Season’s End

Measuring the coming and going of the seasons should be a near enough exact science. According to the calendar, autumn begins on September 22nd. My preference is to allocate seasons into more organised three month blocks. Winter is December, January and February. Spring claims March, April and May. Summer spreads itself across June, July and August. Obviously, autumn is September and October.

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I know what you’re thinking. Where’s November? I have a problem with November. It’s too cold and bleak to really feel like autumn. Too wintry, even. But the thought of a four month winter is too much to bear. If one must have a winter, one would prefer it to be a month shorter than the rest, not a month longer.

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Autumn is one of my favourite seasons. It’s in the top three for sure. Adding November to the mix would just completely ruin one third of it. I have added proof that November should not be considered part of autumn. Up and down the country, historic houses, mansions and the like close their doors for winter. At the end of October. They and I are on the same wavelength. November needs its own season. I suggest Wintumn.

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We decided to get in one last visit to one of Britain’s architectural treasures before the onset of winter. We chose Forde Abbey, near the town of Chard in Somerset. You probably won’t have heard of it, nor of the Roper family who have lived there for the last century and a bit.

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Yet, if you are of a certain age, you might well have heard from one of them.  Christopher Roper grew up in Forde Abbey but went on to have quite the career in journalism. He was first on the scene when Che Guevara was captured and broke the news to the world.

 

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