15th March 2022.
Twixt Oxlands and Shortlands Dale
The short walk from Foxcovert Farm, passing the aboreal Ruby, becomes a mini adventure taking me to a quiet, secluded place where ancient peoples had lived.
( Reading about David Hockney, years later, I was interested to find out he regularly worked here - Foxcovert Farm - in the summer, after cycling over 50 miles from Bradford. Also that as a child, he like me was frustrated at not being allowed to go to Art School as a 12 year old. I had been offered a free scholarship but like David had to remain in main stream education. We must have walked the same paths)
At a place where an unknown mini Dale joins the path a pair of buzzards flew on lazy wings, looking as if they were attached to each other by a hidden line. They looked down on braces of pheasant as a deer appeared twice. In the distance, Oxlands plantation looked ethereal, a mixed wood of pale ochre tumbling down the steep chalky hillside. Occasional fir trees provided dark silhouettes, one or two breaking the skyline. In front of me, a poled wire fence terminates in a braced five bar gate.
A steep hill to my left has the skyline full of black silhouetted trees, ( Tutmans plantation, ) not dense enough to exclude all light, a natural leaded window. The steep hillside to my right is Shortlands Plantation, it is heavily wooded with mainly, beech. A wire fence, topped with two strands of barbed wire maintains it’s exclusivity, it’s privacy. Along the bottom of the wire fence at least a foot of fine chalky shale had built up having slid down the steep hillside. It was topped with orangery brown beech leaves looking like layers of a cake. As I walked away it looked strange, a flimsy wire fence managing to stay in place whilst seemingly holding back an avalanche of chalky chippings.
As I paint, George suddenly sits upright, quivering and fixedly looks at the wood on my right. I stop and stare, seeing nothing and tell him to ‘stay’. After a few moments big pointed ears appear, a deer is tentatively walking through the wood near the fence. It is close, but has not seen us. It keeps coming, stops and jumps back to free itself from a snag. Still it has not seen us, we are trying to ‘become a tree’ as it approaches. It ponders the fence for a moment then casually and gracefully jumps over it. It is now very close. It stops, still unaware of us and the moment is magical. Then a noise, it looks, sees us, then, hesitates a moment before running away.
Ahh… these moments make open air painting so rewarding.
I look up and see the buzzards are still etched in the distant sky. Pheasants run across the flat valley bottom, barking loudly. I look at the time, it will be dark in half an hour so I pack up and return slowly up the steep hill tripping on chalk flecked molehills and imagining their subterranean world. I remember the story about King William III and a toast..“the little gentleman in black velvet”. Seeing so many I am always impressed by their work ethic. Reaching the top of the dale I open a gate where a sign reads ‘ a gentleman passed through here’. I pass the tilled field where earlier a ghost tractor stood before passing some horned Jacobs. Once at the car I feed George and we set off for home as dusk envelopes a disappearing land.
Oil on canvas board, 14x10 inches. Available here
