Another New Eatery

At midday I kept a dental hygienist’s appointment with Bronya at Birchfield Dental Practice, after which we brunched at New Forest Emporium Café at Newlands Manor Farm.

As is now customary, Jackie produced the photographs.

Here are the Brunch and Lunch Menus;

a selection of interior views;

various wall decorations and

artefacts;

cakes on display;

and containers on the tables.

Our choices were cooked to order. Therefore there was a more than acceptable wait balanced against the quite superb quality of the very fresh food at most reasonable prices.

Jackie pointed out that the cheddar in her tuna and cheese panini was mature – not the bland variety one would normally expect.

This was perfectly matched by the taste of the ingredients in my Big Beauty Breakfast. Where else would I find cherry vine tomatoes and sublimely tasting mushrooms with sausages of the quality of those of Ferndene on a café plate.

The service was friendly and efficient. The waitress, a former nurse, offered to help each of us out of our very low armchairs – I availed myself of this and it was most professionally done.

Local radio was playing on the radio.

While we were waiting Jackie had also wandered around the outside.

Afterwards we took a trip to Hatchet Pond and back.

The first five of these pictures are Jackie’s; the next four, mine.

This evening we dined on scrambled egg, baked beans, salad, and toast.

Meds Week 1

Until now I have kept quiet about last Thursday night’s fall, when I tripped on the steps into the bedroom carrying laundry and attempting to switch on the light; I cracked my head on the bottom of the door frame into the en suite bathroom, cut my ear, already thick from years in the rugby second row, and flayed a large chunk of skin from the back of my right hand. This looked very nasty. I then had to heave myself up to the bed – the ability to turn onto my knees and and use them was the best part of the event.

Jackie did her best to clean up the major wound and seal it with Melolin – so successfully that, although it wasn’t supposed to, it adhered to the flesh. After being bandaged up until today this was rather painful and not going to move.

Fortunately I had an appointment with the excellent, caring, and efficient, Gp. Doctor Moody-Jones for a follow up on my UTI sample lab results, who explained that there was no infection, gave me another physical examination which confirmed this, asked me to produce another urine sample for further lab work , and to book an urgent blood test at Lymington Hospital – this I did after Doctor Moody-Jones introduced me to Elaine, one of the practice nurses, who very gently cut away the skin-lined plaster, confirmed it uninfected, and re-dressed it. She also made me appointments for two changes of dressing. The ear and the bandaged hand will be apparent in the photographs Jackie produced over lunch at the Royal Oak.

Our neighbourhood pub, after its second flood in twelve months, very shortly after Matt and Carol’s taking over has been subject to repairs until this very opening day. The front doors are now fitted with flood defences.

A usual, Jackie took these photographs, including some of the interior.

The full menu was whisked away before we ate, so the only menu she photographed was that of Bar Snacks.

We both enjoyed our chosen meals – Jackie’s crispy chicken burger,

and my fish and chips. Mrs Knight drank Diet Coke and I drank a zesty Cornish beer termed Proper Job.

The very attentive service was friendly and efficient; the gentle background instrumental recorded music suited the relaxed atmosphere. We were their first customers since reopening.

There will no doubt be many more, including me.

Later this sultry afternoon we took a short forest drive.

Sluggish water slowly streamed across reflective waterlogged fields along St Leonards Road;

a pair of Mallards practised ducking and diving in the pond beside Exbury Road;

foxgloves adorned the ramshackle shed at Pilley.

Jackie will enjoy a salad this evening. Probably because I consumed half of her chips as well as my own, I needed no more sustenance.

A Few Roses

While she was tidying up the compost bins this morning Jackie remembered the name of

the rambler draping the dead tree trunks – Emily Gray.

Meanwhile I carried out a little weeding and dead-heading, becoming increasingly overwhelming each day. While the light was still diffused I photographed a few more roses,

namely Roseraie de l’Hay, For Your Eyes Only, Rhapsody in Blue, Crown Princess Margareta of Sweden, Mum in a Million (with Gladioli Byzantinus, and Peach Abundance.

Our later flowering rhododendron is now budding nicely

This is one of our three Doctor Ruppel clematises.

Tonight’s dinner consisted of baked gammon, piquant cheese and mustard sauce, moist ratatouille, boiled new potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli.

How Many Balls?

On this overcast, imperceptibly drizzly morning I made a good start on reading Jane Eyre for the second time after all but 60 years.

After lunch the sun came out to play with the pink climbers and white solanum on the front garden trellis, as Jackie drove us to Nomansland and back.

Donkeys made a nuisance of themselves on the road at Bramshaw.

