Month: April 2020

Down The Back Drive

By e-mail this morning I received from my Australian friend, Gwen Wilson, a copy of a 1939 register of the residents of Shaftesbury Rd, Carshalton. This was the location of the VE Day Street Party featured in my post, “Holly”. I have added it to the post.

Later, Malachi initiated a FaceTime conversation.

Schools in Fremantle are open again. Attendance is voluntary. Other children may continue on line. My grandson had spent the day on virtual classroom worksheets .

This is his effects cartoon of his feelings about it;

and this at the end of the day.

Mal wanted to send some other pictures to my mobile phone. I was forced to explain why I couldn’t access these because I do not use the internet on my phone – this because I am old and can’t manage it. I had to resort to telling him how limited technology was when I was his age. At each stage he registered his amazement with a suitable effect.

Ordinary people did not have telephones, and those who did often had party lines shared with neighbours who could pick up their phones and listen in. We had no telephone throughout my childhood.

We didn’t have a television until I was 15 and that was a small black and white second hand one given to my father.

We didn’t have a car. We could play cricket in the London street because there were no cars there. (I do hope that is a dollop of chocolate, Mal.)

So, you see, I like to keep things simple.

For most of the day the skies darkened; a fierce wind threw garden furniture to the ground and smashed a pot; heavy rain lashed the windows, also battered briefly by sharp hailstones.

 

During a brief lull I stepped out to gather up North Breeze’s soggy rubbish scattered around our front garden. I got no further than photographing a little of it before hailstones clattered down. Was the litter the badger’s revenge?

Jacki had taken advantage of the precipitation cessation by wandering round the back drive with her camera.

She focussed on the blooming borders

with their healthy hostas,

happy hawthorns

and euphoric euphorbias. (I couldn’t help myself).

White libertia and Erigeron;

lemon antirrhinums;

and pink pelargoniums also thrive there.

The Head Gardener is particularly pleased with how the stumpery on the corner of the Weeping Birch Bed is developing.

Nearby, daffodils continue to bloom.

Just as I was photographing the gravel at the front, Jackie had reached the Star of India clematis beneath the wisteria.. Like me, she was driven inside by the piercing sleet.

This evening we dined on The Culinary Queen’s spicy chilli con carne, savoury rice, and tender green beans with which she drank Heineken and I drank Cellier des Dauphines Cotes du Rhone Cuvée Spéciale 2016.

 

We’ve Been Badgered

A few days ago Jackie photographed these 40 Nicotiana Sylvestris seedlings sprouting in the greenhouse. When they are big enough she will transfer them to their beds.

Two evenings ago she leapt from the sofa exclaiming “What was that? –

It was a big thing”.

“A Touch of Frost” had to be put on hold while she rushed outside to investigate.

She followed a large creature as it slithered in a surprisingly agile manner underneath the metal gate on one side of the house.

It had also burrowed beneath the gate that Aaron had recently installed.

With an admirable turn of speed the Head Gardener gave chase and watched  a badger rapidly run across Christchurch Road towards the field opposite.

This morning we received evidence of a further visit. Trenches had been scoured all round the garden shed.

Planted pots had been toppled and pebbles scooped out. Clearly our visitor had returned.

Research reveals that Brock is a member of a protected species and almost impossible to remove. One suggested deterrent is human urine, so I guess I will have to make a convenience of it.

Courtesy of those the lockdown prevented from visiting us at Easter, we had plenty of fresh from the freezer prawn melange ingredients to enjoy a repeat for dinner this evening; Jackie drank Budweiser and I finished the Barbera.

“Where’s Derrick?”

Knowing that the temperature would drop and the leaden canopy overhead become a leaky colander throughout the day, we held back Jackie’s sunlit images from yesterday afternoon.

She had transformed this second footpath across the Rose Garden from a few days ago

to this, having also re-fixed the windblown mirror to the back fence. The poppies in the first picture have all been relocated.

Elsewhere backlit borage;

sunlit azalea;

and shadowy lily of the valley also caught her eye.

After lunch today I took advantage of a minor lull in the precipitation from above and photographed raindrops

pendant from solanum;

pearling  libertia;

pooling pelargoniums;

douching heuchera leaves;

bejewelling rosebuds;

caressing Queen of the Night;

refreshing rhododendrons;

purifying pale pink pieris;

cleansing clematis;

and slithering down Viulcan magnolia.

Some flowers, such as hellebores,

pansies,

and diurnal poppies, bowed their heads against the weight of the crown jewels.

While I was wandering around the garden Jackie, from the dry warmth of the kitchen,

photographed me in action.

