August 2015 – derrickjknight

Slightly Better Than Expected

The Canonical Hours are the seven prayer times in the day developed by the Roman Catholic Church. Ritualised offices are said, at three hourly intervals, in private or in groups. In her novel ‘China Court’, which I finished reading today, Rumer Godden has chosen to give each of her seven chapters a name of one of these hours.

Mediaeval books of hours offered hand-written and -illustrated devotional works. They are the most common manuscript works of the period. Each of Godden’s chapters is headed by quotations from two of these.

James Joyce spans just twenty four hours in his rather more lengthy ‘Ulysses’, but Rumer Godden’s tale, a saga of four generations of occupants of ‘China Court’, covers a much greater time span. So why has she chosen to present her work in this way? That, I cannot tell you, for it would reveal too much. It is well worth reading the book to find out.

There is, of course, much more to relish in the novel. Slipping seamlessly backwards and forwards through the years, we learn about those who have lived in ‘China Court’. Opening with the death of a key figure, holding all the tapestry together, it is the story of the house, but far more, of those who have lived in it. We are treated to the author’s trademark beautiful, descriptive, writing and her insightful characterisation. An example, which fits with the time theme, is how seasonable changes in the garden are detailed. Close attention has to be paid to the narrative, for so seamless are her time switches that they are unannounced, so you suddenly find yourself transplanted into the lives of other generations. If, like me, you read in bed, it is not advisable to tackle this one when you are sleepy.

Despite rain falling steadily all morning, Shelley and Ron persevered with their planned barbecue. By mid-afternoon the rain had cleared and the event continued, to be enjoyed by Jackie and me and most of the usual guests. Convivial conversation ensued. The delicious fare was similar to that provided on 9th. I drank Doom Bar and Jackie drank Carlsberg.

Traditionally, English Bank Holiday events are ruined by rain. This one wasn’t, as the weather was slightly better than expected.

Pops

Last night Becky forwarded us three photographs entitled Pops, taken by Tess. They are of Poppy sleeping on her Pop’s chest. On waking she seems quite contented. Remaining asleep, so does Mat.

These low resolution images had been e-mailed twice; from Tess to Becky, and from Becky to me. They were consequently heavily pixellated. I chose to de-noise the images at the expense of definition. Naturally, a 6″ x 4″ print of the last one was required to be made for Grannie’s handbag.

I then updated ‘My Branch Of The Family Tree’ with an amended version of Judith’s chart.

Jackie cut the grass today, and Aaron completed his refurbishment of The Brick Path.

Among the new blooms is a cluster of white gladioli.

This evening we dined on pizza and Becky’s pasta bake followed by lemon, and jam, tarts. My choice of beverage was Ringwood’s Boondoggle; Jackie’s was Hoegaarden.

The Official Welcome

It is clear that William Shakespeare was an Englishman if only because of his song, ‘When That I Was And a Little Tiny Boy’ from ‘Twelfth Night’, the refrain of which is: ‘For the rain it raineth every day’. He knew our weather.

Becky and Ian returned home this afternoon, managing safely to negotiate the still disrupted A27.

Afterwards I scanned more slides from Barbados, March 2004.

Sam successfully brings his boat into dock.

He sits aboard for a while, preparing himself for his first touch of land for two months.

Then comes the official welcome of Ken Crutchlow, Secretary of the Ocean Rowing Society, filmed by Dixie,

Before doing anything else Sam was required to report to border control. This involved walking along a narrow quayside to present his passport to a man in a little office. As he was rather wobbly, he needed my assistance to reach this point. It was, of course, a great privilege to be selected to provide such support.

After this we lined up for group photographs. Here Jessica, Louisa, and I join Sam and Ken.

Before repairing to the bar, Sam caught up with me, his mother and his sister.

Here he is in the beach bar.

Each evening for the rest of our stay, we began with potent rum punches in the main dining area upstairs. After a few of these, Ken would always cry: ‘Samson Knight. Who named that boy?’

This evening there was plenty of last night’s Spice of India takeaway left over to feed Jackie and me. I finished the cabernet sauvignon, and Jackie abstained.

Crossing The Line

Our new granddaughter’s name is Poppy, which we rather like.

