September 2015 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

Taking Charge

Jackie drove me to and from New Milton today for me to lunch with Norman at Tas in The Cut.

The Cut, forming part of the B300 has perforce become a main thoroughfare linking Waterloo and Blackfriars Roads, roughly parallel with Waterloo East Station. Far too narrow for its current usage, this road is severely congested at the best of times. As I walked along it in the direction of the restaurant, I became aware that all traffic was at a complete standstill. A car horn cacophony rose to a crescendo. Perhaps the loudest, more like a fog-horn, emanated from the longest articulated lorry I have ever seen.

At the corner of the unfortunately named Short Street was not a good place for this vehicle to have become stuck. There was no way round the corner until a small white van parked in front of the cab was moved. The fog horn only succeeded in drawing the proprietor of the tapas bar to his doorway. No transport could move in either direction along The Cut. Passers by passed on by. Drivers of both streams of private cars, taxis, and delivery vans turned off their engines and sat and waited.

I told the lorry driver that I would ask the restaurateur, who carried a mobile phone, to phone the police to have the van removed. This man must have had contacts with local police, but was not prepared to do it. He said the driver should do it. Acting as a go-between by now, I conveyed this to the driver. English was not his first language, but he asked me if I could move the traffic, so he could reverse and go by a different route which I was able to give him.

Suddenly feeling like Oliver Hardy, I realised I’d got myself into a fine mess. Nevertheless, I said I could move the traffic.

The solution was clear. The small car immediately behind the lorry had to get round it. The van behind the small car had to stay where it was, leaving the lorry room to reverse.

On the opposite side of the road the taxi at the head of the queue needed to make room for the moving car. This meant reversing into the vacant lane on the left of the picture above. The taxi driver wasn’t prepared to do it. The stalemate continued for what seemed an age, until the taxi mounted the populated pavement and continued on his way. I managed to get the van behind that to stay put so the small car could get round. As I turned to tell the first car he could move off, another private car passed the van and filled the space. I got him out of the way by suggesting he, too, mounted the pavement.

Well, someone had to take charge.

This gave the lorry driver the room he needed. I have to take my hat off to the man for manoeuvring that vehicle in any conditions at all, let alone this one.

Norman and I enjoyed lunch at Tas, an Anatolian restaurant. My choices were calamari and mushroom starters, chicken casserole, and baklava, accompanied by the house red wine, and finally Turkish coffee, without the sugar.

Having a little extra time, I wandered around these little Victorian streets and came across one that reminded me of Mary Tang of Life Is But This , a blog I can warmly recommend.

In a very small plot in Sydney, Mary grows a veritable potted arboretum.

I wondered what she would think of Isabella Street. This is full of restaurants, runs alongside railway arches, and is lined on both sides with huge tubs of trees.

What Would You Save?

Using mostly out-of-focus prints ranging from 12cm x 7cm to 8cm x 10cm in size, I aimed today to produce the rest of the A4 prints of the wedding of the parents of Ron and his sister Jackie, in Highcliffe on 15th September 1945. The originals could not be removed from the septuagenarian album, so I had to scan them in situ, balancing one side of the volume on the handle of a conveniently placed hole punch. Scanning a page at a time meant that there were two or three to be copied at once. I then had to duplicate the pages and crop one photo at a time. The resultant images vary somewhat in quality, but I am reasonably pleased with them.

Here are the final half dozen:

An unknown photographer did well to make this image of the ceremony using the available light inside St Mark’s Church, Highcliffe. I left this one alone, feeling that the creases accompanied the shafts of sunlight in a rather charming manner.

I imagine Captain Raymond Salinger is here accompanied by his best man. The photographer had clearly developed a list. I straightened to picture as much as I could without shaving the gentleman on our right. Daphne’s parents were the licensees of The Walkford which was closed to the public for the reception.

As the bride and groom leave the church, a Wren unwittingly steals the picture, which I would have been pleased to have taken.

Group photos in the garden of The Walkford perhaps caused one gentleman to be impatient

for Daphne and Ray to lead the way into the reception.

