Pitchcombe: Combe is from the latin for dung and in this instance pitchcombe is the word used for the hurling of dung.In particular cow dung that has dried enough for it to be successfully lifted as a complete circle about the size of a piazza, and then thrown.It is thought that Pitchombe preceded Frisbee as a marketing name, but has since fallen out of common parlance.
I did a book, a very small book, some years ago now. Loosely based on the famous bestseller ” The Meaning of Liff” by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd, my book took Gloucestershire place names and gave them their true meaning and derivation. It was great fun to do and the limited numbers that I had printed seemed to go down well. This is one of the pieces from the book. Pitchcombe is over near Stroud, lovely place.
The practice of carefully lifting a cow pat and hurling it like a frisbee, was something that I did indeed used to do when quite young. A risky business, one got to know in due course exactly which ones were ‘feasible’ and which might become a bit of a disaster.
I had not done anything like this since then until a walk with my friend Robin unearthed a cowpat of exactly the right constituency and I could not resist.It lifted in one big circle and flew like a bird. I wished now I’d taken a photo of the event to demonstrate a real ‘Pitchcombe’, so the drawing will have to suffice. Robin will vouch for me, I did hurl it away from us.
These drawings and writings appear in Cotswold Life every month under the title of “Glossary”.
I can recommend sitting in front of a map of your area to give new meanings to place names, a great lockdown activity that anyone can do. Yorkshire is a brilliant area to try, having such place names as Mytholmroyd. Try it!
Take cats for instance. I’m no fan of cats but for some inexplicable reason I thought that since the world seems to like them then some snappy tee shirt ideas featuring cats might be a good idea. Years ago I had the idea of doing a cat alphabet. Almost a font of cats if you will. I revisited this idea when the second lockdown came, thinking it a brilliant concept that deserved my time an effort. I got them onto t shirts and there they lay, never to be disturbed. In an effort to get things rolling I thought that I might make a couple of bespoke shirts for my grandsons. Another poor choice.
There are times when you ‘get into’ an idea, and can’t see what’s wrong with it. Nearest and dearest are supportive and mutter encouraging words, when they should say: ” Dad, that’s a really crap idea!” But then comes the chink in the armour that starts you thinking, that grows at the back of your head where the “That’s a crap idea” germ is waiting to breed. Many years ago I had desk space within a design company, they wanted to fill the place out a little and look busier than they really were. So I sat in the corner desk looking like a busy assistant, scribbling away at my work. They used to make fun of the work, saying things like” Well it might be ok when it’s finished” (when it was ). I could always tell if it was an ‘ok’ piece of work if they did this. If they remained silent and made no comment, I used to doubt myself.
“Just one question Dad: Why is the cat green?”
It’s not. At least I did not think it was green, but then I am slightly colour blind. ( my better work is in black and white, uncomplicated by the nervous choice of colour )
So I go back and take a look. It’s turned green overnight. As soon as someone says it’s green my brain says it’s green. Who in their right mind would buy a tee shirt with a green cat on it, I think to myself. Adding with a mutter: ” It’s a crap idea anyway”
It’s gone in the bin. Hopefully never to crawl out of its cat flap again.
If anyone suggests a dog alphabet, they must be barking.
If you are remotely interested in my tee shirt ideas, there are some better ones over here.There some particularly great typographic designs from any good friend Al Blethyn, a man with an eye for type. There are no cats anymore, green or otherwise.
This is quite an old photograph from my time with the printers in Gloucester. We did work for a company that make bespoke high quality shirts, and the allowed me to take a few photographs in the factory machine room. These shirts cost around £200-00 each, or they did then, they might be even more these days. You had to order 5 as well, so that’s a thousand quid on 5 shirts. Beyond my pocket.
I saw lots of shirts being made and this is one shot of someone’s hands working on a seam. Beautiful hands working on a beautiful shirt. They had women working in this factory who’d been making collars for 30 years! They had some men there as well, including a guy who looked like a Rastafarian. The atmosphere in there was a gentle hum of efficiency and calm.
It was one of the joys of the job to go into somewhere like that.
I don’t recall if this caravan was dumped, I think not. It is pictured in South West France next to a corn field. I think it has the feel of an old master, with that dark set of trees in the background and the wonderful sculptural clouds set on a pale blue behind the tree and Mediterranean blue at the top of the image. I think this would make a fine painting, perhaps a huge one like you get in these modern galleries these days, so big you could not even get it through a caravan door.
Perhaps I’ll do it.
And what price would you put on that painting? Thousands of pounds methinks.
Am I daydreaming of acceptance as a fine artist that people write about? Someone who’s asked to comment on his work on “Front Row” on Radio 4.
I worked for a time for a print company in Gloucester. I sold print. I enjoyed it. I was supposed to pull in the smaller customers who were not necessarily used to print or did not see a need for it. I’d got this proper job after a life drawing cartoons and was ready for a change.
The local farmers market in the city which happened every Friday morning at the Cross, was a happy hunting ground for potential customers. All small businesses, they were quite easy to engage in conversation if they were ‘quiet’ and as long as I bought something from them they put up with my own sales talk. I tried to go there at least every other week, and as a result we usually had something tasty for that weekend.
Mrs Hill sold their own farm brie. I suspect she was not over enamoured of standing around at the Cross every week trying to sell her brie. Husband was the farmer, she the reluctant farmers wife. At least I detected reluctance on her part. She made no great effort to sell, just displayed the produce to the people and read her copy of the Telegraph. A tall handsome woman who looked slightly out of place and who might in other circumstances have been Lady of the Manoir.
I’m not quite sure now how I came to take a photo of their cheese. I always took my camera to the market and on this particular sunny day, as I recall, I’d bought some local apples, plonked them next to the cheese and took a few pictures. They were used for a mini leaflet for them. The cheese was absolutely delicious. Unforgetable
I know it’s gone now. Shame. It had this wonderful patina to the bodywork, the sort of effect an artist might take years to be able to do. It was also a pick up truck and I suspect they are very rare these days.
From even further back in my collection this image was taken in 2005 in Ontario, Canada. It was the last trip taken with all the family and is in some ways apt, as we went to Ontario on a big trip. We spent hours in our car and then I stopped and took pictures of other cars like this left with others in a field. I also took a lot of images of Canadian barns. I suppose that might have been the start of my obsession with sheds, after all, barns are just big sheds. Ontario has some beauties, or it did when we went back then. As I recall my enthusiasm was not universally appreciated by my passengers.
The is another of my images of cars, this one from a car dump down the Bristol Road in Gloucester. That Californian blue sky helps . I thought it looked like a modern sculpture. This was taken some years ago, I’m not sure if the place where they collect these cars is still there, but if it is it’s behind the large car dealerships that front on to the road.
I’ve had a fascination for cars. but mainly the ones dumped for no apparent reason. This ones near Pau which is just 85 km from the Spanish border of Southern France. I found it in a wood whilst we were staying down there and to this day have no clue how it got there.
My very first car was a 2CV, sadly not a van like this gem. This was taken quite a few years ago but I suspect is still sitting there. Perhaps with the ferns around it doing even better.
I shall be posting my odd photos over the next few days and weeks, drawing is taking a bit of a back seat. They come from years ago like this one and perhaps one or two more up to date ones.