Deeper Into Swallow Caves

My granddad used to tell me a story about a man who used to go into Swallow Caves.



The caves themselves are deep in the wildest part of Blackies Wood. They are not easy to find. But I know where they are and I guess others do because there are always signs that people have been in there. Sometimes they leave marks in chalk on the tunnel walls. I photographed one about three weeks ago.



This bloke that granddad knew used to go down into the depths of the tunnels. It became like an obsessions and granddad said he asked him about why he went down. This man said that there was a woman down there. He used to go and wait in one particular cave. He would put out his lights and wait. He said that he knew she was there in the dark because he heard the rustling of silk. He said that she used to talk to him, whisper to him like the moon and he used to talk about her coming as of the rising of the white moon. Of course he was quite mad. Then one day he went and never came back.

It was assumed that he was drowned or that he simply went too far down and could never get back up again. I understand that in the lower levels they are full of the River Swallow itself as it plunges blind through the limestone tunnels.



I think she's still down there. The white woman who glows like white silk bathed in moonlight. I have a feeling that she's not all together nice.



One day I will go and find her.

Me and Mary Regan

I have decided to give up with Mary Regan. She never phones me. She ignores most of my texts and emails and just when I am forgetting about her, she contacts me and tells me she loves me. She says she can't chat with my on Facebook or reply to my emails because her boyfriend is intensely jealous. What I want to know is, if she loves me, why is she still with him?

Or, does she just say she loves me every now and again to keep me on the hook and keep my adoring her and sending her flowers and poems and things?

Any advice from a woman would be welcome as women are not like blokes and will be able to advise me about their hard hearted bag of tricks to keep men broken hearted.

St George's Day

Here's something I stole from a book:


In the 13th Century, replacing Edward the Confessor, St George became the patron saint of England, but little is known about him save that he lived in the 4th Century and died in Palestine. Although a red rose is often associated with this day, the saint's colour is in fact blue, and it is traditional to wear something blue. St George appears in many Mummers' Plays at Easter and Christmas. He is the patron saint of Norwich. The Cuckoo Fair at Orelton, Hereford and Worcester was held on this day.

April in England

Home Thoughts From Abroad

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge--
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
--Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

More About Blackie's Wood

I remember playing in Blackie's Wood when I was a kid. We used to go as a gang and build camps in there. We'd climb trees and find birds' nests. I would also go there to walk the family dog, but the wood has a strange atmosphere. It's actually pretty big and there are places that I would go that I was sure no one else had gone for a long time.

One of my favourite places was a bend in a small stream. There was a shingle bank in the water where I would sit and watch the minnows and sticklebacks. Occasionally I would ventured deeper to Lindow Pool to find tadpoles and bring them home in a bucket.

They say that a man was drowned in Lindow Pool and that his spirit still haunts it. Len and Geoff Parks go thereabouts fishing for eels at night I know, but no one else in the town would dare venture up there in the woods after nightfall. The spirits of old things are there. And strange people go there to find them.

The photos I have taken show it at its most friendly, but it doesn't always feel as welcoming.

Video

I have been working on a video. I did it in one format and then had to convert it to another so the quality is crapper than I would have hoped.

The Old Toy Shop

There used to be a toyshop in Upper Swallow years ago. I remember my dad let me go there one day during the summer holidays every year and by an Airfix kit. That shop closed down when the owner died of a broken heart from me not buying Airfix kits any more as I had grew up and was more into ferreting.

Then a new toyshop was opened by a German bloke who arrived with his daughter from Nuremburg about five years ago. He is apparently called Mr Rosenkreuz and he is well weird. His daughter is fit though. Apparently called Rosenrot Rosenkreuz. That's a bit of a mouthful. So she gets Rosie.

Old Mr Rosie (the dad) is said to be in that occult society that meets up in the top room of the George and Dragon on Tuesday nights.

Down by the bright River Dart

There are two rivers in Upper Swallow - the Dart and the Swallow which joins it in the town. The Dart, I guess, is thus called because it runs fast; the Swallow because it disappears for a while in the limestone hills, running dark and deep through the twisting caves.

