Woolly says – Our lovely friend and colleague Steve had mentioned that there was a steam rally in the nearby village of Much Marcle, even better he had offered to drive me and my human there. An offer too good to refuse.

We’d seen the signage the summer before, but Jo and I had convinced ourselves that it would only be a few things and probably not worth going, as we pulled onto the parking field, we both realised that we were wrong, it was huge. Having paid at the gate we entered the rally, hundreds of people wandering round, incredible amounts of vehicles to check out and let’s not forget the stalls and ice cream vendors.

We headed off amongst the stalls first, admiring hats, belts and all manner of car boot type items before stopping to admire some trucks including one with our surname on.

Mini tractors and steam engines rolled around the grounds puffing the wonderful aroma of coal into the air.

We headed down a row of old caravan and campers being delighted with some of the vehicles and how they were fitted out.

From retro to classics, they made me want nothing more than to jump in and head off on an adventure.

Arriving at what seemed to be the main area for all things steam, I had never seen so many steam rollers in one place before.

Next came the area I christened the ‘mini steamers’ with all manner of engines puffing away and pumping water or filling waiting buckets.

A large tent was filled with mini trains and fairground rides, sadly I did struggle to get onto the helter shelter which made Jo laugh at my efforts which was very unkind.

Then came a whole area filled with classic motorbikes, with Steve being a biker and Jo being an ex-biker they happily discussed engines and bodies.

The military section was huge with loads of army trucks, jeeps, gun carriages and tents all set up as they would have been for use in the war years. A beautiful blue US Air Force trunk gave a small splash of colour amongst all of the green.

The final section was dedicated to cars with all sorts on display, from the sporty to the classic they were wonderful to see. With my paws aching and ice cream all over my fur we had reached the end and would defiantly be back next year for that year’s rally.

This is a blog of two parts and a couple of days later we were off out again, this time we were making a return visit to Hellen’s which we had throughly enjoyed last year Last year’s blog.

On our previous visit we and Alfie the Dog had loved wandering around the estate, this time however we were going into the manor house itself. As we waited for the tour to start, we admired the cafes outside seating area and found a new sculpture as well as my favourite elephant who had moved locations.

We wandered around the house once again admiring the brickwork and the garden area at the front of the property.

As the guide finally arrived, we joined the masses to be taken round, the door that we went through had once held firm against the Welsh with shrapnel embedded in its wood, sadly we couldn’t stop to look at people were pushing past us.

The first room on our visit was the Banqueting Hall where the guide gave us a brief history of the owners of the house, we have made it briefer below:

• Earl Harold Godwinson, later King Harold II, Hellens’ first recorded owner
• The de Balun family who witnessed the signing of the Magna Carta
• Isolde Mortimer, whose brother Roger Mortimer ordered the murder of the defeated King Edward II and the delivery of the Great Seal of England to Isabella of France and the future King Edward III at Hellens
• James Audley, hero of the Froissart Chronicles and boon companion to Edward the Black Prince
• Richard Walwyn who prepared the bed chamber at Hellens for a visit from Queen Mary Tudor
• The monk, killed by Roundheads during the Civil War who were searching the house for its Catholic owner.
• Hetty Walwyn, imprisoned by her mother after a failed elopement.
• Charles Walwyn Radcliffe Cooke, known as the MP for Cider, he encouraged Hugh Weston to develop his cider business.
• Helena Gleichen, painter and great-niece of Queen Victoria, who stored paintings from the Tate Gallery in the Stone Hall at Hellens during the second world war.
• Malcolm Munthe (son of Hilda Pennington Mellor and Axel Munthe, author of The Story of San Michele), who purchased Hellens in 1943
• The current owner, the Pennington Mellor Munthe Charity Trust (PMMCT), which was set up by Malcolm in 1981

They all sounded like a jolly lot indeed, I however was enjoying the Hall itself with its huge stone fireplace, weathered and faded as was the silk canopy next to the table. The stone table had once been the altar of the nearby church and during the desecration of the churches had been moved to the manor for safe keeping.

Malcom Munthe’s army helmet and some armour gave the children a chance to feel the weight of the equipment once used. We followed the guide up the spiral staircase pausing for a brief moment to look into the minstrel’s gallery before quickly being sent into a bedroom.

As the group squeezed in the guide explained that this was the bedroom that had been made ready for the new Queen, Mary Tudor, a much newer bed now occupied the space where she could have slept. The ceiling had been made especially for her with what looked like a corn on the cob for decoration but was actually supposed to be a pomegranate.

Our guide explained that most of the house’s paintings were nothing to do with the house of the inhabitants although the walls were covered with them. One picture however did catch my eye, that of a rather tubby giraffe. Zarafa (January 1824 – 12th January 1845) was a female Nubian giraffe who lived in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris for 18 years. A gift from Muhammad Ali of Egypt to King Charles X of France, she was one of three giraffes Muhammad Ali sent to European rulers in 1827. These were the first giraffes to be seen in Europe for over three centuries, since the Medici giraffe was sent to Lorenzo de’ Medici in Florence in 1486. She didn’t receive the name “Zarafa” until 1985. Following her death her corpse was stuffed and displayed in the foyer of the Jardin des Plantes in Paris for many years, before being moved to the Museum of Natural History of La Rochelle, where it remains. The guide did reassure us that she hadn’t been as tubby as her portrait suggested.

The next bedroom was much larger looking out over the grounds, it was notable for its décor. None of the painted walls or wallpaper this had a leather wall covering, made up of different pieces and then attached to the walls. I nudged Jo as we looked closer realising that the leatherwork didn’t match up and having asked the guide, she explained that it had been taken from a number of different rooms with different patterns. A small piece remained as it would have looked with its magnificent colours bright and fresh unlike the faded walls.

We peeked into a modern bathroom which was a very late addition to the house and quickly admired more paintings in a hallway as we headed into the next room.

A cosy looking boudoir had been the home of Hetty Walwyn, the wayward daughter who had eloped and then returned to her family home only to be imprisoned until her suicide.

Heading downstairs we stopped to admire a wall case filled with artifacts including a coronet and even better Anne Boylan’s (Henry VIII’s second wife) comb.

The dining room was much darker with its wood panelling and very strangely decorated ceiling that one of the previous owners had done when he fancied himself as an artist. More painting lined the walls.

The hallway was wonderful with carved wooden areas above the fireplace and under the stairs, it was home to a reproduced harpsichord and a number of display items.

The final room was the drawing room, panelled and with large squishy sofas most of the tour group gratefully sank down as the guide showed us more painting that were nothing to do with the property.

As we thanked our guide and headed outside I knew that neither of us had really enjoyed the tour although the guide had been good, way too many people all trying to fit into the small rooms and far too much information on paintings that were of no relevance to the property or the people who lived in it. Also dampened by one couple who had taken every opportunity to tell the whole group long winded stories about other houses they had visited turning it into a two hour tour instead of the one hour we had been expecting. Tired and paw sore we did the only sensible thing and headed into the onsite café for a much deserved drink and piece of homemade cake.