August 2023 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

Comedienne Mode

Around this time of year we are normally visited by small green

crickets, one of which Jackie photographed this morning.

Later I photographed Ellie in her comedienne mode. Each one of these faces is a deliberate attempt to be funny, which of course warrants and receives the desired response.

These last two were taken in the garden where we were seated with Elizabeth who had visited for a chat and a couple of cups of tea, on the still breezy patio where we watched

fuchsias and verbena bonariensis swaying;

hanging baskets swinging;

shadows shifting;

windmills whirring;

potted impatiens quivering;

and listened to such as laundry baskets sliding across the paving; the clanking of metal artefacts and thud of wooden items falling somewhere, and the ubiquitous swishing of foliage.

This evening we all dined on further helpings of Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi meal and her fresh batch of pilau rice, with which she drank more Zesty and I drank more Gran Selone.

Despite the still stiff breeze on this warm and generally overcast afternoon I was able to rake up leaves and clippings from the Shady Path and, with the contents of two trugfuls in the Rose Garden, add another used compost bag to the stack awaiting the next dump trip.

Afterwards Jackie and I took a forest drive.

According to the Royal Horticultural Society “Himalayan balsam (Impatiens glandulifera) [introduced to UK in 1839] is a relative of the busy Lizzie, but reaches well over head height, and is a major weed problem, especially on riverbanks and waste land, but can also invade gardens. It grows rapidly and spreads quickly, smothering other vegetation as it goes.”

There is a fine crop of this, blending with spears of our native willow herb, swaying on the banks of a dried up stream normally running under Bockhampton Road.

While we drove along Braggers Lane later, a group of field horses on a hill attracted my attention. By the time I had changed my lens and disembarked once more, I had also attracted theirs.

The first two had thundered down towards me before I lifted my camera.

As the others joined in the welcoming committee I became aware of the muzzles and fly masks offering all round protection. The covering for eyes and ears were clearly to keep the flies at bay; maybe the muzzles were worn to prevent biting. The animal craning its neck in the last picture was scratching on a fencepost. Flies were perhaps not the only source of discomfort.

A long tailback on Holmsley Road was brought about by ponies and a foal three shades of grey and one of brown clustering together for protection from the traffic.

The wind having picked up considerably by the time we returned home, we found patio chairs and parasol downed; as we stubbornly took our drinks seated on two of the chairs we watched trees, shrubs, and plants bending sharply this way and that until we went back inside for our dinner which, with the addition of parathas and vegetable samosas, consisted of a second sitting of last night’s chicken jalfrezi meal. Jackie drank Zesty and I drank more of the Gran Selone.

Rusting Refuse

Although today’s temperature remained warm, the sun had conceded precedence to gloomy cloud cover.

On her return from a photographic expedition in the garden Flo

grabbed a rather joyful photograph of Ellie.

Among his tasks today were the planting in the Palm Bed which he had further prepared to take them;

pruning of the Rose Garden apple tree, and other areas, such as

the wooden arch above the shady path;

and gathering metal refuse, such as this rusting tabletop, for eventual removal to the dump.

Jackie spent much of the day producing tonight’s dinner of chicken jalfrezi; the smaller, milder, panful of butter chicken, also containing two boiled eggs, Ellie was to share with her mother, and gave her father some. The rice was Jackie’s vegetable version. My accompanying beverage was Gran Selone Italian red wine, while Jackie finished the rosé.

Dappled Shade

This rather warmer day remained overcast for the morning when Jackie drove us to Hockey’s Farm Shop for lunch, while the sun laid claim to the skies for our return.

A group of ponies and their growing foals occupied Wootton Common and both sides of Tiptoe Road near to The Rising Sun.

The warmer weather has brought out the flies, seen on the last pony in this first gallery, with more irritating the foal and its mother on the verge of the road through Ibsley. The dam has developed the tolerance to ignore them whilst the little bay still hoped to shift them with constant shakes of its head.

Maybe the cattle huddled together for protection.

