Country diary: Long-horned cattle and fine views across Bodmin

  • 2/17/2022
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The way to Bury Castle, in the south-west corner of Bodmin moor, crosses downland with long-horned, hairy cattle. They wander among the coconut-perfumed gorse and hazel coppice, beneath golden catkins blowing sideways in the wind. In the adjoining woods, tree trunks and branches, boulders and uprooted beech are smothered in moss, luminous green against the dull leaf mould. On the hillside, fresh molehills of dark brown earth dot the sheep pastures. A narrow track leads uphill between withered ferns and glossy pennywort, which grow on degraded stone banks overhung with gnarled oak and stunted blackthorn (still there is no hint of swelling flower buds). Ahead, silhouetted against streaks of bright sky, are the rampart and external ditch of the iron age hill fort (400BC-AD50) set on a ridge extending out from the moor. Today, this ancient turfy enclosure is buffeted by a north-west wind. Braced against the gusts, we peer north towards the distinctive high tors of Brown Willy and Rough Tor, and eastward towards the grey outlines of Caradon Hill and Sharp Tor, which rise above home in the Tamar Valley. In Cardinham, to the south-west, 400 feet below this fortified lookout, the pinnacled tower of St Meubred’s church is set among hazy sunbeams that seem to draw water from the surrounding fields, and steep wooded valleys running towards the River Fowey. Across the parish there are medieval granite crosses, including Treslea, which marks the boundary of glebe land (owned by the church), and an early memorial cross, finely sculpted and dating from the ninth or 10th century. It was found in 1872, built into the external wall of the chancel. Downhill from the church, past the community tennis court and war memorial cemetery, jays screech across a soggy path into the gloomy woods that hide the bailey and reduced motte of Cardinham Castle, constructed by the Fitz Turolds, owners of 28 manors at the time of Domesday. Back in Cardinham village, around old tombstones in the graveyard, and in the gardens and hedges, drifts of snowdrops gleam in the fading light – substitutes for this winter’s absence of real snow.

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