Bishop’s Castle

Enter The Dragons

Yesterday I posted scenes ‘live’ from the Bishop’s Castle carnival, today we have photos from another of the town’s annual parties, last year’s Michaelmas Fair. It begins with a parade in which Chinese dragons and drummers steal the show. (Sadly no competing Welsh dragons in spite of the town’s closeness to Wales, but then you never know what might turn up this year).

As happened yesterday, the weather was cool and gloomy, but there was no dampening of the spirits; not once the Rajasthan Brass Band took to the streets…

…and the town’s own Shropshire Bedlams Morris men stepped out, all jingling bells and vigorous stick clashing…(More about local Morris heritage here)

The Michaelmas Fair takes place all over the town, in the pubs and park and church halls. A stage below the Town Hall hosts live bands all day. There are street stalls and street food, bubble blowing, fire eating, an afternoon parade of steam engines, tractors and classic vehicles, headed by Clive the elephant, another star attraction. (The town’s elephant connection is explained in a previous squares challenge post here.) And the whole is rounded off with an evening lantern procession through the town, all lanterns made by Castle folk.

I didn’t catch Clive the elephant last year, but here’s a photo of him from a sunnier fair:

This year’s fair is on the 20th September. More details HERE. But before that there’s another big fun event: the Party in the Park on the 19th July. A day of non stop live bands, workshops, and family activities from noon to 10.30 pm. Sometimes life in this small country town can sound a tad exhausting.

And on that note, back to dragons, this one from the 2023 lantern parade:

#SimplyRed Day 6

Today’s The Day ~ Bishop’s Castle Carnival

There are times when Bishop’s Castle might strike one as a sleepy place, but looks can deceive. This is a town that knows how to party, and there are several festivals through the year. Today is carnival day. The parade kicked off at 1.pm. headed by the town crier caught here on his cell phone – a pleasing conjunction of time past and present on the communications front.

Fat Cat Brass followed on his heels, setting the tone – full-on jollification despite the cool and gloomy day.

And then came the floats, with much emphasis on growing and farming and country living: lots of vintage tractors, classic vehicles, steam engines and the timber merchants’ smart fleet of trucks hauling the big floats.

After wending around the town and down our street, the parade headed for the park for an afternoon and evening of fun and games: bouncy castle, live music, falconry demo, sheep show and mini digger competition not the least of it.

And now in late afternoon, the sun has come out. A grand day out all round then.

#SimplyRed Day 5

Six-Word Saturday

A Surprising Red Arrival

This opium poppy sprouted up suddenly between the blackcurrant bush and the compost bin, and this week it began to flower, just in time for Becky’s month of squares. Red is the theme, and square the format for the header photo.

The bees have fun with all the frills, burrowing in and out to gather pollen. I notice, too, there are more poppy plants coming on outside Graham’s shed so we’re in for a show from these showy volunteers.

When the buds first break, they are almost black, giving a glimpse of the dark underskirts first. Later, when the flower opens, they are only visible if you stand on your head.

#SimplyRed Day One – Join Becky for her month of squares: painting July red, but in a good way.

The Changing Seasons: June 2025

My last post perhaps gave the impression that there’s little room for flowers in our small garden; that all my attention has been on growing stuff to eat. But not so. June has been wonderfully floriferous, especially in the border atop the terrace wall. And beneath it, while the geraniums, centaurea, foxgloves, valerian and St. Cecilia rose came to full bloom, Graham sat on a chair, suitably hatted, and methodically chipped off the failed and peeling plaster. Our builder, Alan, says he’ll come and re-do it in autumn. And while he’s here sort out the old back garden steps. The house improvements continue.

St. Cecilia rose, Ann Thomson geranium, Sherbet Fizz pot marigold

Looking from the top of the garden towards the kitchen door, the border runs between the far end of shed and the right hand path. It also includes two miniature apple trees planted back in the autumn. The rose, St. Cecilia, was languishing there when we moved in nearly two years ago, but she’s had a good feed and a hard prune, and this June has been flowering wonderfully. She may be a tad wishy-washy colour-wise, but she has an exquisitely delicate scent.

