EVENTS & NEWS

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Having been persuaded to attend the conservation weekend by Maurice, I decided that a brave face and a strong pair of gardening gloves were in order and packed accordingly. Come Friday we left Bristol at a rather late hour and duly headed down to North Devon, before long we hit the back roads and twisted and meandered our way towards the Black Venus, a rendezvous deserving of a Daphne Du Maurier novel.

Upon our entrance the pub silenced, being rather reminiscent of the Slaughtered Lamb from American Werewolf in London. Soon we discovered that the entire group had left somewhat earlier and headed back to the centre.

After a swift beer we drove to the centre, where on our arrival discovered that the majority of AOAC’ers were already tucked up in their bunks, the result of a hard working week no doubt. Consequently the centre was quiet and almost deserted. Soon after, I snuggled down into my sleeping bag in a dorm with our organiser Emma, only to be seemingly awoken at 7am by the promise of a cup of tea and a cooked breakfast.

Eventually when all members were awake, fed, watered and encumbered with packed lunches we unceremoniously piled into 4 cars and drove for almost an hour to our Silver Birch massacre destination. Once armed with bow saws, ‘bolt’ croppers and gloves we set about our colossal task, we hacked, tore and ripped the offending trees from the Exmoor soil. Come lunch time we all looked emaciated and ravenous and presently settled down to a high calorie seemingly chocolate inspired meal.

The afternoon passed with a modicum of machoism with boys/men seemingly competing over the size of tree they could fell or carry. As the evening drew in most were to be found lazing in the common room or slaving over the vast industrial cooker. My memory serves me well I, believe, in that I recall playing a ridiculous game of Pig Tossing-needless to say I won!

The Sunday dawned and the breakfast ritual recommenced minus Andy, who’d suffered overnight with something untoward. We all packed and set off once more into the wilds of North Devon. This day we were to head towards the coast to Holiday Hill near Porlock and set about litter picking. Initially at this suggestion my heart sank, what would be fun about picking up litter-I had not accounted for the rewards of refuse that could be pulled from the ground. I discovered two full cans of lager one still in date and also a Victorian marmalade jar and some ancient bottles, fantastic!

To save carrying the out of date lager I decided to throw it away-only to be halted by Big Stu who after a moment’s contemplation pulled a glass beer tankard from his bin bag. We ceremoniously poured the Stella Artois and surprisingly no one decided to drink the contents! Gradually people started to disappear and soon we were all headed back to the grime of Bristol and our prospective comfy beds, tired but totally content with the weekend’s work.

Thanks to Bev Smith for the article and photo