Dawn came knocking early this morning just giving me time to grab my dressing gown and hasten downstairs for my camera.
I was permitted a very few minutes in which to photograph her delights
before her soft pinks and magenta blushes succumbed to deep indigo blues.
silhouetting the oscillating tresses of the Weeping Birch.
Late this afternoon it was touch and go whether the cloud blanket would be lifted enough for us to view more rosy tints.
Hope was revealed along Lymington Road en route to Highcliffe
where pink fingers traced their way between the cloud blankets;
a spaniel tugged at its lead on the promenade;
and Jackie photographed the photographer while sun still lit the bench.
As we left Highcliffe the house and street lighting was strung across the bay.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s piquant cauliflower cheese; flavoursome fish pie; sautéed leeks; and bright orange crunchy carrots, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Saint-Chinian.
This morning my research into the New Zealand Free Lance Paper was interrupted by British Gas’s smart new digital technology which required turning off our electricity power. Our smart meter was due an upgrade, mainly in order for me to access this device from my smart mobile phone. I have no wish ever to do this. Never mind, the procedure was required.
What has this to do with an ancient Antipodean journal?
Further information came yesterday in the form of a comment from Sarah Birnie, an Australian seeking to add to her own story and perhaps benefit further from ours. As a descendent of Holly’s twin sister, Jackie’s degrees of cousinship chart suggests that Sarah and I are third cousins once or twice removed, depending on Sarah’s age.
This led me to ask my first cousin Yvonne, now living in Spain, for photographs I knew she had of Jack, Holly, and Betty.
One of these images, from the 20th February 1915 issue of the aforementioned New Zealand journal, shows a flyer advertising The Dental Riskits appearing at His Majesty’s Theatre. From the addresses of other advertisers on page 31 I believe this to be the one now termed St James Theatre, Wellington.
‘The Free Lance was one of New Zealand’s most popular weekly, pictorial newspapers. It was first published in Wellington in 1900 by Geddis and Blomfield as a spin-off from their successful Auckland weekly, the NZ Observer and Free Lance. The publishers split the title, with the Auckland paper becoming the NZ Observer and the Wellington paper taking the name Free Lance.
Despite its initial association with the Observer, the Free Lance soon developed as a separate publication with the Geddis family concentrating on the Free Lance and Blomfield the Observer. The editor James McRobert Geddis (1856-1935) later became sole proprietor and in 1920 the Geddis family formed a private company to run the paper. The Geddis family were involved with the management of the Free Lance until it was incorporated into the New Zealand Weekly News in 1960. Its demise left the Weekly News as the last pictorial weekly in New Zealand.
The Free Lance was a typical weekly; conservative and mainstream with much coverage given to royalty, New Zealand scenery, high society and sport. It was noted for its political cartoons. It carried the work of some of the country’s top cartoonists including John Gilmour, Gordon Minhinnick, Tom Ellis (Tom Glover), E.F. Hiscocks and Stuart Peterson. The Free Lance was fortunate to begin publishing at the same time as there was a flowering of local cartooning talent. The Free Lance not only benefited from this but also played a significant role in fostering this talent and pictorial journalism in general.’ (https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/free-lance).
As I have now learned, Holly, already having lost two children, died of the dreadful Spanish flu of 1918 – 1920. Following the devastation of World War I this killer wiped out 100,000,000 more lives across the globe. The great aunt I never knew was then aged 28 years and 9 months. The disease was contracted while performing at Rotherham in Yorkshire and she is buried at Harrogate cemetery.
Having lost a wife and two children, John
later married Betty, seen performing in the post highlighted above. Given that her husband suspended her from his teeth, their stage name was most apt. The views of Jack’s dentists are not recorded.
This afternoon we dined on the rest of Jackie’s tasty mixed grill casserole; creamy mashed potatoes; and crisp cauliflower, carrots, and broccoli, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Saint-Chinian.
P.S. On 2.4.20 I received this e-mail from Gwen Wilson, for which I am very grateful:
‘Hello Derrick
Catching up with your blog posts drew me again to your trapeze performing ancestors.
The Australian newspapers are littered with references to the Dental Riskits. Pages and pages of them. I can easily outline how to look them up if you are interested. This death notice contains some of the most intriguing family history information I have come across.
There are so many memorial notices it is clear that Holly’s family were very close and in great distress at losing family members in quick succession. She had many siblings. Her twin sister was particularly bereft.
regards
Gwen Wilson’
P.P.S:
and here is an extract from a comment of Gwen’s on another post: ‘On a whim, I typed a search on Riskit into our digitised newspapers and immediately returned this article from1926. Not Holly – his second wife. . . https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/186061378?searchTerm=“riskit”&searchLimits=’
This describes an accident involving a 20′ fall while performing.