She even managed “Where’s Derrick?” (1)

and (2)

This evening we dined on prawns: tempura prawns; prawns in hot, spicy batter; seeded prawn toasts; and Jackie’s savoury prawn, egg, and vegetable rice, followed by mixed fruit crumble and custard, with which she drank Heineken and I drank Piemonte Barbera 2016.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ubiquitous Red Jacket

Jackie spent all this day of intermittent sunshine and clouds continuing her

weeding and watering, mostly in the Rose Garden.

I rendered minimal assistance while wandering round with a camera listening to the avian orchestral matins.

More clematises are now blooming;

Marie Boisselot blends with Erigeron cascading at her feet;

one we cannot name has scaled the gazebo;

pale pink Montana vies with blue solanum flung across this arch

 

over the Brick Path.

Splendid rhododendrons compete for attention in various locations such as

the Palm Bed with its spirea and cow parsley also seen

in front of the greenhouse in the Dragon Bed.

The Viburnum Plicatum stretches wide its ivory arms in homage to the West Bed.

Beautifully crocheted Hydrangea petals cap a container

beside the lawn.

Fuchsias like the delicate white Hawkshead;

Delta’s Sarah with her pastel pinks;

and this bright red bud bowing to the moon which will remind me of its name when it opens fully, provide their pendulous pleasure.

Variably hued heucheras extend their miniature Christmas trees.

Laura Ford graces the Rose Garden

over the entrance to which

sprawls Madame Alfred Cariere.

This garden bears much evidence of work in progress;

Jackie’s red jacket

seems to be everywhere.

The green plastic trug remains on the Gazebo Path where I deposited it yesterday while collecting up cuttings.

The path between the kitchen wall and the Pond Bed is still reasonably tidy.

Wallflowers, silene, companula, and aquilegias are happily blended in the Weeping Birch Bed which also contains some of prolific

libertia.

The Copper beech is now quite well clad.

I returned to my computer in time to receive a FaceTime visit from the Australian branch.

It was so dark in Fremantle on the way back for Sam and Holly and their children that Malachi needed to empty special effects to penetrate the blackness.

When they arrived home everything was much clearer. I think.

This evening we dined on second helpings of yesterday’s sausages in red wine, with fresh vegetables. Jackie finished the Sauvignon Blanc and I finished the Rheinhessen.

 

 

 

 

Robert Gibbings Once More

In the summer of 1942 I blinked into the daylight as, making my first cry, I emerged from my mother’s womb – hardly “ripped untimely”, but, all the same,  premature enough to require us both to remain in Leicester General Hospital long enough to make up the 7 weeks snatched from gestation.

At the same time Robert Gibbings was delivered of “Coming Down The Wye” from The Temple Press, Letchworth.

Clearly, despite falling in the midst of the Second World War, this was a vintage year. Apart from that world-wide devastation, life three quarters of a century ago was lived at a gentler, simpler, pace. Technology, albeit harnessed for the killing machines, was primitive compared with that of the 21st century.

My mother sees many parallels between the global battles of conflicting nations of the days of her young motherhood and the international war against the current pandemic.

Mr Gibbings’s book

bears a statement that its production conforms to wartime economy standard. I might add that, apart from slight foxing the stout quality of the paper and binding of my copy far exceeds normal trade production of today. The water damage seen at the very tops of the pages was probably sustained during the half century I have owned the work.

Anyone seeking inspiration really to look and listen to the delights of the nature that appears to be teaching the world lessons we would do well to heed, is encouraged to sample the pleasure of the splendid prose using fluent, lilting, language with which the author seemingly effortlessly evokes the experience of his exploration of another of his liquid lifelines. This time the River Wye.

Robert Gibbings’s observation is detailed and attentive; his ear acute and sensitive; and his knowledge of the natural world exemplary. He is widely read and able to include appropriate historical and poetic references. As usual he includes local conversations in the vernacular with a sauce of myth and legend.

The delightful writing is a perfect accompaniment to the work of the author as fine artist. As usual with this craftsman I have reproduced a plentiful selection of complete pages of the work in order that those who wish may be able to try the text for themselves;

and to demonstrate the power and delicacy of the engravings and their placement on the page.

 

While I was scanning the above pictures patient robin Ronnie was allowed on to the feeding tray by the greedy sparrows.

Jackie had begun weeding and tidying the footpath into the Rose Garden.

This afternoon she completed the task magnificently. Her photographs are pretty good, too.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb sausages in red wine; very creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots, and tender green beans with which the Culinary Queen drank Budweiser and I drank more of the Rheinhessen.