A trio of guinea fowl were engaged in their customary pecking up ticks at Nomansland,

while an enforced hiatus in the cricket match in progress was brought about by an injury to a player who received a ball on the forehead. One of the players in the second picture appears to be indicating the point of contact.

The last three pictures in this gallery of the action are Jackie’s. The rest are mine. Those feeling so inclined may count how many balls are in the air in my set. Enlargement in the gallery may be helpful.

The first picture featuring spectators is mine, the other three, by Jackie,

who also photographed scenes in and around the soggy pool, where,

as we were leaving, a pony and her very young foal were to drink. The first five are my pictures, the next five, Jackie’s.

This evening we dined on meaty pork spare ribs; tender green beans; and Jackie’s colourful savoury rice and moist ratatouille.

Mediterranean Volunteers

Sweltering in the warm morning sunshine while listening to the trilling of small songbirds and the repetitive cries of a successfully mated wood pigeon I pulled up swathes of Sticky Willy or Ladies’ Bedstraw in an attempt to halt their upward progress to flower beyond my reach.

Two other climbers, Paul’s Scarlet and Altissimo, each embellish one end of the garden;

a yellow one now clambers over the parade of dead stumps lining the Back Drive.

Foxgloves, as in this image of clematises against the patio fence, are photobombing everywhere, so I gave them two pictures of their own.

Other volunteers include these gladioli Byzantinus which, possibly seeking cooler climes, have escaped from the Mediterranean.

The Rose Garden is filling up with flowers.

A may tree stands at the back garden gate; although the eponymous Weeping Birch on its demise has been severely truncated and will be draped in a clematis in due course its Bed will forever bear its name.

The Chilean Lantern tree is lighting up the corner of the Gazebo Path, while the Wedding Day rose will soon provide a bouquet spanning the Brick Path.

This budding allium and Doctor Ruppel each promise more blooms.

A clump of irises and clusters of blue solanum compliment each other.

Erigeron and ferns sprout from the stumpery.

Later, I published

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty savoury rice with spicy, salt and pepper and tempura prawn preparations.

Kristin Lavransdatter

Kristin Lavransdatter is a trilogy of historical novels written by Sigrid Undset. The individual novels are Kransen (The Wreath), first published in 1920, Husfrue (The Wife), published in 1921, and Korset (The Cross), published in 1922. Kransen and Husfrue were translated from the original Norwegian as The Bridal Wreath [The Garland in this edition] and The Mistress of Husaby, respectively, in the first English translation by Charles Archer and J. S. Scott.

This work formed the basis of Undset receiving the 1928 Nobel Prize in Literature, which was awarded to her “principally for her powerful descriptions of Northern life during the Middle Ages”.[1] Her work is much admired for its historical and ethnological accuracy.” (Wikipedia)

Here we follow our leading lady from her childhood; her youthful marriage; the tribulations of her marital and family relations; her later years.

Undset has the gift of excellent prose in which to describe the essence of medieval Norway’s lands, terrain, weather, peoples and places. We learn how the characters of the family saga feel, think, dress, and struggle with conscience in an essentially Catholic country. The author follows the protagonists’ conflict between the laws of religion and the urges of the body and its emotions. She has deep insight into the minds of both men and women. This work was written at the time of her own conversion to the faith that forms such an important factor in it.

The action sequences are prolific and detailed, flowing along at a very fast pace.

“Light, fluted clouds were floating over the high, pale-blue heavens, and the sun was glittering on the dancing ripples of the water. It was quite spring-like along the shores; the fields lay almost bare of snow, and over the leaf-tree thickets the light had a yellow shimmer and the shadows were blue. But in the pine-forests up on the high ridges, which framed in the settled lands of Akersbygd, there were glimpses of snow, and in the far blue fells to the westward, beyond the fjord, there still showed many flashes of white,” is just one of the many engaging paragraphs that keep us turning pages rich in metaphor and in simile like “at the words of the prayer, it was as if her longing widened out and faded little by little like rings on a pool”. She incorporates all the senses comprising sounds, smells, sights, touch, and taste. Her poetic imagery must have been very challenging for the translators, who are to be congratulated.

“The ground sounded hollow under the horses’ hoofs, for the earth was as hard as iron with the black frost. The air was full of steam from the men and the horses; the bodies of the beasts and the men’s hair and furs were white with rime. Erland seemed as white-haired as the Abbot; his face glowed from his morning draught and the biting wind” evokes the harsh weather which is itself a significant protagonist in the saga. All the seasons are similarly expressed.

This longest, central, section of “The Mistress of Husaby” explores the position of the medieval Catholic Church, to which Sigrid Undset had recently converted in her own time; and its interface with still extant ancient mythology. The Church dominated the calendar operating from one saint’s day mass to another, and feast days like Christmas.