Although the weather was warmer and sunnier today, Becky’s photograph of Scooby sunning himself in my chair, illustrated the general lack-lustre mood of the still recovering party.

It was therefore another good day for scanning colour slides from May 2004, and incidentally reducing the tension with which readers were left by the cliffhanging ending of yesterday’s post. That first rate storyteller Bruce Goodman ( Weave a Web ), for example, was forced to speculate about whether Sam ‘made it’, or was foiled at the last minute.

Sam continued along the western shore of Barbados, on his route to the finishing line,

which was an imaginary one stretching from port and starboard markers.

Of the reception committee Chris wears a blue shirt; Fiona a white T-shirt and black trousers; Jessica, a blue and white sun dress; Louisa, a dark top and grey mini skirt; and Frances waves the flags. Dixie records a video for the Ocean Rowing Society.

Having crossed the line Sam aims for the Port St Charles dock into which he is required to manoevre his boat. I imagine this must be rather like coming off motorway and finding a berth in a municipal car park.

This afternoon, Helen and Bill visited with a bottle of prosecco, with which to celebrate Poppy’s birth, and a sweet little outfit for us to take when we make her acquaintance.

For our evening meal Spice of India delivered another excellent takeaway. I drank Lion’s Gate cabernet sauvignon shiraz 2014. As for the others, Jackie says ‘we’ll all drink whatever we like. It’s none of your nosey business’. Naturally this was received in the jocular spirit in which it was intended. Given that everyone knows what she drinks, I don’t think that really matters.

Landfall In Sight

Today’s weather was slightly less wet than yesterday. Scanning was still in order, so I returned to my colour slides from May 2004 in Barbados.

Two days ago, we left Sam coming into sight of the watchers on the yacht. He was soon to experience his first land for 59 days on the wide, dark, deep, Atlantic Ocean. Jessica, Louisa, Chris, Frances, Fiona, and I were privileged to be there to share the moments.

We watched him make his way from the calmer, but still choppy, Caribbean Sea to the more sheltered Western side of Barbados.

He paused to film us,

before taking in the surrounding buildings and vegetation, and navigating these pier struts.

Louisa, Jessica, and Dixie, were making their own record.

Louisa seems to have spotted something overhead.

Sam continues on his way,

encouraged by local residents,

until he nears the windsock which marks the finish line.

Excitement mounted.

Meanwhile, on 27th August 2015, we enjoyed Jackie’s scrumptious cottage pie, Becky’s pasta bake, and crisp carrots, with which Ian drank San Miguel; Jackie, Hoegaarden; and Becky and I finished the Teroldego Rotaliano.

A New Granddaughter

Yesterday evening Tess gave birth to an, as yet, unnamed baby girl. All is well, and she is a second shared grandchild for Jackie and me. Ever the cryptic wit, Mat, when giving Becky the news, said ‘Mum’s got 2, Dad’s got 7’. He left her to provide the solution: ‘a girl’. My other two grandchildren are a young man and a boy.

There are two reasons that we cannot visit them immediately, one quite bizarre. The first is that I am probably now the only reasonably germ-free member of the party.

Five days ago, at the Shoreham Air Show, a plane failed to come out of a downward loop, and, exploding, crashed onto the busy A27 road which is our route into East Sussex. Continuous torrential rain has hampered the clearance of the wreckage and discovery of charred bodies of cyclists and motorists. The route therefore remains closed.

The first of the following pictures was my view through the patio window at around 11.30 this morning; the other three Becky shot of her car being directly pounded by the rain and sprayed with gutter-silt by passing vehicles.

The accident itself was unusual enough, but the extent of the rain, shown by these photographs show just what is hampering investigators, and sending holidaymakers home in droves this week. At Mr Pink’s yesterday evening, a family incongruously clad in summer clothes, were buying fish and chips for sustenance on their way back home to Stockport, 250 miles away. They had given up.

The perversity of our weather was demonstrated three hours later, when the skies cleared, and the sun emerged.

Small White butterflies frolicked among the bidens.

In the ten days I have remained indoors the ginger lilies have bloomed,

and the well-watered apples are ripening.

This evening, Becky produced a delicious deep 15″ ham and vegetable pasta bake for our dinner.

Four filled dinner plates,

didn’t make much of a hole in it.

