During the recent British Guild of Writers AGM trip to the Isle of Man we had the pleasure of travelling on a couple of that magical land’s heritage railways. Remarkably, the island boasts not one but three heritage railways - the Isle of Man’s Steam Railway, the Manx Electric Railway and the Snaefell Mountain Railway. I think the last of these was closed during early February when we were there - maybe because the mountain was covered in snow. Certainly the police had shut the mountain road.  Anyway, the Isle of Man, known for its rugged coastline, medieval castles, and rural landscapes, has a long-standing tradition of railway transport - and the Manx Electric Railway has a place in history all of its own… It is one of the oldest electric railways in the world. Established in 1893, it has been operating continuously for over a century, making it not only a crucial part of the island’s transport heritage but also a significant attraction for tourists and railway enthusiasts. Weaving approximately 17 miles over hill and dale, the Manx Electric Railway runs along the eastern coast of the island from the capital, Douglas, to the towns of Laxey and Ramsey. This route showcases some of the most spectacular coastal and countryside views the island offers, making the journey an attraction in itself. We were fortunate to be offered a special one-off winter service from Laxey to Ramsey.  The electric railway's history is intertwined with the Isle of Man's development as a tourist destination in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The coming of the railway made the island's scenic beauty and quaint villages more accessible to visitors, contributing significantly to the local tourism industry.  The construction was a remarkable engineering achievement at the time, reflecting the era's innovative spirit and technological advancement. One of the most distinctive features is the fleet of vintage tramcars, some of which date back to the original service’s early days. These tramcars have been meticulously maintained and restored, providing a unique and authentic experience for passengers.  The Manx Electric Railway prides itself on being more than just a means of transportation - it is a living museum that offers insights into the history of electric rail travel. Indeed, the journey provides a glimpse into a bygone era, from the clatter of the tramcars along the tracks to the breathtaking views of the Irish Sea and the lush Manx countryside. I loved the sunny morning trip we took - and would certainly say that the electric railway is a must-visit attraction if you’re ever on the Isle of Man. The Castletown narrow gauge railway is another must-see - and has been a significant feature of Manx life since the late 19th century. As many will know narrow gauge railways are often used for mountainous or rural areas where the construction of a standard gauge line would be more complicated and costly. The story of the Castletown railway dates back to the late 1800s, a period when the Isle of Man was developing its transportation infrastructure to boost tourism and provide essential services to remote areas.  The railway was initially built to transport goods and passengers between various points on the island, contributing significantly to the economic and social development of the area. One of the most distinctive features of the Castletown narrow gauge railway are the steam locomotives which have been meticulously maintained and restored.  The railway not only serves as a functional mode of transportation but also as a moving museum, showcasing the rich industrial heritage of the Isle of Man. The route provides passengers with wonderful views as it meanders through picturesque landscapes, including low lying pasture-lands, rolling hills, and quaint villages.  The railway is a significant tourist attraction to the very south of the island, drawing railway enthusiasts and visitors from around the world. The operation and maintenance is often undertaken by dedicated volunteers, passionate about preserving this unique piece of Manx history.

We were on a walking tour of Menorca a while ago and our final hike was an extensive coastal trek to explore what is arguably the island's most untamed region. Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau, located in northeastern Menorca, encompasses 500 hectares of diverse ecosystems, including wild olive groves, wetlands, secluded coves, islands, and coastal dunes. This remarkable natural reserve is one of Menorca's most remarkable landscapes, featuring unique flora and wildlife. Among the numerous species that inhabit the park, the rich diversity of birds and reptiles makes it a must-visit destination for nature enthusiasts. During our hike, we were lucky enough to encounter one of its famous tortoises, an iconic symbol of the park's biodiversity. Discovering Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau is Menorca's largest protected area, offering visitors a glimpse into the island's unspoiled natural beauty. This diverse landscape, spanning 500 hectares, is a testament to Menorca's commitment to preserving its ecological heritage. As part of the UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, the park underscores the importance of conservation and sustainable tourism on the island. While exploring its various habitats, visitors are greeted by a mosaic of landscapes, ranging from tranquil wetlands and coastal dunes to dense olive groves and rugged coves. The wetlands are particularly crucial for the wide variety of bird species that thrive in the park, making it a popular destination for birdwatchers. The area is teeming with avian life year-round, including flamingos, herons, and ospreys. The park's unique microclimate supports a diverse range of Mediterranean plant species, which adds to its ecological richness. Walking through the olive groves, one can savor the earthy fragrance of wild olives and admire native orchids that dot the landscape. A Coastal Adventure from Favaritx Lighthouse to Es Grau Our journey began at the iconic Favaritx Lighthouse, dramatically perched on a rugged stretch of Menorca's northeastern coastline. This striking black-and-white striped beacon, surrounded by a desolate rocky landscape, provided the perfect backdrop for our exploration of one of Menorca's wildest regions. The stark terrain around the lighthouse gradually gave way to coastal trails that meandered along the shoreline, offering spectacular views of the turquoise Mediterranean waters crashing against the rocks below. As we headed south from Favaritx, the trail took us past remote beaches and hidden coves, far removed from the island's busier tourist areas. One of the most memorable points along our route was the peninsula of Cabo Mosena, which provided panoramic views of the rugged coastline and the expansive sea beyond. This stretch of coast is a powerful reminder of Menorca's untamed beauty, where one can feel a deep connection to the natural environment. The trail eventually led us to the quaint coastal village of Es Grau, a small fishing community that retains much of its authentic Menorcan character. Es Grau is known for its calm, shallow waters, making it popular with locals for swimming and kayaking. The village provides a stark yet delightful contrast to the wild landscape of the park, with its charming houses and welcoming atmosphere. After the long hike, Es Grau was the perfect spot to relax and reflect on the day's adventure while enjoying traditional Menorcan cuisine at a local seaside