Shirtsleeves were just about adequate for my post-gale walk around the garden this cooler and brighter morning.
Once again plants, albeit somewhat weatherbeaten, most unlikely to be found together in the flower beds at this time of year are featured. The yellow climbing rose Summer Time, and the ginger lilies should, for example be over by now.
Today’s gallery harbours more plants not recently photographed which bear titles once accessed by a click on any image. I think the butterfly is a Speckled Wood, which we have not seen before in 2023.
Afterwards I made good headway on Nevil Shute’s “On the Beach” which I had begun reading a couple of days ago.
Elizabeth and Jacqueline visited this afternoon and were very impressed with and bought some of Flo’s all natural materials hand made jewellery. They also chatted with Ellie.
I then watched a recording of the rugby World Cup quarter final match between Wales and Argentina.
We then dined on oven fish and chips, onion rings, mushy peas and pickled onions, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Doom Bar.
With gale force winds and intermittent rain raging outside we stayed in this morning.
Hey Duggie! amused my subjects while they amused me, especially with the gamut of feelings expressed in our great-granddaughter’s absorption of the focus of her attention.
This evening’s dinner consisted of succulent roast duck and onions; roast sweet potatoes and creamy mashed white ones; crunchy carrots; and firm broccoli, with meaty gravy. Jackie and I each drank more of yesterday’s wines.
Comfortable air conditioning in our car belied the warmth that was to greet me each time I disembarked with my camera.
The first subject for my lens was the decorated postbox along Wootton Road, now ready for Halloween.
Perhaps both species unaware of the service the Gloucester Old Spots snuffling around pasturing ponies at North Gorley, the pigs guzzling mast left clear grass to the equines, thus saving them from acorn poisoning.
The unseasonal warmth in the air ensures that the flies are not yet done with the patient, uncomplaining, ponies.
Cyclists swung round ponies on the road, while outside Hockey’s at Gorley Lynch, motor traffic negotiated troops of donkeys.
The above photographs are all mine.
Jackie was also applying her camera, recording me and the Gloucester Old Spots on which I was focussed.
She overlooked neither hide nor heels of the grey pony that hugged the side of the Hyundai for a while.
The pony hide presented one pattern; she saw another in a gnarled tree trunk.
This evening we all dined on second sittings of yesterday’s pasta meal with more of the same beverages.
Ellie, perched on tiptoe and reaching for Norrie on the TV screen.
She then applied her lens to her Morning Glory, and, at the end of our trip out, to the display boxes decorating New Milton’s roads.
After lunch, before our drive, she drove me to Sears Barbers for a haircut and photographed the process.
We returned along the coast road where I undertook the photography. Despite the ever stiffening breeze blowing off the Solent, still sporting my shirtsleeves, and having rather less hair covering, I was perfectly warm on the clifftop.
The Isle of Wight, The Needles, and the lighthouse with its red eye, stood out in the gloom,
as did the Hurst lighthouse.
Churning waves sped across the sea to the rocks beneath the crumbling cliff,
cleaving the line of breakwaters.
Walkers along the promenade passed thrift resisting the wind.
The sun occasionally glinted on the sea surface smooth enough for yachting.
On our return home a pony crossed Forest Road.
Beside Holmsley Camp Site ponies shared the landscape with English Longhorn and Belted Galloway cattle and their usual crows;
one foal made a beeline for a feed.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty fusilli Bolognese and Parmesan cheese with which she drank Silvaner Spätlese Rheinhessen 2020, and I drank Selone Cabernet Zinfandel 2021.
I spent the day completing my rereading, reviewing and scanning the illustrations of
First published in 1883, this perennial work was issued in this form by Eyre & Spottiswoode in 1949 and repeated by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd in 1976.
It is perhaps every boy’s dream adventure involving a map of hidden treasure, swashbuckling heroes, piratical villains, skullduggery, marooning, betrayal, impossible heroics, murder, battles on land and on sea, a mystery island, and much more, crafted by that master storyteller, Robert Louis Stevenson, with full use of his excellent flowing prose descriptive of trees, shrubs, terrain, sea, and landscape, with his symbolism of night and day, light and dark, and the vagaries of the weather.
His depicting details of struggling with seamanship and wrestling with dense foliage take the reader into that world to share the exertions.
Peake’s numerous drawings convey the drama and the characterisation of the author.
Robert Newton, in Disney’s first full length feature of the eponymous 1950 film, portrayed Long John Silver as the quintessential pirate, even to the extent of all future pirates following his diction.
This evening we all dined on meaty sausages and fried onions, creamy mash, carrots, spinach and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Garnacha Old Vines.
This morning I watched recordings of last night’s rugby World Cup matches between Tonga and Romania and between Fiji and Portugal – the latter being the very last of the pool stage fixtures, and the most thrilling.
Having remembered that my copy of R.L.Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” was illustrated by Mervin Peake it seemed a good idea to reread this for my next Books post. I therefore read half of it today, and if I can complete it tomorrow will review this powerfully illustrated version.
In the meantime I offer a scan of the book jacket which has to be presented in two sections since it is too large a format for my scanner.
This evening we all dined on rolled breast of lamb; boiled new potatoes; carrots, cauliflower, broccoli stems, and meaty gravy with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Garnacha Old Vines.
Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between Ireland and Scotland, and later that between Japan and Argentina live.
my blogging friend Lakshmi Bhat stated that the post reminded her of Nevil Shute’s “Trustee from the Toolroom”.
I had thought this not a book of which I knew. Later I remembered that a number of books by this author had been included in my Auntie Ivy Lynch’s library which she had bequeathed my decades ago.
Here is the jacket of the copy that bears Ivy’s signature.
Despite some of his works having been filmed I had not realised that the author was such an accomplished storyteller. This, his last novel, is skilfully crafted from start to finish.
It tells of the tragic death of a couple whose daughter was being cared for by the main protagonist and his wife, and consequent adoption of the child by the unexpected trustee. A hidden fortune and its discovery are the reason for a trip round the world for an ordinary, humble, man who had never before left his small London suburb, and who, after the extraordinary circumstances of his adventure remains with his personal values unshaken.
Had I not been one of Lakshmi’s blogging network, she would neither have read my “Burley Park Steam Fair” nor recommended the book. Nevil Shute could not have known about this community, yet the similarities of the development of friendships around the world based on respect for the magazine articles of Keith Stewart and his faithful correspondence with his readers is remarkably striking. Many of those who combine to help him on his journey have never met in person, nor ever will, yet he holds their respect through his regular responses to their queries, and to his acknowledged expertise.
As befits the aeronautical engineer that Shute was, he pays incredible attention to detail, which, when dealing with technical matters, cause my eyes to glaze over. This also affects the flow of his prose, tending to divert my attention. However, I did not wish to miss anything and was carried away on the waves. Everything is in its proper place and fixes the elements together.
Characterisation is developed through action rather than insights; we can discern who is and is not to be trusted, and experience the helpful tenderness exhibited by many.
Regular readers will appreciated my interest in what is left inside books. I wonder what my aunt was doing with this pressed curl of ribbon.
With our grandfamily dining out for their wedding anniversary, I enjoyed leftovers from last night with Hacienda Uvanis Garnacha Old Vines 2020, while the Culinary Queen chose cheese on toast, each slice topped with a fried egg, accompanied by Hoegaarden
Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between France and Italy, and before my afternoon’s viewing of the games between Wales and Georgia and England v. Samoa, walked around our warm, sun-filled, plot to photograph
another selection of unlikely garden bedfellows, each of which bears a title in the gallery.
This evening we all enjoyed Jackie’s meal of her well filled mound of beef and onions stacked beneath short crust decorated pastry; crisp roast red potatoes; Brussels sprouts, carrots, and broccoli al dente; and thick, meaty gravy, with which she finished the Blush and I finished the Bordeaux.
Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between New Zealand and Uruguay.
Later, sporting short sleeved shirt on a walk round the balmy garden of sunshine and shadows, I wondered what season we were experiencing.
Martin has spent the last several weeks preparing the garden for autumn which is holding back summer.
In particular he has cut back all extraneous flora on the borders, revealing the brick edging.
Most of what we now see clearly in the beds has also been freed for viewing by him.
We don’t necessarily expect all these blooms to appear together.
As usual each image bears a title in its gallery.
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s colourful savoury rice; spring rolls; tempura and hot and spicy prawn preparations followed by berry strudel and custard, with which she drank more of the blush and I drank more of the Bordeaux.
These are Jackie’s photographs of the piglets following their mother into the woodland yesterday.
A discussion with Flo and Dillon on benefits of hand made crafts and the difficulty of marketing them was broadened to incorporate many other aspects of life spanning our times.
This led Jackie to produce her autograph book from 1959.
This was a vehicle for friends and family to leave messages such as these, which in this form have survived for posterity without the aid of cyberspace.
Now, who, I ask you, were the Dale Sisters? Neither Jackie nor her parents knew when she attended an event in which they were present. After 64 years, by means of Google, Jackie was able to enlighten us all.
The Dale Sisters were an Englishvocaltrio, who had limited chart success in the early 1960s. They are best remembered for their recordings of “Heartbeat“[1] and “My Sunday Baby (un Telegrama)”, both of which became minor hits in the UK Singles Chart.[2] Other songs they sang included “Billy Boy, Billy Boy“, “Road to Love”[3] and “All My Life”.[4] Their work, when they were billed by their alternative name of The England Sisters, was arranged by John Barry.
The Dale Sisters tracks “My Sunday Baby (un Telegrama)” and “All My Life” appeared on the compilation album, Say When – Ember Sixties Pop Vol. 1 1960-1961.[11][12] (Wikipedia)
When The Beatles preceded the sisters’ performance in 1963 they were in the process of changing popular music forever.
This evening we all dined on racks of ribs with Jackie’s savoury rice with which she drank more of the Blush and I drank more of the Bordeaux.
