Mary's latest novel – the 11th in the Rossington series – was published on 4 November 2025. Look out for Don’t Tell Tales! Visit your local bookshop or friendly crime specialist for a copy – or order it from our stockist Bodies In The Bookshop, Cambridge.

 

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February 2026

Tuesday 17 February 2026

Even after yet more rain, most of our higher Black Hill walking is unexpectedly dry, no doubt because of the wind’s drying effect. It has been windy every day we’ve visited recently. And the pools of water that had created small ponds in the old tin mine workings have drained away, leaving no trace of their existence. But the rainwater has created other pools which are more enduring, like this on one side of the granite bridge that spans the old open mining gullies, with water draining away in a new little stream on the other side.

Monday 16 February 2026

Yet another sign that spring is definitely coming was the sight of frogspawn in the beautiful circular pool of Buckfast Abbey’s Millennium Garden. It’s a small, simple and beautiful spot, where the frogspawn lay in jellied masses over the reflection of the silver birch trees in the pool, and nearby the silver stag stoops obliviously to the water.

Saturday 14 February 2026

One of the benefits of mixed rain and sunshine are the rainbows. They appear suddenly in a cloudy sky, an arc of colour, sometimes faint, sometimes vivid. This was one that created a beautiful arc, one end near Haytor. We actually passed its other end, the colours coming through the trees to touch the ground below. It’s only here on the moor that I’ve seen the end of rainbows. When I was a child, we were told if you ever did find where the rainbows touched the earth, you’d find a pot of gold.

Friday 13 February 2026

Larks were singing as they flew over the sunlit fields near Littlehempston. In the distance mist drifted along the foot of the moor below Haytor. But from the valley of the Hems below us mist was drifting up to briefly cloud the sky and banish the larks and their songs.

The mist effect seemed strangely volatile today, as when it cleared from the fields, leaving us again in bright sunshine, Dartmoor was obscured by a veil of mist. A huge almost motionless wall of clouds rolled over the top of the tors like a rolling sea, whose grey and dirty white curling waves had been frozen for a few seconds.

Tuesday 10 February 2026

Walking down through Yarner Woods to the valley bottom, there was a clear view of the various branches of the stream that ran through it, gleaming silver in the rare sunshine we had today. This area has flooded badly in the recent past, and the meandering channels have been reformed carrying the heavy load of winter water more slowly down the valley. Scatterings of fallen timber lie across the channels, slowing the water flow even more.

I paused on one of the two bridges crossing the channels to peer down at the crystal clear water, running shallow and calm over the stony beds. The whole vista has been opened up along the valley, and a kingfisher has been seen flying along here recently.

Monday 9 February 2026

Rainwater in the dips created by nineteenth century open tin mining on Dartmoor’s Black Hill.

Friday 6 February 2026

Some of the paths in Yarner wood are edged with ants’ nests, some of a considerable size. There’s been no sign of ant life on them for some time now, and passing deer walk over them, leaving their surfaces pitted with hoof marks. Small green shoots of whortleberries protrude through the tiny fragments of leaf and bark that worker ants have brought back painstakingly year after year to first make and then annually restore the nests. It won’t, hopefully, be long before this year’s reconstruction begins and the nests seethe with ant life again.

Wednesday 4 February 2026

Light mist lay like gossamer over the land between the moor and the sea. Only a dip in the dim outline of the cliffs showed where Teignmouth was, for the colour of the sea was the same opaque milkiness as the land.

On the moor, Haytor was also shrouded in mist, but the land around it where we walked was clear and sunny. The ponies were dark shapes against the greater darkness of the gorse bushes where they sheltered from the wind. One at least took the opportunity to feast on the succulent longer grass around the bushes. A few of them braved the wind standing exposed to the blast as they grazed the fresh new grass shoots emerging around the charred remains of gorse bushes and heather on the patch of land that had been swaled recently.

After a couple of hours walking, the dogs and I were returning past the view down to the sea and I saw coming from the west a clear bright strip of light under the low cloud that had lain heavily over the scene all morning. The sun was coming through, banishing the cloud.

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Tuesday 3 February 2026

The first bluebell shoots have come through the damp ground above the River Dart near Staverton while on the edge of Dartmoor clumps of hart’s tongue ferns are flourishing with shiny green straps of leaves along the terraced paths above the river and the old railway line. The more textured leaves of foxgloves are just emerging from the leaf litter beside the tracks and curved round butterbur leaves have suddenly covered the lane edges, and it won’t be long before the curious coral-like stubs of pink flowers appear through them. As I child, I was told the leaves were used to wrap butter to keep it fresh in the days when it was churned on farms and in cottages.

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Sunday 1st February 2026

Sheep are now back in many of the fields around Littlehempston, creating a gentle scene of white on green. The ones who went out on the moor below Haytor some weeks ago were the first I saw out. These latter have endured the worst of the weather, but the others have had to cope with extreme wind and rain recently. Yet today the sun was out, there was no wind and it really did feel as though spring is on its way. A feeling accentuated by the appearance of more and more snowdrops on the road verges, although the flowers are still generally tightly closed.

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