café. Wildlife and Natural Wonders Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau is home to an impressive array of wildlife. Bird enthusiasts will be captivated by the diversity of species that inhabit the park, including purple herons, booted eagles, and red kites. The wetlands serve as an essential resting place for migratory birds, making it a prime location for birdwatching, especially during the spring and autumn migration periods. The park is also a haven for reptiles, with Menorca's famous tortoises being among its most iconic inhabitants. These ancient creatures are a common sight, slowly navigating the underbrush or basking in the warm Mediterranean sun. Additionally, the park is home to various lizard species, adding to the sense of stepping into a pristine, undisturbed natural world. Planning Your Visit to Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau If you are planning a visit to Menorca, exploring Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau should be a priority. Whether you are an experienced hiker or simply looking for a leisurely walk in nature, the park offers trails of varying levels of difficulty, allowing visitors of all abilities to experience its beauty. The route we took from Favaritx Lighthouse to Es Grau is just one of many ways to explore the park, but it provides an unforgettable experience for those who appreciate coastal scenery and remote landscapes. For those interested in learning more about the park, guided tours are available, offering deeper insights into the unique ecosystems and wildlife that thrive here. The park's visitor centre is also an excellent resource, providing maps, information about local flora and fauna, and recommendations for the best routes to take. Conclusion: Menorca's Hidden Gem Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau is undoubtedly one of Menorca's hidden treasures. Its diverse landscapes, rich wildlife, and dramatic coastal views make it a must-see for anyone wishing to connect with nature and explore the island's wilder side. Reflecting on our introductory hike, I’m keen to return and explore the area more thoroughly. There is something captivating about the unspoiled beauty of this region. If you are seeking an authentic Menorcan experience, away from the more crowded tourist spots, Parque Natural de s'Albufera des Grau offers an adventure that will leave you with enduring memories of the island's wild heart.

Many years ago I wrote an article about my father’s great friend, one Harry Horrobin, who was a well known figure with his wife Betty living in the village where Iu reside now. The article was published in The Guardian and recently someone sent me a cutting… He are the words I wrote, taken from a very old file of mine filled with old bit of copy paper… HARRY HORROBIN is a retired blacksmith who can’t resist a symbolic cut when he’s out snowballing. Once it’s done, he gives himself up to the police. Or sometimes he has to drive all the way to the police station to admit to his crime. The officers, alas, are seldom interested. “Last time we went into the nearest town to give ourselves up, but the local constabulary didn’t want to know,” says Harry. “They telephoned the military police who got quite flustered when we insisted on being arrested. They just took our names and addresses and told us not to do it again.” Mr. Horrobin’s enthusiasm to be put both sides of the law is something of an example among the raggle-taggle protestants of the West Country. When Mr. Horrobin says he goes snowballing, he’s not referring to a nice old Hillman Hunter or a toboggan. Lots of other people have been snowballing too — reaching some dreadful military installation, they inform the powers that be that they’re going to do something illegal. Mr. Horrobin, as befits a retired blacksmith, steps forth from the crowd with wire cutters akimbo in his burly hands. Snip, and the wire is broken. Inside, military personnel watch while these civilised, courteous, bearded old warriors go bonk into the night. Then our hero gets back into his old Hillman Hunter and drives to the nearest police station. The missile, or whatever it was, still points at millions of innocent women and children. The police, or whoever they are, really don't want to make fuss because Mr. Horrobin is 75 years old, his charming wife Betty clutches at his sandwiches and old fashioned anorak. She is 70. “What shall we do with these two old newspapers? Will we lock them up and see what the Guardian down here in no time?” So Mr. Horrobin drives home in his sedate manner, and writes a report for the local peace group. Then, after a cup of tea and a nap, he climbs the tiny staircase to his ancient workshop to study the back of an as-yet unused violin. And here, in the gloom of the evening, with the quietly grumbling voice of a Harrier Jump Jet taking off at rabbit’s ears as it hops to the escarpment, Mr. Horrobin ponders upon a world so keen on violence, yet so in love with music. Even Harry’s own two hands are guilty of the hypocrisy. When their owner was an armourer in the RAF, he certainly did their best for the machines of war. But that was a long time ago and nowadays the Horrobin hands devote themselves to making and playing violins. “2,000 years ago we were exhorted to turn our swords into ploughshares and our spears into pruning hooks,” he says. “As an armourer and blacksmith I know that this is possible. I not only know how it can be done, but I have done it myself.” “During the last two world wars we set up tons of gates and railings to make armaments, but now we have the reverse. Now we have weapons that can never be turned into ploughshares and pruning hooks because they are radioactive forever.” Thoughts like these undoubtedly swim through the slow-but-sure villager once he’s stopped snowballing for the day. All very well to sit about finding new violations and generally enjoying ancient ceremonies, but it all comes up against a sad truth. “Up an old Devon valley that morning went a charming estate hunt with beagles and hounds, sniffing after a tiny rabbit which had been disturbed by the anti-nuclear men,” says his wife Betty. “And when we got back I found that my husband had turned into a fully fledged campaigner and that he was starting a village peace group. Still, he was always going on about something, and I was glad to see him doing something about it.” Since then the Horrobins have marched on tirelessly. The most odd place they have marched through is the check-in at Bournemouth. Mr. Horrobin has also been buried up to his knees in mud at the Glastonbury music festival in order to sell his hand-made badges for the ex-Services CND selling his own home-made peace and alternative paraphernalia. Other ageing septuagenarians find the energy for a trip to London, maybe go to Covent Garden, perhaps, with the day’s shopping in mind. The Horrobins can be sure that they will be spending the night before camped outside some secret fence in the middle of the Wiltshire countryside, up to their ankles in mud, wood, or even snow. Harry gets through several sets of small, hard shoes each year as his feet plod around the country lanes with badges and more badges. One local paper has this to say about his workshop: “This ancient room is filled with ancient tools and oil lamps, as well as his daughter’s painting of an owl. Everything is clean and Harry Horrobin especially enjoys the atmosphere shortly after cleaning. “Words and Emigrated from Harry.” He smiled and said enigmatically: “Who will wash the rain?”

