Month: March 2020

An Up And Down Morning

Early on a morning of sunshine and showers Jackie drove us into the forest to take advantage of the dramatic light.

Encouraged by my undulating walk yesterday I was tempted to disembark at the top of

Holmsley Passage

and walk down the much steeper slope. At first I kept to the tarmac because of the muddy and pitted state of the nibbled edges. The road was quite busy so this didn’t seem to be a well advised procedure.

I therefore climbed the bank and threaded my way along the pony track.

The landscapes, rich in gorse and last year’s bracken, with still skeletal trees standing against the

fluid clouds bleeding across broad sheets of blue watercolour paper.

As I turned the bend leading down to the modern building on the left I saw what Jackie was up to. She had been tracking my descent from the

outset on the road surface (you will need to biggify this one to spot me),

and progressing along the verge.

From this point I photographed trees on the other side of the hill,

and after reaching the car, a couple of grazing ponies.

Jackie photographed a mobile signal mast masquerading as a spiky tree.

Yesterday’s pair of work trousers became rather muddy. I had therefore put them in the laundry basket and taken a clean pair for today.

On any other day this might have been a sensible move.

Today, unfortunately, I chose to stop at the junction between Gorley Road and

Snails Lane in order to photograph

the flooded road.

As I stepped backwards across the soggy surface of the lane in order to ensure that the Flood sign appeared in the picture I trod on a loose rock that slid backwards taking me with it.

There is a moment in a fall when it is politic to stop resisting and let yourself fall gracefully. That is how I found myself seated in moist gravelly mire with gritty bits in it, As I began to turn over, wondering just how I would manage to heave myself to my feet, a small van came spraying through the flood.  This seemed to be the moment to remain stationary and present an aged and infirm front.

The friendly young driver wound down his window, asked whether we needed help, and upon receiving an affirmative response, leaped from his cab. He and Jackie each took an arm and hoisted me upright.

By now Mrs Knight was regretting that her panic had prevented her from photographing the moment. She made up for it with this shot of

my rear and the offending rock;

and these of my jacket

and trousers.

My head, it seems, was in need of the attentions of “The Horse Whisperer”.There’s not much that can be done about my second row forward’s cauliflower ear.

We weren’t that far from Hockey’s Farm Shop. I cleaned up as best I could with the cold water in their loo. Naturally we had to reward both them and ourselves by brunching there. I sat on a hessian shopping bag in order to avoid making their seats soggy. After a good meal we returned home where I changed my trousers.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc, and I finished the Cabernet-Carmenere.

 

Jackie’s Photo Story

This afternoon, while I was focussing on scenes of destruction, Jackie was producing her own set of me in action.

She began with my attention to the waves at Milton on Sea,

and progressed to picturing my descent down the undulating soggy slopes into the woods for my own photoshoot.

 

Here is her take on one of the fallen trees that I showed.

As she pointed out, this is a tree that must have fallen across the road, as indicated by sawn logs at one side and piled branches on the other.

 

Scenes Of Devastation

We were promised further heavy winds today. They were postponed until tonight, which may explain why we saw no free roaming animals on our trip to the forest.

On our way to the Milford pharmacy we stopped to watch

the waves surging with spray and crashing on rocks as they practised for the races they would be engaged in later.

Although shifting the lens just a few degrees to the right gave streaks of sunlight on the horizon,

the Isle of Wight remained invisible to the eye, despite a glimmer of blue sky, and enough light to catch the

lifebelt on a post.

Afterwards we progressed to Boldrewood via Lymington. Traffic lights on Southampton Road facilitated my photographing this pink magnolia set against the blue wash and fine Georgian window of an elegant terraced house of the period.

On the approach to Boldre Lane a couple of field horses showed eagerness to see what was occurring over their hedge.

The woodland itself presented

scenes of devastation such as are in evidence throughout the forest.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, pickled onions and gherkins with which we both drank Wairau Cove Sauvignon Blanc 2019.

Jackie’s photo story from this afternoon warrants a separate post which forms a sequel to this one.

 

Emulating The Squirrel

The first couple of hours this morning were bright and breezy. After that the skies clouded over and the atmosphere gained weight. Later in the afternoon rain resumed its descent.