Self-sown foxgloves among the geraniums at the path end of the border

The garden peripheries have also bloomed over the last couple of weeks, surprising given our near total lack of rain for many weeks. In the northerly corner the medicinal herb, St. John’s Wort is now soaring into the apple tree. I grew it from seed donated by a supporter of the Bishop’s Castle Seed Bank. The seed packets sit in a tray at the Town Hall and are free, although donations are welcomed.

Also blooming for the first time is this dreamy perennial foxglove. It has a tendency to flop somewhat in warmer temperatures, and has been struggling in the dry soil under the big apple tree. Mulching with hot-bin compost helped. And some hand watering of course.

And another cool looking plant that’s just started to flower. A white mallow. She’s been in several spots around the garden, but is now in the rear westerly corner, behind the Rooster potatoes and in front of a very nice miniature crab apple tree. The moves seem to have left her unscathed:

At the front of the house we have two biggish square beds, created after removing ugly paving (recycled into shed base and new back garden steps), but they are very much a work in progress. In the southerly one, I have some currently very small shrubs growing on, a couple of escallonias and a cistus, and in the meantime there’s a mix of herbaceous perennials and annuals, cosmos and zinnias, filling the spaces.

I was missing my Evereste crab apple tree, and managed to find a miniature one. It’s planted in a small circular raised bed of corten steel which I’m expecting to rust. Around it are some assorted small plants, including a white rock rose and Santolini rosmarinifolia, which are evergreen, Salvia Salavatore, and a trailing plant, Oregano Kent Beauty (centre front). This last was a wonderful plant discovery courtesy of Jude at Cornwall in Colours. I’d never seen it before I saw it on her blog. It really seems to like our garden, so thank you, Jude.

In the background right, not yet flowering, are three alcalthaea – a cross between mallow and hollyhocks. They are apparently short-lived perennials, but we’ll see. Last year they grew very tall and had to be curtailed, but their peachy pale flowers were very pretty.

Plants apart, the main activity in June was having our drive dug up by Justin, Bishop’s Castle’s professional excavator sans pareil. He mostly had to use a pick, this because the exact location of our water main pipe was uncertain. And this was happening because we wanted our rusted hundred year old, cast iron water pipe replaced with a plastic one. To say this was one heavy duty task is an understatement. Order is restored, but the drive now needs to be resurfaced.

Out beyond the garden gate:

A week last Sunday in Bishop’s Castle we had midsummer celebrations in the form of a gathering of Morris dancing troupes, local and further flung. They started on Sunday morning with rousing performances and much drumming at the next door care home, after which they streamed up the road past the house to continue performing at the top of the town. Later when we tried to drive out of the town by our usual route, we found the road ahead full of dancers and musicians, and were advised that they might be there for some time and so would we mind making a detour. We didn’t. It was all good fun and surely makes a change from having multiple local roads closed for cable laying.

And yesterday (Sunday) we treated ourselves to another local institution – climbing to the top of the town to visit the House on Crutches Museum. (I forgot to take a photo of the outside so click on the link to see it). We hadn’t been for two years, but it’s a wonderfully quirky collection, revealing many aspects of Bishop’s Castle history, in particular how it featured on the ancient drovers’ route out of Wales, a way of life and of making a living that survived some 800 years. At the top of the rickety stairs that we both managed to fall up, I stopped to take this view down the High Street: a sleepy Sunday in Bishop’s Castle.

Today as I write this, on the last day of June, we are having our hottest day so far this year, apparently 29 degrees C (84 degrees F) at 3 pm this afternoon at Shropshire’s weather station in Shawbury. Now at 6 pm it’s 26 degrees in the house, but there’s a pleasant breeze in the garden, as there has been all day. Tomorrow, temperatures begin to fall, and in fact by next Sunday it will be 12 – 15 degrees C, this according to YR the Norwegian Met Office, which is pretty good on UK weather. And this may also mark the beginning of rain. At last! Yesterday, we had a few sprinkles and the plants all stood up tall, as if expecting a good drench. They were duly teased.

And so I’ll round this up with a shot of the snapdragons that have flowered heroically all through June, and with not a drop of water from me. They are pretty much over now and making lots of seed. I think I’ll give them their heads. Next June I could have a whole bed of snapdragons. How wonderful would that be.

The Changing Seasons is hosted monthly by Brian at bushboys world and Ju-Lyn at Touring My Backyard. Please pay them a visit.

Six On Saturday ~ Produce!

