So there is this place. It's kind of old and off the system. In medieval times it was apparently prosperous; an important port. Important enough for the French to once invade it and for it once to send two MPs to parliament. Now it is a cluster of rather lovely old houses looking down across meadows towards a salt marsh, the remains of a harbour and some crumbling salt-pans. Oh and there are some bird hides.
It's called Newtown (like many other places - but this is the one on the Isle of Wight) and it is rather unworldy and rather special. Old woodlands here run to the sea, with ancient oak trees warped into wonderful shapes. Here birds sing and red squirrels hide and this Springtime bluebells battle with wood anemones for attention.
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| View of the old harbour |
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| Shelducks |
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| seahorse weather-vain |
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| the flowers of the horse chestnut |
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| and a flowering cherry |
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| the old town hall |
And three landscapes - a view of the estuary, where oaks meet the sea and a carpet of bluebells.
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