April 2015 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

A Day In The Life Of A Tulip

Our own cowslips are now rivalling those in Downton Lane, and in parts are tall enough to force their way through the not yet flowering geraniums.

The long-pile erigeron welcome mat outside the patio doors is beginning to reveal its woven floral motif.

We also have more tulips opened out. In the daytime that is.

Like many sun-loving plants, tulips close up at night. None were awake early this morning, although it was likely that the pink striped yellow ones, not yet open yesterday, would reveal their inner secrets to the sun when it warmed them later.

By mid-day their peeled back protective petals presented their shy stamens to the light.

As the sun departed their corner of the garden during the afternoon, the plants gradually closed, their centres snugly enshrouded for the night.

Flo continued her avian photography.

She caught a long-tailed tit contemplating the suet balls;

her friend, the collared dove, quizzically tilted his head to her;

and an airborne robin imitated a humming bird.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious chicken and egg jalfrezi, egg fried rice, vegetable samosas and naans. The same beverages as yesterday were imbibed, except that Jackie drank sparkling water.

On The Rocks

On another sunny day, insects, particularly flies and bees, were busy in the garden, where

some hellebores are now turning to seed,

whilst the tree peonies are budding,

and the euphorbias flowering.

This afternoon Flo added two photographs of bees,

one on a daffodil,

and another on a pansy.

Whilst engaged in that, she heard the wings of a dove, turned, drew like Clint Eastwood, and got a distant shot, of which this is a very small crop:

Later Jackie drove our granddaughter and me to Milford on Sea where Flo clambered on the rocks and I hobbled along the promenade.

Reminiscent of ‘Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer’ of Nat ‘King’ Cole, ( YouTube it if you are below a certain age) the shingled beach was as crowded as we have seen it.

A young lady, legs swinging from the sea wall, arranged her hair, as Flo made her way down to the rocks at the water’s edge, where, after contemplating the waves, she sat for a while watching the spray before getting her feet wet, and slipping up the shingle slope with her customary crouching gait. She explains that stones in the wet shoes made it too painful to wear them, so she had to put them on her hands.

Flo left her soggy shoes in the car and found a more bearable barefoot route to sea-smoothed boulders further along towards the Marine restaurant. She explored these for a while and, after waiting for a young boy to finish his tightrope act, ran back along the sea wall. Like the boy, when she negotiated the narrow wooden section, she spread out her arms for balance, and concentrated a little more. Zola Budd, the South African born British Olympic athlete, who competed barefoot in the 1980s, comes to mind.

During all this time a couple basked on the concrete structure, oblivious of anything else.

This evening we dined on pork rack of ribs marinaded in barbecue sauce, with special fried rice, and green beans, followed, some time later, by Magnum ice creams,courtesy of Ian. I drank Louis de Camponac cabernet sauvignon 2014; Becky and Ian chose Echo Falls rose, and Jackie drank an alcohol free one bought by mistake. This latter error was not as disastrous as the alcohol free Cobra I once bought from Sainsbury’s. I don’t mind the lack of alcohol, but I do like it to taste a little like the real thing.

Canine Companions

A day or two before the Emsworth family joined us for Easter, whilst out walking with Scooby, Ian found a pheasant that he gave to their dog who has brought it with him. I have been very remiss in not mentioning it before, but it is probably why Eric and Scooby ignore each other in the garden,

where tulips are now blooming.

The North Breeze magnolia is now looking even more magnificent.

Jackie and I accompanied Becky and Ian on a drive to Curry’s at Christchurch where they bought a new Toshiba laptop charger. Afterwards we visited Stewart’s Garden Centre for coffee. The others also enjoyed scrumptious scones.

Before entering the store we stopped to watch the carp enjoying the sunlight on their large pool.

In the restaurant area I engaged in conversation with a very friendly couple, the gentleman of which sported a beard that the current breed of rugby players would envy.

