Month: August 2021

Assessing Each Other

This was a mostly dismal, overcast, day which brightened up towards the end of our afternoon forest drive.

Wheatfields are maturing along Lodge Lane, near Beaulieu; blackberries are burgeoning in the hedgerows; wildflowers such as cream and yellow linaria vulgaris, young ferns, and creeping ivies, mingle with exposed tree roots; log piles line the drive into Ashenden; a dead tree clutches at the air.

An adolescent foal, its mother foraging nearby, crossed the lane into

Cripplegate Lane, where its dam soon followed.

Other ponies emerged from Church Lane, East Boldre.

Donkeys and foals congregated at the corner of Norleywood Road, where two of the youngsters were clearly assessing each other.

Note the reflective collar, rejected by a pony, hanging on the road sign.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Mendoza Malbec 2020 and I drank more of the Shiraz.

Noon In The Knight Garden

At noon, on another warm, sunny, day with a moderate breeze, I poked my camera out of the upstairs window in order to record the garden’s continuing splendour. (I was inspired by a comment from Elizabeth Gauffreau for today’s title)

This afternoon I finished reading ‘David Copperfield’ and scanned the final eight drawings with which that splendid illustrator, Charles Keeping, has adorned the closing pages of my Folio Society edition.

‘I hired a boat directly, and we put off to the ship’

‘I came into the valley, as the evening sun was shining on the remote heights of snow’

‘I thought I had never seen an obstinate head of hair rolling about in such a shower of kisses’

in ‘Going softly to her piano, Agnes played some of those old airs to which we had often listened in that place’ Mr Keeping, through the medium of the flowing grain on the side of the instrument, conveys the unspoken communication between singer and listener which culminates in the next but one illustration.

‘Whom should we behold, to our amazement, in this converted Number Twenty Seven, but Uriah Heep!’, unmistakeable to anyone who has seen the artist’s previous depictions.

‘Clasped in my arms as she had never been, as I had thought she never was to be!’

‘Mr Peggotty went with me to see a little tablet I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of Ham’

‘Peggotty, my good old nurse’

I don’t propose to review such a well-known book, save to say that it was a very good choice for Charles Dickens to term his favourite of the novels.

I have probably mentioned before that I do not generally keep more than one book on the go at any one time. This Dickens work and another, modern, novel have been an exception while I have returned to the Victorian masterpiece. As soon as I have finished reading Harold Brodkey’s book I will draw some comparisons between the two.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she finished the Rosé and I drank Barossa Valley Shiraz 2017.

A Clean Sweep

It seems that we can be reasonably confident that the weather will improve from today, which has remained hot and sunny.

On the strength of that, yesterday evening Jackie righted the garden furniture and swept the patio and the path between the kitchen wall and the Pond Bed.

Today I carried out the same operation on other paving and brick paths. Perhaps I will rake the gravel tomorrow.

Later this afternoon I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/08/10/julie-andrews/

This evening we dined on succulent roast chicken and pork chipolatas; sage and onion stuffing; crisp Yorkshire pudding; boiled potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender mange touts and runner beans, with which Jackie drank more of the rosé and I finished the Comté Tolosan rouge.

A Knight’s Tale (14: Julie Andrews)

By 1939, just a few months before the start of the Second World War, Mabel returned to England. We have no record of her wartime activities, but my brother Chris was keen to point out that with English, German, French, Russian, and, no doubt, a few other languages behind her, she must have been doing something. After the war she continued tutoring pupils from schools in Wimbledon, including Wimbledon College, which I and my two brothers would all attend later in turn. This was followed by bringing up a bright and intelligent little girl in Gloucester whose mother was dead and whose father was away at sea.

Aged 65 in 1946 Mabel became tutor to twelve year old Julie Andrews – a post in which she would continue for the next four years. Her tasks included going down to the star’s home at Walton-on-Thames; travelling up to London to teach her between the matinees and evening shows in her dressing-room at the back of the stage; accompanying her on her tours in the provinces to places such as Sunderland, Peterborough, Bournemouth, Eastbourne, Blackpool, and even Jersey. Wherever they went the Education authorities sent someone to their hotel to check that Julie was being regularly taught. During these enquiries Mabel acted as her chaperone.

The following is an extract from Dame Julie’s autobiography:

“My first tutor was a young, pretty, ineffectual woman, whose name I don’t recall. I walked all over her, claiming that I was far too busy to do homework. Within two months she was gone and a new tutor, much older [65], by the name of Miss Gladys (sic!) Knight was hired – and she brooked no excuses. She was a disciplinarian, a darling, and a good teacher. We worked together for four hours every day and I finally began to get the education I should have had all along.”