I went for a walk by the Dart this morning. The dew was on the grass - the sunshine warm and bright, sparkling on the water. The banks are a riot of daffodils at this time of the year and the air was heavy with the scent of the spring flowers and blossom.

Someone had pitched a tent by the river. Strictly illegal. There were a lot of dog walkers down by the river this morning and one had a young collie which took a great interest in the tent, even though the woman was trying to call him back. In the end he peed on it.

Don't worry - they were only hippies.

A Tribute to Motorhead

As I can do what I like with my blog - at least until they ban or arrest me, I thought I'd put up a tribute to my favourite band. This song is *****ing awesome! Lemmy is my *********ing !!! Hero!!!

KILLED BY DEATH!!!! (<- CLICK THESE WORDS)

Treat your ears friends! (I also like Eat the Rich)

(PS that photo is not me with Lemmy. It is some American bloke)

Last Night's Disaster

I am only just recovering from my hangover. The evening started out ok in the bus shelter by the cricket pavilion drinking White Lightning with Andy and Steve just to get us started. The price of drink in pubs these days is scandalous so we got started before we went. How are honest working men suppose to afford drink? (Though I am on the sick I must admit).

I took my camera and I would have lost it if Johnny Barnes hadn't come round to our house this morning and given it back. I hadn't got up, but he gave it to my mum. I was being sick most of the morning.. I remember up till about midnight in the George & Dragon, then Steve says for us to go up to the disco they were having at the Bat & Ball. I remember going in. I had been on snakebites for most of the night. I think I called Holly Graham a munter before we went in but I can't be sure.

There are a lot of crap photos on this camera today, and I have taken the liberty of disguising them so as to protect the innocent. Not that they were very innocent actually. Not that I got a snog neither. I think Steve did with that Grace Watson. He always was a ladies man and she's a slapper anyway. Andy disappeared at some point. Probably went home to play chess with his computer.

Here's some photos


I don't know whose arse that is. And I never copped a feel of it as far as can remember - a fact which has bearing on what I have to say later. But first here's some other photos








That's Johnny Barnes and Rick something his mate. They are such miserable gits. They will probably stave my head in for posting these, so if the photos disappear or I do, you know they've caught up with me.

Anyway, at about 2 o'clock this woman bouncer called Liz grabs hold of me and, without a by-your-leave she frog marches me to the door and throws me out.

I'm like "What you doing Liz?" (Her dad only worked on the ash-carts so it's not like she's got any place to be hoity-toity and throw folk out). She says, "You was harassing women!" (That is the state of her grammar)

I'm like then "Chance would be a fine thing!" So she says, "Get home and think yourself lucky you ain't barred."

I have no idea why that happened except that I was following Mary Regan around and telling her I loved her. Her friend Emma ended up standing in the way and saying that Mary liked me as a friend. I hate when they say that. I did tell Emma to Eff Off and I bet that twisted harpie has got me threw out.

It will be a long time before I darken their door for sure.

The God in The Wood

There is an old statue in Blackie's Wood. When I was a kid we called it "The God in The Wood". Them hippies do tell me it is of a bloke called Herne. They deck it in flowers and suchlike. Myself, I'm not so sure that Old Horny is friendly. At least not to ordinary folk like me.

Bat & Ball Beer Festival

The Bat & Ball is the other end of Main Street and is frequented by those from the Cricket Club. It's pretty near the Cricket Club in fact. As such most of its clientele is snobs. I don't go there much. But recently they've been putting on a beer festival. I am planning on being there this weekend with my mates Andy from Bluebell Books and Steve from Rock n Rave. Truth to tell, I quite fancy the barmaid there - Mary Regan. I'll see if I can get a photo of her for you. She used to work for the TV at one point as a receptionist down at Bristol. The owner of the Bat & Ball - Henry has his eye on her, fat bald slug of a man that he is. He's got no chance. I'll show her my ferrets and she'll be mine. (that's not a euphemism by the way). A lot of women don't like ferrets but I think a proper country girl like Mary should. By the way none of them munters in the picture is Mary.