The light today was bright; the skies clear; and the temperature cold. This morning we drove into the forest via
Holmsley Passage,
with its splendid autumn colour burnishing both woodland trees
and bracken-carpeted moorland.
The moon, not yet having retired, nestled in the crook between two sunlit tree.
Golfers in their retirement putted balls on the Burley course. Biggification of the second above image will reveal three of the little white orbs, one of which has just been struck by the gentleman assuming the position. His shot didn’t quite have the legs.
Alongside Forest Road I left the car to photograph more flaming trees,
and wandered among trees opposite.
Fallen leaves whispered softly as I
gingerly swept the sun-streaked forest floor,
with its moss-coated roots and trunks,
broken branches,
and prehistoric skulls.
Lingering leaves traced companionable shadows;
while backlit ponies cast longer ones even in the late morning.
Pools, dry for many a month, like this one on the Burley Road, are filling up and reflecting the season.
Miniature Highland cattle made use of the landscape’s camouflage outside The Rising Sun at Bashley.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s most flavoursome mixed grill casserole; bright green broccoli, traffic light orange carrots, and creamy mashed potato with which I drank Saint-Chinian 2016 and the Culinary Queen abstained.
Danni, Elizabeth, and Ella came to lunch today. Jackie produced her usual splendid spread.
Danni helped her daughter. As we all do, our niece couldn’t prevent herself from mirroring Ella’s mouth movements.
Ella preferred to use her fingers.
Afterwards crawling
and throwing skills were displayed,
and mother and daughter romped on the floor.
Danni e-mailed a couple of photos she had taken of me and Ella before lunch. Our great niece fancied cutting her teeth on my lens cap, I diverted her with a game of peek through the napkin ring. Elizabeth entertained her granddaughter for a while, reading “Ella Saves Christmas”, a little gem that Jackie bought in the week.
Over lunch we discussed the degrees of cousinship, in particular relation to Mum’s cousin Ivy Wilson and her children Audrey and Roy. Were they first, second, third; once or twice removed from us, etcetera. Later I opened up my pc to consult my post “Holly”. I was amazed to find that, at about the same time as we had been having our conversation Sarah Birnie, a descendent of Holly King’s twin sister, had been commenting on the highlighted post with information about Holly’s tragic death and a request for the photograph mentioned by my cousin Yvonne. Sarah lives outside Perth, about an hour and a half’s drive from my son Sam and his family. I alerted Yvonne to this additional material in a Facebook chat.
Friends Heather and Johnathon came to collect Danni and Ella to take them home. We had a very pleasant conversation, especially as Heather and had knee surgery in common and Johnathon and I could swap marathon stories.
Only minimal sustenance was required this evening.
Not having yet experienced frost, the nasturtiums still climb the garage door trellis.
The crab apple trees are losing their leaves, revealing their fruit, still eschewed by blackbirds not yet hungry enough to eat them.
The sun was so weak this morning as to be imperceptible in these photographs of the garden views in which autumn colours, especially of Japanese maples, attempted to brighten the gloom.
I, and the garden, felt somewhat under the weather today. As limp and lacklustre as these leaves lying on the gravel, I alternated between reading and dozing on the sofa.
This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank sparkling water.
On another bright but chilly morning Jackie drove me to Norleywood Road for me to walk along it and St Leonard’s Road for half an hour before she picked me up.
Three different alpacas occupied the usual field;
one wearing a rug. One or two of these may be llamas, but I don’t know the difference.
Japanese maples in the garden of Gorse Cottage sparkled with the earlier rain
which had filled the gutter
and the pool now threatening to spill over onto the road junction.
Mushrooms sprang from the verge of St Leonard’s Road.
Jackie had driven on ahead and back-tracked to tell me of cattle and calves on the road ahead. She thought it might be a bit far to walk so offered to drive me to them. I preferred to see how I got on. Eventually I spied them in the distance. They were on the move, and vanished out of sight, which encouraged me to keep going.
Around one bend they once more came into view
and rounded another.
One of the calves
seemed reluctant to follow the others.
He looked back wistfully at
his oblivious mother engrossed in guzzling griselinia.
This sawn off tree trunk must, at some time past, have fallen across the road.
On our return we drove to Lymington to buy Christmas presents.
After lunch my Chauffeuse carried me to Sears Barbers at Milford on Sea where Peter cut my hair.