Towards the exit we met Chica the chihuahua who shared her basket with a fox and a duck. She is thirteen years old and can’t walk very far.

Knowing how she felt I was given a head start when walking back to the car. I got there first and waited on a conveniently placed chunk of rock.

This evening the five of us dined on set meal M4 at the most friendly Family House in Totton. Jackie, Ian, and I drank Tsingtao; Becky Diet Coke; and Flo Apple Juice.It was very enjoyable.

No Contest

Yesterday’s airborne avian shadow was a jackdaw perched on a TV aerial some distance away.

As the evening sun lowered in the West, Flo continued her bird photography.

The collared dove took its turn at the feeding tray,

until its mate dislodged it.

Settling in the weeping birch it pondered a pigeon,

practiced its trapeze act,

and eventually took to the air.

A crow was poised for launching from the chimney pots,

and a male chaffinch enjoyed the last of the sunshine.

This morning a hobbled around the garden and the back drive before Jackie drove me to the GP surgery to order a repeat prescription, which, later, we collected.

I emptied the purple plastic bucket used for collecting weeds.

Along the back drive a bee took a break on an ivy leaf.

The staff of the children’s home have cleared some of their side of the North Breeze jungle, so the magnolia is more visible,

and the camellia has now bloomed above that garden’s shed.

It will not escape my readers’ attention that our granddaughter’s bird photographs are considerably better than mine. In a vain attempt to match up, I attempted to take some this afternoon. The best I could manage was this rather scathing greenfinch:

Just after lunch, Becky accompanied Jackie to Nuffield Hospital at Chandler’s Ford, where she is to have her knee surgery. She was seen exactly on time by a very courteous consultant who described exactly what he was to do. This private hospital is very well appointed, and offers good quality, free, coffee while you wait. It is contracted to the NHS. Interestingly the free newspapers provided were The Daily Mail, The Daily Telegraph, and The Times. Becky sought in vain for The Mirror, The Sun, and The Guardian.

Soon after their return, Flo dashed into the sitting room seeking the camera. ‘Eric’, she cried, as she eagerly grasped the instrument.

Now, my regular followers will be aware that I have spent weeks aiming my lens through the kitchen window unsuccessfully trying to photograph our visiting pheasant both in focus and clear of the undergrowth. Whenever I have emerged into the garden, off Eric has lumbered, squawking.

What does Flo do?

She creeps outside, and tracks her prey all round the garden. Not only does he not disappear, but he looks her in the eye. She returns after what seems an age, her facial expression being a mix of smugness and mischief.

Seemingly reluctant to show me what she has achieved, she disappears into the kitchen and, after an expectant interval, hands me my camera.

The memory card contained some thirty-odd photographs of Eric. Here are half a dozen:

Finally, for good measure, there were included images of an ostrich, a parakeet, and a penguin:

Our granddaughter had downloaded them from the internet into her iPad, then photographed her screen.

I think you’d agree, it was no contest.

This evening more of yesterday’s superb dinner, well matured, was served by our mistress chef who, along with Becky, drank Mateus rose. Ian and I imbibed San Miguel, while Flo savoured J2O.

A Game Of Peep-Bo

As I put out the bin bags at dawn this morning, the smoking fire further East down Christchurch Road revealed itself to be a blazing sun emerging to presage the splendid day we were to enjoy.

A little later, a crouching figure was seen to dart across to my desk and scamper back again. This was Flo, having risen surprisingly early to commandeer my camera for the next hour or so.

She must have got the bug yesterday for she was to produce some even more successful pictures of our garden birds.

Here is a selection of her work:

A thrush on the rooftop projected its shadow into the ether. How this shot was achieved will be revealed tomorrow, for the benefit of those who haven’t worked it out.

She captured house sparrows, both female

and male.

The collared dove had found a new perch.

Flo interrupted a jay’s breakfast, but it carried on regardless.

A female greenfinch continued with hers

while her consort launched himself from the feeder.