Until 1960 Mabel continued to teach schoolboys; German lessons to adults; and, lastly, English to an Italian girl. Just before Christmas she had a fall on the stairs and her teaching days were over. After a further fall two years later, with memory failing, and concentration difficult, she died on 2nd October 1962 and bequeathed 18 Bernard Gardens to my father.

This was a truly tragic end for a really remarkable woman. I have recorded in https://derrickjknight.com/2021/07/30/a-knights-tale-7-world-war-i/ that my great aunt, without possessing a record player included

a number of Dame Julie Andrews’s recordings in her effects.

Despite The Winds Of August

Yesterday’s winds were not quite as bad as expected, but they persisted today, amid sunny spells. The Head Gardener carried out more pruning, clipping, and tidying, with minimal assistance from me.

After lunch I wandered around with my camera.

Here is a selection of our white flowers, comprising Marguerites, cosmos, dahlias. Japanese anemones, and petunias.

Begonias come in varying colours, shapes and sizes.

as, of course, do the dahlias.

The pale peach and the yellow Summer Time climbers flower throughout the season.

Hues of hydrangeas and lilies, including hemerocallis are also numerous.

Crocosmia, including Lucifer, towering in the Palm Bed, and the more orange one against the red Japanese maple in the Pond Bed send up flickering flames signifying different heats.

Despite the winds of this unusual August, we still enjoy the exuberance of Nature’s painter’s palette.

I then scanned the next four of Charles Keeping’s skilfully sensitive illustrations to Dickens’s ‘David Copperfield’

‘I lay my face upon the pillow by her, and she looks into my eyes, and speaks very softly’

‘Standing by the building was a plain hearse’

‘The ship rolled and beat with a violence quite inconceivable’

‘ ‘I will speak!’ she said, turning on me with her lightning eyes’

Shortly before dinner, I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/08/09/a-second-revolution/

The delicious meal consisted of roast chicken thighs; crisp Yorkshire pudding and fried potatoes; herby sage and onion stuffing; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; with thick, meaty, gravy. We each drank more of our rosé and red wines respectively.

A Knight’s Tale (13: A Second Revolution)

By July 1933, Mabel was to take up a post at Chanak (now Canakkale) in the Dardanelles, then under Turkish rule. This was to prepare a boy and girl for an English school. Although there appears to be no record of this engagement it is highly likely that it was with

the Whittall family, as attested by my great aunt’s water colour of 1936 of the group sharing a duvet. There is much material on the history of this influential family on Google, and the gentleman with the book does bear some resemblance to published portraits.

After 2 1/2 years in Turkey Mabel returned to England two months before her 94 year old mother died from a fall on the stairs.

Her next post was in Ceuto, Spanish Morocco, in time for the Spanish Civil War to break out and subject Miss Knight to a second Revolution. This was bad enough, but not as dangerous as the Russian one, even though the Communist party was dropping bombs on the oil tanks at the location.

The house was close to the refinery and, therefore, in a very dangerous spot. Mr Delgado, father of Mabel’s two girl pupils, had charge of the oil supply for the ships.

On one occasion, seeking safety from the bombing, my father’s aunt fled into the market, where, in the street, she was horrified to meet a man carrying his child’s head in his hands.

The position near these oil tanks became so dangerous that Mabel and the girls were sent to Mr Delgado’s olive plantation near Seville, where they remained until the war was over.

Whilst in Seville, Mabs accepted an invitation to watch a bull fight. She records that “I shall never forget the horror I experienced seeing the torture of the animal. And I would advise no lover of animals to witness this horribly cruel sport”.

Running For Cover

Following a warning of further fierce winds we carried out our normal protective preparations early this morning. Although still strong the gusts were not as forceful as yesterday.

Soon after lunch we took a drive into the forest to take our minds off any possible storm damage.

As we approached Smugglers Road car park we witnessed the most unusual sight of a quartet of ponies racing down the hillside. Naturally we turned in to investigate the equine objective.

There, apart from a more nonchalant trio preferring grass to whatever goodies were on offer, the animals gathered around a group of promising visitors.

My attention strayed to the purpling heather on the verges and upward on the hillside. As I picked my way up a steep and very narrow pony track, I had forgotten that, with the current state of my knees, it is far easier to climb than descend. When I realised I would have difficulty getting down, and would not therefore be nimble enough to negotiate meeting a pony face to face, I sidled crablike to the bottom. I really must keep a stick in the car – and remember to take it out.

On my return manoeuvres I was happy to see the ponies still occupying the car park.

A group of walkers set off by a different, gentler, route

So far the rain had kept off. Enough, at Linwood Bottom, for me to be tempted to stray to photograph

a number of white cattle from a different angle.

No sooner had I disembarked than a heavy downpour sent me diving into the Modus; the cattle lurching to their feet; and a gentleman and two boys passing the bovine bunch in their dash for cover.