We therefore drove out to the forest soon after 10 a.m., First visiting

the pony, Gimlet who left off chewing his breakfast hay to crunch the carrot I offered.

She was quite impressed that I had successfully employed the Sue W. flat hand technique.

Before leaving home I had printed a couple of large copies of the photographs of Anne and her steed taken a few days ago. We delivered these to her place of work at Kitchen Makers. She was very pleased.

We continued on to Pilley Hill, the verges of which were awash with several varieties of daffodil.

The 11th century pub Fleur de Lys is in the background of this image.

The owners of a recently sold house at Norley Wood had engaged a group of asinine hedge clippers.

Richard Adams, in ‘Watership Down’ describes how rabbits become road kill when they freeze in the glare of car headlights.

Fortunately for this creature cutting the grass it was daytime and our headlights were extinguished.

Other examples of small creatures meeting their death on the country roads are pheasants who seem to wait for vehicles to arrive then dash across in a game of chicken.

Young squirrels, who can’t possibly reach maturity will leg it in front of the car in an effort to outrun it.

Ponies and donkeys, not usually the most energetic animals, normally just stand stolidly in the road. Today we met a group attempting to emulate the squirrel.

As we turned from Norley Wood Road down the hill towards East End, a trio of ponies ambled out of Broomhill and trotted off towards a drove of donkeys already in occupation.

After taking a slight diversion to see how the neighbouring alpacas were doing

these animals picked up their heels and set a pace which had their smaller cousins racing on ahead.

A pair of more nonchalant donkeys emerged from the field on the left. They simply stepped aside for us.

Others kept up the pace

despite oncoming traffic. Eventually we managed to pass them without a collision.

This afternoon, while photographing Nugget at his trough,

Jackie became concerned about an apparently ailing blue tit curled up,

gasping, clinging to a feeder for upwards of half an hour.

Eventually it raised its head and seized a suet pellet.

Soon it decanted to the wisteria, from which it subsequently disappeared.

This evening we dined on succulent roast duck breasts, boiled potatoes, crisp Yorkshire pudding, crunchy carrots, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts, with tender runner beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Lacaze Cabernet-Carmenere 2017.

 

 

 

A Closer Look

Elizabeth popped over this morning to collect some wood and nails to repair a fence on a temporary basis until Aaron can do it for her. She fixed a time with him.

Having concentrated on general garden views yesterday I took a closer look at

a variety of daffodils;

primulas and

primroses;

hellebores;

camellias;

anemone Blandas;

 

vinca;

viburnum;

and Amanogawa cherry blossom.

This afternoon I watched the Six Nations rugby international between Scotland and France. Just before half time the game erupted into a 30 man handbags session. One player threw a punch and was sent off. The game deteriorated after that.

Elizabeth, Danni, Andy and Ella came to dinner.

Before hand the usual fun ensued. Elizabeth and Danni graced the white sofa.

Ella has taken a shine to the bell with which Jackie wakes me when I have fallen asleep during Bargain Hunt.

She also has a new game which involves a tender “Aahh” as she settles her Teddy down to sleep;

she is not averse to ditching him when distracted by her Dad.

The meal consisted of Jackie’s sublime beef pie; roast potatoes; crunchy carrots, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts; tender runner beans, and tasty gravy. This was followed by rhubarb crumble and custard. Elizabeth, Danni, and I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon, The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, and Andy drank Diet Coke,

Jackie served up to eager participants.

 

 

Ella tucks in beside her mother.

Jackie took the two photographs of the infant enjoying her Kit Kat dessert.

 

 

What Is The Link?

Today’s atmosphere was somewhat dull and heavy, possibly in anticipation of the forecast return of heavy winds.

I took a turn around the garden while I could.

This view leads us south from the patio;

from the left hand corner of the Kitchen Bed our eye travels to the West Bed,

also seen in this shot of the Brick Path,

on the east side of which lie the Heligan Path and the Weeping Birch and Cryptomeria Beds.

Stepping stones take us past the Cryptomeria northwards to the house;

seen also from the Weeping Birch Bed.

Aaron has been planting roses on both sides of the back drive which should be even more colourful in the summer.

Here is the view southwards from the lawn;

and two around the greenhouse.

The front garden is what I see from either my desk or my reading chair.