Ian drank San Miguel; Jackie, Hoegaarden; and Becky and I, Teroldego Rotaliano riserva 2011.

Eyes Peeled

As I attempted, last night, to photograph an interesting moth in the Print Room, the creature flew off. This afternoon, Becky produced this image. When I confessed my failure, a certain amount of hilarity ensued. There is, you see, a family myth that whenever I attempt to photograph anything possessing wings, it disappears.

Once more the rain hammered down all day. I retreated to my slide files and scanned more of those from the May 2004 Barbados trip.

There was great excitement when the day of Sam’s arrival dawned. Jessica, Louisa, Chris, Frances, Fiona, and I boarded the splendid yacht belonging to Stein and Diana. After 59 days alone at sea, our son was coming in ahead of the field. all he had to do was hug the northern tip of Barbados, not too tightly, so he neither crashed on the rocks, nor sped out to Cuba on the prevailing current. Not as simple as it sounds.

As we reached the open waters of the Caribbean Sea, Jessica, Louisa, and Diana dived overboard for an invigorating swim. Although bright blue and bracing, I am told the water was somewhat colder than it looked.

Soon, Stein scaled his rigging and took up the role of advance scout, as he scanned the horizon for the small red speck that would be Sam’s boat, Pacific Pete.

Suddenly a sighting was announced, and, eyes peeled, we all peered into the distance. This, as it emerged, is what we saw. Sam is in each picture. Getting nearer all the time.

Could the heightened emotions on our boat possibly have matched those of our son?

As he approached, only the long camera lens could discern details which escaped the naked eye.

Eventually, as Sam reached the island, alongside which he had more rowing to do to arrive at the quay at Port St Charles, we could greet each other across the waves.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, mushy peas, pickled onions, and gherkins. Becky and I finished the white Cotes du Rhone, Ian drank San miguel, and Jackie drank Hoegaarden.

Around The Island

On yet another rain-slashed August day, I spared a thought for those holidaymakers who had come to the forest and the seaside for their long-awaited summer break. The last ten days hasn’t bothered me, because my chest infection has kept me indoors anyway, but they can’t have had much fun.

Needless to say this was another day for scanning colour slides, this time from Barbados in May 2004. If nothing else they remind me of sunshine. This set of photographs was made a day or two before Sam was expected to reach the island, having rowed The Atlantic solo from the Canaries.

Both Jackie and I think we ought to recognise this plant, but we don’t. Fortunately Mary Tang has identified it as frangipani.

Bougainvillea brightens every landscape.

A golden sunset is almost a cliche. Not in Port St Charles.

Jessica watches as Louisa shows her photographs to another member of the waiting group.

Birds like the Yellow breasted Sunbury,

and the Barbados Bullfinch, the only indigenous species, which is found nowhere else, take advantage of nature’s camouflage,

as does the land crab.

The grackle

and the sanderling don’t seem to need it.

This gentleman demonstrates the method of releasing milk from a coconut.

Just before the expected arrival time even the previously bright blue Caribbean Sea darkened,

and a rainbow arced over Port St Charles.

I was regularly in touch with Radio Nottingham to deliver live updates from my mobile phone. That night, I opened our balcony doors so that listeners could hear the deafening waves crashing in from the Atlantic.

This evening we dined on barbecue pork ribs, savoury rice, and green beans. Jam tart and custard was to follow. Ian drank Heritage de Calvet cotes du Rhone 2014; Becky drank lime cordial; Jackie, sparkling water; and I, another glass of the pinot noir.

An International Tennis Match

Our 1983 holiday with The Vachettes, in Fontaine, France, has been featured before. The batch of black and white negatives I identified and scanned today was of a tennis match between Arnoux, the husband of Marie-Helene Vachette, and my son Michael. I don’t remember the outcome, although I believe they were evenly matched.

Michael had youth on his side,

but, in putting him under pressure his French opponent demonstrated a certain skill.

Sam, looking hopeful here, probably got a game in as well.

With all four of us in varying stages of chest infections, there had been plenty of food left over from the Spice of India takeaway, to serve as our meal this evening. I drank another glass of the pinot noir; Becky chose rosé, and Ian drank cider.