As you can see, the ‘upstairs’ garden behind our house is really rather modest. And here, currently, and probably for the foreseeable future, chaos reigns; this courtesy of a gardener who still thinks her growing spaces comprise two seventy by 15 foot allotment plots plus the home garden with its adjacent stretch of ‘guerrilla gardened’ field over the back fence. Heigh ho! Those were the days when we lived beside Wenlock Edge.

Now, mostly settled in our new home, I do know I must cut my cultivating cloth according to the physical means of production. (The lawns, though, do seem to keep shrinking). Also this year there’s been the matter of watering through the mostly rainless months of spring and early summer. This has been quite hard work. (I know mulching is much of the answer, but my hot compost bin can only yield so much stuff, and so far it’s spread rather too thinly). And then there are birds and cats and insects to contend with which means everything edible has to be netted, which is not very attractive. So, as I say, chaos presently reigns, but with a few organised segments in between.

1.) The first of these to produce excitement in the Farrell household are the two short rows of potatoes. They were planted at the end of March, ten in each row. Even with little rain, and not much watering, the Belle de Fontenay have produced some lovely salad potatoes. (They’re also a main crop variety if left longer, but that’s unlikely to happen).

Behind them is a row of Rooster red spuds, also main crop. The plants have grown astonishingly tall, given the weather, while the Belle de Fontenay have flopped flat in front of them. I think the Rooster must have commandeered the downward flow of any available groundwater from the hill above.

2.) The next excitement this week was a bunch of carrots, and not a single sign of carrot root fly in any of them. I have attempted to protect the rows by growing them in a raised bed, between onions and covered with some fine mesh. Last year all my carrots were root-flied.

3.) We eat a lot of greens, and this year I’ve grown some different varieties of kale, including, pink frilly, Tuscan, and a crossed Tuscan and Daubenton’s perennial kale, the seed produced by a forest gardener on eBay. (There’s also some Swiss chard in the bunch below.) I know kale isn’t to everyone’s taste, and I’ve yet to try this, but I recently learned you can roast it till crispy. This involves ripping up the washed and dried leaves (without the stalks), tossing the pieces in oil, spreading them on a baking sheet and cooking for 15-20 minutes in a fairly hot oven. Sesame seeds and favourite spices along with sea salt and black may be added.

4.) Yesterday we ate our first homegrown courgette (zucchini), and very nice it was too, sliced and lightly browned in the fat from cooked lardons and then added to a salad.

I put the plant in beside the compost bin, a position that clearly is suiting it. I have some yellow courgettes coming on nearby.

5.) Also in last night’s salad were the first of the field beans. These are a variety of broad (fava) bean, grown mostly in the UK as animal feed or as a green manure, ploughed back in the soil before producing beans. This, I feel, is a lost opportunity. The plants grow four or five feet and taller, while the beans themselves are little bigger than peas. But then the plants are prolific, and so ideal if you haven’t a large enough space to grow their bigger cousins. My field bean plot is around a square metre/yard.

They have anyway, become something of a summer staple in the Farrell household. Picked at the right moment they are deliciously tender and can work as a rather good imitation of guacamole. If they get over-ripe and a bit floury, they make excellent soup and refried beans. The downside is they are fiddly to pod. But then the mass of little pods is good fodder for the hot compost bin, as is all the vegetation (chopped up) when the plants are done.

6.) Last but not least on the garden foraging front are the marigolds (Calendula officionalis). I use them in herbal tea. They contain all sorts of therapeutic properties, known and made use of for a couple of thousand years. But mostly I add the petals to salads, taking care not to include any passing hoverfly. This particular variety is called Sherbet Fizz. We also have lots of self-seeded bright orange and yellow ones from last year’s crop. I love them all. They have to be one of the most heartening of flowers. Simply to gaze on them lifts the spirits.

Six on Saturday: Please call on Jim. There’s always lots to look at and discover in his Cornish garden.

It’s All Birds And Bees In Our ‘Castle’ Garden

Well, they do say an Englishman’s home is his castle. And for this English woman, this stronghold must obviously include the garden. At least I like to think the garden is my domain; my own small fiefdom.