Anyway they had their beer board out yesterday so I took a snap.


Another beer I'm hoping they have is Summer Lightning Ale. It's 5% volume and I once went to a wedding in Warwickshire and got completely banjaxed on it. I made a complete fool of myself and got thrown out. They have another called Crop Circle Ale. They were selling it down the George & Dragon at one point but it attracted too many hippies. We got enough hippies here. I don't know if you can make out the All Body Shop board behind the beer board in the photo. They are offering to test you for allergies. Of course you always have one so they can sell you their remedies.

I think I'm allergic to real ale in fact. It always makes me feel sick, have bad guts, fart and dog-breath the day after. Still it's worth it.

Butchers and Ironmongers

You can't beat proper shops. These two speak for themselves.

The Big House

The Big House used to be the home of the Lacys. My great grandmother was in Service there as a maid before she went to set up a Boarding House in Blackpool in 1938 or so. The Lacys ran out of money just after the Second World War. They'd been proper posh - Public School, Oxford & Cambridge then high up jobs in the Foreign Office and suchlike. You need the first two to get the third really.

Anyway the last of them died in Peru or California or somewhere in the Wild West in the 70s. Max Riggs-Lacy he was. Famous explorer. Shouldn't be surprised if he's on Wikipedia or Youtube or whatever.

Well, about five or six years ago, the Big House, officially known as Lissadell House, was bought by a cult. They all wear Orange all the time - like dungarees. Apparently it is their holy colour. They are run by a bloke called Crow. You see them around the village in the greengrocers. I don't know if their orange thing goes as far as only eating orange fruit and veg. They maybe stretch it to red so as to include tomatoes.

I snuck in today in the interests of this Website - giving you a full picture of the village. I only got a couple of shots before I was chased out. Still, it was a right laugh.

PS: Note the colour of the upholstery

Religious Cults

Maybe because of the stone circle, Upper Swallow has always attracted more than its fair share of weirdoes. This is on the door of one of the houses in Main Street. I have never seen anyone enter that door, and I've never been moved to go to one of their services. I used to go to Sunday School of course and I go to church on Christmas Even sometimes at midnight, though I'm usually drunk then.

Them youngsters who hang around the war memorial smoking or who spend their time driving their beat up old cars around the village too fast should get some religion. Better for them than their fancy Es and Whizz (so I'm told)

By the way, though it looks like the door's hanging off in this photo, it's not - I just took it while I was standing on a slant.

The Pram Race

Upper Swallow has kept a lot of strange customs. For example yesterday was First Cuckoo Day. Traditionally it's supposed to be the day the first cuckoo is heard calling across the downs. Then the cuckoo is supposed to fly up England bringing summer with it.

We also have the pram race. This is an old photo of mine. It shows my mates Nick Thompson and Paul Smith (with the moustache in the pram) in about 1979. (They're older than me). Paul had a nasty accident one year. I think it was that one. The pram there, if I recall belonged to my girlfriend Julie's mum. I suppose Julie herself must have rode in it once.

The Windmill

The Windmill is on top of Broadhalfpenny Down. It was built over a century ago now, maybe more. There's a very strange man that lives in it with his wife. He's not from round here. I've heard tell that he writes cartoon books for a living. He's always driving round in his fancy Mercedes Benz trying to pretend he's one of us (though he is doomed to fail because the only person who could conceivably thought of as "one of us" who has a mercedes benz is Old Man Parks. He keeps his pigs in it and it doesn't go though he said he'd clean it up and sell it to me for a hundred quid). Your man from the windmill tried to buy me a pint once in The George & Dragon, but I wouldn't take it. I don't hold with outsiders.

Mind, He's probably not all bad. He lent my cousin Seth a ladder once.

Upper Swallow Women's Institute

The Village WI have just had a bake sale to raise funds for the church renovation project. The vicar Dave Coburn was really pleased with £125.76 they raised. Myself, I had three fairy cakes and a lovely piece of Victoria Sponge. I've put some weight on recently. My Mum's in one of these pictures. See if you can guess which one she is.