Further along the road this Toyota driver struggled to pass a pony blocking the way.

In the Farm Shop café we each brunched on our usual choices – mine the Hungry One, and Jackie’s, Laura’s Favourite. Jackie photographed one of the crisp yellow roses in a bottle arrangements that decorated each table.

Abbotswell Road, down which we ambled behind a young rider in training until she was led off the trail, was now as dappled as all the other roads.

Many streams were already drying up, but the one crossing the ford at the bottom of the hill continued rippling under the bridge.

The tour bus we followed along Roger Penny Way kept to a steady 30 mph, until delayed by cyclists, ponies, pigs, and one very successful donkey; when freed the bus picked up a little speed, which had us speculating that there was a schedule to be kept. Indeed there was – more passengers waited at the next pick up point.

Ponies on the verge at Cadnam were already adopting the nose to tail technique for keeping flies at bay,

while heavily panting sheep streamed down the hill seeking shade from the trees beside the shallowing ford. These are the Torddu or black bellied variety of Badger Faced Welsh Mountain sheep.

For this evening’s dinner, Jackie added hot and spicy, and tempura prawn preparations to last night’s Chinese Take Away leftovers, which we all enjoyed and with which Jackie and I both drank La Vieille Ferme rosé 2022.

Enjoying The Garden

Today was warm and sunny enough to warrant a dead heading and weeding session which I undertook while Jackie continued her clearing and planting.

After my stint I sat on the wooden bench in the Rose Garden enjoying my surroundings. Later I wandered around and photographed random

plants and a butterfly, each image of which bears its title in the gallery.

Flo no longer needs my help with her photography project, but she does need the camera, which involves sharing it.

This gave me an opportunity to start reading Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak.

Later, we all dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Quinx

As we enter the second week of August the skies throughout the day have been overcast; the temperature over cold; the breeze underwhelming; so I donned a jacket, remained inside, and spent the day finishing my reading of the final volume of Lawrence Durrell’s Avignon Quintet,

the book jacket of which is illustrated by David Gentleman.

As the characters from the five works gather for the last time the narrator, Blanford, considers that he is now in a position to write the book that they have been helping him put together. These volumes are of course it.

We are now experiencing the aftermath of the Second World War with its reprisals, its War Crimes trials, and the beginnings of the consequential population readjustments and migrations.

Themes of sexuality, love, lust, and the nature and power of orgasm continue; triangular relationships, incest, and orientation are underlying – this is managed with non-pornographic eroticism. The search for the mythical treasure of the Templars remains a thread which seems about to be snapped.

Whilst I would agree with the blurb-writer’s observation of Durrell’s magical descriptive writing, I think the best of this is contained in the earlier chapter concerning the converging of the European gypsy tribes where, long before the writer used the phrase “human tide”, his fluent prose described just that ebb and flow, managing the varying lengths of his superb sentences to evoke the essence of the gathering stream.

Particularly in the first chapter and the notebook section, the author enjoys amusing wordplay like puns (in either English or French) and misquotations, all of which exemplify his apparent ease with language.

This evening we all dined on further helpings of yesterday’s Monday pie with fresh vegetables and the same beverages, followed by Berry Strudel

Garden Less Damaged

The temperature today was cooler, the wind easier, and the sun an intermittent visitor edging out the rain.

Jackie continued weeding and clipping. I helped with some bagging up and photographed

a few garden views and a couple of roses.

I have been persuaded by some of my blogging friends to break my “acquire no more books” rule and complete the Avignon series of Lawrence Durrell with a purchase of Quinx which I began reading today.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome Monday pie, tender Sweetheart cabbage mixed with leaves of cauliflower the firm florets of which were accompanied with crunchy carrots. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Peter Lehmann Barossa Valley Shiraz 2018 – a splendid wine given to me by Tess and Matt a couple of Christmases ago.

Chimes Recovery

The weather calmed down today.

This morning Flo swept up the smashed owl, and wove a ring from dried wisteria stems from which she suspended the wind chimes felled yesterday.

