The Two Terriers

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The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month

11.11.16

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A squadron photograph, Italy, 1944.

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Opportunists at the seaside

We've just had some time in the West Country and on my walks around the village with Lucie I was intrigued to see these lots of little succulents, I think they're succulents, quietly thriving in smallest of sanctuaries. Bonus plants for the gardener I suppose because they would seem to be amongst those plants that just arrive unannounced and quietly get on with surviving one is tucked up agains a down pipe and the others on top of a wall grabbing the first drops of rain to fall.

In the jungle again

A day trout fishing out on the range as a guest at an army training range. A massive area that was is they say, somewhere in Norfolk. The day started very wet with the rain pouring down and then slowly easing towards lunchtime. The River Wissey was higher than the last time I visited and fished but it still needs a little more water flowing through. All I had to show for the whole morning and for my dampened efforts was the memory of losing one really good trout that snapped the line by crashing into the underwater branches of a fallen tree plus one other tentative pull on the Pheasant Tail nymph, a pull that came to nothing. At lunchtime it was still raining but thankfully much more gently than earlier. After lunch we had a chat with a small group of Ukrainian soldiers who are training there and through their interpreter I now know that there are trout in the streams in the Ukrainian mountains, sadly I can't ever see me fishing there. ...

On the border

The first time I walked past this with our Terrier I just thought it was no more than an endearing house name but, it is in fact, an old marker for the border between Devon and Cornwall. A County border that once marked a partisan boundary than still remains on a house front, I can only think that if the name 'Cornwall' had been spelt out it would have unbalanced the appearance too much. A resident of the village said that a river or more of a stream ran through the village that was the original marker but that was now culverted. Perhaps it runs under the house? Curious and intriguing.

The legend of Bastard Barry

I park my car in a remote Fenland farmyard when I visit one of my favourite pike fishing venues and the farmer, like all of the farmers in Fenland, has varying levels of security around the farm and the farm buildings and stores. A gong sounds as you come up the farm road. A light is set to come on in darkness or daylight. The people who live there have 'eyes-on'. If you don't have permission you will be asked to leave. Then there is another more 'subtle' level of security, called Bastard Barry, I reckon he's descended from Bible John's preaching terrier that serviced many a dog in Fenland; anyway the legend of 'Bastard Barry' may sound like a Bob Dylan song but this one is alive, well and capable of biting. Barry likes nothing more than a good nip of your Achilles Tendon when your back is turned and then he's off so that he is just out of range. If you are daft enough to shout at him and c...

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The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month

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