Great Tew: The Sunflower Field

Great Tew: The Sunflower Field
26 August 2002

Location	Great Tew, Oxfordshire, OS Explorer, 191 (west). There's a free public car park in Great Tew. That's where I started my walk. I walked eastwards along the Great Tew Park all the way to Nether Worton. My return route was more northerly but sticking to the south side of Walkers Hill. There was still some daylight by the time I returned to Great Tew, so I took a look at the church situated south of the village. I've visited Great Tew before, in August last year.

Weather	Cloudy but clearing up towards evening.

Click on the images to see larger versions.


	By the village green in Great Tew there's a bright red phone box. It really stands out against the green foliage behind. If you peek through the window you can see that the phone itself is much more recent than the cast-iron booth.

Walking along the wall of Great Tew park wasn't as pleasant as I had imagined. As I was leaving the village I passed a number of dilapidated buildings with old cars and toys strewn about. Further outside the village, the large field opposite the park wall bore unharvested rape seed, i.e. shoulderhigh, brown, dead vegetation.

	The British are great at romantic decay but with the aluminium gate, the abandoned fence panels and straw roll, this isn't romantic, it's just decay.

You could tell that the park was once a very pleasant place with exotic specimen trees and grand stonework. It was designed by Loudon who was a proponent of the Picturesque style at the time. When he sold it after a four-year makeover, he made a fortune. The money he used to travel in France and Italy. There he became enamoured of a more formal style, the very style that the Picturesque movement was reacting against.

	Moving swiftly on, grain fields with oaks dotted about are really a lot less depressing. Although I couldn't help wondering how come this grain was still standing when yesterday in Banbury the stubble fields had already been plowed.

A happier sight, a pink bramble blossom promises more blackberries, Rubus fruticosus. I think the crinkling of the petals comes from the drought we had this summer. But it's beautiful with the airy crown of stamens. It's not hard to see that brambles are related to roses.

	More grain with ears so heavy they bend down.

A closer look. The grain was very stiff and hard.

	A lone oak stands in a sea of ripe grain.

Moving on to a field that obviously belongs to someone who still tends it. The hedge along the undulating ridge looks a bit like the spine of a dragon to me. But that could just be me having read too much fantasy lately.

	In Nether Worton a Victorian postbox had been set into a gatepost. I really like the signs of wear by the lock.

A closer look at the cipher and the opening. You can see how the box has been given coat after coat of paint. The detail in the crown is mostly lost by now.

	On the opposite side of the road stands the church. This is the door.

Nether Worton's church is in obvious need of renovation. One of the figures flanking the door has lost its nose. The one on the other side wasn't even recognisable as a human face.

	Inside the cobwebs spoke their silent language of neglect.

I found an organ. This is the kind where the pedals operate bellows that provide the air that flows through the organ pipes and produces the sound. They're not nearly as hard to play as one might think. With only a little practice the pumping becomes natural, simply part of playing the instrument.

	Outside a lichen-covered headstone sports an angel but it's impossible to make out the inscription.

On the east side of the churchyard there were beeches. At this time of year the beech nuts are forming. When they ripen the coarse-haired capsules split and reveal three shiny nuts. They taste a lot like chestnuts.

	In the shade to the east of the church, I found this glossy ivy growing on top of lichen and moss.

It's not a big church. With its remote location and poor upkeep, I fear that it will soon be closed altogether. The Church of England keeps talking about closing and deconsecrating rural churches en masse. So far it hasn't happened but if it does there is a real risk that the country will lose a large part of its history to private buyers. While the deity that has been worshipped in these buildings for hundreds of years does not speak to me, I feel that the parish churches around the country are a vital part of the fabric of rural continuity. They are not just for people whose ancestors were members of the Church of England before there even was a choice of being a member or not.

	Going to villages like Nether Worton is always interesting because if nothing else there is usually one old building that is open and has a history to tell about the people who lived and died in the village. Nether Worton is a splendid example. This little figure has been carved into the lintel on the tower. Beneath the figure it says "Robert F Parsons 1630". It is completely unexpected and totally delightful. Who was Robert? Did he carve an image of himself on the tower? Did somebody else put the plaque there to commemorate him? If so, why up there? Usually memorial monuments are inside the church. It's a mystery, one that makes you realise that people as far back as 1630 weren't just the grey masses made out in history books. They were real people with wild ideas, loves and hates. Who was Robert Parsons?

A row of pelargoniums in pots brightened up the churchyard considerably. Apparently somebody cares about this place even today.

	A single white bramble flower. Blackberry flowers usually fertilise themselves. The process is called apomixis and the result is that all the blackberries in a given patch are more or less genetically identical while another patch a few hundred yards away is also internally identical and very different from the first patch. Some people don't actually talk about a blackberry species anymore but a blackberry group of species. Dandelions are the same. The upshot is that blackberries from different places can taste extremely differently for genetic reasons.

The landscape between Great Tew and Nether Worton isn't actually all that exciting. It's fine, it's just not nearly as lovely as Barford St. Michael.

	But there are wildflowers. This is not a dandelion. You can tell that it's not a dandelion because of the thin, wiry stems. Dandelions have thick, hollow stems. They also have many more flowers in each flowerhead. And their stems don't ever branch.

A close-up of the non-dandelion. So if it's not a dandelion, I hear you ask, what is it? It's a hawkbit, an Autumn hawkbit to be precise. The Latin name is Leontodon autumnalis.

	Along the edge of a wastefield, there was a fringe of unharvested oats. The seedheads have a pleasing, airy shape.

Along the path some oaks grew. They had branches pretty far down by the path, presumably because they had never been eaten by cattle. Be that as it may, it gave me an opportunity to take a photo of some acorns. These are still unripe. When they ripen, they turn brown and fall out of the hat. They should get bigger too.

	There was a lot of land around Great Tew that appeared to have been forgotten. In a country were real estate is extremely expensive, that is pretty surprising. But you can see it easily here. The brown field is dead rape seed.

A few minutes later the sun came out and made the scene appear much more benign. The oak tree in the background on the right is the same as in the previous picture. You can tell by all the dead limbs.

	Next to another brown, neglected field, I found a sunflower field. Sunflowers are not a common crop in England so I was very surprised. And happy. It's hard not to be happy with all those yellow sunflower heads smiling at you.

Who can see sunflowers like these without thinking of van Gogh these days?

	But even if you've never even heard of van Gogh, the yellow flowers held at head-hight can't fail to cheer you up.

It's not hard to see why they are called sunflowers, is it? With the brilliant yellow and the petals like rays from the centre. Not to mention the vitality that makes them grow much taller than most other flowers.

	Returning to the path the evening mood is descending with calmer thoughts.

On my way back to Great Tew I passed this row of cottages with a thatched roof, bulbous box hedging and rose-covered walls.

	There was still some daylight when I came back to the car so I ventured over to the church. Sadly I haven't been able to figure out who this is. It's a very pretty monument, though. I wouldn't mind being remembered like that, pensive with a book in my lap.

The gate to the churchyard is somewhat bizarre. Opposite stands the vicarage which is in the same style. Neither of them look like anything that you'd expect to find in a Cotswold village. A note in the church explained that they were a gift from the lord of the manor.