A blackbird ignored the spider’s web beneath it.

Starlings are notoriously greedy beasts. Alone they must wait their turn at the trough.

An inquisitive robin removed its head from the feeder, straightened up, and engaged in a game of peep-bo.

Finally a jackdaw snaffled two peanuts

and, of course, flew off at the sight of the camera.

When the Canon SX700 HS was returned to me I took a hobble down the garden and a few yards into Downton Lane.

Our honesty is now in flower,

as is the epimedium

and the skimmia at the entrance to the back drive.

The lane itself has a profusion of

primroses,

celandines,

cowslips,

daisies,

and grape hyacinths.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb chicken jalfrezi (recipe), boiled egg curry, egg fried rice (recipe), and paratas. Jackie, Ian, and I drank Kingfisher; Becky drank rose; and Flo, J2O.

Jackdaws And Chips

Yesterday, Aaron had taken a corner off the new bed to provide a wider turning circle for Jackie on the back drive. Jackie began her day by replanting those items he had had to dig up,

then executing a perfect four point turn.

After this, Peter, Ally, Becky, Ian, and Flo joined us for a breakfast of of coloured boiled eggs, toast, and croissants.

We were running out of Mr Pink’s chips left over from four nights ago. This was alarming.

You may ask why? Well, the pair of jackdaws, if not the most timid avian visitors we have, are certainly the most alert. For several days now, I had attempted to photograph them making off with these fried, but no doubt now rather soggy, titbits that Jackie has been feeding into the food tray. It is only jackdaws that have been retrieving them. Maybe the chips still glisten and are mistaken for jewels.

It has taken only the slightest movement from inside the sitting room as I reached for my camera, or rose to my feet to approach the window for the birds to fly away empty beaked. They were even aware that I was sitting motionless in a chair by the window, my arms aching as I held up my camera. My patience was ebbing fast when the photographic task was taken over by Flo, who claimed to be quicker than me.

Even our granddaughter had to be content with taking some rather good shots of a young collared dove adjusting its position on the central arbour, a cheery robin camouflaged in the shrubbery, and that once ubiquitous, but now now rather rare, specimen, a house sparrow. Perhaps, like other cockneys, this latter bird has decamped to the countryside.

Until she hit on the idea of aiming the lens through a guest bedroom window. Flo had realised that the pair of scavengers surveyed the terrain from the rooftops and, when the coast was clear, took it in turns to swoop down to collect their chips. They must have seen safe passage as a bit of a gamble.

The assembled party lunched on Jackie’s roast lamb dinner. Roast potatoes, parsnips, Yorkshire puddings, cauliflower, green beans, and carrots accompanied a leg and a shoulder of meat. What Ian, an expert on the subject, described as the best mixed fruit crumble with custard and/or cream he had ever tasted. Peter, Ally, Becky, and Jackie drank two different sweet Gallo roses. I drank Alexis Lichine cuvee exceptionelle bordeaux superior 2013. That was enough food for me for the day.

Ian, who drove his parents home soon afterwards, abstained until he returned four hours later.

Social History From The Loft

Ian, whom Becky had collected to join us yesterday, drove off early this morning to bring his father Peter and stepmother Ally to join the party in time for lunch.

Knowing full well that I would want it, Becky asked me yesterday whether I knew anyone who would like:that had been among the many items of interest Flo had found in their loft at Emsworth.

Beautifully bound, in a split slipcase, stamped with the number 37, this is a portfolio of an edition, limited to 50, remembering:

Four of the reproductions are missing. It is to be hoped that they now adorn someone’s wall.

We have No. 2 ‘Townspeople returning from the country with potatoes’

3 ‘The transfer of food from country to town was prohibited’

4 ‘Evacuation ordeal. People rescued their property by every available means’

5 ‘The seventeenth century type barge was the only means of travel’

7 ‘Lack of coal, lighting and food meant communal kitchens’

8 ‘One small stove in every house for cooking, washing and heating’

11 ‘Strange vehicles were used for transport’

12 ‘Trees disappeared during the night’

13 “Haven’t you got any food us?”

