February 2018 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

More Than Complicated Contraptions

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Heath Robinson is an adjective in our language defined as ingeniously or ridiculously over-complicated in design or construction, as in a vast Heath Robinson mechanism. Our dictionaries owe this to the works of William Heath Robinson (13th May 1872 to 13th September 1944). He was the youngest of three brothers. Like their father, all became excellent illustrators.

William is best known for his humorous and ingenious drawings of complicated contraptions. He was, however, also one of the best of his generation of superb practitioners of his art. In addition to his cartoon work, he illustrated other people’s books; those he wrote himself; posters; and magazines.

It was during the First World War that the term “Heath Robinson” entered the U.K.’s popular language ‘as a description of any unnecessarily complex and implausible contrivance, much as “Rube Goldberg machines” came to be used in the United States from the 1920s onwards as a term for similar efforts. “Heath Robinson contraption” is perhaps more often used in relation to temporary fixes using ingenuity and whatever is to hand, often string and tape, or unlikely cannibalisations. Its continuing popularity was undoubtedly linked to Britain’s shortages and the need to “make do and mend” during the Second World War.’ (Wikipedia)

As featured yesterday, along with Elizabeth, Jackie and I visited an exhibition of his work held at Mottisfont. The whole range of his oeuvre was on display.

The final British attack of 1916’s Battle of The Somme was that of The Ancre. Heath Robinson’s drawings, such as this one featuring his idea of German listening posts, did much to sustain the spirits of English soldiers during The Great War.

Towards the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries there were still very mixed feelings about blocks of flats (apartments). Some doubted their safety. This was one of our artist’s views on the subject.

He also advocated ‘Inventing at home’.

Among others, William illustrated Hans Andersen, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Song of The English, The Water Babies, and Old Time Stories (Bluebeard is featured here).

Those of his own books include Bill The Minder.

Some of the exhibits were paintings he produced for his own pleasure.

Nash’s is an example of his magazine work. Note that, the Christmas Number for 1929 cost 1/6d which is the equivalent of just seven and a half pence today. The current issue of The New Yorker costs $8.99.

This afternoon I received an e-mail from BT announcing that they have refunded the over-payment they took last month and I am now in credit.

Jackie produced an extremely tasty meal of beef with creamy mashed potato, soft peppers and mushrooms in red wine; with crisp cauliflower; tender cabbage and leeks, for our dinner this evening. She felt, erroneously, that she had ruined the meal by forgetting carrots for colour. I thought the yellow peppers did the job. I finished the Tempranillo brought back from the pub yesterday.

Luck

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Today being Elizabeth’s birthday, we met her at Mottisfont this afternoon in order to visit the William Heath Robinson exhibition, after which we dined at The Crown Inn, Everton.

A pair of swans occupied the lawn

as we approached the house, where Jackie examined a site map in the 13th century crypt, and a bronze sculpture stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the exhibition.

By the time we had finished the evening, I was not up to doing justice to the exhibition, so offer ‘Luck’ as an example of what I will feature more fully tomorrow.

The meal at The Crown, with impeccable friendly service, was as first rate as ever. My main course consisted of perfectly cooked fillet steak, chips, tomato, mushrooms, and peas. Elizabeth chose salmon en croute; Jackie’s choice was belly of pork served on apple mashed potato with cream cider sauce. The ladies each enjoyed mixed vegetables in cabbage envelopes. Elizabeth and I both savoured bread and butter pudding in creme anglaise topped with sliced strawberries; Jackie’s dessert was a zestful lemon tart. Elizabeth and I both drank Espeto Tempranillo 2016, while Mrs Knight drank Peroni.

In Conversation

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On another bright, cold, morning Jackie drove us out into the forest.

Catkins, like these in Royden Lane, Boldre, dangle from their trees.

In one paddock the livestock was conveniently labelled.

On the outskirts of Brockenhurst the telephone box was reflected in the icy pool. Long shadows were cast across the surface, which glinted in the sun. Ponies’ hoofprints remained stiffened by the overnight freeze, as, fortunately, was a heap of their droppings onto which I backed in my efforts to obtain the right angle for one of these photographs.

In the High Street two women were deep in conversation on the bench opposite Tesco’s. This continued throughout the period during which I sat in the car whilst Jackie did some shopping.

What follows may chiefly be of interest to anyone who is suffering withdrawal symptoms from the recent lack of administrative problems.