Acorn Antiques

Acorn Antiques is run by Dave Marshall. He's a surly devil and no mistake. He cleared my old gran's house out and he got everything for a song. Still, he won't give me any discount! Not that I shop there much as I don't like junk.

He creeps around that Dave Marshall.

Copsey's Greengrocer's

Time was there was only shops like this everywhere. In Upper Swallow the old ways remain - we have no big stores. Copsey's Greengrocer's has been here since 1854. Tim runs it now. He is up to date with things - you can buy aubergines and star fruits, though personally I don't see the need for them. I prefer to eat things when they come in season - seems more natural that way. Still each to their own. Tim is captain of the local darts team down at the George and Dragon. He also does a lot of touring on his motorbike with his girlfriend Sally. "Wild" Sally they used to call her. I remember those parties back in '79 when we were just kids. No harm in it I suppose.

The Stone Circle.

Much of the village of Upper Swallow lies within a stone circle. Obviously the circle came before the village but this is obviously a place of ancient significance and power.

Some of the stones were pulled up in the 17th Century by Puritans. They felt that the very existence of such things was anathema to their religion.

The story is that Colonel Lacy, who excavated the nearby Lacy's Caves on the banks of the Swallow, tried to demolish the circle by blasting. As his men set the charges a strange storm arose and rain fell and thunder rumbled. Lightning snaked across the sky and the workmen, soaked to the skin, looked up in awe. They believed that some force was trying to stop them interfering with Tanney (as the largest stone is known). They fled and refused to ever bother Tanney. So Tanney still stands.

And it's still a strange place. In the early 1990s, a local girl called Paula Thompson and her friends decided to do a bit of ghost hunting at the circle. Friends had gone there in their cars late at night to sit and talk and do what teenagers do. They reported seeing flashes of light outside the car, coming from the stones. They told Paula and they all decided to go back another night as a group.

It was late, after midnight and at first Paula wouldn't get out of her car. Her friends teased her and so, reluctantly she opened the door. By that time the others had spread out round the circle. There was some light from the moon, and so she walked over to Tanney, the tallest stone. She saw a dark shape in front of her. As she got closer, it started to move towards her very quickly. She thought it was a male friend having a laugh and called out jokingly for him to stop. He didn't stop and she saw that he was going to run into her. As it got closer she saw the shape wasn't her friend. To her horror it ran right through her. She says she felt cold and frightened and rushed back to the car.

Another time a group of people went there late, they met a coven of witches. When you visit Tanney, you will more often than not see offerings of flowers or suchlike around Tanney herself, or hanging in the tree nearby. My advice would be to stay away from the Circle after dark. These people probably mean no harm, but they don't like to be disturbed.

Rock & Rave

This is Upper Swallow's record shop. Upper Swallow is such an idyllic place
that it has attracted one or two hippies. The stone circle that
surrounds the village is a powerful magnet to alternative types.
Steve the Hippy, or 'Mushroom Steve' as he's known locally for obvious
regions, came to the village in 1969 at the Summer Solstice. He's
been here more or less ever since doing odd jobs and then in the
late 70s he opened a record shop. Steve is a big fan of vinyl,
but he's having to stock CDs these days (he doesn't hold with MP3 - too lossy he says (though I've no idea what he's talking about). There are certain types of music that go well here - various New Age soothing whale sounds and Arthurian Chant, clearly. But Steve has his own favourites and will tell you that to get the best out of Upper Swallow. You should be listening to vintage:

Jethro Tull, particularly to Songs from the Wood, and Heavy Horses.

John Martyn - anything with Spencer the Rover on it, but a good dose of One World doesn't go amiss.

Albion Band
- anything early and English rootsy. You should drink only cider
or real ale when listening to this stuff.

He also rates newcomers Edward II and, of course, The Levellers

If he's not here. Steve can be found in the The George & Dragon.

