John Michell - RIP

Patrick and I had heard that the weather was likely to change imminently but when I woke this morning the sun was shining very brightly, yet again. I got up to make coffee while he still slept, having stayed up late into the night. I would have to drive home later today so I wanted to pack in as much as possible while I was in this lovely part of England.

I picked up my camera bag and headed up the path in the direction of the local river called the Frome, funnily enough, just like at home. We had strolled there before supper on my first evening and Patrick had reminded me that he regularly sees Kingfishers in the vicinity. I am still trying to film them 'properly', which is becoming rather a saga for me, and possibly a 'quest' of life-affirming proportions. I stopped to look at Nunney Mead nature reserve, sited on the meadows where the river meanders widely between the gently sloping hillsides. It is also the site of the roman ruins, which include a series of large and important mosaic floors that were either part of a roman villa, or possibly of a private temple devoted to Bacchus; the whole site is now a scheduled ancient monument.

I then crossed the elaborate man-made drains built to channel water onto the meadows in medieval times, and went to the weir, where I could climb down to the river's edge and stroll along under the woodland canopy on a small beach of pebbles and stones. Some years ago, at the very same spot, I had looked down at my feet and spotted a shaped flint which I'd picked up. I thought it might have been manmade and I took it to Cirencester Museum, where an 'expert' confirmed it as an ancient stone hand tool.

I moved a little downstream to where it was brighter, as I knew I would have difficulty filming anything in the dark light. I took a test shot of the opposite bank, which Pat said was where kingfishers were known to nest in the sandy banks, and where he had seen them. I looked at the image and then as I looked back up, I saw a kingfisher fly away from the bank upstream towards the weir. Muttering slightly to myself, I quickly changed the lens to a zoom, but before it was properly mounted the bird flew back downstream and past me, not twenty feet away, and then out into the sunshine beyond the wooded area.

I moved further downstream and stood staring for ages, and waited, and waited. Actually I did see a bird on a fence which I half-heartedly focused on, and took a couple of shots as it flew away. But I though it was a wagtail. Actually it turned out to be a kingfisher now I have looked at the pictures at home. I spent two hours in all out and about, and enjoyed a frustrating but interesting time in a natural setting.

Returning to the cottage, Patrick was now up, so we compared notes about the morning so far, and then the phone rang. Mel was keen to go back to the beach, as was Patrick, to have another swim because they both felt it might be the last suitable day of the summer, as the forecast was poor. I decided to go with them and we had a near repeat performance of yesterday's visit. The weather wasn't quite as warm, there were mackerel clouds and the wind was up, but it was still lovely to be by the sea. I didn't swim though.

While we chatted Patrick mentioned that our mutual friend John Michell, who had died a few years before, was buried in a graveyard close to where I would be driving on my way home. Patrick had written for various publications that John had produced, and Mel had also illustrated many of them with her brilliant cartoons. John was an eminent man with many talents and a delightful soul who I first came across in 1969 through his book 'The View over Atlantis', with which he single handedly kick started the rise of Glastonbury as a modern sacred centre. If you don't know about him do have a look at his wiki entry: John Michell

So leaving Pat and Mel at the car park we went our different ways. I drove slowly along back roads and tiny lanes and through hollow ways to Stoke Abbott, a few miles north of Bridport, where I found a lovely small twelfth century church and this gravestone. I am very pleased to record it here in memory of a great man, who I am pleased to have known, even if only for a short time..