Orlaigh And Her Rabbit – Er, Brother

Early this morning I received a FaceTime call from Malachi in Fremantle. Trying to keep up with an 11 year old who was playing Lexulous, chatting with both voice and text, and teaching me various applications simultaneously is testing indeed. All coming at a rate of knots, you understand.

One application involved ‘effects’. These can be changed in rapid succession – both the faces and their expressions. This is Malachi as his Dad. I challenge anyone else aged 77 to follow this whilst at the same time seeking a Lexulous word that won’t be too difficult whilst using US English – I couldn’t even find the icon or whatever to access my app.

I did, however, learn how to take photographs of the people so far away.

At one point, in the Chat section of our word game, I received a long message about arrangements for a meeting. Since this allegedly came from Sam Knight, in whose name we play the game, I assumed it was one my son had intended for someone else.

No. It was my grandson sending a message on auto. I completely lost the plot when he tried to explain that.

We were joined by Orlaigh and her rabbit – er, brother.

The computer was eventually set up in the dining room so we could continue conversing over dinner. Unfortunately the signal there, at the back of the house, didn’t produce very clear images so the photographs of my granddaughter tucking into potatoes and salmon didn’t actually materialise.

Jackie spent most of the day working in the garden, with minimal assistance from me.

She photographed various different rhododendrons;

a number of unfolding ferns,

some in the stumpery,

along with a hosta transplanted from elsewhere.

The clematis buds were photographed against the backdrop of John Corden’s favourite shed.

These gladioli buds are burgeoning.

The Assistant Photographer also produced images of a mound of red Japanese maple beside the decking;

purple silene;

and yellow euphorbia.

The Copper Beech is now sprouting leaves.

While we enjoyed our pre-dinner drinks in the rose garden we watched and listened to

Nugget, winging from tree to tree and resuming his repelling rivals routine. “Where’s Nugget” (74)”.

The song is so beautiful that it is difficult to imagine that it is a war-cry.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken, vegetable, and bacon soup with crisp croutons and crusty bread. The Culinary Queen drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc, while I opened another bottle of the Rheinhessen and drank some of it.

 

Nugget’s Family Needs Feeding

Yesterday evening Nugget and a blackbird who had discovered his feeders outside the stable door both emptied their larders while providing meals on wings for their respective nestlings. Jackie felt so bad at being so Mother Hubbard https://youtu.be/30l7EinbOYg that she decided bird food, especially Nugget’s favourite suet pellets, were essential shopping in these times of restraint. This meant an early morning trip back to Ferndene Farm Shop.

I waited in the car facing the thatched house on Bashley Cross Road,

adjacent trees casting dappled shade; and alongside

a gentleman working from home.

Naturally the Head Gardener also bought more trays of plants and three bags of compost loaded into the car by a helpful staff member. We then took a circuitous route home through

largely empty lanes, some bordered by bluebells, silene, and stitchwort;

some boasting rather splendid gardens.

Ponies parleyed in a paddock on New Lane.

Jackie visited Tesco in Old Milton to purchase a few more essential items and parked

outside the Lotus Restaurant.whose enticing window notice failed to tempt us for this evening’s meal.

Our one previous visit there in December 2013 had been enough to last a lifetime. We thought the current pandemic situation was not one in which to reconsider. The Culinary Queen has nevertheless been hankering for a Chinese takeaway meal from Mr Chan at Hordle. We therefore travelled up

Stopples Lane to check whether he had been able to open. Sadly, he hadn’t.

On the way back home we passed a pair of cyclists we had seen earlier.

During a telephone conversation with Mum today she likened the coronavirus experience to that of the Second World War, in the middle of which I was, of course, born; in particular not being able to see people we are close to, and the possibility we may not do so again. I had spoken of how Ella had just grown able to wander around our house and knew where everything was. I wondered how much she would remember. This prompted my mother to describe the distress of a young child she had known at being introduced to the stranger who was her father when he returned home from the conflict.

Mum remains in good spirits and we had a few laughs, not the least when she reminded herself that I was on the phone, not actually present in her room. She had asked me whether I had had to knock on the front door to gain admittance.

Jackie reports that she has seen a couple of juvenile robins in the garden and is convinced that these will be from Nugget and Lady’s January brood; the current feeding is for a second clutch.

For this reason we enjoyed our pre-dinner drinks on the patio, waiting for Nugget. This was a little early for his arrival, but

he joined us later for dinner which, in our case, consisted of cheese centred haddock fish cakes; piquant cauliflower and broccoli cheese; boiled Jersey Royal potatoes; tender green beans, and firm orange carrots, with which I finished the Rheinhessen and Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc.

This was the Assistant Photographer’s attempt at pairing a blue tit and a robin.