Having read enough of David Copperfield to scan four more of Charles Keeping’s memorable illustrations, I did so.

‘Mr Micawber accepted my proffered arm on one side, and the proffered arm of Traddles on the other, and walked away between us’

‘With the veiled face lying on his bosom, Mr Peggotty carried her, motionless and unconscious, down the stairs’

‘The door of the boat-house stood open when I approached’

‘ ‘The Devil take you!’ said Uriah, writhing in a new way with pain’

All the portraits in these examples remain faithful to earlier versions.

Tonight we dined on a mixed meat melange with tasty gravy; new potatoes, both boiled, and fried with mushrooms; crunchy carrots; and tender cabbage. Jackie drank more of the rosé while I drank Chevalier de Fauvert Comté Tolosan Rouge 2019.

A Forest Walk

During this pleasantly sunny morning, I was mostly dead heading while Jackie continued with her general garden maintenance.

After lunch I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/08/07/a-knights-tale-12-the-night-of-the-panther/

We had been promised light showers for the afternoon, and this is how it began, so my Chauffeuse drove me to the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive and parked in one of the designated car parks while I took a walk. The rain kept coming, but it was mild and sporadic enough for me to set off for twenty minutes each way, crunching along a gravel path and pine cones carpeting the forest floor

through the majestic giant redwoods and their neighbours

some of which, having fallen, would take their time returning to the soil. In answer to Yvonne comment below, I have discovered that “Managing forest land often generates lots of woody branches, pieces of trees and other loose woody material — slash in other words — from tree harvesting or thinning. While many landowners and managers look upon this material as a disposal dilemma, it also is a rich, and frequently overlooked, opportunity for to enhance wildlife habitat. Arranging slash materials into piles can provide birds, mammals and other wildlife in the forest with the food, water, space and cover they need.” (https://washingtondnr.wordpress.com/2017/02/14/not-just-another-stack-of-dead-branches-habitat-piles-for-wildlife/)

I believe Forestry Commission volunteers make the stacks we see.

At first there were many other groups of walkers taking a similar route.

This was to change in a moment, as quiet adult voices and shrill cries of children were drowned by the increasing crescendo of pattering precipitation misting the trees,

puddling the path, and running down my specs and my camera lens.

This was at my turn round point and continued, soaking me to the skin beneath my allegedly showerproof jacket, until my mud-spattered sandals, sans socks, reached the car. Just one family of three passed me in the rush to get out of the rain. The mother informed me that she had wet pants. “Is that all?” was my reply.

With all fresh ingredients, Jackie repeated yesterday’s menu for dinner tonight, with which we drank the same beverages.

A Knight’s Tale (12: The Night Of The Panther)

During these last two years, Mabs received visits from an old friend of St Petersburg days and was persuaded to go to Estonia, the new state that had just obtained its independence from Russia.

English was very much in demand, and there would be plenty of pupils, so off she sailed to Reval – now Tallinn – the capital of Estonia. There she found life very interesting and thoroughly enjoyable.

From her own rooms in the centre of the capital she taught groups from the Ministry; from the Banks; and pupils from the high schools.

In the summer months balls were given on board the various English ships, such a Cumberland, York, Neptune, and other light cruisers, brightly decorated for the occasion. At Christmas there were evening parties in the snow, sleigh bells, and supper at a seaside villa. Easter was equally festive.

Many Estonians and Baltic Germans kept up some of the old Russian customs including special services in the Russian churches, with processions of priests and choristers.

In 1929, when Mabel had been in Tallinn seven years, she persuaded her younger sister, Evelyn, to join her. Evelyn did so, and her part in the saga will come later.

The global depression had reached all Europe, including Estonia, by 1931, which meant English lessons were not quite so plentiful.

In July 1932, when the eldest sister, Ethel, with her severe health problems consequent upon her revolutionary experience, was having difficulty in letting rooms in the Wimbledon house that the two of them were jointly buying, [Mabel] “decided to leave Tallinn, and turn over the teaching and my furnished room to my sister.”

After “getting things straight” in 18 Bernard Gardens SW19, she began to look for another post abroad. Nothing daunted, now aged 51, my father’s aunt accompanied an English woman and her two daughters, aged 15 and 13, joining her husband in India for six months. Mabel’s task was to prepare her charges for school in England. Her “time in India was very comfortable and the girls were not spoiled and very easy to teach”. They “even had an electric fan in the schoolroom.”

One night my intrepid great aunt joined a panther hunt. “The natives selected a good tree and made a platform in it” where she and two others “spent the night watching for the panther – gun ready. A goat was tied up near the tree as a decoy, but the panther was too wise and managed to slink away after getting the hunters’ scent.”

The six months being up, Mabel returned to England with the family.