen to chop apples and simmer till soft.

The pulp is then put in muslin and strained overnight (allowed to drip, but not squeezed).

The resulting juice is measured and put in a heavy pan with sugar at a ratio of 10:6 juice to sugar. You can add some lemon juice and herbs – chopped mint or rosemary, but I don’t. After stirring in the sugar until it is melted, a steady 7-8 minute boil is usually enough to achieve a set. The jelly should then be poured into sterilized jars.

This being a once-a-year activity, I find it helps to make a small batch first to get the gist of things. This jar would definitely not pass muster at a Women’s Institute jam and preserves contest – too cloudy (must have squeezed the straining muslin), too many bubbles as I probably overdid the ‘setting’ in order to be on the ‘safe side’.

This particular crop obviously had a high pectin content: the gelling happened in less than 5 minutes. But never mind. It will still be fine with roast lamb, and delicious on a warmed croissant or with soda bread toast. And using the Wintles Hill wild apples means I can leave my lovely little garden crab apple trees looking decorative with their full complement of fruit. The blackbirds will get to enjoy them in December.

For Love Of Patrinia ~ Six On Saturday

These first few photos aren’t from my garden (if only), but here to illustrate gardener’s lust [1] ~ that moment when a new plant begins to root itself in the psyche, aka mental compost, until you know that you simply have to have it.

Well, that’s what happened last week when we went to visit the walled garden of Wildegoose Nursery here in Shropshire. (See previous 2 posts). It was a hazy day, but everywhere the garden was alight with the frothy, apple green seedheads of Patrinia monandra/aff punctiflora [2] a tall and gracious plant, and one quite new to me. (And yes, it does seed itself everywhere, but I was told unwanted stems pull up easily).

At Wildegoose it sets off not only the reds and bronzes of late summer sedums, Eupatorium, and Heleniums, but also the fading stems of Verbena, Sea Holly, Echinacea and Hydrangea:

It’s a perennial, clump forming (50cm wide), hardy plant, with spreads of tiny yellow flowers from July to September. The seedheads, though, can last well into the winter. The plant was first collected in China by the Gothenburg Botanic Garden, or so the Beth Chatto site tells me.

And the reason I was looking there, was because it was only later when we arrived home, and I was scanning through the photos that I suddenly saw how lovely Patrinia might look in our so much smaller garden. And I knew Wildegoose was about to close for the winter, and that we were unlikely to get there before it did…And so to postal sources, although of course the plant, if ordered now, will naturally come pruned of those lovely seedheads…(Oh, the self-inflicted anguish of the besotted and too impatient gardener!)

Meanwhile, back at The Gables we’ve been having a week of thunderous downpours with intermittent spells of warm September sunshine; April showers on steroids. The lawn is quite rejuvenated, although I hate to tell it, now it isn’t rock hard, I’m going to dig more of it up to make a new strawberry bed. (Psst. Don’t tell Graham).

So yes, we are heartily glad of the rain, even if it comes like swift deliveries from Niagara Falls. The Helianthus [3] by the greenhouse is certainly having a new lease of life. It’s lighting up one of the shadier parts of the garden, an unexpected full-on display when it’s already been flowering for weeks.

In the border along the terrace wall, the Michaelmas Daisy [4] is at last beginning to flower. It’s been a mass of buds all summer, but was obviously saving itself for more autumnal days. It should be splendid in a week or so, and especially if the Rudbeckia keeps going.

Further along the border, between the Japanese Anemones and Selinum, St. Cecilia rose [5] has been spurred into a second flowering. We inherited her with the garden. She was in a poorly state, but though the flowers, when fully open, are rather wan and saintly, and thus none too remarkable, I decided to nurture her. She anyway smells quite nice, and is appealing when the buds are seasonally dewdropped and seen beside the presently seeding heads of Selinum.

And finally the Morning Glory [6] growing on the trellis by the oil tank looks to be enjoying the cooler, wetter days. I’m surprised it’s still going after the torrential downpours, the flowers lasting longer through the day too.

Happy gardening, folks, whatever your hemisphere.

Six on Saturday Please visit Jim in Cornwall for his week’s garden news.

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge