Month: September 2023

Not Yet Completely Devoid Of Flies

This morning the skies were overcast and the temperature cooler.

After a Tesco shopping trip Jacki and I drove into the forest.

The small lake on Clay Hill, although still bearing reflections was drying , its crumbling banks

dotted with brambles, wild rose hips, and heather,

that Jackie photographed in close-up.

Bracken was beginning to brown; roots were exposed beneath the trees; acorns now dropping presaged the start of pannage; further up the hill more heather purpled the moorland up which a winding road ascended.

Although not yet completely devoid of flies ponies along Bisterne Close had emerged from the depths of the woodland which had been their recent refuge,

Friendly cyclists appreciated Jackie’s allowing them to pass in safety as she tucked the Modus into the verge.

After lunch warm sunshine returned to tempt out a slithering grass snake which Jackie made a good attempt at photographing before it slipped through a crack to safety.

This evening we all dined on Ashley fish, chips, mushy peas and curry sauce; Mrs Elswood’s sandwich gherkins; and Garner’s pickled onions, with which I finished the GSM and no-one else drank.

Aide-Memoire

Today’s weather was balmy and warm with a gentle breeze.

Over lunch I watched the recording of last night’s thrilling rugby World Cup match between Wales and Fiji, after which my reading of R.L.Stevenson’ s stories was interrupted by Jackie’s giggling while working on her laptop. In response to my enquiry she replied with a question about whether I remembered a particular garden we had passed some years ago. She had no idea why it had suddenly popped into her head. She couldn’t recall where or when this had been.

I was in the same boat, although I could remember many of the images, a woman pleased to show me round, and what was on the opposite side of the road. I may have mentioned that the blog is my best aide-memoir. When I have the right search word I can often find what I am looking for.

I thought Garden and Delights might feature in the title. Three came up. One of the images mentioned above were three figures on a bench. These led smoothly to

The Garden Of Delights

and much hilarity. If you follow the link please ignore the tags now listed in that post. At least the pictures have been returned to me since the transfer of my site, but these tags belong to an entirely different post and I can’t be bothered to pursue the issue.

I returned to my book, and later published

The Sire De Malétroit’s Door

This evening, because Jackie had made two pies yesterday, we all dined on the second, with fresh vegetables, with which we drank the same beverages.

The Sire De Malétroit’s Door

This, the second story in The Folio Society’s Robert Louis Stevenson’s collection, again spans one night in mediaeval France.

Again turbulent weather plays a significant part, as does the darkness of the night. A “piping wind, laden with showers,…. and the dead leaves ran riot along the streets” and “the night was as black as the grave; not a star, nor a glimmer of moonshine, slipped through the canopy of cloud” are just a couple of examples of the author’s beautifully engaging prose descriptions, setting the scene for what becomes a horror story

in which the eponymous door functions as an enticing refuge quickly transformed into a firm trap.

There follows a threatening conversation; an enticing meeting; an impossible proposition. Questions of love and honour are in conflict, culminating in one of resolution at the break of day. The timing of dream sequences is measured by the ticking of a clock beating in sympathy with hiccoughing sobs

Warm Rain

I began my day by watching the ITV recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between England and Argentina.

Although the air remained humid, the temperature hot, the breeze absent, we did at last receive rain, albeit warm.

It continued to require an effort to catch raindrops with my camera; the resultant images bearing titles in the gallery.

This afternoon I dozed through the rugby match between Japan and Chile, then gave my undivided attention to the game between Scotland and South Africa.

For dinner this evening Jackie produced her classic cottage pie; tasty ratatouille; crunchy carrots; and firm broccoli, with which she finished the Zesty and I drank François Dubessy GSM.

By this time the skies had darkened, the temperature dropped by several degrees, and a cool, light, breeze blew.

Reading Between Matches

Late last night I had watched a recording of the opening rugby World Cup match between France and New Zealand.

On another day of energy-sapping heat I began reading The Body Snatcher and other stories by Robert Louis Stevenson before lunch, after which I watched a similar recording of the match between Italy and Namibia.

I then published

A Lodging For The Night
https://derrickjknight.com/2023/09/09/a-lodging-for-the-night/

Before dinner I watched a recording of the match between Ireland and Romania.

The said dinner consisted of Thai and Salmon and lemon fishcakes, Jackie’s tasty ratatouille; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli; and boiled new potatoes, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Peroni.

A Lodging For The Night

Because of the quality of the writing of arguably our greatest ever story writer as exemplified in this collection on which I embarked upon today I will feature each tale in a separate post as I work my way through the book.