At lunchtime the postman delivered a card stating that a letter could not be delivered because insufficient postage had been paid. £1.50 was due. We could pay that on line and the missive would be delivered the next day. Or we could drive to Lymington to pay for it there and collect it. The delivery staff are, of course, not allowed to take money. Jackie drove us to Lymington. We arrived ten minutes before the next opening time. Jackie went off to park the car. I waited outside. Then I realised I had left my wallet at home, so hadn’t the required I.D. When Mrs Knight joined me we discovered she didn’t have any I.D. in her married name. She offered her passport. This was not acceptable. I asked to look at the item. It was a large format letter. Post is now charged as large or small. This one needed a stamp marked L for large. It bore a small one. We could pay now for delivery tomorrow, but the man at the bullet-proof counter could not give it to us. We paid then, and now we wait.

There was a silver lining to this cloud. I had plenty of time to contemplate the muted tones of the tower of the Church of St Thomas the Apostle.

This evening, with our Hoegaarden and madiran, we dined on starters of spring rolls and prawn toasts, followed by Jackie’s succulent sautéed peppers, leeks, and onions supporting Thai fish cakes.

A Nod To Little Gidding

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Today I scanned the final photographs of the Henley – Newark row/walk of July 2003. The last leg, from Nottingham to Newark was 25 miles in length.

Sam set off without James, and I trailed in his wake. It is hard to believe that I managed to keep within sight of him as he rowed along the River Trent, but these photographs would seem to prove it. Perhaps the cattle would bear witness.

As the rower moved into Farndon, James, Louisa, and Gemma set out to greet him and to follow him towards

Newark Castle, first passing the railway station;

to be greeted by his reception committee as he docked. Louisa, as requested, handed me two pints of beer – all for me.

Perhaps this was a lap of honour alongside the castle ruins. This 13th century castle was originally built for the Bishop of Lincoln. A Royalist stronghold during the English Civil War, ‘in 1646 the garrison surrendered, but only after a direct command from Charles I. Parliament ordered the castle destroyed so it could never be held against them again, but fate took a hand; plague broke out in Newark town, and the destruction of the castle was halted.’ This quotation is taken from http://www.britainexpress.com/attractions.htm?attraction=93 which contains a more complete history in very readable form.

So, what has all this to do with T.S. Eliot’s ‘Little Gidding’? From this, the last of the poet’s Four Quartets, I have borrowed

‘What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from………….

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time’.

The reason is that I do not have the negatives of the last of my photographs as they are prints, which must have been produced by our friend Alison, or her sister, Rosemary, both of whom were there to send us on our way.

Sam took delivery of his boat at Henley where he and James set about preparing and stocking it for the journey. Note the black bin behind my son,

which I strapped on with the rather optimistic intention of collecting sponsorship money.

Pacific Pete left the mooring,

and we were under way. This was to be the last sound footpath I trod for the next eleven days.

This evening we dined on Thai inspired fish cakes from Tesco served on Jackie’s succulent bed of sautéed onions, peppers, leeks, mushrooms and manges touts; noodles; prawn toasts and spring rolls. The Culinary Queen drank her customary Hoegaarden and I drank more of the madiran.

P.S. See Mike’s bitaboutbritain comment below for a much fuller illustrated history of Newark Castle

Flounces

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We are experiencing a little colder spell at the moment, and, this morning drove out to the forest in bright, crisp, sunshine

At the top of Mead End Road, on the outskirts of Sway, lies Boundary car park, leading to a wooded area

overlooking moorland on which, today I spotted just two distant ponies – a grey and a chestnut.

Flecks of ice still lay on the reflecting surfaces of recent pools

and crusted the muddy paths trodden by the horses

on their way down the slopes.

One pair of riders chose to keep their mounts on the road.

The lengthy log stacks, with the application of saw cuts, splits, lichen, fungi, moss, ivy, and painted lettering, contain much abstract potential.

This two-faced stump looks both jubilant and resigned at having evaded the final felling.

Reflections in waterlogged terrain, such as this at Wootton enhance much of the forest floor.

At this point an extended area sported the silvered flounces of a can-can skirt.

This evening we came back for a second sitting of Jackie’s splendid pasta arrabbiata with which I drank Reserve des Tuguets Madiran 2014.

Cleaning Up Windows

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Yesterday’s church quiz was a very pleasant occasion, enhanced by a splendid array of buffet delicacies; and the fact that our team won.

This morning Aaron of A.P. Maintenance cleaned our windows. As usual, I made him a set of prints. The two pieces of stained glass visible in the fourth and fifth images were made by our friend, Giles; and the pendant artwork in the seventh by the daughter of a client quite a while ago.

