Our annual lambing season has been and gone and we are now looking forward to April and May when grass is at its most nutritious. In the meantime we continue to feed fresh hay with just a bit of old hay mixed in. Some people think sheep are daft but, unlike many humans, they do at least know which food is good for them when they get it.
Talking of eating well makes me grateful that we have so many local butchers, all of whom buy their meat from local farms, thus supporting local people as well as reducing food miles. Nutritionists tell us that fresh food is the best food and I have noticed that, just as fish generally tastes better in Cornwall, there is no doubt that local vegetables, milk, fruit and meat give enhanced flavour to life in this corner of Gloucestershire.
A few years ago I was an (unpaid) director of a quango whose job it was to help businesses growing, processing or retailing locally sourced food and to devise ways of reducing food miles. Like most quangoes its success was minimal, but at least it did get some people talking about the importance of supporting local farms, growers and locally owned shops.
Incidentally I learned a lot about quangoes from that experience. During the first year whilst they are being set up, people such the MP for Gloucester and other ‘worthies’ are paid generous expenses and attendance fees. They then resign en-masse and the bureaucrat in charge asks people like me to take over the direction of the outfit. We, of course, get no fees or expenses but after about three years the whole cycle starts again. Quango number one is wound up and quango number two takes its place ad infinitum. I guess this is a good way of giving money to the ‘worthies,’ and keeping folk like me busy.
However back to food! Parishioners are thrice blessed in that not only have we got fresh local meat and a good range of cheeses, wines, ciders and beers to titillate our palates, but we also have some fine restaurants, pubs and eateries catering for all tastes and budgets. I enjoy eating out with my wife and am always delighted when we can share that experience with friends. In fact so good is the choice of local food, that I am surprised the Parish magazine does not have it own restaurant critic.
April is also the time when grass starts growing really quickly, and householders wish that they had serviced the mower at the end of last year’s growth. Spare a thought however, for that band of volunteers who mow the churchyards of the benefice: Unlike those who set up quangoes, they get no fee but are the ‘Thinkers of the Parish.’ This is because, whilst tidying the churchyard for the quiet enjoyment of those who come to remember lost loved ones, it is easy to be moved by a deep sense of gratitude for life and to muse on the lives behind the carved epitaphs.
Talking of church yards, reminds me that in a previous edition I mentioned that a parishioner cannot now determine what is written on his own tombstone, and that the Bishops who proscribe creative writing must be rather dull and lacking a sense of fun. I then gave details of an interesting inscription on a stone in Bewdley and one dated 1880 on Boot Hill, Naco, Arizona. This recorded the final resting place of Lester Moore a Wells-Fargo station agent who was gunned down by a local villain and reads;
Here lies Lester Moore.
Four slugs from a 44.
No Les No More.
Humour in English churchyards is however still alive, and a friend from Dymock recently told me of two visitors who were reading head stones when one suddenly said, “Hey! There’s a chap here who was 142.” His friend said, “Who is he?” only to told: “It says he is Miles from London!”
View from the Pew 