Take twelve stout rods

There upon the grey Quay, beside the skybound, hawser wrapped cannon, cold from the East wind, the fisherman stands, surrounded by his army of lobster pots, waiting for sea day. Fabricated steel, plastic coated, dressed in black netting and defended from the rocks by rubber belting. Modern day, today's parlour pots.

There back in his garden, woodland shelter or stockholm tarred dark cellar, surrounded by the worth of his life and the remnants of his past, the old sepia fisherman once stood. Gathering in his age crippled hands the winter willow withies with which to bend and twist the disregarded skill of making the traditional basket lobster pot.

An almost forgotten art, kept alive by a mere handful of diehard enthusiastic willow weavers and long in the past fishermen. Though rarely used nowadays, it is still nice to have the knowledge of how to weave a lobster pot, to have that connection with the past and if you do use one for fishing, that complete sense of achievement when you reach in and pull out your first lobster.

You'll need a round block to start with, about 9 or 10 inches diameter and 2 inches thick, a series of 12 small holes make the size of the mouth, my own has three sets of holes, 5, 6 and 8 inches. there is a 2x2 inch hole in the centre for the pot stand, which is a length of wood about 3 feet long with 6 pieces of string at the far end.

Gather your rods, you'll need some approximately 6 to 8 feet long, these are your, firsts, seconds and thirds, others about 4 feet long which will be the mouthing and small, thinner rods of about 3 feet for use as ringing. Today if making a lobster pot I buy withies from across the English border into the level lands of Somerset and this year I delighted in the discovery of the fourth generation premier growers of Musgrove Willows at Westonzoyland, well worth the journey, certainly worth a visit.

Take 12 stout rods and place them firmly in the block, weave a mouth until about 7 inches deep. Next firmly push 24 rods down either side of your first main sticks, making 36 in all. With a pair of secateurs snip up any untidy ends, and with a piece of string put a binding or two around the mouth. You are now ready to turn down.

Fit the stand into the 2x2 hole with the strings at the far end. Turn down two sets of 3 rods, careful not to buckle as you bend them, lash off the ends together; alternate sides until all the rods are turned down.

Sharpen to a point the ends of two of the smaller, 3 foot ringing rods and choosing the middle of the main pot sticks, push firmly down alongside. Bending one over and one under, weave the ringing around the pot, adding more ringing when necessary, bringing the first ring off to the crown of the pot, building up to about three good ringers each. As you begin the second ring, you should keep about 7 inches between rings, you'll need to start putting in the thirds. From the same pile as the firsts and seconds but preferably a smaller sample, you'll need 18 thirds, slype the ends and as you continue to weave, ease off the lashings to give the pot its shape, feed in the thirds following every second rod until all 18 are in place.

The third ring should level out your spiral and be ready to be taken off the stand and put on the buffers. We use larger willow or hazel sticks to form the buffers, which is the bottom edge of the pot. Here we have to seperate the rods into bunches once more, this time 9 bunches of 6 rods. Start with one over one under, outside 6 rods, inside 6 rods, building up a good handful of buffers. When you are happy with the amount of buffers you have in it's time to turn down the bottom. Select a rod wide enough to cross the width of the bottom, this will be your holder downer, continuing with your hazel or willow, now to be used as bottom rods, turn down the first bunch while continuing to weave over and under, try to keep weaving with three good bottom sticks at all times. Use the holder downer to hold each bunch as you turn down. Continue around the pot until the last bunch, you shouldn't need the holder downer anymore.

Putting in the bottom is simply a matter of weaving around and around, feeding in new rods and working in older rods, making sure to keep the bottom flat and tight with no gaps for the lobsters to escape through, until you've worked down to 9 ends, these ends must be plaited in 3s, lashed off and turned back inside the pot where they can be secured and that as they simply say is that.
Why not give it a try.

What the Devil!

A clanging, clanking, crashing can cacophony as Clovelly children race and cheer, rattling empty baked bean, tomato soup, spaghetti hooped tins and bins down the echoing cobbled orchestrated street of unearthly din.

All towns and villages have their dark age traditions, their legends, beliefs and myths. Each has its own way of seeing out the old dead winter, ushering in the swept clean spring. Of ridding homes and shadowed lanes of murky, mayhem and mischief, of freshly beginning anew; opening windows on a shiny clear day and breathing fresh dewy air.

Some places race about with burning, scorching tar barrels, others masquerade as dancing hobby horses and parade about their drunken town, for many it's May poles that get them laughing. Throughout the spring, men, women and children take part in archaic rituals whose origins have slipped the memory of time. Here in Clovelly we have Lanshard.

The springtime hungry gap of Lent is a time for fasting, giving up for atime the over indulgences and vices we take for granted today and looking closer at what spiritually, should be more important; for letting in faith and driving out temptation. In forgotten days here in Clovelly, the clearing of winter remnants, the banishing of dark day ills and in expectation of the 40 long days ahead became known as Lent shard, from the smashing of empty pots and storage jars that once held the winter provisions, preventing the merry mischief making Devil from finding a hiding place and enticing the householders to stray from their fast.

So today, from the gluttony of a lemon squeezed and sugar sprinkled pancake tea, the local children with the unneeded excuse for making a noise, rattle their tins, bang their bins and chase the Devil down the street, off the Square, away from Back Lane, along Independent Street, through Fish Street, out onto the Quay and away into the sea to be washed up on someone else's unsuspecting shore. Keeping Clovelly free of the Devil for one more year.

It is a tradition I look back on with fondness, remembering the hunt for the biggest drum, searching through the old village rubbish tips for the loudest barrel, the occasional old lady who complained of the din, so we ran passed her house just once more for fun. Watching as my own children grew to take part and mothers gathered to cheer as another generation felt the joy of 'Tin Night'.

Sadly times change. This year saw only three children take part, my nephew and nieces, only three to keep alive a tradition that each past generation has laughing stories to tell of; that is as much apart of living in Clovelly as cobble stones and donkeys. A tradition wanes, a village pales, for what is a village that forgets its myths and legends, what is a village without the people with the passion to take part in its rituals. Where are the mothers and fathers, hiding from tradition, where are the children, safely wasting away in front of a flickering screen.

For me, my brother, sisters and friends, my children and families children, we have our memories and are glad we have our Lanshard.