This evening we joined Elizabeth to dine at Albero Italian restaurant in Brockenhurst. My choice of meal was a well filled Calzone followed by Tiramisu; Jackie’s was creamy fettuccini; Elizabeth’s a special fish dish. Both ladies enjoyed cheesecakes. Elizabeth and I shared a carafe of the house red wine served at the perfect temperature; Jackie drank Moretti. The food was very well cooked, and the service friendly and efficient.
was able to complete the work on the Velux window roof.
He tapped down the lead using a tool that had once belonged to Owen’s great grandfather;
tested the result for smoothness in his usual careful manner;
and employed Karen’s hair dryer to avoid the possibility of his normal heater cracking the glass.
This afforded him time for contemplation.
A walk round the garden revealed a somewhat nibbled mushroom sprouting in the stumpery.
Muggle was at home in his larch.
Nugget still looked him up now and then. Otherwise he foraged for himself.
“Where’s Nugget” (46).
Barry sent me the first two pictures on this post, with a set
depicting the completed project.
Note the spirit levels in this one.
Keeping her very discreetly out of our way, Barry brought his delightful spaniel Khaleesi with him, and included some pictures of her.
Apart from a spell on the Westbrook Arbour bench,
she remained in the van.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy sausages in red wine; roast potatoes; crunchy carrots and firm broccoli, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleuri 2018.
We already knew that Barry Chislett-Bruce of New Forest Chimney Sweeping & Repairs is a first class, painstaking, craftsman. In the link above Barry and his son, Owen, are shown sweeping the chimney behind the fireplace they installed for us.
The Velux kitchen window has leaked ever since we moved in five and a half years ago. Three other tradesmen have failed to fix the problem. Had I known that this was an issue with which Barry was familiar and experienced I would have asked him first. Today he began working on the job in bright sunshine and continued as the skies darkened in preparation for more heavy rains.
I photographed the man at work today. Rain or shine he will return tomorrow to complete the task.
After his return home our friend sent me bird’s eye view images of his work. Having removed studs that no-one else had ever looked at, he lifted a section of the frame and used a thick fabric to draw out a significant pocket of water. He brought down this swab and wrung it out over the kitchen sink. This was not merely resulting from recent rain.
Other photographs show the careful lead work at various stages, both while the sun still shone, and later, by which time light rain had begun to speckle the glass.
Barry also sent signs that he had probably enjoyed his mugs of tea, although he had had the temerity to opine that Jackie’s brew was better than mine.
This evening we dined on minted lamb burgers; sautéed new potatoes; and vibrantly hued orange carrots. green beans and sprouting broccoli, with which I finished the Cotes du Bourg. Jackie had finished her Hoegaarden beforehand.
Today the sun shone and the temperature was comparatively mild.
Jackie helped her avian familiar plant an astilbe
and thin out a lamium.
“Where’s Nugget?” (45)
Afterwards my Chauffeuse drove me to Undershore, along which I walked for half an hour until she picked me up.
Undershore, the narrower lane, should not be confused with Undershore Road. Leaving Lymington by the level crossing the former runs left along the reed beds while the latter takes a right turn beside the Lymington River.
The woodland on Undershore’s left hand side in today’s direction of travel stands on soggy, pool strewn, terrain.
Reflecting puddles spread across the tarmac
collecting fallen oak leaves at the verges.
Fungus decorates fallen logs.
In time we will see it sprouting from this recently sawn hollow trunk, branches of which lies on the other side of road across which they probably crashed during the recent gales.
Brambles cast their shadows on larger leaves.
To the right of the lane autumnal oaks gracing the horizon came into view by courtesy of a five barred gate breaking the hedge line.
I have spared my readers the sight of discarded detritus but for this dumped carpet.
A fallen tree gripped by thick ivy tendrils lay across the bridleway entrance. A horse could no doubt have jumped it. Not that I’ve ever seen one taking this route. I couldn’t risk stepping over. Maybe next year.
Shortly after I reached this point my chariot arrived. This was the view from my passenger seat looking across to Pilley Hill.
Returning home via Shirley Holms we paused to take in another autumn landscape,
proceeding past this woodland scene
to the car park area where I disembarked to photograph ponies in the landscape. While some turned their backs on me one chestnut-coloured one remained inquisitive until it turned about and in the usual ungainly manner
flopped to its knees
vaguely watching the trio in the first picture demonstrate the motion of walking horses, until it needed to attend to an itch.
This evening we dined on a meaty rack of pork ribs; prawn toasts, spring rolls, and Jackie’s vegetable-packed savoury rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cotes du Bourg.