He's also known to hang around the Stone Circle and the Woods
at night smoking pot.

St Michael's Graveyard

Imagine the gold of a summer evening, pools of shadow behind yew trees and the smell of grass and meadowsweet. Song thrushes perch on high branches and sing to the lowering sun. But the sun goes down and the screech owl and flitting bats come to haunt the darkness. But who else wanders here after sunset?

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (excerpt)

Thomas Gray

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save from that yonder ivy mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as wandering near her secret bower
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath these rugged elms, that yew tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

St Michael's Church

St Michael's Church dates from Norman times, but the surrounding yew trees are much older - older than Christianity itself. This could be a sign that it was built on a pagan site. The dedication to the fighting Archangel Michael is often a sign that a site has been rededicated to Christianity. There is a large standing stone in the graveyard which has cup and ring marks incised in it, thought to be symbols of an ancient and now forgotten shamanic religion.

The Church is still the centre of village life when it comes to christenings, weddings and funerals. All these rights of passage are marked by Reverend Dave Coburn. The church gets a good turn out at family service at 11 o'clock each Sunday morning and Evensong is relatively well attended in the summer. Of course Christmas Eve's Midnight Mass usually has the church overflowing with festive song and merry parisheners. Easter Sunday is a lovely service with the church decked with daffodils and spring flowers. Children lead the service for the Harvest Festival and the farming community does the vicar proud with baskets of apples, pears, bread, butter and all the fruits of the bountiful earth.

Haymaking

When the weather is good towards the end of summer, the farmers come into the village and pick up all of those who are willing to come into the fields and lend a hand to make the hay. It's pleasant, if hard work, and the farmers usually hand round cider or beer. By the end of the day, with the sun going down, drowsy with the heat and tired from the exertion, the lads and lasses sit down on the bales, or on the back of the waggon and watch the sunset. Looking over the hills turning from yellow, to green and then blue in the dusk, they think how good the day has been and wonder if anything will ever change.

The Shropshire Lad (excerpt)

AE Housman

Into my heart a wind that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content I see it shining plain, The happy highways where once I went, And cannot come again.

The Ghost At The George & Dragon

(from the Swallow Star , March 1999 Reporter: Jim Allen)

The George & Dragon stands on the main street of Upper Swallow and was built in 1720 on the site of an older inn. A large door gives way from the high street into a wide courtyard. The inn is made of the lovely orange brick of this part of England and has large windows that were probably mullioned when they were first put in. The sign outside shows St George fighting the Dragon and it is notable in that it is made of lead and a great weight. Parts of the George & Dragon are much older than 1720 and are said to date from the early 1400s. One corridor definitely gives away its age with its sloping floor and uneven walls. Once it had been rebuilt, the George served as a coaching inn for mail and passengers. Watching coaches was a popular pastime and the George at one time had a spectators’ gallery. All that remains of that now is the set of steps that led up to it from the courtyard.

There are one or two ghost stories associated with the George & Dragon: a white monk is supposed to haunt the garden, though she hasn’t been seen lately. There is also a mischievous spirit that hides things and an unseen man whose footsteps are heard at dead of night going up and down the wide central staircase.

The inn’s most famous ghost however is Susan or ‘Sukie’ to give her her pet name. Susan worked at the inn at some point in the past. She was pretty and the village boys courted her, but she thought herself destined for better things so she spurned their advances. One day a wealthy young man came to the inn. Sukie thought that he was much more suitable so she became very attentive and friendly with him. Sukie’s charms were obviously working because the young man started to come regularly to the George & Dragon. Rumours circulated that he was secretly a highwayman operating on the country roads in the district, but the romance of this only served to make him more attractive to her.

The local boys decided to teach the haughty maidservant a lesson. They sent a bogus message to her, purportedly from her young admirer, to meet him at Upper Swallow caves in the middle of the night, dressed in her wedding dress. Thinking that she was about to be swept away, she somehow got a wedding dress and secretly made her way to the cave mouth. When she got there she was at mortified to find the village boys standing there doubled up in laughter. Then her embarrassment turned to anger and she began to hurl chunks of rock at them. Not to be undone, they threw them back, but she was struck on the head and fell dead to the ground. It’s not told what happened to the lads who’d done the deed, but before too long Sukie’s ghost was seen around the George & Dragon. Some visitors (probably wealthy, handsome young men) report being stroked by cold fingers as they lie sleeping.