Priests were seen as the arbiters of conflict and upholders of morals, especially relating to sex, love, and marriage; these last demonstrated significant struggles with punitive conscience and lax desire over strict mores. Loyalty through periods of trying times is seen as paramount. our characters all struggle with the temptations of the flesh.

Even after prolonged estrangement kindred are expected to support each other in times of need. As we see inter-familial and nuclear family relationships ebb and flow as the years go by. Undset depicts loyalty, betrayal, and the difference between forgiving and forgetting transgressions.

In this work there is much focus on domestic and farming life. “She went to the byre herself to help in the milking. It was ever pleasant to her, this hour when she sat in the dark close in to the swelling cow-flank, and felt the milk’s sweet breath in her nostrils. Swish, swish, came the answer from the inner darkness, where the byre woman and the herd were milking. ‘Twas all so restful, the strong, warm smell in the byre, the sound of a withy-band creaking, of a horn knocking against wood, of a cow moving her feet in the miry earth floor of the stall, or whisking her tail at the flies. — The wagtails that nested here in the summer were gone now—-“ presents a marvellous bucolic scene

Children born out of wedlock or subject to step-parents were of lesser standing than the offspring of legitimate marriage, leading to significant family issues for the major characters. Marriages are expected to be lifelong. They are arranged between fathers but only performed with the woman’s consent. A child born out of wedlock is frowned upon and denied inheritance. As we see, women are often in love with another man whose child they bear. Provided they are married before the birth the issue is acceptable. Unrequited or forbidden love lasting a lifetime is the lot of some of the protagonists.

Childbirth was a difficult process taking its toll on mothers constantly pregnant. Details of the pains of childbirth are well described, and we are shown the physical and emotional stresses and strains of parenting over time. Medical care of all kinds was in very early stages, resulting in deaths which could be saved today.

There is much on politics, warfare, and international relations; we have a failed revolution and its consequences, including torture. Punishments differed according to the social and economic status of miscreants.

We learn how people at all levels lived; their hardships, their dwellings, their clothing, their jewellery, and their weaponry.

Undset’s deep understanding of human nature; her ability to convey conversation and to detail unspoken thoughts, is put to good use in her characterisation, with which she conveys the constant fluctuations of relationships between the main personnel.

The fluent, often poetic, prose carries us along with it. “From the gateway a pack of farm-dogs rushed out barking at the newcomer. Inside the courtyard a flock of shaggy goats were picking their way about, dark in the clear dusk – they were tugging at a heap of pine-branches in the midst of the yard. Three little children in thick winter clothes ran about amongst them” conveys everyday action in addition to the more significant exploits.

“Now the sun was below the mountaintop, the golden radiance grew paler and the red more rosy and soft. After the bells had fallen silent, the soughing of the woods seemed to grow again and spread abroad; the noise of the little beck that ran through the leafwoods down in the valley sounded louder on the ear. From the close nearby came the well-known clinking of the bells of the home cattle; a flying beetle hummed half-way round about her, and was gone” incorporates both sight and sound.

There are many editions of this work, in individual parts or in the whole. It will be apparent that I would recommend it to my readers, but not in the edition I have – the Picador first English translation of 1977- simply because almost 1,000 pages has,

necessarily, been so tightly bound as to need a very strong grip to prise apart the centres of the pages determined to conceal their edges. The leaves pictured here describe the burning of the church, the significance of the timing of which should become apparent without my suggesting it to readers wishing to follow the saga.

For once, I agree entirely with the praise on the back cover.

The Cross

Having accompanied Jackie on a shopping trip in steady rain all morning, I settled down to completing my reading of “Kristin Lavransdatter” by Sigrid Undset. So engrossed in the book, especially the lyrical closing sections, I was not tempted to go out into the sunshine which returned later in the afternoon.

The Cross is the third of the trilogy in Undset’s Nobel prize-winning saga produced by Picador as a single volume.

In this work there is much focus on domestic and farming life, that does also feature in the first two books, in my reviews of which I have spoken of the marvellously poetic prose engaging all senses.

I defy anyone reading this extract not to be transported to the delightful bucolic scene:

“She went to the byre herself to help in the milking. It was ever pleasant to her, this hour when she sat in the dark close in to the swelling cow-flank, and felt the milk’s sweet breath in her nostrils. Swish, swish, came the answer from the inner darkness, where the byre woman and the herd were milking. ‘Twas all so restful, the strong, warm smell in the byre, the sound of a withy-band creaking, of a horn knocking against wood, of a cow moving her feet in the miry earth floor of the stall, or whisking her tail at the flies. — The wagtails that nested here in the summer were gone now—-“

We have more details of customs and law relating to inheritance, to tenancy, to land ownership.

