Here’s the Poetry Fence, after I’d added another ten poems sent to me over the weekend.  It does look rather beautiful.

Then I followed Rob, the bailiff, on his rounds, and learned how the brick farmyard at Acton Scott was built purposely in the late 18th century as a model farm.  I waved a wooden flail to appreciate, instantly, the value of mechanisation, and learned how the horse gin has an underground shaft which runs a flywheel and belts in the threshing barn.  It’s still in use, and eleven people have to be there to operate it effectively.

Here are the cade lambs waiting to be bottle-fed, and a Silver Dorking preening herself on a bale.  After the feeding I had a great time writing a poem about it with Lucy, who was three and three quarters.  She was very articulate and bright as a button.  I scribed her thoughts…