This is a particularly persistent story, because when I spoke to the current staff there, they told me of their experiences. They didn’t report any cold patches – a feature noted in previous reports, but they said that guests often report feeling a presence. This isn’t from any particular room, but all around the inn. The current proprietor, Caz told me that her husband had seen a female figure coming down the stairs. He thought that it was Caz herself, but realised he was wrong when she disappeared in front of his eyes. The children of the previous proprietor used to talk often of the nice white lady who came out of the cupboard. Caz’s own son, James, is now twelve and no longer sees anything, but when he was younger used to tell her about the lady. What was very interesting about this – and the boy, as far as we know, had no knowledge or understanding of the story of Sukie – described this lady as having a pink headband across her head; a bloody bandage perhaps?

At the top of the inn are the private rooms of the inn staff. Of course in previous years these would have been the quarters of servants such as Sukie. It is in these rooms that the children report their ghostly sightings, but also it’s also in these rooms that lights go off and on of their own accord, and, most bizarrely, vacuum cleaners die in large numbers.

There are also some rooms that are very old but are kept locked. A secret society meets there and it is very hush hush. They are thought to be magicians.

Blackie's Wood

This wood, with its bluebells and mix of oak, ash and hazel trees, used to be a favourite place for dog walkers. It still is a lovely spot on a summer's evening or early in the morning when the birds are singing their hearts out. However, recently it has got a bit of a dark reputation. It is rumoured that strange ceremonies go on here at key dates around the year: May Day, Midsummer, Halloween and Candlemass. Nobody likes to talk about it, but after a couple of pints old Jack Manesty will tell you what he knows. If you linger. You might see something.

Swallow Caves

Within the leafy domain of Blackie's Wood, a short walk from the village of Upper Swallow lies the entrance to Swallow Caves. The caves honeycomb the limestone outcrops hereabouts and have never been properly mapped. In 1996 a cave diver from Bristol went down into one of the sunken galleries trying to find an exit and never returned. His body has never been found.

Intrestingly, the caves show evidence of prehistoric occupation with animal bones, tools and some poorly preserved cave paintings. There has never been a formal excavation.

Locally the caves have a bit of a bad reputation and the village children are warned not to go near them. Every May Day the villagers make a procession to the cave and perform a mystery play whereby St George vanquishes the dragon. The dragon, according to legend, had its lair in Swallow Caves.

Those wishing to venture into the caves should go well equipped with electric torches, wet suits and a good supply of food. There is a partial map of the caves which was done by Fred Alderson, the village's baker and a bit of a caver in his youth.

Upper Swallow CRICKET CLUB Fixtures

Back to Clubhouse ,

Map

Front Page

Background

Upper Swallow Cricket Club, founded in 1750, is very active during the Summer months and draws its support from cricket enthusiasts living up to 15 miles around the village.

Matches are played at Ridge Meadow on the north side of Brooks Lane, the road that bypasses Upper Swallow to the north joining the roads from Upper Swallow to Clanfield and Droxford. It is about 1 mile west of Broadhalfpenny Down where the great games in the heyday of the Club were played. The Club's most notable success in recent years has been reaching the finals of the English Village Cricket Championship.

Currently the Club fields three XIs and three Colts (Youth) sides -Under 11,13 and 15. There are senior team Home fixtures for every Saturday afternoon from mid April through to September. On Sunday afternoons there is a Home match virtually every week. New this year is the Ladies Section who will be playing in the ladies National Club League under the Upper Swallow banner. The full fixture list for the year is posted on the Upper Swallow Cricket Club Notice Board at the entrance to Manor Farm in the middle of the village and is available from the Fixtures Secretary. The Club runs coaching and practice sessions each season. Colts coaching for those aged 7 - 13 takes place every Monday from the beginning of May until the end of the schools' summer holidays.