This afternoon’s Six Nations rugby match between Ireland and Italy has been postponed. I trust Yvonne will forgive me for publishing this

list from Jackie’s morning shopping trip, and asking what links it with the previous sentence.

Later this afternoon I watched the rugby international between England and Wales, after which we dined on Jackie’s succulent beef pie; crisp roast potatoes; crunchy carrots, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Concha y Toro Casillero del Diablo reserva Cabernet Sauvignon 2018.

 

“I’ll Have A Copy Of That”

Despite yesterday’s rain the Head Gardener drove to Otter Nurseries clutching vouchers for special offers of seven different items. One of these was for 10 fifty litre bags of compost. The helpful staff had stuffed these all into the Modus. Unfortunately they did not offer to unload them at this end. That was my task this morning. I piled them up beside the shed, then staggered inside for a sit down.

Today had dawned as dry, bright, and sunny as yesterday was wet and dreary.

Jackie entered the garden in order to photograph Eric the pheasant. He immediately scarpered, so she cast her camera lens onto the plants.

These cranesbill geranium leaves bear a slight dusting of last night’s light frost.

 

One of Eric’s little games is to decapitate daffodils. He missed those in these three pictures.

Fallen camellia blooms enhance the third composition. Others remain on the shrubs.

 

 

New clematis shoots cling to the weathered iron gazebo, preparing to supersede

winter-flowering Cirrhosa Freckles;

These blue pansies will soon be supplanted by their pot-sharing tulips.

Pink hyacinths,

magenta cyclamens.

two-tone comfrey,

and cream hellebores brighten beds.

Spring is the season for nest-building and incubating eggs. It is prime poaching period for predatory magpies.

On the lookout for potential prey one of these plumed pests perches atop a blighted oak on the other side of Christchurch Road.

Later this afternoon Jackie drove us into the forest.

On Shirley Holms Shetland ponies grazed in the soggy landscape

which was waterlogged in parts, a number of reflective pools having been recently created

on the wooded side, the drier sections of which were littered by fallen branches,

beech nuts,

and their leaves.

On my way back to the car I photographed an equestrienne approaching us.

As she drew near she smilingly exclaimed “I’ll have a copy of that”.

“What’s your address?” I enquired.

“I’ll take it off your blog” she replied. It was only then that I realised that the beaming face beneath the unfamiliar helmet was that of Anne of Kitchen Makers.

So I felt the need to produce a close-up of her astride her splendid steed.

Beside Church Lane at Boldre lay a recently uprooted tree in a field occupied by

horses wearing rugs to protect them from the overnight temperatures currently slipping below freezing.

Daffodils surrounded the Church of St John the Baptist, in the graveyard of which

a photographer shepherded his subjects.

A gaggle of geese now occupied Pilley lake;

Hatchet Heath harbours more than its normal quota of ponds;

and swans smoothly glide on the slopes of East Boldre.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s juicy chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice with plain parathas accompanied by Hoegaarden in the case of the Culinary Queen and the last of the Cabernet Sauvignon in mine.

 

 

 

 

Through The Window

Another day of steady rain

washing windswept windows;

greasing patio paving;

puddling paths;

pearling maple branches;

glazing garden views;

dowsing patient sparrows;

refreshing colourful camellias,

 

and pink prunus Autumnalis,

ensured a day of Hardy reading and through-the-window photography.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy chicken curry and savoury rice followed by baklavas with which I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

 

 

Not Done With Pickwick

I’m not done with Pickwick yet.

On another dismally dank day I spent some time scanning the contents of

Here is the front cover

and here the title page.

The publishers have not dated the weighty volume, but Mr Reynolds’s illustrations are dated 1910. The book consists of extracts from Charles Dickens’s comic novel beautifully illustrated by another of my favourite artists.

I reviewed The Folio Society full version in yesterday’s post without revealing the story; I hope it will not give too much away by captioning each of these paintings with the title printed on the tissue protecting the tipped in chromolithographic plates. I will omit the explanatory lines that accompany these titles.

