Bryher in Isles of Scilly urged to conserve water amid fault
SWW has also set up a bottled water station on the quayside, which the utilities firm said was a precaution to "minimise water usage from within the network".It is thought about 80 people live on Bryher full time but the population grows over the summer, with visitors staying at the island's hotel, campsite and in holiday cottages. Ms Callan runs Olivia's Kitchen which has remained open, and said the shortage had affected how they were running the business. She said tea and Americanos were off the menu, adding: "We are asking people to be mindful and have posters up about being mindful of water usage."She said milky coffees, canned drinks, alcohol and food were still being served, but customers were asked to use hand sanitiser in the bathrooms."I didn't have a shower this morning, but we can still drink a glass of water."Every year if there's hot weather there's a water shortage."She said ideally more measures would be put in place to supply water in these situations but added that would be expensive and "not part of the lifestyle on Scilly". SWW had sent over "lots of water" she added.The Hell Bay Hotel said on Facebook: "Due to a water supply issue on Bryher, we're currently unable to serve water-based hot drinks (such as tea or Americanos) and some cold options (like Coca-Cola and lemonade)."Day-tripper boats from the main island St Mary's have also been pout on hold due to the issues.
'Treatment facility on each island'
On its website, SWW said it was proposing to build a new water treatment facility on each of the five inhabited islands in the Isles of Scilly.It was also "assessing options" to treat both borehole water and seawater, to provide a "continuous, reliable supply of clean water for the longer term"."We're at an early stage of concept development and are in discussions with the Duchy of Cornwall to identify suitable locations for each treatment facility."It said "several" properties had their own private separate water supply, but there would be opportunities for those to be connected to the network.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Times
4 hours ago
- Times
We quit London and learnt how to be baristas who bake
Ten years ago I lived in London where I worked in luxury hospitality as a commercial director for a swanky hotel company [Simon Kerr, 58, says]. My husband, Andrew Talbot, worked in Whitehall, in public health. One day I remember sitting in a meeting room in one of those boring presentations full of corporate speak and watching a couple of guys abseiling outside, cleaning windows. When the meeting finished, I started chatting with them. They told me they loved climbing mountains and that they made a lot of money going up and down buildings in London for six months purely so they could go to do the things that they enjoyed for the rest of the year. And it just got me thinking. • Read more expert advice on property, interiors and home improvement Andrew and I already had a holiday home in Falmouth in Cornwall, so we spent a lot of time down there. One day I saw this advert on the internet for a café in Truro. I asked Andrew: 'What do you know about running cafés?' Neither of us knew anything at all, but we went to have a look at it the next day. It turns out a guy had built the café for his wife using reclaimed wood and it was an absolutely stunning space. Then after all that his wife turned around and said: 'I don't really want to do this.' He was stuck holding the baby and had to sell. So Andrew and I decided to take the plunge, give up our lives and take a big leap of faith. We bought the lease to the café for £20,000 and rented a house about four miles away in a little village called Devoran, which is on the edge of Falmouth Bay. We called the café Lily's of Truro after our dog, and we threw ourselves into it and learnt from scratch. We learnt to be baristas, we learnt to work in the kitchen, we learnt to bake cakes — and we burnt a lot of cakes. I've lost count of the amount of times I've sat in bed looking at YouTube videos on how to poach the perfect egg. Owning and running a small business is phenomenally different to working in a larger corporate environment. We had to learn about cashflow and keeping your margins tight to maximise your profit — because in the hospitality industry things are so, so tight. We learnt to deal with staff — everyone from 16-year-old kids with their issues all the way up to older adults, some of whom come with their issues as well. We built it up to be a very successful business. And then, five years ago, a lady called Amy approached us and offered us £120,000 to buy us out. She already ran a catering business but she loved the space. We stood to make a £100,000 profit in four and a half years. We went for it and resolved to buy our own place. We love Cornwall, but we found it to be a long way away from our friends in London, who we could hardly ever see. As an alternative, we looked at Somerset, Wiltshire, East and West Sussex, Hampshire, Suffolk and Dorset, but we decided on Norfolk. You can get more for your money in Norfolk, and it was only an hour and a half on a train to London. We came across an ideal site: a business and three-bedroom home wrapped together in Castle Acre, which is a stunning historical village that has two English Heritage sites, a Norman castle and a priory. It had a café, which we later called Wittles Castle Acre but at that point was called Barnfields, and we immediately fell in love with it. It had been run by a couple who were very much ready to retire and were running the business down. We bought the property for £625,000. Remarkably, we moved in a week before the second Covid lockdown, which with hindsight was absolutely crazy. How, we thought, could we start a business at a time when nobody could go inside during the middle of winter? • We moved to the country during Covid. Now we're returning to the city So we baked cakes, made a pot of soup and a vat of curry and started trading out the front door. And it turns out it was an amazing way to meet our neighbours. Everyone from the village came out, and everyone loved it. Social distancing was still in place, but the fact they could come and be sociable somewhere near to their home, get a damn good cup of coffee and an interesting cake and maybe see their neighbours was fantastic. It became a weekly event. It was the best way to introduce ourselves to the village, and those customers have helped to sustain us throughout the years, along with the village's many visitors. It became a booming success. Five years later though, and after agonising over the decision long and hard, we've decided to sell. We love it, but it's a physical job. We're nearly 60 and we're tired at the end of the day. We want to go and live in Italy, in either southern Tuscany or Umbria, and live a quiet life together. A couple of friends have died during the past year, which was very sudden, and it got us thinking that life can be short. We enjoy what we do. We're working hard and we're successful and we make good money. But we don't want to work ourselves into a grave.