Upper Swallow CC Youth Nets Appeal

To ensure that the club can continue to compete and to guarantee that local youngsters get every opportunity to excel, money is being raised to provide new practice net facilities for our youth teams. By the end of 1998, £8000 had been raised towards the target of £14000 enabling a start on the project to be made in 1999. In support of the Youth Nets Appeal a very collectable, specially framed, commemorative cricket cover has been issued.

The 250th Anniversary and The Millennium

The Club is planning to build a new pavilion on Ridge Meadow, with much improved changing rooms and catering facilities. To mark the 250th Anniversary of the Club, which falls in the Millennium year, it is hoping to incorporate a small museum of Upper Swallow's cricketing history and to house a wide range of artifacts acquired by the Club since the 1700s. Although other memorabilia can be found at the legendary "Bat & Ball", now a Pub, the Upper Swallow Cricket Club is trying to present an attractive display that visitors to the pavilion will be interested to see when perhaps rain stops play. Funds as usual are tight and the Club is trying to expand support by increasing the membership. Full Membership costs £50 per annum, £10 for Juniors and there are further rates for Social members.

To support the Pavilion Project you can become a lifetime Friend of Upper Swallow Cricket Club for a one-off enrolment fee of £100. You will receive:

• a commemorative "Friends of Upper Swallow Cricket Club" headscarf, tie or tie pin
• a limited edition copy of the 1777 scorecard, detailing Upper Swallow Cricket Club's famous victory over All England
• an affiliated Life membership of Upper Swallow Cricket Club
• regular updates of Club affairs.

The Upper Swallow Cricket Club would be very pleased to see new faces at the club ground supporting the various teams. All visitors are welcome; please bring something to sit on! The Club think it is very important to keep cricket thriving in Upper Swallow - the Cradle of Cricket - and want everyone to have a wider perception of what the Club is doing, both on and off the field.
Senior Teams' Home Fixtures 1999

Matches to be played at Ridge Meadow (RM) and Broadhalfpenny Down (BD)

Date	Team	Opponents	Ground	Time
May
1	2nd XI	Liphook & Ripsley	RM	2.00pm
8	1st XI	Wellow & Plaitford	RM	1.30pm
15	1st XI	Bashley	RM	1.30pm
16	Ladies XI	Wooton Bassett	RM	2.00pm
22	2nd XI	Ampfield	RM	2.00pm
22	3rd XI	Froxfield II	BD	2.30pm
23	Ladies XI	Bournemouth	RM	2.00pm
30	Sunday	Bexhill Athletic	RM	2.30pm
June
5	2nd XI	Old Edwardians	RM	2.00pm
5	3rd XI	Denmead II	BD	2.30pm
12	1st XI	Havant	RM	1.30pm
12	Ladies XI	Shepperton II	BD	2.00pm
13	Ladies XI	Andover	RM	2.00pm
19	2nd XI	Petersfield II	RM	2.00pm
19	3rd XI	Bosham	BD	2.30pm
21	Midweek	Corinthian (Los Angeles)	RM	2.00pm
26	1st XI	Burridge	RM	1.30pm
July
3	2nd XI	Amport	RM	2.00pm
3	3rd XI	Liphook & Ripsley IV	BD	2.30pm
4	Ladies XI	Antelope	RM	2.00pm
10	1st XI	Alton	RM	1.30pm
11	Ladies Match	Hants v Middlesex	RM	2.00pm
17	2nd XI	Waterlooville II	RM	2.00pm
17	Ladies XI	Taunton	Winchester	2.00pm
18	Sunday	Upper Swallow	RM	2.00pm
24	1st XI	Winchester	RM	1.30pm
25	Sunday	Philanderers	RM	11.30am
27	Midweek	Barbarians CC	RM	2.00pm
31	2nd XI	Fareham & Crofton	RM	2.00pm
31	3rd XI	Fareham & Crofton IV	BD	2.30pm
August
1	Sunday	Peopleton	RM	2.30pm
5	Midweek	Hornchurch CC	RM	2.00pm
7	1st XI	Bournemouth	RM	1.30pm
11	Midweek	Brentwood Bunglers CC	RM	2.30pm
14	2nd XI	Sarisbury Athletic	RM	2.00pm
14	3rd XI	Steep II	Winchester	2.30pm
14	Ladies XI	Oxford Sirens	BD	11.30am
21	1st XI	Andover	RM	1.30pm
22	Ladies XI	Lymington	RM
28	2nd XI	Hungerford II	RM	2.00pm
28	3rd XI	Cobra	BD	2.30pm
September
12	Sunday	XIIth Men	RM	1.30pm

