Carols & Mince Pies at Dovecote Dell

The weather deteriorated during the day, becoming wildly windy and very wet.   Luckily, as darkness fell, the evening became dry and still.      The air changed from unseasonable warmth, to very cool, so our spirits were high as we parked the car along the quiet country lane.

A very bright three-quarter moon shone in a dark blue velvet sky, myriad stars glittered and twinkled as we made our way through the darkness.   Suddenly the bells began to ring out, welcoming us into the warmth and light of the little church at Dovecote Dell and I just knew it was going to be a wonderful evening.

Plain white walls, mellow honey-coloured stone, the windowsills were adorned with the simplest decorations of fresh-cut holly and flickering candles.   Truly beautiful.

There were a couple of dozen people inside, the atmosphere was warm and relaxed as friends, old and new, greeted one another and began to catch up on all their news.

A hot water urn bubbled quietly in the corner, muttering a promise of hot drinks and mince pies later.

When the bells stopped ringing and everyone was seated, our lovely bouncy vicar began the service.   Imagine a slimmer version of the Vicar of Dibley, just a little more serious.     The short service was punctuated by carols sung with more enthusiasm than skill (I speak of myself  the others were brilliant).    

Perhaps the best treat of all was when the soloist sang.    Her voice was exquisite, trained but authentically beautiful.   She pitched it at exactly the right level for the building so that we were uplifted and transformed.

During the final hymn the urn joined in with a descant and it wasn't long before teas and coffees were being handed around, along with Diana's home-made mince pies, shortbread and chocolate cake and generous helpings of laughter and conversation.

Mrs Read* was there, looking as cheery as a winter robin redbreast in her beautiful scarlet coat, despite the fact that her hip was giving her a lot of trouble and she had resorted to using a walking stick.     She had thoroughly enjoyed the evening and is anticipating a lovely Christmas with her son doing all the cooking!

It was a lovely evening, a perfectly beautiful way to get into the Christmas spirit.       Tonight we'll be heading to the local pub, a chance to catch up with another group of friends and much merrymaking.

Somehow I don't think it will quite match up to the simple beauty of last night, but I'll let you know.

Flying Hooves on Saturday

My Saturday morning was quiet, some simple pottering, walking the dog, and a little sewing.  Gentle and enjoyable.  

Max continued working on the hen house extension.  

The extension is going to become a garage for Hector's little car, which will be a great improvement on the nylon car cover, which probably wouldn't survive another winter.

I decided to nip down to see Benedict a little earlier than normal as I wanted to go to the Little Bunting Bazaar and I didn't want to arrive there in my dirty old jacket and horse-grubby hands, although I am sure no-one would have noticed.

Because I was early Benedict was in the middle of the field, grazing.   As I went in the yard he lifted his head and looked across, then amazed me by whinnying and cantering over to me.

I didn't know that old horse could move so fast!    

He was all flying mane, tail and hooves.   It was impressive and beautiful.    He finished up with a playful (powerful) nudge of my shoulder, almost knocking me off my feet.

I think he was happy to see me!   Of course he associates my visits with food and company, a bright spot in his quiet day.    I hope he also feels some of the love I have for him, he certainly stands there stoically, as I hug him and murmur sweet nothings to him.

A quick nip home, to wash my hands and change into something a little cleaner, then I walked back along our muddy little lane (wearing wellies, one has to be practical!) and down to the village hall.  

All the windows and doors were closed.   They couldn't fool me though, I knew a 'party' was going on in there!  

I walked in and was hit by a wall of heat and stuffy air, almost turned tail and back into the bracing wind and finger-nipping cold outside.

The place seemed full, but this is a tiny village hall and twenty people can make it seem as though it is bursting at the seams.    Unbuttoning my coat I dug deep into my pockets, purchasing raffle tickets for this and that,  bought tombola tickets, a cake and a jar of  marmalade.     I didn't want to buy tee shirts, or ornaments, calendars  or rather dull books, so  I bought a cup of tea and a mince pie.

I had a dozen quick conversations with people I rarely see, then had a good long chat with Mrs Read who told me a few more snippets about her wedding and reception (Dovecote Dell, 1953) she also pointed out a relative newcomer to the village, to their mutual delight they had discovered that Mrs Read had taught her, many years ago.

She was sitting all alone, probably enjoying some peace and quiet, but I went and introduced myself anyway and we had a great chat and have arranged to do some dog walking together.  

Another flit around the hall, a few more pounds spent on tickets for things I hope I won't win, and then back out into the deliciously cold and invigorating air.   Bliss!

When I got home I was greeted by this lovely sight...

The best part of the day was the greeting that this boy gave me though.   Who would have thought he could still move like that?

Poppy and Miles, we'll be Skyping you later, love, Mumxxxxxxxxxxx