A conversation piece is often the question: ‘what would you save if your house was burning down’. Very often the answer is ‘photographs’.

Had Mr and Mrs Salinger not saved their wedding album when, some twenty years later, their house burnt to the ground with most of its contents, this post would not have been possible. Not that that would have entered their heads. Or mine.

After this continuation of a task begun yesterday, I all but completed another. This was incinerating branches and clippings. Heaps of leaves remain for another session.

Having spent the day on garden maintenance, Jackie produced her famous chicken jalfrezi (recipe) with mushroom rice for this evening’s dinner. She drank Hoegaarden and I quaffed more of the cabernet sauvignon.

Make Love, Not War

Now that our garden possesses better flooring than that inside the house, we cannot light bonfires in overflowing, legless, rusty, wheelbarrows any more. On another gloriously sunny morning we therefore went on a galvanised garden incinerator search. Beginning with Otter nurseries we performed a local tour, ending up where we had started. The bin we had been shown earlier had just been sold. The only alternative one was being used to display other goods because it had no lid. The assistant had obviously forgiven us for spurning her earlier offer, because she went hunting and found a lid. This evening, we tried out the pyre, which produced an intense, contained, heat.

Furry bees are stocking up for winter.

Behind Jackie’s new owl they scour the sedums,

as the sun casts its light across the garden.

Weeding of the paths has to be done with a certain amount of circumspection if one wishes to preserve self-seeded violas.

On 15th September 1945, one month after VJ day, the date that signalled the final conclusion of the Second World War, escorts of uniformed Wrens and soldiers lined up at the wedding of Miss Daphne V. Mitchell, Wren, with Captain Raymond J. Salinger, R.E.M.E. This took place at St Mark’s Church, Highcliffe, after which guests were invited to a reception at The Walkford Hotel. Throughout the globe, brides and grooms at that time must truly have felt they had been given a licence to make love, not war.

Seventy years on, Daphne and Ray, who still live in Walkford, are about to celebrate their platinum anniversary.

This was the event celebrated in the album from which their son Ron has asked me to produce a selection of 10″ x 8″ prints. Because most of the photographs are small, and all need quite a lot of retouching in the scanning, I began with just two today.

This evening we dined on chicken Kiev, boiled new potatoes and cauliflower, and a melange of peppers, mushrooms, onions, and sun-dried tomatoes fried in olive oil. Custard tarts were to follow. I drank Louis de Companac cabernet sauvignon 2014.

A Burst Of Summer

Mike, the Perfect Plastering and Plumbing man who came this morning to replace our leaking outside taps, not only did a very good job with them, but also turned out to be an Apple user, and gave me advice subsequently confirmed by the iMac adviser.

The news about the iPhoto disaster, like the curate’s egg, is good in parts. When the latest edition of the Yosemite operating system was installed, iPhoto was superseded by Photos. I didn’t use that because I was reluctant to change from the application with which I was familiar. However, without my realising it, all my photographic work had been automatically copied into Photos. Thereafter I had happily continued to use iPhoto, but there was no further entry to Photos. That, I should have been doing myself.

There is no way of recovering the deleted iPhoto files. The last images entered into Photos were therefore inserted on the updating day in May this year. All photographic work carried out between then and yesterday has been lost.

Thankfully, everything posted on WordPress remains on the blog, so it could have been worse.

Since the end of July I have been unable to use e-mail on the iMac. Whilst I had Apple Care on the phone, I asked Leonel, the excellent adviser, to sort that out for me. He did.

So, it wasn’t all bad.

As so often in September, we are experiencing a late burst of warm and sunny weather, called ‘an Indian summer’.

The benefits are seen in the rose garden,

where New Dawn is now blooming.

Paths, such as the Pergola one, are still surrounded by lush plants.

The air fluttered with Small White butterflies, seemingly auditioning for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic, ‘The Birds’.

A small insect, possibly an ant, clung to tiny bidens.

We have several clusters of light, almost chocolate-coloured red hot pokers.