This afternoon I watched the televised Six Nations rugby international between England and Italy, after which we just had time to catch

the sunset at Milford on Sea, where a couple sat silhouetted;

and a man cavorted on the beach attempting to enliven a stationary little girl.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid pasta arrabbiata with which I finished the Syrah.

The Penultimate Leg

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This morning I scanned more colour negatives from the long walk of July 2003.

Sam continued rowing Pacific Pete along the River Soar at Leicester.

He passed the National Space Museum.

Boys at an Outdoor Pursuits Centre were introduced to the boat.

A harvester gathered in the crop; a coot paddled by; a mallard breakfasted with her ducklings; and a water snake broke the surface of the river in which a mallow was reflected.

James having returned home for a short period, I got to work the locks.

Anyone who has read ‘Nettle Rash’ will know how I avoided encountering bulls in the fields I had to cross. This rather amused a gentleman I met en route. He said that no farmer would dare leave a dangerous animal on such a public area. With a great deal of trepidation, I mounted a stile around which this herd of cattle were clustered. As I climbed over the animals all ran away; the scary bull in fast pursuit.

Here Sam approaches Ratcliffe lock, in sight of the coal fired Power Station opened in 1968.

Further on, at Beeston, we made another group of friends. Paul, with the long hair, owned a wonderful Dutch barge, on which I slept overnight.

James had rejoined Sam by the time he rowed under Trent Bridge, in sight of The Brian Clough stand of Nottingham Forest football ground.

My son was then interviewed on the bank of the river by Radio Nottingham.

This post culminates in the penultimate, short, leg of the trip. Only four miles in length, during which we were joined by Becky’s friend Jo Stone, and by Jessica, who watches our son and James moor on the Nottingham waterfront. Sam rowed the race in aid of Cancer Research. Jo suffered from leukaemia, and Jessica from myeloma. Much younger Jo was not to live much longer; Jessica survived until July 2007, having accompanied us to the finish at Port St Charles, Barbados in March 2004.

Given that we will probably just enjoy snacks this evening, Jackie provided a brunch of fried bacon, tomatoes, and mushrooms, baked beans, poached eggs, and toast.

This afternoon, putting in the final touches of this post at half time, I watched the televised Six Nations rugby match between Wales and Scotland.

We will shortly be leaving for Walkford to make up a fundraising quiz team at Shelly’s church. Should there be anything of moment in this, I will report on it tomorrow.

“A Lot Of Work For One Man”

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This morning Jackie drove us out to MacPenny’s Garden Nursery at Bransgore, where we brunched at The Robin’s Nest. Jackie mooched around the

sales area, where she learned how necessary were the signs asking people to keep their dogs on leads because they have chickens. Apparently more of their chickens are killed by customers’ dogs than by foxes.

I wandered along the garden paths and up and down the wooden steps.

A flowering cherry and several camellias were resplendent. Some of the latter soar amongst branches of trees, dropping their heavy blooms onto the beds of last autumn’s leaves.

Some spears of bulbous plants are piercing they way through the soil to join a few crocuses and hellebores.

I spoke first to a man collecting and delivering mulch to heaps beneath some trees.

These were for gardener, Rob, to spread around the beds. Rob himself told me that he was the only person who did all the plant care, maintenance, and weeding. “A lot of work for one man”, he proudly stated.

On our way home we stopped at Redcliffe Nurseries where Jackie bought two primulas and an ivy with which to supplement her planting in the iron urn and a new one just in front of it.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s stupendous sausage casserole; her pulverised creamy mashed potato; and toothsome Brussels sprouts and broccoli. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Val de Salis Syrah 2014

Gravel Pit Cottage

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We began this cold, bright, day with two trips to the recycling centre to dispose of bags of garden refuse. Afterwards we drove around the east of the forest and back.

The waterlogged green at Pilley reflected the houses beside it.

Trees,

horses,

and buildings were similarly mirrored in the more permanent lake. Some of the animals drank the clear water, others dozed on the bank. Note the thatched homes.

The workman seen to the left of the nearest cottage was ignored by the ponies as he walked backwards and forwards from front to back of the house. Apart from the presently muddy bank and sodden bench, this was a convenient site for a bus stop. The house is named Gravel Pit Cottage, thus giving an indication of the origin of the lake. I’ve only ever seen animals drinking from the edge, suggesting that it is probably quite deep in the middle.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s special cottage pie; perfectly prepared broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and cabbage; and very tasty gravy. I finished the Chateauneuf du Pape.