The Guardian
13 hours ago
- The Guardian
‘Unlike anywhere else in Britain': in search of wildlife on the Isles of Scilly
At Penzance South Pier, I stand in line for the Scillonian ferry with a few hundred others as the disembarking passengers come past. They look tanned and exhilarated. People are yelling greetings and goodbyes across the barrier. 'It's you again!' 'See you next year!' A lot of people seem to be repeat visitors, and have brought their dogs along. I'm with my daughter Maddy and we haven't got our dog. Sadly, Wilf the fell terrier died shortly before our excursion. I'm hoping a wildlife-watching trip to the Isles of Scilly might distract us from his absence. One disembarking passenger with a cockapoo and a pair of binoculars greets someone in the queue. 'We saw a fin whale,' I hear him say. 'Keep your eyes peeled.' This is exciting information. The Scillonian ferry is reputedly a great platform for spotting cetaceans and it's a perfect day for it – the sea is calm and visibility is superb. From the deck, the promontory that is Land's End actually seems dramatic and special, in a way that it doesn't from dry land. There are several people armed with scopes and sights who are clearly experienced and observant. The only thing lacking is the animals. Not a single dolphin makes an appearance, never mind the others that make regular summertime splashes: humpbacks, minke, sunfish, basking sharks and, increasingly, bluefin tuna. Arriving in Scilly by ship is worth the crossing: wild headlands, savage rocks, white sand beaches, sudden strips of transcendentally turquoise ocean interspersed with the bronzed pawprints of kelp. Of course, it can be thick mist and squalls, but we're in luck, the islands are doing their best Caribbean impersonation. Hugh Town, the capital of St Mary's, is built on the narrow isthmus between two rocky outcrops. It's a quirky, independent town with the kind of traffic levels our grandparents would recognise. Up the hill, from the terrace of the Star Castle Hotel, we can see all the islands spread out around us, and handily there's a lady with a friendly labrador who gives us a pithy summary of each. St Martin's: 'Beach life.' Tresco: 'The royals love it.' St Agnes: 'Arty.' Bryher: 'Wild and natural.' Bryher is our big wildlife destination because the plan is to rent kayaks there and paddle to the uninhabited Samson island, which is a protected wildlife area. I'm banking on Samson for wildlife now that the whales didn't show up, but first we're going to explore St Agnes with Vickie from the Isles of Scilly Wildlife Trust. After a short ferry ride from St Mary's quay, we stroll around St Agnes and across a short sand spit, a tombolo, to its neighbour, Gugh. Vickie leads us up a heather-covered hillside next to an impressive stack of pink granite boulders. 'St Agnes and Gugh used to have a rat problem,' she tells us. 'There were an estimated 4,000 that had destroyed the breeding populations of both Manx shearwaters and storm petrels. We're pretty sure we've eradicated them now and the bird populations are rising fast.' She leans over a small burrow under a lichen-crusted rock, and sniffs. 'Yes, that's storm petrel – they have a distinctive aroma.' Using her phone, she plays a series of cackles and squeaks down the hole. No response. I ask Vickie about the archipelago's endemic species. The Scilly bee? 'Hasn't been seen for many years.' She chuckles. 'What makes the islands special is often what we don't have. There are no magpies or buzzards, no foxes or grey squirrels. Those absences are important.' What they don't have in terms of fauna, they certainly make up for in flora. The lanes and paths of St Agnes are a ravishing spectacle: agapanthus and honeysuckle, huge spires of echium and smooth succulent aeoniums from the Canary Islands. In this frost-free environment, all kinds of subtropical plants thrive, making the islands quite unlike anywhere else in the British Isles. Dotted among all this fecundity are artists' studios, galleries, a pub and a community hall where there's a wonderful display of shipwreck souvenirs: East India Company musket parts, skeins of silk, porcelain and perfume. Back on St Mary's, we swim and spot a seal. But if we imagine our luck is changing, it's not. Next morning we are down on the quayside, bright and early for the boat to Bryher. 'It just left,' says the ticket seller. 'We did post the change last night. Very low tide. Had to leave 15 minutes early.' 'When is the next one?' 'There isn't one.' The islands, I should have known, are run by the tides. Be warned. Without any time to think, we jump on the Tresco boat. A fellow passenger offers sympathy. 