Raven's Nest Castle

Raven's Nest Castle perches on the aptly named Castle Hill above Upper Swallow. It was built by Richard de Bohun in 1307 on the site of an earlier Norman motte and bailey. The de Bohun's lived there until the early 16th Century when the line died out. The Castle thereafter fell into ruin but the tower was occupied by a small band of local Royalists under the Baron Roger Clare during the Civil War. Parliamentarian cannon completed the ruin and it has gently fallen to bits since.

It is supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of white ladies and a black hen. The castle is supposed to be the site of buried treasure, but whoever digs a hole during the day will find that it has been filled in again by the fabled Black Hen the next day.

Bluebell Books

The Bluebell Bookshop is on Upper Swallow's Main Street two doors down from the greengrocers and opposite, Rock & Rave Records Its proprietor is a Andy Trimble who used to work for a newspaper in Salisbury before settling in Upper Swallow. Andy has a reputation as a bit of a political activist. He's an anarchist and models himself on the writings of Kropotkin. He's in love with this English idyll though and Upper Swallow probably represents his retreat into a local, self sufficient, green community.

You might like to look at his country section

He's got lots of books:

Country Matters & Nature

Order Laurie Lee: Cider With Rosie

Order Flora Thompson: Lark Rise to Candleford

Order Thomas Hardy: Under The Greenwood Tree

Order Thomas Hardy: Chosen Poems

Order George Eliot: The Mill on The Floss

Order Edward Thomas: Selected Poems

Order Royal Society for The Protection of Birds: British Birds

Order William Shakespeare: A Midsummer Night's Dream

Children's Section

Order John Masefield: The Midnight Folk

Order Arthur Ransome: Swallows & Amazons

Supernatural and Earth Mysteries

Order Crop Circles, The Latest Evidence

Order A Guide to Stone Circles

Order Earth Mysteries

Order Pat Barker's The Ghost Road

Upper Swallow - English Dream Village

Upper Swallow is the archetypal English village. It is always Maytime. Children dance with ribbons round the pole set up every year since time immemorial in this sleepy place, remote from the hurly-burly of modern life. Children happily play rounders and hopscotch in the village school's playground. In the evening, the local team practises in the cricket nets. Girls ride their horses round the quiet, leafy lanes. There is an pub (haunted of course), a ruined castle, an old Norman Church with a graveyard full of wildflowers and bumblebees, a shop, and that's about it. Around the village are ancient English oak woods and the bright river Dart runs through them and under the old stone bridges. Cats sun themselves on tiled roofs and sparrows chatter noisily in the eaves of thatched cottages. It's not Adlestrop, but it's got the same feel:




Adlestrop
Edward Thomas

Yes. I remember Adlestrop -
The name.
Because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly.
It was late June.
The steam hissed.
Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform.
What I saw Was Adlestrop - only the name.
And willows, willow-herb and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute, a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Upper Swallow's like that. Come and spend some time with us. Maybe even come and live here (see the estate agent's window) or come for a drink in the George & Dragon. Perhaps the first place to look is the map.

Of course, this is an old place; there has been a village here since prehistoric times, as the stone circle which encloses upper Swallow testifies.

But beware; in the streets and houses of this idyllic English village, a mystery lurks. The worm is in the rose.