July 2016 – derrickjknight

En Route To Cornwall

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A.P. Maintenance, in the form of Aaron and Robin, this morning, almost finished the fence they have built between our garden and that of North Breeze.

On the way through to the gate to the back drive, I enjoyed the early morning sunlight blazing through this hanging basket,

and managed to spot a well-camouflaged dunnock before it took off from the back of a chair.

I took a trip with Aaron to Mole Country supplies to buy more timber. We always have a convivial chat on these occasions, and I am transported in time to my father’s removal van, which contained such familiar clutter and carried the similar evocative odour of petrol and tobacco.

Jackie made a great sacrifice until this afternoon. She refrained from delivering death to a cluster of rose sawfly larvae until I had managed to capture a reasonable shot of these squirming creatures busily engaged in reducing the leaves of Crême de la crême to projecting spikes.

Entering The Rose Garden I reflected that it bears just one example of Jackie’s signage.

Just as the sun was setting this evening, Mat, Tess, and Poppy arrived for an overnight stay en route to Cornwall.

Tess lost no time in introducing her daughter to the garden.

Jackie then fed us on gammon steak, mashed potato and swede, sweet potato, roasted vegetables, carrots, runner beans, and piquant cauliflower cheese. Needless to say, this was all cooked perfection. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and Tess and I finished the merlot.

Gardening With A Camera

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Photographing while gardening is a hazardous business. I blame the camera’s unforgiving eye. My entertainment this morning was tidying up the Rose Garden with dead-heading and sweeping back into the beds the mulch bark that our avian friends daily toss onto the paving; and clearing up the Head Gardener’s clipping piles.

I was at risk of exposing bits I’d missed, like these few scraps of bark in this shot of crocosmia torches burning alongside the Rose Garden path;

revealing tasks I hadn’t yet carried out, like the clippings in this view through the gazebo;

or incurring the displeasure of the Head Gardener for leaving a blue bucket in this view from the circular concrete of what we think is the site of an old well.

This afternoon we continued with our usual garden maintenance activities, mine, of course, including the new camera, with which I am beginning to capture elusive insects in flight.

Small White butterflies are never still;

and bees, like this one aiming for a crocosmia, are apt to dart from one plant to another.

Included among the many varieties of fuchsia we have

Chequerboard,

Hawkshead,

and Army Nurse, this one sharing an urn with trailing lobelia.

There is also variety in the Rose Garden, provided by different types of flower, such as lilies, geraniums, petunias, penstemons, heucheras and honeysuckle, in addition to the crocosmias mentioned earlier.

Crême de la crême,

and Winchester Cathedral are among the white scented varieties of rose;

Mamma Mia is here reflected in one of the mirrors placed for that purpose.

This evening we dined at Lymington’s Lal Qilla, where, despite their being very crowded, we received our usual warm welcome, friendly, efficient service, and excellent food. My choice was king prawn Ceylon; Jackie’s was chicken sag; and we shared mushroom rice, egg paratha, and Tarka dal. We both drank Kingfisher.

With the promise of an interesting sunset on our return, we diverted to Milford on Sea. In the second shot the sky is reflected in the Modus’s roof.

Our Industrial Past

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I forgot to mention yesterday that when I returned home I found that my cheque from Laithwaite’s had been delivered.

The Félicité Perpétue rose in the front garden has been sending thorny tentacles across the drive. This morning I restrained them with green wire.

Alongside the marguerites that accompany the rose,

a nasturtium trumpeted its presence.

Opposite, the clematis Mrs. N. Thompson and solanums

twine amongst the honeysuckle from which bees flit to and fro.

This new hollyhock is in bloom along the back drive.

In June 1981, I made a series of colour slides of gasometers. I scanned them this afternoon.

Here are sections of side views;

and one of a top.

There are glimpses of three in this image.

I cannot, for the life of me, remember where these were. Maybe the car wrecks could provide a pointer for anyone who may help identify them;

or maybe these snapdragons? Perhaps not.

The major problem for anyone attempting to assist is that these emblems of our industrial past may no longer exist.

This is what Wikipedia has to say about our gasometers: ‘A gas holder, sometimes called a gasometer, is a large container in which natural gas or town gas is stored near atmospheric pressure at ambient temperatures. The volume of the container follows the quantity of stored gas, with pressure coming from the weight of a movable cap. Typical volumes for large gasholders are about 50,000 cubic metres (1,800,000 cu ft), with 60 metres (200 ft) diameter structures.’

Today, there are very few left standing. The reason for this is described in this short video made by Tom Scott:

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SopJr0yHt-w&w=560&h=315]

One iconic gasometer, protected, or, listed since earlier this year, is visible from The Oval cricket ground. I spent many a day in the summers of my teens watching the rise and fall of this famous cricketing symbol. Wikipedia provides this photograph.

