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Bill Edney had the unenviable task of getting those of us schoolboys at Wimbledon College who could not manage Latin through ‘O’ Level Geography after several terms without a teacher. Today I remembered a different anecdote from that told in the link highlighted above.
Sheep, I know do not like long, lush, grass. How do I know? Because Mr Edney, a bluff countryman, publicly humiliated a classmate by ridiculing him for writing in an essay that sheep “like long, lush, grass”. According to the master they most definitely do not. How were we townies to know that? This lasting intelligence prevented me from seeking ovine assistance on our patch of overgrown grass. Having no sheep, I sheared it myself.
It still looks manky at the moment, but should perk up now the air can get to it.
This exercise exposed the tortoise, removing its hibernation cover.
Close examination of this view along the Heligan Path reveals that
purple crocuses are now emerging.
These paler ones share with snowdrops the shade of hellebores in the Weeping Birch Bed.
During the morning the warm sunshine brought out insects such as bees on hellebores
and on snowdrops;
and a Red Admiral butterfly basking on laurel leaves,
seeking camouflage in autumn leaves,
and slaking its thirst on snowdrops.
This view across the Palm Bed leads to the grass patch.
Jackie spent the morning clearing and thinning areas such as the erigeron clumps by the windows to the living room. This will soon be carpeted once more with daisy-like flowers.
This evening we dined on roast lamb, Jackie’s sage and onion stuffing, sautéed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, carrots, cauliflower, and greens. I finished the Cote du Rhone.