Hot Gardening

At different times in this very hot day I have shared watering duties with the Head Gardener and carried some of her refuse to the compost bins.

Jackie has continued potting and tidying. When possible she sits and lifts the containers on any available surface.

The wisteria draped over its arbour here offers her a modicum of shade.

Blue solanum scales the arch in the first picture

 

and aquilegias share its bed opposite the greenhouse.

Nugget is very busy transporting food from the feeders outside the stable door. Before filling his beak he pauses above or below (clue) his hanging larder and when loaded takes off round the corner like an Exocet. Interestingly he will carry on regardless when we are outside, but if we are sitting inside the slightest movement cause him to flee. We suspect he cannot recognise us through the glass. He does feature in this “Where’s Nugget?” (73), but it would be so difficult to find him that biggification would probably be essential and I won’t be offended if anyone gives it a miss.

These potted pelargoniums have survived the winter.

Bonny bluebells are ubiquitous.

These in the back drive border stand beside vinca, bronze fennel, and cascading Erigeron.

 

We have several different varieties of rhododendron, two of which grace the Palm Bed.

This solarised cockerel lights the Pond Bed at night.

The yellow diurnal poppies have caught up with the orange ones which now require my daily dead heading attention.

Pink campion thrives beside the Lawn Bed.

For your Eyes Only, seeking shade,

and Crown Princess Margareta, attractive to flies, are two of the roses now blooming in the Rose Garden,

in which we now have abundant apple blossom.

No matter how many are pulled up by Jackie and Aaron, we cannot eradicate the wayward white alliums which produce clusters of minute bulbs seen here in the Weeping Birch Bed.

Osteospermum spills over its container on the edge of the concrete patio.

Woodpeckers Care Home has informed us that one of the residents has been admitted to hospital with coronavirus. Each remaining resident will be confined to their room for two weeks during which each member of staff has been equipped with suitable PPE. Mum is quite relaxed about it saying that she, who doesn’t mix with other residents anyway, has largely self-isolated as long as she has lived there.

We are about to dine on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable soup with crusty bread from the freezer. She will drink Peroni and I have already started on the Rheinhessen.

 

A Mating Ritual

I accompanied Jackie on her Ferndene Farm shop trip this morning.

There was no queue for the food shopping, so Jackie did that first before joining

the line of  plant lovers, Masks were more in evidence today.

Jackie’s floral purchases were limited because there was only one empty plant tray and the trollies were all in use.

Afterwards we drove on to Tesco to fill up with petrol. There was no queue there either.

Ballards Lake lies alongside Fernhill Road on the outskirts of New Milton. Jackie parked first in Brook Avenue, then in Lake Grove Road while I wandered with my camera.

Residents of Brook Avenue enjoy

blooming bluebells  enhancing a splendid woodland view from the fronts of their houses.

 

One woman seemed to be returning home from a walk with her dog.

Perhaps she had availed herself of the dog poop bin alongside the dappled footpath leading to a bridge over

a shallow stream which

in parts is quite rock dry.

The shadow in this picture is that of another bridge, the crossing of which leads into the

 

woodland path along which I stood aside for a couple of dog walkers who thanked me for doing so.

The stream featured here is meant to flow under Fernhill Road to link with Ballards Lake.

In fact it is so dry that a scummy surface scarcely swirls after dribbling from drying rocks beneath

the lakeside bridge, one of which posts sports

a child’s sun hat.

I watched a young woman photographing a young child on the far bank.

Later her group seemed to have spotted something – perhaps the infant had gone wandering.

The lake’s surface bore a number of reflections.

On my circumperambulation (yes, I have coined this word) I spoke to several people at a safe distance. The couple above welcomed my attention because the gentleman enjoys the same enthusiasm.

The old gold bands seen curling round the limbs of these oak boughs above the dog walkers were gently rippling reflections from the wake of mallards and their

ducklings.

I think this was a friendly thrush that greeted me. I would be grateful for any birder letting me know otherwise. (I am reliably informed by John Knifton that this is a dunnock – thanks a lot, John)

The screeching black headed gulls that dominated the orchestra around the lake seemed not so friendly.

In fact the name of this avian species is quite misleading. Their heads are chocolate brown rather than black, and even then only during the summer when their white pates develop this pigmentation.

A considerable about of squawking came from their open beaks.

Some adopted the apparently subservient prone shuffle we had seen in our pigeon  day or so ago. Here was another mating ritual.

This evening we dined on a spicy pizza with fresh salad included very flavoursome Ferndene Farm Shop Isle of Wight tomatoes. Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc while I drank Dornfelder Rheinhessen dry red wine 2018.