The wildlife, of course, has other notions. This mama blackbird, for instance, is quite sure my purpose in life is to provide her with fresh feeding stations. As soon as I begin work in the garden she’s there, poised to snatch a worm or grub. If I do not provide quickly enough, she fixes me with that beady eye, and starts her own digging. This has led to us falling out somewhat. I’ve had to net all my vegetable beds to stop her rooting out my seedlings.

But she did keep me company while I cleared the boundary wall with our neighbour’s garage. It was a horrendous job, hacking out ingrowing and overgrowing hypericum (Rose of Sharon) that years ago had been planted along the top of the wall, and since turned itself into a stretch of brutal anti-tank wire, while inviting Spanish bluebells, ash trees and willow herb to join in the fray.

I’d been tackling the job on and off since last summer. But now it’s done.

I’ve planted the road end with a couple of trailing blackberries designed for hanging baskets and also some foxgloves which had grown themselves in the back garden. As for the rest, for this year I’m thinking of putting in various kales and perhaps courgettes; nothing permanent in other words. I’ve discovered that hypericum shoots and roots from the tiniest scrap of itself, so it will probably take a few seasons to clear the bed.

Meanwhile mama blackbird has been well fed, and the feeding clearly paying off. Two days ago, while planting a hornbeam sapling to fill a gap in our rear hedge of horrors, I had the sense of being watched. When I peered into the tangle of privet, holly and sycamore, there she was, sitting still as stone, on a very neat nest, looking straight back at me. I left her in peace.

As blackbirds go, I suspect she is rather elderly. Her tail feathers look more than a touch bedraggled. But she has us weighed up as non-threatening entities, choosing to nest right by the path that we use all the time. She is not afraid to leave it either, when she sees me with a spade. Yesterday, when I was unearthing some ash tree saplings further down the hedge, she was right there, just in time to gobble up a big juicy worm.

Male blackbirds don’t do nest duty, but I’m assuming this is papa. He’s taken to singing sweetly in the hawthorn tree just over the hedge. He shows up when I’m digging too, but not if mama is around. (She sees him off). He actually comes very close and tweets at me, if I’m not providing worms.

Earlier in the year it was the robin who would come nagging as soon as I set foot in the garden. He/she was especially pleased with operation dig-out-compost-bin, but now is perhaps too busy with egg minding to be around so much.

Other birdlife, as in pigeons, I’m not so pleased to see. They’re another reason for having netting all over the vegetable plots, though it doesn’t stop them from nibbling through the fine mesh if the plants grow too close to the edge. They like spinach, brassicas, chard, chicory, beetroot leaves, lettuce, young field bean leaves and lemon sorrel.

The garden is very much ‘a first draft’; there’s much to sort out (tidy) and much trial and error (given the lack of an actual plan). Next week a paling fence will start going up around the perimeter (from behind the greenhouse and round). It won’t be too tall but will create a boundary for fresh planting which might help focus this gardener’s mind.

For now we are enjoying the apple blossom, and especially the little tree which is flourishing between the compost bins, one open, one hot. I think it’s a Crispin. The black hot bin is not a pretty sight, but the mass of flowers is lovely and, in a spot of warmish afternoon sun, is alive with bee hum. Just look at the pollen sacs on the bees’ legs.

And there’s not only apple blossom. On the terrace wall we have tulips. They are presently looking rather glamorous:

So: spring is here in the Farrell domain aka Castle (also the locals’ name for the town), and in moments when the wind drops and you stand in the sun where the air is less frigid, it feels like it too. Cheers, fellow gardeners! Happy planting!

Six on Saturday: blackbirds, robins, bird defences, apple blossom, bees and tulips

copyrithg 2025 Tish Farrell

We’ve Been Having Blue Sky Days…

They arrived with the spring equinox on March 20th…

… days hot in the sun, but ice-cold in shade, as if the air came straight off a snow field…

…yet so enlivening, it had us one day walking (instead of driving) to the builders’ merchants on the edge of town…

…spotting, as we went, wild cherry blossom, the bright white blackthorn that is everywhere in drifts on farm hedgerows, and then the distant green of wheat fields and fresh grassland.

Meanwhile, the town lanes and gardens have been aglow with magnolias, daffodils, pussy willow, forsythia, camellias, fire-red japonica…

…and the cherry plum by the house has day by day been turning from pink to bronze, as blossom flutters off and gives way to leaves.

