Browsing All Posts filed under »Travel«


June 2, 2012


“I am a Captain, but as they are ten a-penny, and I had a very undistinguished & brief career at the front ( I was shot down by Richthofen in January 1917 & POW till the  middle of December 1918) I do not normally use the rank” Oscar Grieg, is not someone you will have […]


April 7, 2012


About an hours walk from my home, uphill all the way, you can stand at the summit of Cosdon Beacon beside a bronze age burial cairn made from granite stones. Here, breathtaking views of Dartmoor in all directions, you will see no walls for five miles when looking due south. Not one. There are no […]

Are we there yet?

March 10, 2012


‘ Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind is bearing me across the sky.’  Ojibwa saying. Follow your bliss. Easy. No? How many forgotten paths I wonder already lay scattered around in the wasteland of our pasts? Laying discarded and slowly turning back to dust. Were any […]


January 29, 2012


They say the past is a foreign country. One where they do things differently. If this is true, then those differences call out to you loudest from the stamps of each nation. Yes, stamps. Those small, often square, sometimes triangular things you place on the corner of a letter and then forget about. There is […]

The Moors.

November 5, 2011


Dartmoor is man made. It is hard to believe as you draw in breathtaking sweeps of moorland. However, it is true. Ancient dwarf oaks huddle together in small pockets, at Wistman’s Wood, the copses of Black Tor and Piles. Everything else is created by the hand of man. Quite literally. The moors are one of […]

Smoke and mirrors

September 24, 2011


Miracles, like beauty, exist in the eye of the beholder. What is awesome to one goes unnoticed by another. I have witnessed miracles in the last seven days. All germinating from the same source. A house. The first miracle, running water. From a tap. You turn the tap head and water, cold, clear and safe, […]


September 10, 2011


Red cliffs. That is unusual. Not the white cliffs of Vera Flynn, of England. Red cliffs. It is an unfamiliar route, a different return. It is home drawing closer, but not home. Contrasts follow at every turn. Retuning to your country, your place of residence, for nearly forty years, is usually straight forward. You reach […]