MR PICKWICK (Frontispiece)

MR TUPMAN, MR SNODGRASS, AND MR WINKLE

MR ALFRED JINGLE

ON THE ROCHESTER COACH

THE BULL INN, ROCHESTER

MR JINGLE ARRAYED IN MR NATHANIEL WINKLE’S SUIT

THE PICKWICKIANS SET OUT FOR DINGLEY DELL

MR WARDLE

SAM WELLER

MR JINGLE AND THE SPINSTER AUNT

MR PICKWICK UNDERGOES A TRYING EXPERIENCE

MRS LEO HUNTER’S PARTY

A PLEASANT DAY

MR PICKWICK’S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE

THE ELDER MR WELLER

MRS WELLER AND MR STIGGINS

MISS ARABELLA ALLEN

THE FAT BOY

THE PICKWICKIANS DISPORT THEMSELVES ON THE ICE

MR BOB SAWYER AND MR BEN ALLEN

MR SERJEANT BUZFUZ

SAM WELLER ATTENDS A SELECT SOIREE

MR JINGLE IN THE FLEET

THE UNTIMELY DOWNFALL OF THE REVEREND MR STIGGINS

This is what Wikipedia tells us about the artist:

‘Frank Reynolds (1876 in London – April 1953) was a British artist. Son of an artist, he studied at Heatherley’s School of Art.[1]

Reynolds had a drawing called A provincial theatre company on tour published in The Graphic on 30 November 1901. In 1906, he began contributing to Punchmagazine[1] and was regularly published within its pages during World War I, noted for his anti-Kaiser illustrations in Punch.[2] A collection of 199 of his illustrations is in the Punch archives.[3]

Peggotty and young David Copperfield, art by Frank Reynolds 1911

He was well known for his many illustrations in several books by Charles Dickens, including David Copperfield (c1911),[4] The Pickwick Papers (c1912) and The Old Curiosity Shop (c1913).[2] He succeeded F. H. Townsend as the Art Editor for Punch.[1]

He was also a prolific watercolour painter and was a member of the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours from 1903. He continued to illustrate in black and white or in colours all his life. He became known in the 1930s and through the Second World War for characters called The Bristlewoods.[1]

One of his more notable works is entitled Jingle.’

This evening we dined on baked ham, creamy mashed potatoes; piquant cauliflower cheese, crunchy carrots, and tender runner beans with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2018.

Characterisation

‘The Posthumous Papers of The Pickwick Club’ was the 24 year old Charles Dickens’s  serialised debut novel. Such publications in 1836 were the soaps of the period before television and a more leisurely age when reading was a main source of entertainment. The monthly instalments of these comic capers were eagerly awaited by those in many walks of life. Those who couldn’t read gathered round their more literate friends and colleagues, having contributed to the costs of library borrowing.

Today’s promotional merchandise boosting sales for blockbuster films and best-selling books like the Harry Potter series are no new idea. Pickwick inspired items were on sale when Queen Victoria came to the throne. There may not have been a market for replica football kits, but there was for Pickwick hats and coats.

The novel itself is really a series of short stories stitched together with the thread of what Mr Pickwick himself terms his “rambles” which were taken by coach and horses with groups of friends around the South of England. Interest was a little slow to catch on and the young author seemed to be feeling his way before picking up the pace with gusto. Gradually we become attached the characters introduced along the way.

Every so often what appears to be an extraneous story is introduced in the patched garment. These I found of varying interest.

As usual with Dickens, we learn much about the social, economic, and legal aspects of contemporary life. The author writes with fluidity; with remarkable knowledge of human nature; and with considerable humour. But, then, the world has appreciated that for almost two centuries,

All the strands are neatly drawn together in the closing stages when we learn the outcome of various relationships and their prospective futures.

Christopher Hibbert’s introduction to my Folio Society edition is scholarly and informative – I owe Pickwick hats and coats to him.

I have now finished reading the lengthy tome and can complete my posting of Charles Keeping’s

lively line drawings leaping exuberantly from the leaves of the book. I have written before about the artist’s fidelity to the text. What is also striking is his expressive rendering of the author’s characterisation. Keeping conveys the nature of his subjects with humour and accuracy. Some are grotesque caricatures; others gentle and sensitive souls. Comparison with the first and last of today’s selection will indicate that Charles Keeping can produce consistent individual portraits.

This evening we dined on smoked haddock, cod fish cakes, very tasty carrots, tender runner beans, juicy ratatouille and Jackie’s piquant cauliflower cheese, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Syrah.