Bath Rail

Yesterday I discovered Lansdown Tower, William Beckford's 1826 eyrie up on the downs above Bath. I'm keeping the photograph of it for the in-progress folly tower book, but just as a taster here are the railings of the cemetery consecrated soon after Beckford's death that adjoins the foot of the tower, and affords spectacular views down over the city. He and his architect Henry Goodridge are both buried here. Anyway, there are railings and there are railings, and these are simply superb. Also designed by Goodridge, they are heavily Romanesque, their elaborate detail only enhanced by the ivy creeping slowly over them. I do hope they don't trim it all off on the next maintenance run, which by the look of this and the cemetery thankfully isn't very often. Which is a good thing, as in and out of the sombre tombstones are profusions of wild flowers. These overgrown acres are a true oasis from modern life, one of those very rare places where it is still possible to reach out and palpably experience the distant past.

Pumpkin Heads & Tales

Concerned about some American cultural imports, the trick 'n' treating aspect of Halloween has never really appealed. All those old ladies keeling over at the sight of the undead beckoning to them with bony fingers, and those rubber masks- not too keen on masks either. So it was with dismay that I saw The Boys arrive yesterday in black velvet cloaks. "Take those masks off boys" I said, "You know I don't like them." "We haven't got them on yet Dad". Ghoulish laughter all round. Youngest Son had his cloak on all day, staring out of the kitchen window waiting for dark. Older Boy started on a Convincing Argument, and said if anyone wanted a trick he'd do one with his playing cards. He practised well, and Mr.Curmudgeon let them go round the village after he'd nearly ended-up in casualty making the pumpkin heads. I said why don't they go and hide in the churchyard and then I'd not come and find them. But what a good time they had. The village must be used to it, they came back with a big bag full of goodies and had been made very welcome in houses, along with other children who continually knocked on my door until I ran out of the pennies I'd heated up on the stove. No sign of any conversion to Satanism, we sat down by candlelight to a fabulous pumpkin soup. I said "What was the best bit?", and they replied that one house was in complete darkness and a loud voice had shouted out gutterally "What do you want?" and then the door had been flung open by a neighbour dressed as the Grim Reaper. I like that, it's given me an idea for next year...