14 ‘Our food: sugar beet and bulbs’

We, in the UK, remember that we were subjected to the blitz, as we term the Second World War bombing, but, by and large, we have no knowledge of what the European occupation was like. This set of pictures is a poignant reminder of life in Holland towards the end.

Before the war Black people were rarely seen in England, and immediately afterwards, judging by the dreadful reception of the first Jamaican immigrants who came over on the ‘Windrush’, we seem to have forgotten those, such as the airmen who had fought on our side. It was the consequent ignorance that enabled the letter N to be featured as it was in another of Flo’s findings: First Alphabet and Jingle Book with pictures by Nora S. Unwin and jingles by H.S. Bennett published by The National Magazine Company Ltd. This would not be acceptable today.

Because of the date written inside the front board, Becky had thought I may have possessed one of these as a child. It was of course possible. The inscription inside this one tells us that it was given to Peter by Joy and Susan for Christmas 1946.

A certain amount of hot-bedding went on this evening, because Mat and Tess returned home this afternoon, making way for Peter and Ally. After getting to know each other we all decanted to The Royal Oak for a drink before returning to enjoy one of Jackie’s sausage casseroles, mashed potato, carrots, cauliflower and green beans. For those that had room, this was followed by Tesco’s ‘Down the Rabbit Hole cake’, in the form of the rear end of a rabbit which had benefitted from additional sultanas provided by Flo.

Only Ian had room for more alcohol, a Peroni, to accompany the meal.

Walking Sticks

Eric the pheasant, spurning the stale puffed wheat Jackie had left out for him, and preferring what the greenfinches drop, turned his back this morning.

Later in the day he returned for the scraps. Jackdaws carried off last night’s left-over chips.

After breakfast we hid some Kinder eggs for a hunt for James, due to visit at lunchtime. As is our wont, the clues were photographs, such as this one of an iron Belgian commode, used in Newark as a coal scuttle, and now for potatoes, and, temporarily, an egg.

Frances, Fiona, and Paul accompanied James, and we all enjoyed a buffet lunch which was so splendid that someone asked whose was the wedding. Once the three year old to the hang of the idea, the Easter egg hunt went down well.

Among the presents that Frances brought were a couple of walking sticks; one, a hundred years old, had belonged to the father of a former mentor of Chris’s; the other had been tailored to my brother’s size. Chris’s old friend was Nellie Brown. It was her father who had owned a fascinating illustrated history of England that had been passed to me upon his death. I don’t remember the publisher, but it had been published in instalments around the end of the nineteenth century, the black and white illustrations being reminiscent of the Illustrated London News of that period.

I now have five walking sticks. The medium one in the cluster on the right of the picture is the one I have been using recently. Jackie bought it in a mobility shop when I had the hip replacement five years ago; the shorter one is the centenarian that had belonged to Mr Brown; and the tallest, my perfect fit, had been Chris’s. The ornamental, probably African, one with a bird handle was a present from Wolf many years ago. I don’t think it is made to take any weight.. The one on the left was given to me by Norman during the dodgy hip period. I don’t think I’ve really mastered the technique, but I am improving. The essential purpose of these sticks is to aid perambulation by taking the weight for which the weakened limb is designed. It is therefore important that the length is correct. Chris and I were more or less the same height, so I was fortunate that his children bought him one called Hazel. Or maybe that was the wood from which it was fashioned.

Sometimes a stick is held to aid balance. It can make a useful pointer, or even a weapon. Soon after I had the hip replacement, I would carry one just to alert other travellers on the Underground to the fact that I wasn’t as able to swerve out of their paths as I had once been. That actually made no difference. People still rushed past. It is everyone for him or her self on London Transport. I think the ornamental or ceremonial sticks are meant to be brandished simply to indicate status, perhaps higher than that attributed to someone who needs a sturdy one for walking.