For our dinner this evening, the Culinary Queen produced smoked haddock, piquant cauliflower cheese (recipe), new potatoes, crunchy carrots, and sautéed leeks and peppers. We both drank Marlborough Oyster Bay sauvignon blanc 2015. Needless to say, it was all delicious.

The Old Vic On The Green

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I made my usual journey by train to London Waterloo for a lunch date with Norman at Tas. Jackie drove me to New Milton for the outward trip, and collected me from Brockenhurst for the return.

On a very crowded train I sat with a mother and her three children. The eldest two had their own seats and a little girl sat on her mother’s lap. The woman decided to make room for one of the standing passengers. With great effort, and mild protestations from her small son, she placed the two youngest on her lap on the window seat, leaving the aisle one vacant. She then gesticulated to indicate that the seat was free. There were no takers. It was half an hour before the little girl slid off her mother’s knee into the seat.

I took the Millennium Green route to The Cut from Waterloo Station. This involves walking down steps to the street below.

Buddleias are known as the Butterfly plant because they attract those insects. I call them the Railway Line plant because they invade every aspect of our railways. Here they festoon the wall alongside the approach road.

My reward for choosing to walk through the green was meeting Caggie

who was posting signs explaining the scaffolding that was going on.

Who’s that getting into shot? Ah! It’s Caggie.

Normal life continued around the perimeter of the gardens,

while a team of strong young men set about erecting the frame for the temporary theatre.

I wondered whether passengers on The London Eye would be able to see this activity.

Caggie was certainly keeping a close eye on it.

The staff were positively bustling.

There she is again,

doing the tour.

This fun young woman gave me permission to photograph what I liked. Thank you, Caggie.

At Tas Turkish restaurant, Norman I enjoyed each other’s company as usual. My meal was haddock in a very tasty stew with salad, followed by a piquant cold rice pudding dish. We shared the house red wine, as is our custom.

I dozed away most of my return journey.

Sticklebacks

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A brief window of sunshine emerged in an otherwise wet and dull day, to enable me to cut the grass, do some dead-heading, and repel bramble invaders on the back drive.

Otherwise I scanned a batch of colour slides from a trip to Richmond Park in May 1981.

Jessica, Sam,

Matthew,

and Becky were my companions.

It was the season of Aquilegias

and Azaleas.

When Matthew and Becky began fishing for sticklebacks in the lake, I walked around to the far side to see what I could do with my long lens.

Gradually, a certain amount of interest was aroused.

Jessica, Sam, and Piper, the dog, soon became involved.

Hello; who’s that behind Sam?

The people in the background were more interested in the shrubbery,

but soon there was quite a crowd of spectators,

who slowly drifted away.

This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s classic chicken jalfrezi with vegetable rice salad. She drank her Hoegaarden/Bavaria mix and I drank Royale Pays’ d’Oc Merlot 2014.

Licking Into Shape

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This morning we bought another parasol for the South end gravelled patio.

After lunch, The Head Gardener watered and I dead-headed The Rose Garden. Here there are two examples of similar but different flowers that she has been pointing out recently.

These are For Your Eyes Only

and Summer Wine.

Other manifestations are these two hydrangeas. Apart from the subtly different hues, can you spot the difference?

When Jackie and I visited Wimborne Minster on 23rd November 2013, we could not access the Chained Library. This was, however, possible for her and her sisters when they were staying near there recently.

Helen bought me a copy of W. A. (Frank) Tandy’s small booklet, which I finished reading today.

Tandy provides a brief introduction to the practice of chaining library books, and details of those, mostly dating from the 16th to the 18th centuries, contained in Wimborne Minster. The earliest volume in the collection is “Regimen Animarum”, a manuscript written on vellum, dated 1343. The books cover other subjects than the expected ecclesiastic ones. Gardening, science, and medicine are examples. I found it fascinating to discover that Sir Thomas Browne’s “The Pseudodoxia Epidemica of 1672” ‘examines the theory that a female bear gives birth to a lump of fat which she then licks into the shape of the cub she wants; it is from this that the expression ‘licking into shape’ originates’.

This illustration comes from a mediaeval bestiary, Bodley 764, taken from Pinterest.