When I had finished the lengthy phone call I helped Jackie finish bagging up the rubble left over from Aaron’s brickwork, and spreading the last bit of gravel. After lunch we transported the rubble to Efford recycling centre. As I prepared to enter the car, the Head Gardener politely sent me back inside for my wallet. Naturally, she had no wish to visit the municipal dump without investigating the sales area. We came away with two more mirrors, and two more garden chairs.

As usual yesterday’s set meal for three from Hordle Chinese Take Away provided plenty left over for our dinner tonight. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the shiraz.

Cream Tea Crawl

On 15th September, Ron’s parents will have been married for 70 years. This morning, he brought me their wedding album, from which he has given me the honour of making some prints for a commemorative book he is compiling. So keen was I to show him how I would go about it that I scanned one to begin with.

In the process I managed to delete iPhoto and everything in it, including all the photographs I have worked on over the years. This threw me into something of a panic.

Fortunately Elizabeth managed to help me to open up a new iPhoto file, and learned from Google that it would be possible to recover what I have lost. This would require a phone call to Apple tomorrow, but it gave me peace of mind to enjoy the rest of the day and the facility to post today’s photographs.

In the meantime, Aaron finished his work on paving and gravelling the garden, when he covered the concrete surface at the southern end with shingle.

The exquisite, tiny, little rose, Flower Power, is living up to its name.

This was a perfectly splendid, sunny, day, so when the ladies fancied a cream tea we began with a trip to Gordleton Mill Hotel, where the catering is superb, and where we knew Elizabeth would enjoy the sculpture garden which has already featured in a few of my posts.

Unfortunately they no longer serve cream teas, but were happy to give us coffee on the lawn, within nostrils’ reach of the kitchen extractor emitting appetisingly tempting aromas of Sunday roast dinners, reminiscent of supermarkets wafting the smell of baking bread throughout the stores.

Sun played on the River Avon rippling beneath the white bridge over which it is necessary to walk to reach the hotel.

Ducks were in their element.

I have photographed most of the sculptures on previous occasions, but

this horse made from bicycle parts is new.

Elizabeth was intrigued by it too, especially as she thought nephew Adam would like it.

I have not noticed the dancing hares before (I am indebted to our friend, Barrie Haynes, for pointing out that the hares are boxing, as is, of course, their wont.)

The garden offers many different outlooks. Elizabeth and Jackie adorn this one.

The eucalyptus is beginning to shed its leaves.

Taking a break on a chair, roomy enough for them to share, Jackie and Elizabeth found their feet could not reach the ground.

For those who may not be familiar with the term, a pub crawl is a trip from hostelry to hostelry in search of the perfect pint, or whatever else takes your fancy.

The craving for cream teas remaining unsatisfied, we visited Braxton Gardens tea rooms where Elizabeth and Jackie enjoyed their searched-for treat, consisting of scones, clotted cream, jam, tea, and the attention of wasps who indulged in their own crawl into the unfinished jampots.

After this, we drove via Keyhaven and past the salt marsh and around Hurst Spit to Sturt Pond before returning home.

On the marsh at low tide, turnstones were demonstrating why they are so named.

Silhouetted against the lowering sun, a photographer positioned his subjects

then took the shot.

Before Elizabeth returned home to West End, we enjoyed a Hordle Chinese Take Away meal with which she and I drank Caviller del Diable reserva shiraz 2013. Unfortunately Jackie was out of Hoegaarden.

Singapore Prints

This morning we drove Elizabeth to The Coastal Gallery in Lymington, where we admired good art works at, for us, prohibitive prices. On our return, my sister and I completed the task of printing Mr. Boyle’s black and white negatives from 1950s Singapore for Frances.

Here Patricia enjoys the swimming pool,

and in the garden with a local friend.

The artistic photographer pictured Frances gazing out to sea.

Perhaps mother and daughters are loading this van, or maybe making a purchase.

Here the sisters’ father sits reading.

He photographed them together,

and separately Frances,

Catherine,

and Patricia.