And so the Shropshire countryside has been drowsing in a haze of vernal glamour: an earth dream of a perfect spring come to life.

The blue sky days turned into weeks, three to be exact. Long enough for us to grow used to blissful weather, to think it ours forever.

In the garden, our faces turned often to the sun, we noted the little pear tree begin to flower…

…and the old apple tree by the compost bin burst with buds…

…that then begin to open…

…just in time for Sunday’s full moon and a complete change in the weather…

Today there is grey sky, racing rain clouds and a piercing wind that gusts down the chimneys. It feels like winter when we walk to the shops, clad in sweaters, quilted coats and woolly hats. We’re cast adrift in seasonal confusion. Bereft. Abandoned by spring. How could she do this when we so loved the sun, the light, the crisp air?

Ah, well. The weather people say the wind should lessen tomorrow, all but doubling temperatures from 6 to a soaring 11 degrees C. There might also be a view of the sun on Easter Sunday morning, but little to see in the following week. Instead, there will be rain, of which this gardener and the nation’s farmers are much in need. So it goes. All chop and change. Perhaps blue sky spring will be back in May.

Lens-Artists: abandoned This week Anne sets us the topic ‘abandoned’. Please see her post for more serious cases of abandonment.

Spring!

Or is it?

February in Britain often teases, bringing us a sudden mild and sunny day, as it did last Saturday, followed by bone biting winds (today). Countryman poet, John Clare 1793-1864, wrote a poem about February fickleness. I probably mentioned this time last year. It’s worth a read.

So: we have crocus and snowdrops, and the odd daffodil. Also hellebores, both waning and waxing. On the garden steps the winter pansies still thrive, although all but blustered out of their pot.

We have only a small scatter of snowdrops in the Farrell domain, but everywhere else about the town, in gardens, under lane-side walls and hedges there are drifts and drifts. Reinforcements, then, needed at The Gables for next year.

At the top of the garden steps the dark hellebore has just begun to flower. Very striking when the sun catches it. Meanwhile, in the pot below, Hellebore Christmas Carol is winding down after a three month performance. Although having said that, this morning I noticed there are new buds forming beneath the gone-to-seed blooms.

The clump of tiny crocus at the top of this post popped up this week by the front gate. Most welcoming of them. This particular variety also seems to be growing in every Bishop’s Castle garden. And of course there are the chunkier sorts too, a whole host in fact spotted in the grounds of the Wintles eco-houses:

Outside the kitchen window (on the far side of our horrid hedge) the ornamental cherry tree is now displaying the faintest haze of plum coloured buds. They will be candy floss pink when they open. Not a favourite colour, but still a sight to look forward to against a blue spring sky.

And talking of the horrid hedge, those of you who follow my gardening pursuits will know that last year I was doing battle with it: untangling swathes of ivy, pulling out decayed hawthorn branches, unpicking very prickly vegetation that had knitted itself into a chicken wire fence running the length of the back garden, whingeing about the forest of saplings – ash, sycamore and elder that had grown amongst the holly, privet, weigela and hawthorn, all of which meaning you pretty much need a chainsaw to keep it in check.

In an ideal world I would have it dug out and replanted with wildlife-human friendly species. In fact, looking at 1990s photos of it, I don’t think it was ever deliberately planted as a hedge: more a case of boundary holly trees and shrubs suckering up together with arboreal interlopers and encasing a very rotten field fence.

But then a few weeks ago I had a notion. I discovered I could buy individual wild hedging plants and so fill in gaps between existing thickets. We have now popped in bird cherry, field maple and briar rose whips. We also have a more substantial hornbeam still to plant on the sunny side of the biggest gap created by our recent building work.

My hope is that, as the new plants become established (well trained of course), we can then cut back the main stems of the ash, sycamore and overgrown weigela, encouraging them to sprout more usefully (and manageably) from the base. That’s the plan anyway. One for the long term, methinks.

And apart from this, and in rare dry spells, my other betwixt-winter-spring gardening pursuit has involved digging out the compost bin. Last year I’d filled it with dug up lawn. And oh, what lovely stuff it’s become. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me – a lovely big pile of crumbly dirt. Perhaps enough for two raised beds.