Claire Harmon’s introduction is as insightful and poetically written as Stevenson’s own work, and Michael Foreman’s sensitive full colour illustrations a suitable match.

The front board features an image by the artist.

The post title story, opening, as it does with a lyrical description of falling snow reminiscent of François Villon’s famous line “Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?” (“But where are the snows of yesteryear?”) reveals the depth of our author’s knowledge of this talented poet and criminal rogue of late Mediaeval Paris.

The snow itself as it falls to cover then ceases to to reveal the footprints of Villon as he finds himself fleeing his guilt over an action of which he is innocent, is in fact a character in itself.

Stevenson’s delightfully descriptive yet simple prose engages all our senses. We are transported in the snow and involved in the conversation Villon has as he debates with the man who gave him shelter. As will be seen he has been robbed and intended to do the same.

The 19th century author confronts poverty and exposure to the elements with lack of adequate protection.

As usual, I hope to convey the essence of the story without giving it away.

A Hot Curry On A Hot Day

On the morning of another very hot day I published

Quirky Fun For Denzil

Jackie and I then brunched at the Lake View Café.

This afternoon I finished reading Culloden and, after a dinner of Red Chilli take away, published

Culloden

My choice of curry was king prawn naga. There is nothing better, in my view, on a hot day than a hot curry.

Culloden

Today I finished reading

This is the second of John Prebble’s two histories of the demise of the way of life of the Scottish Highlands.

The author’s exemplary research and lively prose gives plentiful detail of the decisive battle of Culloden and its aftermath.

The picture is well amplified by the characterful wood engravings of Harry Brockway, the first of which features Alexander MacDonald of Keppel, an early clan leader casualty as the frontispiece.

Beginning with the organised march from Nairn to Culloden of the Royalist army and the gathering of the tired and hungry clans, in the harshest highland weather, we learn exactly what it was like for ordinary soldiers in particular preparing for battle in all kinds of freezing precipitation across boggy, rocky terrain. The reality of battle was even more dreadful.

Drummers woke and led the Redcoat soldiers,

while pipers like Ian Beg spurred the Rebel army

We are told of the Lowlanders and some Clansmen with axes to grind against the Highlanders; and Highlanders, like

Charles Stewart of Ardshiel, drawn into the conflict because of scores to settle with Royalist adherents, such as the Campbells.

Gilles MacBean was one of many who, fatally wounded, crawled away to die in the harsh undergrowth.

Although it was William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland who enjoyed the fame, and epithet “Butcher”, the hands-on commander responsible for the dreadful aftermath, details of which his own leader seemed content not to know too much about, was

Major General Henry Hawley.

The Highland capital of Inverness was occupied by the Redcoat army, from where they they searched the highlands for fleeing Rebels, laid waste the terrain, looted, destroyed and burnt highlanders homes, until a line of soldiers formed along the shore of Loch Ness carved a cleft across the north. The remaining clansmen rooted out were imprisoned in appalling circumstances, including the holds of ships which transported many to America and the West Indies.

Anne McKay, despite days of torture, refused to betray a group of Jacobites.

Murdoch McRaw was the last man hanged for alleged spying.

Samuel Kelsell received 2,000 lashes of the Cat o’ Nine Tails spread over 10 sessions for stealing 15 sheep.

Stewart Carmichael of Bonnyhaugh was the only man to escape from the Tilbury transports.

Cumberland was fêted in England on his return.

Quirky Fun For Denzil

On another very hot day I delved into my archives for a bit of quirky fun for Denzil’s ladybirds.

Back in September last year we were asked to search for some in Patrick’s Patch. These were painted pebbles, such as this one we found.

Two years before that, our great niece Ella, always needing one in each hand, investigated two on sticks.

We do, of course, have real ones for comparison,

but fortunately not the mare’s tails on which this one perched.

Children do have fun sorting out the genuine article

from the adult’s fun – collected for children, of course.

Disappointing Spiders

The presence of grey clouds yesterday evening and pink ones at dawn today may have signalled a false hope for lessening of the intense heat today. This was not to be.

For a short period before 9 a.m. Jackie and Ellie enjoyed comparative coolth seated on the patio,

first with the Hey Duggie Bubble Blast colourful orbs,

disappointing spiders when adhering to their webs beneath the table;

then blowing the stick windmill.

During the rest of the day I made further inroads into “Culloden”

For dinner this evening Jackie produced lemon chicken; roast potatoes, including softer, sweet ones; crunchy carrots; and tender green beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.