The Joy of Jersey Royals: Spring’s First Great Harvest Cornish Earlies will be with us soon, offering their own delightful contribution to the new potato season. But in the meantime, a kind soul from the Channel Islands has sent me a generous bag of Jersey Royals — a potato which many would describe as the king of spring spuds. Not that I need to try them, of course. I buy them the moment they appear each year. Jersey Royals have a special place in the British culinary calendar. Grown exclusively on the island of Jersey, these nutty, waxy, delicately flavoured potatoes are one of the few foods in the UK to hold PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) status. The flavour and texture are, apparently, the product of unique island terroir: mineral-rich soil, a mild maritime climate, and traditional farming methods that date back centuries. I would just say that there used to be some spuds that were even more delicious - the old Home Guard variety of ultra-early new potatoes that were once grown on the Isles of Scilly. They were certainly the very best I’ve ever eaten—and I think that was partly because they were often grown under very deep coverings of seaweed, which undoubtedly helped to impart some of the flavour. How to Cook Jersey Royals: Keep It Simple The key to enjoying Jersey Royals is not to overcomplicate things. They shine brightest when they’re allowed to speak for themselves. Boiled gently in salted water — just until tender, never mushy — and then tossed with a good handful of freshly picked mint and, let’s be honest, far more butter than is strictly necessary, they become the very definition of a seasonal treat. In fact, they’re so good that I’m more than happy to eat them entirely on their own. No meat, no fish, no sauce — just a bowl of glossy, butter-drenched Jersey Royals, some good sea-salt, maybe a grind of black pepper, and I’m in potato heaven. Perhaps a soft-boiled egg or a few slivers of smoked mackerel on the side. But really, they need very little. Try them as a treat in their own right.

When you’re in a big city like Tokyo - and they don’t get much bigger than Tokyo - it’s always good to have a mate you can call on. That is exactly what happened to me when I was visiting the Japanese capital. An old Somerset friend called Adam Kennedy - who has lived in the city for the past 17 years - showed me around and introduced me to his friends. While in Tokyo Martin stayed at The Candeo Hotel Roppongi - visit www.candeohotels.com for more details.

What’s the zaniest, craziest, thing you could do food-wise at Christmas or during midwinter? I’m not talking about boiling the turkey or mashing the sprouts or anything so daft or mundane… Instead I am interested in suggestions that really push the boat out - like having a beach picnic in the teeth of a raging December gale, for example. Why Wait for Summer? The Joy of the Winter Picnic That is what North Devon’s well-known purveyor of seafood, Dan the Fishman, and I decided to do one cold winter’s day. As we both work alone, away from any kind of company office, neither of us get invited to the usual Christmas work shindigs - so we thought it might be a good idea to stage our own right out there on the wild Atlantic coast. And why not? Why not do something a bit different and memorable? At the end of the day, life is all about memories - and, once it’s been swallowed, food is too. So why not do something interesting, different, colourful and memorable at this time of the year when everything tends to get covered in tinsel and can become just a bit repetitious and unremarkable? Hikers often mutter an oft-used phrase first coined by Alfred Wainwright when it comes to meteorological conditions at this time of the year: “There’s no such thing as bad weather - there’s just unsuitable clothing.” Which is basically how some eccentric folk (me included) regard the idea of dining al-fresco in an English winter. Why should a picnic or a beach-cook-up be limited to just the few short months of summer we have in this country?  I’m not prescribing that everyone head for the beaches at a drop of a hat this Christmas, but a well planned excursion undertaken with the help of some good warm weatherproofs can provide you with more lasting memories than 100 office parties or drab Christmas dinners endured on sufferance.  Spume and Salt-Spray: Meeting Dan the Fishman at Hartland Quay We chose the wildest bit of coast we could find, donned the kind of waterproofs which the late Wainwright would have approved, built a fire and piled on the fish for a seafood extravaganza, just a few feet from where the marine creatures were caught or harvested by Dan Garnett’s fish-crew. “We’re going to cook up a festive fish treat with our merry crew,” beamed Dan as the WMN contingent reached a spume-covered, salt-sprayed Hartland Quay. “We are going out on the beach - to prove that we can go out on the beach - and enjoy some good local produce at this festive time of the year.  “We’ve got local oysters and fizz - then we are going to have a taste-off with some gravlax I’ve made and some from Plaistow Mills on Exmoor. After that we’re going to send the youngsters across the beach to collect shellfish - some mussels, limpets and winkles - and boil those off in a broth of cider. “And I’m gong to pan fry on the fire a nice bit of local hake landed just around the corner at Appledore.” Happy Fishmass": Dining in the Teeth of a Gale Dan loves this sort of day out, and his enthusiasm is infectious… “The sun’s out, the sea is nice. This is Devon! We get sunshine here 300 days a year,” he grinned, brushing off any suggestion that his meteorological statistics may have been on the optimistic side. “A whacking great big storm has just gone by - which is why the waves are so big - I’m glad we are all ashore and safe on the beach. You don’t mess with this coast,” he continued, as I reported the loss of an expensive GoPro camera (my own fault entirely) which had been snatched by an unusually enormous wave.  “A camera is a loss to you, but many people have come to grief around here down the years.  “Just eat and enjoy,” laughed the bearded wonder, patting me on the back. “The wild foraged shellfish with a bit of seaweed for extra flavour has made a fantastic broth now that I’ve added a bit of cider and butter. “This is real festive food,” grinned a hugely satisfied Dan. “It’s worth pushing the boat out at this time of the year. Come on down to the beach! Everything tastes better when you’ve got your own fire and you’re eating.  “Here we are surrounded by crashing waves - this is Christmas… A Happy Fishmass to you all!” Dan the Fishman’s hake with foraged seafood broth “Find a good beach where you’re allowed to build a fire and it’s safe,” says Dan Garnett. “Make a fire-pit from beach stones - use dry logs and driftwood. Light the fire place a flat griddle over it when it’s getting super hot. As the fire its getting into its stride, forage for handful mussels, limpets, winkles and seaweed. In a small saucepan soften shallots and red pepper which you’ve diced finely and add some crushed garlic to the sizzling butter. Add a glug of dry local cider then throw in your washed and rinsed shellfish and seaweed.  Bring to the boil and add the rest of cider with lid on for five to seven minutes (longer if you have limpets). In a buttered frying pan cook the hake fillet skin down, turning only once. To the shellfish, add a tablespoon of double cream and season with pepper. No salt is required in this dish as the shellfish will have plenty. Finally, sieve the shellfish broth liquid over your cooked fish - dip some good bread into your delicious broth and eat. Dan the Fishman’s beach recipe for three fish thermidor - serves four “This is a really, fast one pot dish that can be cooked on the beach, delicious and health just right for happy hungry winter walkers or surfers.  First make a small fire with drift wood and dry kindling. Place stones from the beach around it to support an improvised grill. In order to place your cooking pot on it. Get the fire really hot and cook on the hot embers. Alternatively, use a gas cooking ring.” Ingredients:- Fresh live cockles in the shell, good handful  Local sustainable pollock, filleted 454 gms approx Undyed natural oak smoked haddock fillet 227 gms approx Salmon fillet, 350gms. Approx 5 shallots or one large onion 1 red and green pepper 4 cloves garlic Fresh or dried herbs of your choice I like mixed herbs du province, one desert spoon full Noilly Pratt or white wine Dijon smooth mustard Double cream Salt and fresh ground black pepper Finely chopped parsley, two dessertspoonfuls Method:- Wash and rinse cockles in plenty of fresh water. Heat pan on hot fire, add whole cockles, and let them steam with lid on for a minute. Add a good glug of Noilly Pratt or wine keep lid on until the cockles open. Carry on cooking with the lid off for 2 minutes stirring occasionally, letting the cooking liquid evaporate a little. Remove from heat, carefully take the cockle meat out of their little shells, put them to one side and drain off the cooking liquid into a container While the cockles cook, finely dice shallots, peppers and garlic - add to the pan with a little oil and gently sweat until soft stirring frequently. Add chopped herbs. Keep the heat low add a few spoonfuls of the cooking liquid. Skin the fish and cut into big chunks, now add to pan keeping on a medium heat and gently stir. After a couple of minutes add two desert spoonfuls of mustard keep stirring to allow the vinegar in the mustard to evaporate. Add the cockles. When the fish is soft and nearly cooked add a few spoonfuls of retained cooking liquor. Taste and season with pepper and maybe a little salt. Remember the smoked haddock is already salty. Add the chopped parsley. To finish the dish stir in one desert spoonful per person of double cream.  Stir and serve with warmed French bread and a glass of dry white wine “A real taste of the sea and hopefully a great view.” www.clovellyfish.com  Dan - whose real name is Dan Garnett - works across North Devon selling and promoting local fish

We’ve talked about the virtues of wild garlic before in these pages, but we're going to do it again because it is looking like a fantastic year for the stuff. Moreover, I have recently learned to enjoy the value of a simple wild garlic omelette. Fresh eggs, a few of the pungent leaves finely chopped, a touch of salt and pepper and a generous dollop of butter. Nothing could be easier – a great way to start the day… Foraging Wild Garlic: Be Careful What You Pick But be warned – while there are great swathes of delicious and highly edible wild garlic growing in many parts of the West Country at present, you must pick carefully. Do not grab big sweeping handfuls – because some very nasty and equally green stuff can be growing amongst your favourite wild harvest. As you can see in the two photos above, I didn’t have to go far to snap a photo of the potential dangers. At this time of year, wild garlic grows at more or less the same time as cuckoo-pint (or lords and ladies, or Arum maculatum, to give the proper name). This strange plant, which will eventually grow a spike of bright red berries, is toxic and you do not want to be eating it. Yet the leaves, although a different shape, are almost identical in colour to wild garlic and the two often grow side by side. I took this photo in my own garden – indeed, I see them growing together in all my favourite wild garlic spots. So be warned. A Curious Cousin: The Story of Cuckoo-pint and “Portland Sago” When I looked all this up, I was amazed to discover that the root of the cuckoo-pint is edible – as long as you roast it for a long time and grind it into a powder. It was once traded under the name Portland sago and was used like something called salep (orchid flour) to make saloop, a drink popular before the introduction of tea or coffee. It was also used as a substitute for arrowroot. However, unless world food supplies go belly-up at the hands of President Trump, I don’t think I’ll bother trying it. Spring Recipes Featuring Wild Garlic Instead, I will be experimenting with dishes that benefit from the addition of wild garlic . My list starts with: Wild garlic pesto – a classic, vibrant sauce that can be used in countless ways Wild garlic soup – a creamy and flavourful spring treat Wild garlic butter – perfect for spreading on bread, melting over vegetables, or adding to grilled meats Infused wild garlic oil – a wonderful finishing drizzle for salads, pasta, and pizzas I also make a wild garlic risotto, and add the leaves to pasta dishes, stir-fries and salads. Although do go sparingly with the latter, as the raw stuff can kick like a garlicky mule. All in all, wild garlic’s versatility makes it a fantastic seasonal ingredient for springtime cooking. From Omelettes to Risotto: Spring Recipes 1. Wild Garlic Pesto Ingredients : 100g wild garlic leaves (washed) 50g toasted pine nuts (or walnuts) 50g grated Parmesan 150ml olive oil Juice of ½ lemon Salt and pepper to taste Method : Blitz the wild garlic, nuts, and cheese in a food processor. Slowly drizzle in the olive oil while blending until smooth. Add lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste. Store in a jar in the fridge and use within a week. Great with pasta, drizzled over grilled veg, or spooned into soups. 2. Creamy Wild Garlic Soup Ingredients : 1 onion, finely chopped 1 potato, peeled and diced 1 knob of butter 1 litre vegetable stock 100g wild garlic leaves, chopped 100ml single cream Salt and pepper Method : In a large saucepan, melt the butter and gently fry the onion and potato for 5–10 minutes until softened. Add the stock, bring to the boil, then simmer for 15–20 minutes until the potato is tender. Stir in the wild garlic leaves and cook for another 2 minutes. Blend the soup until smooth, then stir in the cream. Season with salt and pepper to taste. A lovely light lunch or starter – spring in a bowl.