Frances and her family left late in the afternoon to visit Mum, and there was plenty of cooked meats, pies, cheeses, salads, and Tess’s cakes for the rest of us to graze on in the evening.

Gordleton Mill Hotel

Another mouse has left the suffragette group. Having noticed that a flock of sheep had strayed from Lidl, she has become Little Bo Mouse and herded them onto the mantelpiece. Before you ask, we inherited the ghastly orange colour.

Yesterday evening Jackie heard an horrific screeching coming from the far end of the garden. This morning, after overnight rain, I discovered feathers scattered over the back drive, demonstrating that a bird of prey had swooped and stripped a pigeon of its gor tex raincoat.

Being a dull, overcast, day, it was not the best to explore the garden of The Mill at Gordleton, but we were very pleased to have been introduced to this establishment by Giles and Jean, and are encouraged to visit the garden in brighter weather. It is open to the general public under the National Gardens Scheme every Monday. As we were lunching in the hotel restaurant we could, of course, have a wander around.

The restaurant is excellent, offering friendly efficient service and superb food, home, or locally, produced. Jackie and I don’t normally eat a large lunch, so we confined ourselves to a ploughman’s lunch with which I drank Ringwood’s Best. A splendid variety of three course meals and good wines would have been available.

Inside and out, the hotel is an art gallery within the grounds of an idyllic garden that has the River Avon running through. There is, as would be expected, a mill race.

Even the gents loo is tastefully appointed.

A wooden horse stands in the vestibule,

and original paintings, like ‘One Last Game’, adorn the walls.

Shelves are filled with tasteful objects,

and the centrepieces of the dining tables are metal sculptures.

After having been greeted by the rear end of a crouching female sculpture,

the building is approached by crossing a bridge over the River Avon.

During our two very rainy years the banks were flooded, washing down sand which offered three white ducks a route to the water.

The garden is scattered with sculptures, such as this blossom tree and gyroscope,

and the metal woman and dragonfly.

The Millings Chandelier, suspended over the river is viewed by humans from another bridge, and by a sculpted swan from the bank.

Close by, a dragon’s head is fixed to a tree,

and a whopping great wasp clings to another.

Through a sculpted secret garden gate,

we are led to glorious seasonal shrubs like this Magnolia Stellata.

This evening, first Becky and Flo, then Mat and Tess arrived to stay over for Easter celebrations. We all dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, mushy peas, pickled onions, and wallies followed by Tess’s moist Chocolate Reese’s brownies. We shared a bottle of Valdepenas Senorio de Canova tempranillo 2013. It would be pointless of me to attempt to detail any of the fast-moving hilarious conversation, which would be a bit like trying to keep track of modern cinema advertisements.

Now And Then

Because of my severely restricted mobility my rambling currently is confined literally to ‘[My] Own Back Yard’, and metaphorically through my photographic archives.

This morning I ambled along the back drive taking a few more shots of the North Breeze jungle next door.

This chair rests behind the hedge we have pruned,

revealing the dilapidated fence,

and the abandoned garden itself.

A magnificent magnolia, now ensnared by brambles, is a further example of how splendid the neighbouring plot once was.

Jackie’s new bed has brightened the South West corner of ours.

This morning Jackie drove us on a round trip, first to Lidl to buy a pair of garden chairs and trailing geraniums; then to Stewarts in Christchurch for some edging sheers and digitalis plants; and finally to Molly’s Den for four more Stella glasses, two of which she had bought some days ago. The walking stick was required to take me round the stores.

This afternoon I rambled in the slide collection to the first garden we shared together, and to a photoshoot from August 1972 in the small London plot of 76 Amity Grove.

I scanned eighteen photographs. These are a selection from them.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s liver, bacon, and sausage casserole; mashed potato, cauliflower, carrots, and cabbage; followed by apricot and prune crumble and custard. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Lussac Saint-Emilion.