Danni and Andy joined us for lunch, after which we all drove to Barton on Sea, where the threatening clouds did not drop their precipitation, as they were penetrated by Jesus beams.

The young couple sat a bit closer to the edge of the clifftop than would have suited me. We ambled down to the shore so that Danni could dip her toes in the water.

Back at home we played Scrabble, until it was time for us all to dine at The Smugglers Inn at Milford on Sea. The service was friendly and efficient, the ambience convivial, and the food excellent. My choice was beef and horseradish pie, new potatoes and vegetables. I drank Doom Bar. None of us had room for a sweet.

The Stave

It all began with the lack of a shower screen in the guest bathroom.

Regular readers may remember that the shower above the bath hung flaccidly off the wall when we arrived at the house. The Lady Plumber fixed it proudly in place, but there was nothing to keep the water from ricocheting off bodies and splashing into the room. Last week we ordered a screen from City Plumbing Supplies and went to collect it today. This was after we had first paid a visit to Gallo Ceramics to order replacement tiles. Mike, who was to fit the screen, advised retiling to ensure adequate waterproofing. He had also suggested a panel to replace the dodgy DIY wooden strips that were currently in place.

David, at City Plumbing, helpfully carried the screen to our Modus. It rapidly became apparent that with both Elizabeth and me in the car there was no way the screen was going in too. This meant Jackie had to take us home first, then return to collect the package. David carried the screen back inside.

We had chosen the side and end panels that we required. Then I had a thought. Suppose we bought a new bath to go with the panels? How much more would that cost? I left the ladies in the car and returned to discuss this with David. Eventually it seemed worth opting for a new bath with its own panels. But we weren’t sure that the standard fittings would fit into our available space.

Back at home I double-checked our measurements, and gave Jackie my card, so that, if the bath would fit, she could pay for it.

Off she went back to City Plumbers. It was still difficult to fit the shower screen into the car, but David did manage it.

Soon afterwards I received a call from Jackie. They didn’t have a bath that would fit. Except for one known as a Pee bath (named I assume for its shape, rather than its potential use) This was especially designed to carry a shower, and came with its own, shaped, screen. It was more expensive, but I would receive a full refund on the screen I had already bought. ‘Go for it’, I advised, and thought that would be that.

Jackie came home for lunch and informed me that I was going back with her this afternoon. This was because we would also require new taps and she wasn’t going to choose them on her own. I certainly wouldn’t have minded if she had. However, back we all travelled. We could all fit into the car because we were not needing to make room for the shower screen. We eventually placed the order for materials which will be delivered nest Tuesday.

After this we paid a visit to Molly’s Den where Jackie bought a metal owl for the garden and a hand-knitted jacket for Poppy. I was ready to leave before the others were, so took myself off to the car to wait for them. As I reached our vehicle I heard, high above, a melodious chorus.

Looking up, I spotted a stave stretching across the sky. Crotchets and quavers were clustered upon it. Being unable to read music, I can only assume that the hidden voices were trilling the correct tune.

The garden has received a considerable amount of rain in recent weeks. This has had the benefit of promoting growth, but also giving it a battering and sending some buds mouldy.

Nevertheless

the Japanese anemones are lending their usual autumnal radiance to the beds.

Roses are flourishing. Of those newly flowering are:

Shropshire Lad, presumably named after A.E. Houseman’s classic autobiographical poem,

and Crown Princess Margareta.

Crown Princess Margareta of Sweden, a granddaughter of Queen Victoria, was an accomplished landscape gardener who, together with the Crown Prince (later, King Gustavus VI Adolfus of Sweden), created the famous Swedish Summer Palace of Sofiero in Helsingborg.

During World War I in neutral Sweden, Margareta organized supply drives and acted as a go-between for her relatives whose Allied and Axis countries were divided by the war.

An infection following surgery whilst she was pregnant with her sixth child, who did not survive, sadly ended her life at the age of 38.