In mediaeval times, and the early years of printing, many books were extremely valuable. Most were bound in wooden boards making it possible to chain them in the manner thus described by Wikipedia:

‘A chained library is a library where the books are attached to their bookcase by a chain, which is sufficiently long to allow the books to be taken from their shelves and read, but not removed from the library itself. This would prevent theft of the library’s materials.^[1] The practice was usual for reference libraries (that is, the vast majority of libraries) from the Middle Ages to approximately the 18th century. However, since the chaining process was also expensive, it was not used on all books.^[2] Only the more valuable books in a collection were chained.^[2] This included reference books and large books.^[2]

It is standard for chained libraries to have the chain fitted to the corner or cover of a book. This is because if the chain were to be placed on the spine the book would suffer greater wear from the stress of moving it on and off the shelf. Because of the location of the chain attached to the book (via a ringlet) the books are housed with their spine facing away from the reader with only the pages’ fore-edges visible (that is, the ‘wrong’ way round to people accustomed to contemporary libraries). This is so that each book can be removed and opened without needing to be turned around, hence avoiding tangling its chain. To remove the book from the chain, the librarian would use a key.^[3]

Chained library in Hereford Cathedral

The earliest example in England of a library to be endowed for use outside an institution such as a school or college was the Francis Trigge Chained Library in Grantham, Lincolnshire, established in 1598. The library still exists and can justifiably claim to be the forerunner of later public library systems. Marsh’s Library in Dublin, built 1701, is another non institutional library which is still housed in its original building. Here it was not the books that were chained, but rather the readers were locked into cages to prevent rare volumes from ‘wandering’. There is also an example of a chained library in the Royal Grammar School, Guildford as well as at Hereford Cathedral. While chaining books was a popular practice throughout Europe, it was not used in all libraries. The practice of chaining library books became less popular as printing increased and books became less expensive.^[3]Wimborne Minster in Dorset, England is yet another example of a Chained Library. It is one of the first in England and the second largest.^[4]‘

As I entered this onto WordPress, I enjoyed the scent of our sweet peas standing on my window sill.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s vegetable rice salad with cheese-centred fish cakes. My lady drank Hoegaarden and I drank Kingfisher.

P.S. Cynthia Jobin’s comment below has some interesting additional information on early books.

An Incontestable Explanation

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It was an interesting day.

We began by searching out a garden parasol that would meet the exacting requirements of the Head Gardener. Beginning with Stewart’s at Christchurch, where we at least bought a dahlia with this month’s half price offer token, we travelled to Redcliffe Nurseries where we failed again.

Finally we found the very thing at Everton Nurseries, just along the road from us.

Having spent most of the morning on this, I set about tackling an item I did not recognise on my monthly NatWest MasterCard statement. Having gone through the usual hoops to reach an advisor, she rang me back after taking details, and referred me to someone else, I learned that Laithwaite’s wine merchants had been taking a regular annual subscription fee since I last used their service in 2004. Yes, I know, I should have checked my statements more thoroughly.

NatWest could stop any further payments, but they could not do anything about the last 12 years. Neither could they negotiate with Laithwaite’s. That was up to me. With some reluctance, the adviser gave me a telephone for the wine merchant. There were some digits missing, so I couldn’t get through. Rather than phone the bank again, I thought I’d look them up on line.

Google was down.

I called the bank again. Another person gave me another number.

I phoned Laithwaite’s who couldn’t identify me because they had no account with my card details at my current address. I explained that I had once been a Laithwaite’s customer many years ago. I was asked for the postcode of the address at which I had been living when I last used them. Assuming it was probably our home in Newark, fortunately I remembered it. I would receive a phone call as soon as permission for a refund had been granted.

I couldn’t even write this up until my search engine recovered.

We had a coffee on the patio and I sought solace in plants like various

dahlias, such as Coup de Soleil

and another, whose name escapes me (not that I ever had it);

and phlox.

The scent of these lilies rivals anything else in the Rose Garden perfume parlour.

In fairness to Laithwaite’s their customer services department sorted this out and rang me back as promised. I will receive a full refund. Apparently they had been sending letters to Lindum House and receiving no reply. I said that I was grateful for their speedy response, but, when I expressed surprise that in those circumstances they continued to take my money, there was an incontestable explanation.

This was an opt out system, not an opt in one. In other words once you have ever opted in you are in forever unless you opt out. Clear? Clever.

Then Google began operating again.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice, with which she drank Kingfisher and I drank more of the Hawkes Bay Merlot/Cabernet Sauvignon.

‘Mum’s So Lucky’

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Aaron, who is A.P. Maintenance, made much further progress on the fencing he is now building to repel the abandoned North Breeze boarders.

I made him an A4 print of this shot. He was very chuffed with it.

The sunlight providing the dappled effect soon disappeared, so it wasn’t available by the time I noticed the gladioli Priscilla blooming in the New Bed.

Robin joined Aaron a little later, and they ran out of nails. Jackie and I bought some more from Mole Country Supplies.

This afternoon drove to Shelly and Ron’s barbecue in Walkford, a little later than planned. Jackie had made some wonderful rice and egg salads as a contribution to the event catering. In my keenness to render assistance in the transfer of the dishes to the car I had

a minor mishap with a fairly full glass bottle of balsamic vinegar that I managed to knock from a cupboard onto the tiles below.

