by Margaret Brown
A small fishing village clinging to the side of a ravine in North Devon was flooded recently when a river burst its banks, breaking up the steep and cobbled main street as it plunged through cottages and shops on the way to the sea 400 feet below.
When I was a child holidaying nearby, our family spent many happy hours there on the shingle beaches and round the harbour, which in those days was full of fishing boats and the main source of employment.
Privately owned for 800 years by just three dynasties and currently by Christine Hamlyn, Clovelly remains a feudal microcosm of the 18th century.
Although properties are now modernised within their ancient walls and tourists have replaced fishing as an industry, an absence of all forms of internal combustion engine has allowed the village to keep its tranquility.
Donkeys and sleds remain the sole modes of transport, everything being carried in panniers or on flat platforms of wood pulled by humans up the one steep street.
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To maintain this little bit of history in good order, the owners charge £6.00 per adult and £4.50 per child to enter and explore the village, which some may consider rather too much when on a family outing in their own country.
Back to the present and the first hint of winter came with chilly nights, short heavy showers and power failure. These outages always catch us unprepared: where are the candles, the matches and camping gaslight? With no torch to hand on a very dark night, a swift mental review finally located emergency stores scattered about the house. Matches were lit and Will o’the Wisps of flame travelled from room to room igniting candles and leaving a golden radiance in their wake.
Just as it was in my grandparents’ day, when I was in my early teens and electricity had not yet reached their house in the country.
Like rats leaving a sinking ship, we decided to eat out and found a recently opened restaurant four kilometres away in Odiáxere. The meal was of cordon bleu standard, the charge moderate and we returned home well satisfied. “Power cuts? No bother”! There was nothing much on television anyway, and so to bed.
Sailing in the Bay
The Boss was still recovering from Sunday’s race round Lagos Bay. Lasers, Solos, Optimists, Hobie Cats, Sailboards and a 29er made up the large fleet of sailing dinghies, each with its own handicap number and thus able to compete on an equal footing.
Suddenly the Bay came alive again, appearing as it did years ago when Lagos sailing club held frequent fixtures, and the Boss was a regular competitor. Young members continue to travel to other campeonatos in Portugal and also Spain with considerable success, including 11-year-old Manuel Fortunato sailing an Optimist who dominated the 8th Encontro Regional de Infantis 2012. This was against 79 other children below the age of 15 from across the Portuguese mainland and the islands.
Lagos Club runs an active sailing school for juvenile sailors and these aggressive and skilled youngsters turn out in the roughest of weathers while adult helms watch from the comfort of the Naufrágio Bar.
Welcome and unwelcome visitors
Meanwhile, the welcome change to more temperate weather is bringing in a variety of migrant birds.
Others are leaving for southern parts, in particular a spectacular gathering of griffon vultures above the valley where we live.
A friend and neighbour ‘phoned last week to say that a large flock of these birds was circling above their house, something that happens every autumn.
Why they gather in that place annually is a mystery because the migrants are young birds, their parents remaining behind: just another of the wonders of the natural world not yet explained.
When the population of griffon vultures was counted in 2007, Portugal was known to have 400 breeding pairs, and in Spain as many as 25,000 pairs were found. Numbers have been increasing since rules were relaxed regarding the disposal of fallen livestock in open country, carrion being their main source of food apart from landfill sites when available.
Less welcome visitors continue to decimate palm trees in Iberia and many other countries across the world, the Red Palm Weevil still keeping ahead of the chemists and their various recommended treatments.
A novel, and perhaps too simple, way of repelling these prolific pests was advised recently by a grassroots country dweller down our way and worth a try.
A handful of mothballs scattered round the tree’s crown in the region of the bud and where the trunk emerges from the ground sounded too good to be true, but we bought several packets at the local Chinese shop the following day.
With distant memories of elderly relatives leaving a trail of napthalene wherever they went, their winter clothes just out of storage and dead moths lying in drawers and cupboards, these repellent balls of insecticide will remain outside the house until they are needed.
Remembered with love
On a serious note, our valley has been deeply saddened by the death of a young skydiver whose parachute failed to open a couple of weeks ago.
He was one of three fine sons whose parents are long term residents in this small British community and who, with his wife, ran a thriving business.
He will be sorely missed and remembered with much love. And to his family, we can only offer sympathy, support and loving care.
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Margaret Brown is one of the Algarve Resident’s longest standing contributors and has lived in the Algarve for more than 20 years.