Up West

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED

This morning I scanned another dozen colour slides from my Streets of London series. These are from May 2005.

Sussex Place W2 leads into Hyde Park Gardens Mews where these two young girls enjoy the company of a small pony. Ross Nye and Hyde Park Stables are two nearby riding schools, so such scenes are commonplace in this street just minutes from the park.

Oxford Street W1 is a famous shopping street. Accessorize is part of the Monsoon Accessorize empire started in London in 1973 by Peter Simon, a market-stall trader. As suggested by its name this outlet specialises in accessories considered to blend well with the feminine styles that remain popular to this day.

Jessica and Ann are both wearing Monsoon garments in this photograph produced in France in September 1982. I’m not sure about Sam.

There are probably not many periods when there are no maintenance works going on along the street. Here the pavement is receiving attention. The shop on this corner is The Body Shop, like many others, no longer British.

According to Wikipedia: ‘The Body Shop International plc, trading as The Body Shop, is a British cosmetics, skin care and perfume company that was founded in 1976 by Dame Anita Roddick. It currently has a range of 1,000 products which it sells in 3,000 franchised stores internationally in 66 countries.^[2] The company is based in Littlehampton, West Sussex.

The company had been owned by the French cosmetics company L’Oréal between 2006 and 2017. In June 2017, L’Oréal agreed to sell the company to the Brazilian cosmetics company Natura for £880 million, subject to Brazilian and US regulatory approval.^[3]’

A less ambitious trader sells fruit at the corner with Woodstock Street.

Bill Kenwright’s revival of the musical pictured showing at the New London Theatre at the corner of Parker Street and Drury Lane ran for two and a half years from 2003-2005.

Wikipedia tells us that ‘The modern theatre’ completed in 1973, ‘is built on the site of previous taverns and music hall theatres, where a place of entertainment has been located since Elizabethan times. Nell Gwynn was associated with the tavern, which became known as the Great Mogul by the end of the 17th century, and presented entertainments in an adjoining hall, including “glee clubs” and “sing-songs”. The Mogul Saloon was built on the site in 1847, which was sometimes known as the “Turkish Saloon or the “Mogul Music Hall.” In 1851, it became the Middlesex Music Hall, known as The Old Mo. This in turn was rebuilt as the New Middlesex Theatre of Varieties, in 1911 by Frank Matcham for Oswald Stoll.^[1]

In 1919, the theatre was sold to George Grossmith, Jr. and Edward Laurillard, refurbished and reopened as the Winter Garden Theatre.’

Mary Poppins ran from December 2004 to January 2008 at The Prince Edward Theatre on the corner of Old Compton Street and Garrick Street W1.

In December 1967 and January 1968, Shelton Street, just outside Old Brewer’s Yard, was one of the locations for the Doctor Who series ‘Web of Fear’.

This window in Earlham Street, Seven Dials, has the look of a fairground hall of mirrors.

It was clearly break time in Wardour Mews W1;

people chose to eat in at the Café Roma in D’Arblay Street. Gypsy Stables, the tattoo parlour at 37 Berwick Street, with its entrance on D’Arblay Street, must have been in the vanguard of our contemporary passion for permanent pellicular pigmentation.

www.eyestorm.com is an on-line art dealer selling a wide range of works. Having moved from Pollen Street, its physical gallery is now in Clerkenwell Road, EC1.

Scattered throughout London remain a number of small green huts. They are cabmen’s shelters introduced in 1875 to offer drivers of horse drawn hackney carriages an alternative to pubs in an effort to ensure they would not be drunk in charge. Captain George Armstrong, editor of The Globe newspaper, enlisted the help of the 7th Earl of Shaftesbury and several other philanthropists in order to form the Cabmen’s Shelter Fund which provided these. Today’s black cab drivers can still avail themselves of them. This one, in Warwick Avenue, W9, is in Little Venice, near my former counselling room.

“Up West” is a phrase indicating a trip to the West End of London, which is where most of today’s streets are located.

Paniza 2000 is an extremely good Spanish wine that was one of the contents of Ian’s Christmas case. It was an excellent accompaniment to Jackie’s lamb jalfrezi and onion rice with Tesco’s pakoras, onion bahjis, and vegetable samosas. The Culinary Queen was content with her customary Hoegaarden.