Narrow lanes running west reflect the low sun, where asphalt is dampened by seeping springs and moss revives along the centres. Clusters of browning keys weigh down the ominously thin crowns of ash, and withered beech leaves accumulate in shallow drifts; immature hazelnuts have blown off, gobbled up by squirrels. Sufficient rain has ensured heavier crops of second-cut silage, in contrast to the meagre production of early summer. Grass regrows vigorously on vacated pastures; swirling flocks of jackdaws peck over softened ground before beef cattle are brought back from adjoining fields for another grazing session.
South from home, minor roads between high banks lead downhill towards the tidal river. Cuttings excavated through contorted slate help reduce the gradient and made these routes suitable for horse-drawn heavy wagons, carting local produce towards steamers that called in en route to North Corner in Plymouth, there to be unloaded for Devonport market. Lime was also dragged uphill from the kilns at Halton Quay, worked from as early as 1411 and last burned in 1916, for the reclamation of Viverdon Down, which needed lime to be ploughed into the acidic soil.
On this quiet evening, stubble fields inside rutted muddy gateways are overrun with pheasants, at liberty before the shooting season. Lower down, tailless poults scuttle across steep land, opposite woods on Mount Ararat and overlooking Hornifast Marsh. Derelict market gardens still grow eucalyptus for the blue foliage used by the cut-flower trade and, in a nearby community orchard, branches on young fruit trees droop with heavy crops of apples and pears. A few gaunt cherry trees survive, almost dead, overwhelmed in ivy topped with strands of scarlet rosehips.
Close to the river, old man’s beard – characteristic of chalky soil – benefits from the once-important lime trade; tendrils of its fluffy seeds scramble among bright red haws, smother hedges and tangle the purple flowering reeds at the confluence with the stream from Dairymill. Smooth river water is a mirror for sky, mud banks, reedbeds and darkening woods on the Pentillie meander, and from up-river comes the clacking sound of a gig’s oars, out on a run from Cotehele Quay.