Barny Butterfield of Sandford Orchards There is something inherently communal about a cider farm, but on March 21st, Sandford Orchards is stretching that sense of community all the way from Crediton to Uganda. The acclaimed Devon cidermaker has announced a major fundraiser at The Cider Works to support the charity Edukid, with a goal that is as clear as a crisp pint of Devon Red: funding a borehole to provide 800 children with safe, clean water. For one night only, the industrial charm of the warehouse and tap room will be transformed into a concert venue. The evening features The Bicycle Repair Man, known for a high-energy set of original tracks and uniquely "twisted" covers that are guaranteed to get feet moving among the fermentation vats. The Bicycle Repair Man A Rare Peek Behind the Scenes While the main event promises a lively atmosphere, the evening offers a particularly special draw for cider enthusiasts. Sandford Orchards is releasing a strictly limited run of 20 VIP tickets. These include an intimate, behind-the-scenes tour of the facility hosted by founder Barny Butterfield. It is a rare opportunity to step inside the "engine room" of one of the UK’s most successful independent cideries. Guests will gain access to the tank room, blending spaces, and the bottling area—parts of the operation usually strictly off-limits to the public. The tour culminates in a curated tasting in the private tasting room overlooking the works, where Barny will lead guests through a selection of their finest ciders, paired with artisan cheese and charcuterie platters, before they join the main party for the live music. Event Details What: Edukid Fundraiser - A Night of Music for Clean Water When: Saturday, 21st March 2026, 6:30pm – 11:00pm Where: The Cider Works, Sandford Orchards, Crediton, Devon Tickets: * Standard: £15 (Includes live music session) VIP: £75 (Includes founder-led tour, private tasting, and food) Note: This is an over-18s only event. All proceeds go toward the Edukid project to provide life-changing infrastructure for a school in Uganda. For tickets and further information, visit sandfordorchards.co.uk.

For some people autumn can be a time of melancholy and regret, for others it is a season of gold tinted joy. But even gloomy pessimists must look out at the Technicolor-countryside and be awed by the sheer beauty of the autumn when it puts on a really good display. My father Peter Hesp certainly loved autumn - he painted the picture illustrating the podcast - it’s entitled Horner In Autumn. Each year I look forward to seeing and experiencing the perfect examples of the genre. Endless blue skies will embrace a low sun that casts a clear golden light, quite unlike the light you see at any other time of year. The English countryside will look at its very best as long shadows throw everything into a soft and gentle series of highlights and profiles which run over hill and dale.  The first wood smoke of the season will waft blue and serene above thatched cottages, deer will be bulving in the forests and locking antlers in sunlit stately parks, and everywhere there will be the rufous and the red, copper and bronze, auburn and mahogany. The arboreal world will turn brunette, henna’d and golden beyond belief. Why are we treated to such a riot of colours? The answer is a sweet one. It all comes down to sugars. Plants use sunlight to turn water and carbon dioxide into glucose (they do it for food and energy) – and glucose, as every reader will know, is a kind of sugar. The brighter the summer – the more sugars there are. Sunlight and the cool nights of autumn turn this glucose into a red colour. The brown tints that you see in trees like oaks is made from wastes left in the leaves.  As the green fades from the leaves, we begin to see the autumnal colours. These have been there all the time, but we haven’t been able to see them because in summer they are covered by green chlorophyll.  From the copses of Cornwall to the dells of Devon and hillsides of Somerset, South West England is just beginning to turn aflame. Go out and glory in it while the great colour bonanza lasts, is what I say. But perhaps we better leave the last words on the matter to John Keats, who was so moved by autumn he wrote an ode to it: Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

One of the most inspirational people in South West England is Sir Tim Smit… I have no qualms about stating this - I have interviewed Tim a number of times and have always come away energised by what ever it is he’s been talking about. I was interviewing a leading Cornish businessman the other day and he said much the same thing - so when I came home I looked through my files and found the interview below, which I did with Sir Tim a few years ago at a ceremonial occasion when staff at The Lost Gardens of Heligan were celebrating the visitor attraction’s 25th anniversary. If you’ve never been to The Lost Gardens I do recommend a visit - it surely must be one of the most enjoyable gardens open to the public anywhere in Europe. This is the article I wrote after interviewing Sir Tim at the 25th anniversary event…. Movers, shakers, achievers, do-ers, call them what you will… Every community should have one; every office or workplace will know the type; each committee, group, council or company needs one. They’re the people who reach out and get things done, inspire others to do the same, achieve the unachievable, and believe the word “impossible” to be a lie.  The West Country has one such person, and it is not often that you could say that about a single individual operating in a large region like this. He’s called Sir Tim Smit, and everyone from Bristol to Land’s End - and way beyond - will have heard of him. His fame and reputation have mainly been earned through his involvement with Cornwall’s Eden Project and because of his part in helping to transform the Lost Gardens of Heligan from impenetrable thicket into what it is today - i.e. one of the most loved and visited gardens in all the UK.     