Time to start some seed sowing then…

The Tenacity Of Small Things

A persistency of pansies

I am truly astonished by the hardiness of pansies. They must have been bred with anti-freeze in their roots and shoots. Their structure is anyway so puny and fleshy; easily crushed by clumsy humans. So how can they still be flowering?

The pansy in the photo is much tinier in real life, less than one inch across, and so tending more towards the wild heartsease, Viola tricolor , which grows in upland summer meadows.

Sister Jo gave me three little pots around the end of September. I planted them out in a larger pot and they have been sitting on the garden steps ever since, already into their fifth month of flowering. And not once have they failed. Not when they were buried in snow for several days. Or subjected to hard January frosts night after night. Or buffeted by gale force winds. Or beaten by downpours.

It’s true they look mangled after a frost, but as the day warms, they perk themselves up as if it had never happened. Bless their little pansy faces.

After the December snow and frost

A hurrah of hellebores

And cheering on the pansies comes the hellebore – a Christmas Carol gift from best chum Les. Since mid December it too has flowered its socks off in a pot by the back door where we can see it. So heartening on dull winter days when it’s too icy to venture outside: there it’s been, day after day. And according to the horticultural sites on the internet, it may well carry on till spring, which at the moment it looks like doing.

And now in the front garden, pushing up through frosty soil come miniature crocus, their stems no thicker than a darning needle. They are scattered everywhere and seem to be tiny seedlings rather than the offspring of corms; not a garden phenomenon I’d come across before we moved into The Gables. On gloomy days when they are closed up tight, you can hardly see them. But when the sun shines, the little flowers open wide. Spring is on the way, they say.

They’re nothing if not optimistic little specimens.

A cheerfulness of crocuses. Or maybe croculetti.

This Morning’s Walk With Some Rural Geometry

Barn roofs, gates, styles, fence- field- crop- and power-lines, pylons and pole shadows. Oh yes, and some bull rushes…

A brilliant sun-frosty morning and, so we’re told, the last of the super-cold days. But just the morning for a hike up to the dew ponds above the town.

I love this green lane, perhaps the remains of an ancient thoroughfare between settlements, this before the creation of the modern road system, or maybe even part of the old drovers’ routes out of Wales, shepherds and cattlemen driving their flocks and herds to markets in the English Midlands.

Bishop’s Castle was anyway an important market centre at least as far back as the thirteenth century, when the Bishops of Hereford ruled it from their castle at the top of town. Charters were granted for weekly markets and seasonal fairs to be held outside the castle walls.

On market days this now quiet track might well have been bustling with carts, farmers’ wives with their produce: ducks, geese, hens, eggs, butter, cheeses; farm boys on foot, driving pigs, goats, cattle and sheep to sell. Other traders too might have come this way: basket, hat and chair makers, dealers in songs, fortune tellers, herbalists, and street musicians.

The Long Mynd

At the top of the hill are some dew ponds. These are man-made pools, created in upland areas without natural water sources, to provide for grazing stock. Water then collects in them, either rain or field run-off. Some may date from the Neolithic period, that is 6-7,000 thousand years ago. Others may date from the Middle Ages or more recently in the 18th/19th centuries when there was still a high demand for wool. Much skill was required to make them. They started out as a saucer-shaped excavation, about a metre (3 feet) deep, and anywhere between 3-15 metres in diameter. This was then lined with straw, followed by an impermeable layer of puddled clay.

One of the dew ponds no longer in use for stock watering is in its own enclosed domain and filled with bull rushes.

There are many fine views all round from this point on the footpath; also another dew pond, not presently in use:

And in the field with the operational dew pond, lots of ewes waiting to have their lambs:

At this point we retrace our steps, although we could (if all of us were willing) follow the path for several more miles, taking a wide loop back into town. Instead, we head straight down the hill, watching the ribbon of fog flowing along the far valley from Clun towards Craven Arms. We’ve recently learned that this mist phenomenon, rather common in these parts, is also called brume.

Finally at the foot of the hill by the Wintles, another favourite old barn:

And by now it was lunchtime so we called in at Tahira’s Chai Shop on the High Street for some delicious beef and vegetable samosas (also geometrical) plus lots of good chatting, topped off with (triangular) slices of Rose’s light-as-a-feather, and mouth-wateringly warm cardamom cake. None of which stayed on our plates long enough to think about taking photos. Sorry.

#GeometricJanuary Day 16