Perceptive readers will understand why Jackie termed her new dish this evening toddler tandoori. This was served with savoury rice, onion bahjis, parathas, and salad.

Preparation of toddler tandoori is as follows:

Take tender chicken breasts, which you marinade in the fridge overnight in low fat yoghurt and a mix of tandoori spices found in Lidl, at least. Skin and score the chicken; mix the yoghurt and spices together and plaster them over the chicken. Thighs work equally well.

Bake them in the oven with a little oil, gas mark 2 or 150 electric, for about an hour.

That’s it.

With this Jackie drank Pays d’Oc sauvignon blanc 2014, and Elizabeth and I consumed ValdeVista merlot 2012.

Singapore ’50s Ex-Pats

Elizabeth joined us this afternoon for a few days. She brought us a Poppy for the garden.

Our sister-in-law Frances’s father was an excellent photographer. I was therefore very pleased when Elizabeth also brought a 7 x 5 cm. packet of medium format black and white negatives from the 1950s. The envelope bears the stamp of Lim Photo Studio, 235 East Coast Road, Singapore. My sister came with a joint project for us. This was to produce a set of prints of family photographs taken during the years in Singapore. We scanned 30 images today, and will make the prints tomorrow. Here are a few:

From left to right, this family portrait features Frances’s Mum, sisters Patricia and Catherine, and Frances herself,

who here stands alone, perhaps in their garden.

Frances and Patricia enjoy the swimming pool recognised by Elizabeth’s friend Paul, who also grew up in Singapore,

and whose father also owned a similar Vauxhall car, here seen under its corrugated iron shelter.

Perhaps the family travelled on one of these rickshaw bikes,

or shopped here, where Mrs. Boyle, Frances’s Mum, is reflected in the windows.

Socks and sandals worn by her husband, were clearly quite acceptable at the time.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome chilli con carne (recipe) and pilau rice with green beans. Elizabeth and I drank more of the cotes du Rhone.

Meeting Poppy

Jackie and I began the day with a trip to New Milton to order some gravel for the garden from Milford Sand and Gravel. Afterwards we set off for Upper Dicker in East Sussex. We were some way past Lymington before I realised I had left my camera at home. Given that we were going to meet our new granddaughter for the the first time, that was rather unfortunate. Back home we went for the implement. Then off we drove again.

At Chichester we stopped to visit Hansford’s mens outfitters to buy me some trousers and Mothercare for baby clothes.

We then spent a very enjoyable afternoon with Tess and little Poppy.

Naturally we took it in turns to hold our little girl

who, after a feed spent a contented hour on my chest.

After Mat returned home from work, we toasted Poppy with champagne and Tess ordered the delivery of an enjoyable Indian takeaway. My choice was naga lamb, special fried rice, an onion bahji, and a paratha.

Jackie then drove us home.

Sir Clive Woodward In Holetown

We shared an ironing project this morning. This had become rather pressing because we hadn’t done any for the last three weeks.

This afternoon I continued scanning the colour slides from the Barbados trip of May 2004.

Incidentally, one Barbados story celebrating Sam’s epic row is told in ‘Crossword Setters’ Pseudonyms’.

We were staying at the friendly and hospitable Sugar Cane Club, nestling on palm-girt hills above the sea.

the lush hotel grounds

were invaded each evening by thieving green monkeys,

while enormous cane toads lurked in the grasses.

Soon after Sam’s arrival, he, Dixie, and I took a bus to Holetown, where, in a crowded bar we watched, on an overhead screen, a rugby match between England and Wales. I think this must have been a recording of that year’s March Six Nations match which was won by England 31 – 21.

Sir Clive Woodward, England’s knighted coach, appeared on the wavering screen.

Whilst I was writing this post, our Broadband connection disappeared. Three hours were then occupied waiting to be answered, in conversations with two women in India, then in waiting for calls back. Obviously we are back on line now. I won’t bore you with the details.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic sausage casserole. new potatoes, cauliflower, and broccoli, followed by Cornish dairy ice cream and jam tart. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank Lidl Cote du Rhone 2014.