'Last week we missed the boat from St Martin's and had to spend the night there. It was great.' Sign up to The Traveller Get travel inspiration, featured trips and local tips for your next break, as well as the latest deals from Guardian Holidays after newsletter promotion I relax. She is right. The best travel adventures come unplanned. The low tide means we land at Crow Point, the southern tip of Tresco. 'Last return boat at five!' shouts the boatman. We wander towards a belt of trees, the windbreak for Tresco Abbey Garden. The eccentric owner of the islands during the mid-19th century, Augustus Smith, was determined to make the ruins of a Benedictine abbey into the finest garden in Britain. Having planted a protective belt of Monterey pine, his gardeners introduced a bewildering array of specimen plants from South Africa, Latin America and Asia: dandelions that are three and a half metres tall, cabbage trees and stately palms. Just to complete the surreal aspect, Smith added red squirrels and golden pheasants, which now thrive. Now comes the moment, the adventure decision moment. I examine the map of the island and point to the north end: 'It looks wilder up there, and there's a sea cave marked.' We set off. Tresco has two settlements: New Grimsby and Old Grimsby, both clutches of attractive stone cottages decked with flowers. Beyond is a craggy coast that encloses a barren moorland dotted with bronze age cairns and long-abandoned forts. At the north-eastern tip we discover a cave high on the cliffside. Now the low tide is in our favour. We clamber inside, using our phone torches. A ramp of boulders takes us down into the bowels of the Earth, and to our surprise, where the water begins, there is a boat, with a paddle. Behind it the water glitters, echoing away into absolute darkness. We climb in and set off. Behind us and above, the white disc of the cave entrance disappears behind a rock wall. The sound of water is amplified. After about 50 metres we come to a shingle beach. 'How cool is that?' says Maddy. 'An underground beach.' We jump out and set off deeper into the cave, which gets narrower and finally ends. On a rock, someone has placed a playing card: the joker. Later that day, having made sure we do not miss the last boat back, we meet Rafe, who runs boat trips for the Star Castle Hotel. He takes pity on us for our lack of wildlife. 'Come out on my boat tomorrow morning and we'll see what we can find.' Rafe is as good as his word. We tour St Martin's then head out for the uninhabited Eastern Isles. Rafe points out kittiwakes and fulmars, but finally we round the rock called Innisvouls and suddenly there are seals everywhere, perched on rocks like altar stones from the bronze age. 'They lie down and the tide drops,' says Rafe. 'These are Atlantic greys and the males can be huge – up to 300kg.' Impressive as the seals are, the islands are better known for birds, regularly turning up rarities. While we are there, I later discover, more acute observers have spotted American cliff swallows that have drifted across the Atlantic, various unusual shearwater species and a south polar skua. Next day is our return to Penzance, and it's perfect whale-watching weather. People are poised with binoculars and scopes, sharing tales of awesome previous sightings: the leaping humpbacks, the wild feeding frenzies of tuna, and the wake-riding dolphins. Nothing shows up. I complain, just a little, about our lack of wildlife luck. Maddy is playing with a pair of terriers. 'The thing with Wilf was he was always content with whatever happened,' she says. I lounge back on the wooden bench on the port side, enjoying the wind, sun and sound of the sea. I'm channelling the spirit of Wilf. Be happy. Whatever. It's a lovely voyage anyway. And that's how I missed the sighting of the fin whale off the starboard side. The Star Castle Hotel on St Mary's has double rooms from £249 half-board off-season to £448 in summer; singles from £146 to £244. Woodstock Ark is a secluded cabin in Cornwall, handy for departure from Penzance South Pier (sleeps two from £133 a night). The Scillonian ferry runs March to early November from £75pp. Kayak hire on Bryher £45 for a half day, from Hut 62. For further wildlife information check out the
Telegraph
a day ago
- Telegraph
The joys of an English beer garden – and my pick of the very best