As with all societies there are complex relations between landowners and servants. Although not always followed, tradition has it that each are treated with respect and consideration, often mutually supportive.

Marriages are expected to be lifelong. They are arranged between fathers but only performed with the woman’s consent. A child born out of wedlock is frowned upon and denied inheritance. As we see, women are often in love with another man whose child they bear. Provided they are married before the birth the issue is acceptable. Unrequited or forbidden love lasting a lifetime is the lot of some of the protagonists.

Details of the pains of childbirth are well described, and we are shown the stresses and strains of parenting over time.

Even after prolonged estrangement kindred are expected to support each other in times of need. As we see inter-familial and nuclear family relationships ebb and flow as the years go by. Undset depicts loyalty, betrayal, and the difference between forgiving and forgetting transgressions.

Politics, international relations, including intrigue and warfare, feature strongly in this book.

Death and dying, both sudden and lingering, with the grieving consequences are sensitively covered.

The author’s deep, insightful, knowledge of human nature informs her complex study of relationships.

The closing sections mentioned in my opening paragraph, including remembrances of a life with its pleasures, regrets, and the people of importance, are written sensitively and with no apparent haste to finish.

Readers who have accompanied me on my delightful progress through this work, will know that each of the three books has been reviewed individually. Next, I will combine them in an overall assessment of “Kristin Lavransdatter”.

This evening we dined on more of Jackie’s classic cottage pie with firm broccoli and cauliflower, crunchy carrots, tender green beans, and meaty gravy.

Settling The Gingko

Our gingko tree, left by our predecessors, has occupied a large terracotta pot which it has been gradually splitting asunder ever since we bought the house ten years ago. Having had to cut down the weeping birch tree we decided to move the gingko to a permanent home and settled on Elizabeth’s Bed at the south end of the garden.

It was Martin’s major task this morning to clear a space by

moving several plants to be transplanted elsewhere;

digging a hole into the hard clay soil;

lifting and positioning the tree;

then composting the area for the finished work.

When not photographing this graft, I carried out a dead-heading and weeding operation then

turned my camera onto other plants, all of which bear titles in the gallery.

Busy bumble bees, like this one investigating a campanula clump, kept me company.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s meaty mince cottage pie; tender cabbage, and firm Brussels sprouts.

Abbotswell Picnic

On this temperate morning we drove into the forest and picnicked

looking down at distant ponies and cattle in the view from the heights of Abbottswell.

A pony and foal were at home on the moorland beside Holmsley Passage.

Although no rain fell today

many roads were awash after the heavy overnight rain. Vehicles drove through pools at Stuckton, and the ford at Frogham harboured a swift-flowing stream.

This horse-drawn trap must have avoided the roadwater at Stuckton.

Deer dotting the slopes of Blissford Hill appeared to feel happily safe. This gallery is mine; the next

is Jackie’s showing the landscape including the deer and a garden.

The Assistant Photographer also pictured a lone thrush, a trio of hares,

and at North Gorley the same number of donkeys.

Needing to find a local Indian takeaway to replace Red Chilli, we chose to dine this evening at Rokali’s in Ashley in order to check out the food. This turned out to be good decision.

The atmosphere and service was very friendly, the food well cooked and plentiful – in fact ordering both onion bahjis and paratha was a dish too far for us.

We were early enough for Jackie to take interior photographs without worrying about privacy.

Here is the bar and the menu wallet.

We always make the paratha test when visiting a new restaurant. Rokali’s passed this. Real roses embellished each table.

Our shared special rice , onion bahjis, paratha, and salad were all very good. Chutneys were left with us. Shiny perspex studs decorated the chairs.

Jackie enjoyed her steaming ponir shaslick, as did I my prawn Bengal, although the photograph was not in focus. She drank Diet Coke and I drank alcohol free Kingfisher.

We were treated to the music of Bollywood emanating from the kitchen radio.

The Light Of Day

This morning I handed in my sample for sending to the lab and enjoyed a telephone conversation with Doctor Moody-Jones who gave me an appointment for a week’s time after which the test results would be in and I would have completed the course of antibiotics.

One of the advantages of ignoring the steady drizzle and drop in temperature of an overcast day is that the diffused light is helpful for

photographing flowers, which I did this afternoon. These examples all bear titles in the gallery.

Bearing witness to Martin’s opening up of the beds is this

rhododendron which has never flowered since we came here a decade ago. Having experienced too much shade it now sees the light of day.

This evening Jackie visited Red Chilli for one of their excellent takeaway meals. The establishment was in darkness; closure notices and bailiff’s warning on the windows.

So she came home and we fed on pizzas and salad.