Most people will have seen Sir Tim on television or heard him on the radio - his languid tones conveying complex and difficult-to-conceive ideas with ease - his slightly rough-edged voice enthusing, haranguing, praising, cajoling and all the other things an ideas-man has to do in order to win his way. Tim Smit is one of those people who has the knack of being able to take something big and impressive - but also amorphous and unwieldy - and mould it into a simple concept that is so wondrous it wins people’s hearts or, at the very least, captures their imaginations.  I’m talking about the sort of thing where a hundred people might say: “Look, we’ve got this fantastic idea - it’s going to require everything from A to Z to be successful - so I’ll take you through all the relevant bullet points…” Instead of this, I can imagine Tim Smit saying something like: “Here’s the rainbow - and what I’m putting in your lap right now is the pot of gold that might be at the end of it.” One reason I can write about Sir Tim like this is because I followed him for a couple of hours this week and watched carefully as he entertained, amused, informed and generally inspired a group of over 100 people. I suppose he was in his element - certainly the Dutchman, who has adopted Cornwall as his home, knew every single inch of the landscapes we were walking though and not of the people in the audience.  For this was the 25th birthday party of the Lost Gardens of Heligan. A quarter century anniversary commemorating the amazing transformation of a corner of Cornwall that was once thicket and is now a famous visitor attraction… The birthday party took the form of a walk with Tim Smit, along with owner John Willis and many others who have worked, slaved, laboured, and generally volunteered for all manner of jobs big and small in what was once an impenetrable jungle.  “Impenetrable is a very good word,” said Sir Tim when we met up for an in-depth interview after the walk. “But actually, for things to have a mystery, they need to be a bit impenetrable don’t they? It sounds like a metaphor for life, but things that are hard work - like discovering something or reading a difficult book - make everything worthwhile.” You see what I mean about selling the pot of god at the rainbow? Sir Tim went on: “I feel so sorry for people who want instant satisfaction. They think they are making themselves happy, but they don’t realise the pleasure of something is there because of the sweat on their brow. So, the obvious question: how did a Dutch bloke who’d been working in the music business end up helping to rescue the well known West Country paradise… “My degree was in anthology and archaeology - I’ve always adored archaeology and still do. By accident I ended up working in the music business - and again through accident I ended up on a whim living in Cornwall. I fell out of love with the music industry but wasn’t sure what to do - then I was given a pig called Horace by a friend called Rob Poole who was running Newquay Zoo. And I just loved that pig. So we found a Doris - and Horace and Doris had lots of babies. And I thought: ‘Great! I want to have a rare breeds farm!’ So that’s how we began.  “Because on my way driving from St Austell to Goran - which is where I lived - there was this bend here on the road, beyond which there was a lot of land which wasn’t being used. I was talking to my mate John Nelson a builder (who has now passed away but was also hugely instrumental in saving Heligan) and he told me the land was owned by John Willis.  “So I came to see him and John gave me a cup of coffee which was far too hot. He told me he’d rented out the land to someone else - but, because I hadn’t even touched my coffee yet, we had to do some small talk. I mentioned I was an archaeologist and he said he’d just inherited the estate next door - and he believed there was an old garden in there: would I like to go in there with him? That’s how it all began.  “So the next day we went in with machetes - and I fell in love with it. I decided I was going to change my career. This was what I was going to do.” Tim Smit drifts easily from fact and story into belief and philosophy mode. And why not? There are a lot of people who are inspired by him.   “The secret… and I say this to young people a lot - the secret is to fall in love with something. Because if you do, at least your body is certain you like it - which means you will be very convincing when you talk to other people. I learned it in the music business: if you love something, you can be certain there will be millions who will feel the same as you. So the only issue is marketing.  “So the moment I fell in love with Heligan I knew there would be millions like me who would find it beguiling. But the issue was: first of all just to pursue it… We didn’t do it because we wanted to open the gardens to the public. We didn’t pursue that. It didn’t work like that. We thought: wouldn’t it be cool to do this! “We didn’t have a business-plan or anything,” said Tim, now swaying back towards Smit philosophy: “People say to be professional you have to have a business-plan, but it would have been bollocks here. So many people wreck their great ideas because they are asked to have a business-plan - but, actually, if they’d just gone for it they would have discovered what they needed to do. Usually those are the things that you wouldn’t have anticipated, so you wouldn’t have put them in your business-plan.”  I put it to him that such a huge and zany project also required a achiever, mover and shaker like him… “I don’t want to be falsely modest - of course it makes a difference if you’ve got someone championing something. But it is amazing what happens to a man if you have fear of total failure. If you start a project and put your name to it you are not going to let it fail - that was certainly a bit of a driver to me.  “But the reason for its success is that, very soon after John and I got to work, people started to volunteer. It was obvious that the garden had some sort of meaning to people. Most so called Great British Gardens are conglomerations of plants in one order or another purely for beauty. What is interesting about Heligan is that it had a network of paths built in the 1780s and it had a shelter belt to protect it - so the gardens were built up over different generations. They therefore have a kind of whacky eccentricity. There is not one thing here that is the best in the country - not one thing - but it is the only garden that has everything.  “You’ve got jungle, subtropical garden, productive gardens - all of which make it really romantic. The human story how we uncovered everything led us to deal with it in a way which, for instance, the National Trust would never do things. Just before we started this garden the National Trust had bulldozed a load of its glasshouses. They basically wanted to show how the upper classes had lived - they weren’t interested in showing how real gardeners had worked. It was a complete betrayal. Outrageous. “So, basically, the working tradition of British horticultural workers was trashed. Heligan was the first place where we started a whole revival. People were shocked. The National Trust couldn’t believe that 300,000 people wanted to see a garden where the central point wasn’t a stately home but the traditions of working people. Actually most of us are working people - we are not lords and ladies.  “And we did it all on a shoestring. John and I restored this entire place on something like half a million quid. The best moment was when we went to Nanpean Chapel where there was an auction and we wanted some pews. John said at the end, ‘What about the floorboards?’ They hadn’t thought about that, so they said ‘100 quid?’ So we bought all the floorboards and joists and managed to restore the whole Melon Garden for a 100 quid. Brilliant!  “If you go into the flower garden where there’s a big vinery with lovely ironwork: some bloke came down from Staffordshire on holiday, saw that we didn’t have that and said, ‘I saved some from a greenhouse about 40 years ago - been in my garage all that time - I’ll give it to you’. And he did.” It wasn’t only hard work and good fortune that helped Heligan succeed. The restoration received massive amounts of publicity, especially on television…  “The TV programmes made a big difference. And it taught me something important - men especially, feel alive when they have an adventure in mind. If you can create a narrative with an adventure in it, you’ll be amazed at how many people will come and join you.” I asked Sir Tim what he’d felt walking around the gardens this week with a large group of people listening to his every word?  “I feel really privileged because having spent time concentrating on Eden, I come back and get the benefit of being a punter as well. It’s the spirit of place. I think there’s something quite womb-like and special about this place - and I love it. And I love the idea of being the steward of it.” Talking about the restoration Sir Tim said there’d been talks about whether or not to leave certain areas wild and un-refurbished: “If you are a traditional head gardener, you cannot leave bits unrestored because it would be an insult to the tradition of keeping those working gardens clean. It would be a pastiche. Philip Macmillan Browse (who was gardening consultant in Heligan’s restoration) was great about that - he said: ‘Do you want to do the whole opera - or do you want to be the greatest hits album?’ “That is why it is genuinely romantic,” shrugged Tim Smit. “I think there is an irony. Faux-romance like Sleeping Beauty is one thing. We had our Sleeping Beauty moment, but basically the restoration means the Frog has been kissed now and turned into the Prince. We have to create a new narrative.”  Fitting words with which to introduce a new role for Heligan which will see it working in conjunction with the Eden Project and Abbey Gardens Tresco to run degree courses for the horticulturalists of the future. If anyone doubts the wisdom of that, let them talk to Sir Tim Smit - he will instantly show them the pot of gold that lies at the end of that potential rainbow.

In 2014 they closed Holsworthy’s old livestock market and opened up a big new auction centre on the outskirts of the ancient town on the Devon-Cornwall border. You have to move with the times, but it was not the most popular of moves at the time - because the old market was much closer to the centre of town and each Wednesday that was reflected in the huge numbers of people who would visit. They’d been doing just that four hundreds of years - and the triangle shaped market square right in the centre of town was always full of stallholders and farming families out for the big day. So I took the opportunity of talking to a few people on the very last day of the old market to capture the mood for an article I wrote for the Western Morning News - which you can see below… But first why not have a listen to the podcast - which I guess is now part of the region’s oral history. "I don't know why they've changed un' - all this is still pretty modern to me - I remember when the market here was just open fields and pens, not all these buildings..." So said 87-year-old farmer John Bowden who was attending the last Holsworthy Livestock Market to take part on the old town site yesterday before the whole agricultural enterprise moves lock, stock, mooing and bleating barrel to the new multi-million pound facility a mile away. Mr Bowden, whose family have farmed at Bridgerule on the Devon- Cornwall county border for five generations, says he will continue attending the new market, but like many among the hundreds who attended the final livestock auction yesterday, Mr Bowden was there primarily to remember past agrarian glories. "I've been coming here since I was a small boy," he told the Western Morning News. "The market is everything - it's where the people who live out in the middle of nowhere come in to civilisation once a week." With that he was off to meet his wife in the Waitrose supermarket which, in future, will be doing commercial battle with a Tesco which is due to be built on the old site along with new homes. Signs of changing times are burgeoning everywhere across the West Country peninsula, but until yesterday the weekly Holsworthy market was one of the few visual, cultural, elements left that firmly connected the 21st Century with pre-medieval times. We must move with the times... If those words could have been heard once in the fried bacon fug of the market cafe yesterday, they could have been heard a thousand times. While so many of the older men and women congregated around the cattle and sheep pens were there to remember, all seemed to agree that it was a good thing that Kivell's, the livestock auctioneers, had put their weight and energy behind the new market with the help of the town council, district authority and other organisations and bodies. But big business was not what yesterday was all about - the smaller commerce of selling a few bullocks here, a few hoggets there and a milking cow or three, provided the main thrust of proceedings. That, and the memories... Graham Jasper, of HR Jasper & Son, Launceston, said his family had been buying sheep at Holsworthy for the past 60 years - and they buy an awful lot of woolly beasts: "Over those years we've bought hundreds of thousands of sheep here - if not millions. We slaughter about 10,000 lambs a week. We sell them right across the country - and send them for export. "West Country agriculture