On a recent Friday afternoon, the garden at Tuckers Grave, a legendary cider-focused pub in Somerset, was abuzz with human activity – and canine activity, too. A spaniel was loudly insistent that he should meet a nearby Alsatian; happily, his human companions quickly acquiesced. Before long they were chatting to the Alsatian's owners, too. When the sun shines, the action at England's best pubs moves outdoors. Not all of them have a garden, but those that do have made very good use of them recently. I spent the period from March to June touring the country, conducting last-minute research for my guide to England's 500 best pubs. The weather was superb, more often than not. Pub gardens from Newcastle to Zennor in Cornwall resounded to the hubbub of happy drinkers. There was the Bridge Inn in Topsham, where cyclists queued at a hatch for beer and sandwiches before taking a seat with a view of the delightful Clyst river; more cyclists at the Plasterers Arms in Hoylake, first to the bar when it opened at 12pm before claiming a spot in the sun outside; exuberant Geordie youth at the Free Trade Inn in Newcastle, enjoying the last rays of a glorious April weekend overlooking the Tyne; and dozens of drinkers in the garden at the Fleece, Bretforton, where the grassy outdoor space stretches endlessly away into the distance. Some outdoor spaces reflect their locality in an uncanny fashion. I'm thinking of the large yard at The Barrels in Hereford, packed with young and old on an overcast Saturday evening, more like a town square than a pub garden; or the hillside garden at The Fox and Goose in charming, quirky Hebden Bridge, accessed via a staircase inside the pub. This languid space, pockmarked with flora and patios, stretches far up the adjoining hill. When I visited recently I watched a man climb up and up, until finally he found a spot in the sunshine. A modern phenomenon – with German roots These gardens seem quintessentially English, but they haven't always played such a key role in our pub culture. They enjoyed a boost between the wars, when middle-class disapproval led to the phenomenon of the 'Improved Pub', which aimed to do away with the gin-drenched excesses of Victorian England (there was a renewed campaign in the Sixties and Seventies, too, driven in part by brewery-run competitions to find the prettiest gardens). At pubs like the now demolished Downham Tavern in South London, opened in 1930, family-friendly gardens formed a key part of the battle against overindulgence. This Presbyterian instinct has nothing to do with Bavaria, where beer comes second only to God, but the term 'beer garden' surely does. It is a direct steal from the German biergarten, and the tradition of drinking outside has deeper roots there, too. There are few pleasures in life greater than settling in under a chestnut tree at a Bavarian biergarten on a warm day. Many of the best examples are in Franconia, Bavaria's northern third, although my favourite is in Austria: the Augustiner Braustübl in Salzburg. England's beer gardens are a bit different from their Germanic cousins, though. They're less well organised, for a start, a rather on-the-nose reflection of our divergent national characters. The best often have a slightly ramshackle feel, with mismatched tables here and there, both in and out of the sunshine; people stand, pints in hand or perched precariously on window sills and walls. They can be chaotic, uproarious, a vision of Hogarthian excess – although in that regard, at least, there's a definite kinship with Munich's classic biergarten. They're lovely when quiet, too. One of the great joys is arriving on a warm afternoon to discover you have a magnificent beer garden all to yourself. This happened to me at the Ypres Castle in Rye, where the garden sits beneath Rye Castle and looks out across Romney Marsh. In that respect it's like many of the best beer gardens: comfortable and bucolic, with plenty of space and a marvellous view over the English landscape. You might get a wasp in your beer, but it doesn't seem so bad if you've got something nice to look at. By and large, I think, the best beer gardens are in the countryside – but they're no more cherished than those in our cities. The tables outside the Lord Clyde in Borough, for example, are nothing to write home about, but with the pub's gorgeous tiled exterior looming over them, they fill up fast at the end of the working day. I've found myself here on more than a few occasions. Many of us, I'm sure, had our first pub experience in a garden somewhere, enjoying a glass of pop and a packet of crisps. Perhaps that's why we enjoy them so much, or perhaps it's because, as on that sunny afternoon at Tucker's Grave, they often show us at our relaxed, sociable best – dogs as well as humans.