Ever since 18th September 2013 when I perpetrated an even more disastrous spillage, we have had a catch phrase, ‘Mum’s so lucky……..’ This, it’s full form continuing ‘……… to have Dad to help her’, was coined by Becky to describe such an incident. Those words passed my lips as I began the task of clearing up.

We arrived safely, and enjoyed the usual brilliant barbecue with plentiful salads, and desserts. We shared a convivial and entertaining few hours with the usual gang, friends for over thirty years, and relatives, including Helen and Bill, Anthony, Neil,and Donna. I believe a certain amount of alcohol was imbibed.

A Rapid Change Of Light.

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Early this morning we had an avian visitor, in the form of a juvenile robin looking wistfully through the kitchen window, during intervals between frantic flapping. Jackie lifted it up and set it free, but didn’t wait for me to get in another shot.

Unbeknown to us, when we visited Lymington Quay a little later, we just missed Frances and her friends Dave and Kay who also spent some time there.

Initially oblivious of the hydraulic load-lift behind him, a young man dozed on a bench

against the backdrop of the Ship Inn,

with its lichen painted roof.

Tourists gathered around The Boat House Café,

waited for the cruises to begin,

or travelled on the ferry port train.

while more regular visitors prepared the rigging of their boats,

and a pair of kayakers set off between moored hulls.

As the quayside filled up and the hot sun rose in the sky, we set off for the cooler, less crowded, forest.

At East Boldre an imperious boxer dog occupied his own personal observation platform. (See comments from arlingwoman and 10000hoursleft below. The dog is an Old English Mastiff)

Cyclists enjoyed their track around the Ladycross Estate near Brockenhurst

where dappled sunlight played on the woodland trees,

and Jackie saw a dinosaur emerging from a dried up bog.

In this weather, ponies tend to shelter under trees, utilising their fly whisks.

It seems they have learned that those in white clothing need less shade.

Even before we arrived home, we could see mist rolling in from the sea. I didn’t need to suggest we went and had a look at it. My Driver just turned away from the house and made straight for the coast, where

the Isle of Wight was invisible,

and a light pall lay over those on the beach.

This afternoon we received a delightful surprise when the three people we hadn’t known had been at the quay arrived for a visit. We spent an enjoyable few hours together, naturally involving highly satisfying admiration of the garden.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice.

Not a bad day, really.

P.S. Barrie Haynes put the following additional information about the lifting device on my Facebook page: ‘As an amendment to that, the heavy duty ones (as in this case) do use oil when going down. It is released through a small orifice, thus making the tail lift go down slowly and safely with a heavy load and taking the stain of up to a couple of tons off the operating mechanism. So you were right after all Derrick it’s Mechanical (two big chains) Electrical (separate battery on lorry) and Hydraulic (for safety). For anybody reading this, never use a tail lift on a hired vehicle unless you are happy you know exactly how to do it. They can remove fingers!’

The Death Of The Heart

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Today, I have been mostly watering plants.

Nicotiana now soars aloft.

Several of our clematises, such as Diversifolia Hendersonii

and Queen Mother in the front garden,

and Duchess of Albany on the Rose Garden pergola bear hats of invisible pixies frolicking and turning somersaults in the sunshine.

This lily has taken two years to bloom.

Many, like this one, live just one day.

Bees are drawn to our nasturtiums.

The kniphofias have poked their way up through the soil,

as have the red hot dahlias in the New Bed. The first is Bishop of Llandaff. I’m not sure about the others.

This view from the Shady Path encompasses

Margery’s hollyhocks.

While I was watering, Ronan was fixing our boiler, not that we will need heating any time soon.

This is the blurb on the back cover of

which I finished reading this evening.

When my blogging friend, Lisa learned that I was embarking on this novel she remembered that when she had read it, a long time ago, she had found it sad. I would trust Lisa’s judgement ahead of the book’s publicists.

If this is a story of adolescent love in the thirties, I am glad my teenage years were in the fifties. In my view it was more a tale of isolation and loneliness. I agree with the ‘Passion, misunderstanding…..’ paragraph above, but if this an example of ‘sublime sense of comedy’ it is so black as to be invisible to me. Remind me not to try The Orchid Trilogy.

Having said all this, I must concede that Bowen ‘is a major writer’. The book is well constructed; the prose is elegant; she has a keen eye for detail; and she develops character well. But does she like any of her creations?

Finally, Augustus John’s model has far more spirit about her than the unfortunate Portia.

This evening Jackie enjoyed a meal out with her friend, Pauline (not our NZ one); and I dined sumptuously on scrambled egg on toast and Doom Bar.