The Hornyx

Another silly 'musical' instrument build inspired by the Celtic war horn - the Carnyx.

And here's the promo video I posted the day before.

If you like these kinds of silly videos you may also like the Horn of Geddon, the Didgeridon't and the Eye-Lo-Phone.

To say 'enjoy' would be churlish.

So I'll just say that I hope it amuses you.

Do you have a podcast, Stevyn?

A sneaky promo for my podcast in amongst the bluebells.

You can find the WE'D LIKE A WORD podcast on Apple, Spotify and wherever else good podcasts are hosted.

How do butterflies flutter by?

Just one of several questions I ask in this ltest meandering miscellany.

 

Bards galore

The Cornish bards were out in force in Callington today for the Proclamation of the Gorsedh - the first event leading up to the gathering in September.

Gorsedh means ‘a Bardic assembly’. It comes from the ancient Celtic word meaning ‘high seat’ or ‘throne’. Bard derives from the name given by Greek writers to the poets and musicians associated with priests and Druids. Originally the term bard was generally conferred upon all professional poets. Bards were very prestigious people and often the closest personal ties existed between them and their patrons. Head of all the bards in the Gorsedh was, and still is, the Grand Bard whose symbol of authority is the great chair in which he or she sits.

Not all are Cornish, and not all are resident in Cornwall. There are bards in Australia and North America, invited to become bards because of their work promoting Cornwall to the emigrant families in those countries, and many of these make the long trip to Cornwall to be initiated into the Gorsedh and attend the Gorsedh ceremonies. 

A person who is considered worthy of bardship must be proposed by an existing bard, who is required to submit a citation to the Gorsedh in support of his or her candidate. Citations must be presented without the knowledge of the person being nominated. Each nominee is in turn considered by the Gorsedh Council and, if found satisfactory, she or he is duly invited to become a bard. Bards choose a Bardic name in Cornish, which is generally relevant to their place of birth, their particular vocation or the work which has led them to be invited into the Gorsedh. The names of these new bards are not made public until shortly before their official acceptance into the Gorsedh, now always held on the first Saturday in September.

Oak, pug and bluebells

One of those happy little accidental compositions in which everything seems to compliment everythiong else. I couldn't have purposefully composed this photograph any better. 

A bit of a tribute to Jack Hargreaves

By way of a thank you to the great man for giving me so much inspiration.

 

Over-Subscribed and over the Moon!

In the past week my subscriber count on Youtube went from around 400 to 18,000 in less than a week. It was soon (after I'd made this video) at 20,000.

Madness! But what an honour. I'm humbled.

I'd better start creating some better content ...

Meanwhile, let me take you on a trip to Cecil Court - an extraordinary small street in London full of antiquarian and esoteric bookshops.

Yet More Meandering

Another video diary from the Chiltern Hills. It includes picking, cooking and eating wild garlic. Yum!

Happy National Tweed Day

I am rather tweedy. 

I have a number of tweed jackets and hats and Mrs C is a seamstress who produces luxury goods in Harris Tweed via her website The Tailored Hound.

And, back in 2018, we were invited to the Outer Hebrides to meet the Harris Tweed Authority people on Lewis and some of the weavers on Harris. In fact, we qwent just a few days after getting our pug. Now you know why he's called Harris. 

On this, National Tweed Day, I thought I'd recount the trip. 

Because we had three dogs at the time we couldn't fly. So we drove the 660 miles from Hazlemere in Buckinghamshire to Cluer, Isle of Harris. We didn't do it all in one day though. First day we drove to Ardrossan, near Gladgow on the west coast and stayed overnight. On Day Two we did the rest of Scotland and stayed on the Isle of Skye. But we took our, stopping to enjoy the scenery and visit the gigantic Kelpies, the Falkirk Wheel, Loch Lubnaig and that castle at the end of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

On Day Three we took the ferry from Tarbert to Harris ad began to explore the island.

Over the next day or so we visited such places as the Callanish stones and the Blackhouses on Lewis, saw some seals and golden eagles (and lots of cows and sheep).

We also visited many beautiful beaches and villages including the Island of Scalpay and its curious concrete ship.

And, of course, fulfilled the main reason for our visit - meeting the people who make Harris Tweed. It's still woven on manually (or foot pedal) operated looms - no electricity involved - and the dyes come from natural products. Harris Tweed is the only fabric that has its own act or parliament and laws to govern production and sale and every weave has to be approved by the Harris Tweed Authority. I love the stuff.

It was a wonderful week full of beautiful scenery but it was then time to head home and we broke up the journey by again staying on Skye and then a second night in the Lake District.

A wonderful trip.

Happy National Tweed Day!

Vic the Vaccy

This is amazing. 

My mother gave it to me when I was back in Cornwall last week.

It's a memoir written by a wartime evacuee from London called Vic Cummings. He and two of brothers were taken in by my Great Grandfather and Great Gran who owned a multi-generational farm in Cornwall. It's where my grandparents also lived and where my mother grew up.

It is frustratingly scant being just fifty pages or so. But from just this much I've learned a lot about some of my family members that I didn't know before. And there are wonderful descriptions of a working 1940s farm and Cornish village life too. Some stories range from the whimsical - like my Grandfather claiming he'd shot down a bomber after loosing off a couple of barrels at a low-flying Luftwaffe plane out to strafe the shipyards at Plymouth - to the darker and more visceral side of farm life when the slaughtering was done on site. But it's been a wonderful read.

And it's made me wonder whether we shoud all write a 'book of my life' for future generations to read?

Let's face it, people don't keep diaries like they used to. And you won't get an accurate view of everyday people's lives in the 21st century from reading social media.

I've been to so many places and experienced amazing things and met some wonderful people. Perhaps I should make a record of it? Just my childhood in Cornwall would make interesting reading I reckon.

Hmmm. Maybe I will.