has altered but it's doing pretty well - but I've had plenty of good times here. I remember when Peter Kivell's son (David, now one of the main directors) was born there some cattle down there and when it was put down under the hammer it went down to David Kivell - on the very day he was born." Peter Charles Kivell joined me for a chat with another retired director Arthur Rowland: "I was third generation - my father was pretty active in the business and his father William Thomas started it all in 1885," said Mr Kivell. "They started from very humble beginnings - there were little country markets in every other village - but they gradually closed down and they centralised things here. "It was a two-day market just after the War but eventually with all the restrictions we've had to concentrate just on the one day. When I came out of the Air Force in 1945 I came straight into the business - with not a day off. I had to learn the trade and take some exams, but then I became an assistant to my father.My son David is now over there selling the beef cattle. He's got microphones and computers - we had to rely on a strong voice - didn't we Arthur?" Mr Rowland, who joined the firm in 1955 as a "rock bottom clerk" and worked his way up from there to become a senior partner, told me: "Farmers seemed to have a lot more time when I first started - the cattle market would be absolutely full of people on the Wednesday. They'd all congregate here - meet their pals and have a good old chat - but that seems to have become a bit of a thing of the past now. Everyone's in a hurry... "It was more of a family thing back in those days - the wives would go up the town and the farmers would come down here." "A lot has changed," added Mr Kivell. "But it's still all down to the man with the hammer. It's all about being able to anticipate the bids because you know - through experience - what the thing is worth. If you know roughly what it's worth, you are halfway home. The vendors will have faith in you in fixing a reserve - the buyer will have faith in you because he knows you've got a genuine bid - and the world goes on nice and sweet." "I would certainly agree with all that but I also think it is important that you keep a happy atmosphere going in the sale-ring," smiled Mr Rowland. "Keep things lighthearted and jolly... Because they are the ones parting with the money and we are the ones taking it." "There is a social element - the farmers come in not only to do business but to meet their neighbours - sometimes it's the only time they see them for a week," added Mr Kivell. "Things are going extremely well as you can see by the number of people here today. It will go from strength to strength - we got the tools and we will try and make it work properly." In the dairy cattle sales ring Kivells director Mark Bromell was preparing to put a number of beasts under the hammer: "It's a day of mixed feelings," he told me. "We've got a big future in that wonderful facility up the road - but equally there's over 100 years of history here and I've been coming here ever since I was in a pushchair and all my family before me - so there's a lot of attachments. "We've got one family here today which spans four generations - and there's a lot of people here who will be sad to see the old market go with all its good times and trades. We've built Holsworthy up into one of the biggest dairy livestock markets in the country and we have a very good reputation for farmers' own home bred stock and we have buyers who come from all over the country to buy into that quality. "I've spent many hours of my life standing up there on that rostrum selling cattle - and, yes, when I slam that last hammer down later it is going to be a very strange feeling. We're giving it a miss next week to move into the new place - but we will be selling again on September 3rd." In the market cafe, where these words have been written, hundreds upon hundreds of men and women queued for lunch yesterday - their numbers swelled by entire families who'd brought children along to witness the historic occasion. As a nice, smiling, woman called Margaret clears the remains of one reporter's all day breakfast away she grins the kindliest Devon grin imaginable and tells me: "Yes, we are busier than usual - a lot busier - but it is is an occasion isn't it? Sad. But then, things must move on." And in those last four words she effectively sums up the closing of one big valuable chapter in the West Country's long, green, rustic, rural, agricultural, enviable, colourful, wonderful, history.

For some reason a recent conversation turned to the subject of BBQ huts - and what a rather jolly and soiable idera they are - although I’m not sure I’d risk one even with all the windows all open given the contagious nature of the new variant of Covid 19. Anyway, BBQ huts are good fun - and if I could afford one, I might be tempted to have on in the garden. I do know a bit about them having once spent a boozy night in one high above Andermatt in the Swiss Alps. We went up to the BBQ zone on a train - climbing out at a small empty station halfway up the mountain at a place called Nätschen. It was freezing outside, but someone had lit wood fires in fire-pits, so we kept as warm as we could - enjoying cocktails while watching the sun go down high in the mountains. Then indoors we went - into the surprisingly roomy BBQ hut - only to be handed various edible morsels wrapped in silver foil. Beef steak, pork chops, sausages… You name it the Swiss had prepared it for us - all we each had to do was cook our own supper over the live flames - which were turning the whole palce into such an oven we had to open the windows to let the cold air in. It was tremendous fun and I remember feeling very full indeed when we at last staggered out into the dark mountain night. Thanks to the booze and food we were all feeling rather humb - which was just as well as we were sledging down the zig-zag route - which is a road in summer time - all the way back to town. It seemed like miles down that icy descent - and we all went as fast as we dared - which probably wasn’t very fast but seemed like a 100 miles per hour in the icy darkness. I recall there was particularly steep slope right down at the bottom as the sledging route left the road and plummeted into the midst of some kind park park - and I hurtled down this slope only to be thrown high into the air by large ruts in the snow right down at the bottom. Crash! I thudded into an icy bank and for a moment thought I’d broken my back. Luckily I woke up the next morning none the worse for wear - but I guess a 60-year-old was pushing his luck a bit going so fast down that mountain sledge-run in the dark.