I spent most of the day producing and publishing https://derrickjknight.com/2023/08/06/the-trial-of-the-templars/

Early this evening I assisted Flo with her photography project. One of her photographs is the third in the gallery above.

Later we all dined on oven fish and chips, garden peas, pickled onions and sandwich gherkins with which I drank more of the GSM.

The Trial Of The Templars

The frontispiece shows Templars before Pope Clement V and King Philip IV of France.

Much detailed research during a period of the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries scarce in reliable sources has been undertaken by Malcolm Barber in his history – first published by Cambridge University Press in 1978 – of “The Trial Of The Templars” which took place against the background of the widespread belief in magic and superstition of the powers of the dead; the influence of the Devil; and condemnation of the sin of heresy, for which people were still being burnt to death in Tudor England.

Barber explains the rise of this militant religious order through the Christian crusades against Islam, the fervour following the capture of Jerusalem in 1099 and decline after the loss of Acre in 1291.

Front boards of The Trial of The Templars

During their rise, the author shows that the Order of the Temple possessed many Houses and Fortresses throughout Europe, especially concentrated in France where they were seen as a threat by King Philip IV, who vied with Pope Clement V for control over their future.

King and Pope were in scarcely veiled conflict as their devious machinations battled over the accusations facing the Templars. Philip wished to eliminate the Order by means of condemning their members and leadership for offences dreamt up and promulgated by rumour and gullibility of the European populace at the time.

The French king was determined to try and punish the members as quickly as possible, without the intervention of the pontiff. This he set about doing virtually overnight with the wholesale arrests in France of October 1307. The consequent trials forced the pope to act, manoeuvring the system of conducting the trials in the Church, handing the guilty to the Sate to administer punishment. This span the process out over five years.

Members of the Order were not all knights; not all were priests; the majority were servants running the establishments.

Torture was an accepted norm in the legal systems, and even sanctioned by the pope. This is how “the truth” of such fabricated offences was established. It was carried out by the Inquisitors, both of Church and State. Barber makes it clear that the results could not be accounted credible. Eventually the Order was suppressed by the pope because of the widespread loss of trust in the organisation believed to have engaged in denying Christ; in idolatry; in obscene practices; and in homosexuality; and in orgiastic rituals – yet without acknowledging the veracity of all this.

To my mind the author writes for professional historians; he establishes as much evidence as possible for his conclusions. As a layman interested in history (I passed A Level GCE in 1960) I appreciated the evidence but found the frequent repetition of the same facts from different witnesses rather tedious – especially as many victims subsequently retracted confessions made under torture or the threat of it. The details of the tortures, sometimes resulting in death, are not for the faint hearted; and the details of the accused behaviour incredible to modern eyes.

Slipped inside my Folio Society edition of 2003 is an article I cut from The Times of the following year by Ruth Gledhill about a movement seeking an apology from the then current Pope. This rather impractical wish was apparently abandoned in 2016.

My book is lavishly illustrated by contemporary artwork.

I have included a selection where I think the captions, when enlarged in the gallery, will help the story

Most Dispirited

The unexpected gales of Anthony, the first ever UK named August storm, wreaked havoc throughout the night.

Jackie has repaired her ceramic owl wind-chimes on countless occasions, but this crashing onto the patio paving, just a day after she had last glued the myriad of pieces together left it beyond further repair, and her most dispirited. The woven ring is Flo’s work.

The rain eased for the morning. By late afternoon we set out on a shopping trip to Tesco, during which an almighty hatful more, despite being repeatedly replenished, was

thrown down on shoppers, trolleys, and cars alike.

Soon sunshine vied for dominance with the rain.

Wet ponies along Forest Road continued with the important work of stocking up on grass

alongside a new stream running down the moorland slope.

On our return along Forest Road ponies ran up the hill while a young woman, having passed both us and them, ran down.

This evening we all dined on Tesco’s spicy burgers; fried onions; sandwich gherkins; and French fries, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the GSM.

Month: August 2023