Month: September 2024

A Mistake Discovered Too Late

This morning I received a telephone response from Abby of Southampton General Hospital PALS (Patient Advice and Liaison Service) concerning the manner of my discharge from hospital on 24th August (https://derrickjknight.com/2024/08/25/four-days/). I made it clear that I wanted to prevent this happening again to anyone else. She will discuss this with the relevant department and report back to me. I am under no illusions that the system will change other than perhaps ensuring that the discharge doesn’t happen on such a day when necessary help is not available.

We then transported another 13 spent compost bags of green refuse to Efford Recycling Centre and came home with two plant stands purchased from the Reuse Shop.

After lunch I finished reading the last story in my Folio Society collection from the work of Maria de Zayas.

Beginning with a dramatic description of a tempest and cleverly led escape to security by an exceptional male character in that he is honest, caring, and seeking answers to

the scene pictured in this illustration by Eric Fraser, it is in fact the treachery of women leading to the typical male cruelty. A woman’s lies result in the honour murder of an innocent man and the disparity of the two women in the picture.

The device for recounting the story is the falsely dishonoured man explaining it to the honourable protagonist and standing by his extreme cruelty as justified revenge.

Maria de Zayas closes with: “It is my opinion, incidentally, that some women suffer innocently. They are not all guilty, as is commonly supposed, and the ladies present might consider this: if the innocent….must pay for imaginary crimes, then what ought not to be the punishment of those who pursue their vicious follies in all reality. It is worth noting that, at the present day, men have such an adverse opinion of us that even if we endure innocent suffering they still decline to do anything about it.” In fairness, she has granted a happy ending to the good man of this tale.

Later, I watched the next episode of Freddie Flintoff’s Field of Dreams.

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

There Always Comes The Reckoning After 4.50 To Paddington

Unfortunately my recently prescribed antibiotics have not dismissed my UTI so I rang the GP surgery to report this. Within ten minutes I was called back and prescribed an alternative, this time being asked for a sample which I furnished this afternoon and collected the medication at the pharmacy.

Opening with a bustling description of the rush to catch a train, described as an uneven race to keep track of a porter who “turned the corner at the end of the platform whilst Mrs McGillicuddy was still coming up the straight.” is an example of the writer’s ability to engage attention and the dry humour which pervades Agatha Christie’s novel “4.50 From Paddington” – the first by her that I have read.

The story is very well crafted, with various leads, false and incidental, followed without any real suggestion of the final conclusion. Much is told by skilled dialogue of which the author is a master. She amplifies the words with description of tones, as in ” “Well?” she said. It was a small insignificant word, but it acquired full significance from Mrs. McGillicuddy’s tone, and Miss Marple understood its meaning perfectly.” Sometimes sentences are left unfinished, as in “You don’t think……..” for the reader or indeed the conversationalist to complete. The mood of each person was indicated by such as a raised eyebrow or slumped body language.

Mrs Christie makes good use of short sentences to increase the pace of the narrative, and has an ability to create the essence of person and place with simple, telling, statements, as in “Her eyes were like windows in an empty house.” and “He unpropped himself from the dresser.”

There are hints at romance and less than subtle match-making.

It is hardly surprising that this story has been filmed on a number of occasions.

My 1959 edition of The Book Club was in a collection bequeathed to me by my Auntie Ivy some 50 years ago.

It is protected by two copies of the same book jacket very well designed by Taylor, about whom I have found no information. This featured copy is the top one; the second, even less blemished, is pristine. Anyone lacking a jacket should apply for a replacement in writing enclosing a large cheque.

Clinging to the top of the closed pages was a desiccated spider complete with clustered cobweb.

After starting on my next antibiotics I turned back to Maria de Zayas and the penultimate story in my Folio Society selection.

Very reminiscent of the Whitehall farces of the 1950s and ’60s presented by Brian Rix involving unlikely scenarios, although lacking their humour, this offering by Maria involves her usual themes of love, honour, deception, treachery, bed-hopping, and murder designed to demonstrate “that, in the end, no crime goes unpunished”.

Here is Eric Fraser’s illustration to this narrative.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare, taken on our knees in front of the TV catching up on episodes of Freddie Flintoff’s Field of Dreams, a truly inspirational series which I will review when I have seen them all.

Landscape And Woodland

This morning, among his other tasks, Martin installed our new waterbutt; and assembled and set up

the new arch for the wayward Compassion Rose which was determined to plough its own furrow. Having accepted that the plant would insist on its own direction we have given it a new support, since the last one had blown down. It has now been well trained.

At lunchtime Craig from Tom Sutton Heating came to check on the recently blown through pipes to the radiator beside my chair. He is of the opinion that the problem concerns the diameter of the pipes. It will need to be discussed with Ronan, who is on a week’s holiday.

After lunch we drove to the pharmacy at Milford to collect medication, and afterwards to Everton Post Office for cash, spring onions, and orange juice. We continued on a forest drive.

An interesting cloud formation appeared over the heather landscape

in which various ponies foraged.

More, including an almost full grown foal from earlier in the year, enjoyed the moisture of the seasonal pool along Bisterne Close.

Tiny yellow mushrooms pierced the ancient bank of Mill Lane among the exposed roots and ferns in the dappled woodland.

Further along the lane one of the several groups of young campers out today checked on Mill Lawn.

Later, I didn’t quite finish “4.50 From Paddington”.

This evening we dined on maple barbecue belly of pork; fried potatoes and onions; crisp carrots; firm broccoli and cauliflower; and tender cabbage with cauliflower leaves.

No Good Comes From Marrying Foreigners

Lat night before bed I watched the highlights of the fourth day of the third Test Match between England and Sri Lanka. The match finished early.

I completed my reading of this, the sixth story in the Folio Society selection by Maria de Zayas.

To my mind, the fact that disaster came to each of three sisters in other parts of Europe is actually incidental to the usual theme of men’s deceptions. Each of their stories could have taken place in the author’s own home country.

One sister delayed her marriage by delaying it for year on condition that he should woo her “with music and gifts and other such attentions… [she] wanted to grow to love her husband for the way he treated her, and to to find out something about his character and habits.” She thought: “Can they really believe that it would be better for a woman to marry a man she has never seen or spoken to, and who may be ugly, stupid, disagreeable and bad-tempered, so that later on she finds out that he hates her and ends up in despair at having thrown herself away on a man, because she did not find out first what he was really like?”

The main different consequence of the moves were “the grief at being separated from [their] own beloved homeland” which their husbands did not appreciate, yet, in other ways treated them with similar treachery to that they would have experienced in Spain.

Here is Eric Fraser’s faithful illustration to this story.

Seeking a little light relief from Maria de Zayas and prompted by FALL IS TAPPING ON OUR SHOULDERS; READING AGATHA CHRISTIE

 LAURIE GRAVES 

I read most of Agatha Christie’s 4.50 From Paddington, and should be able to review it tomorrow.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare.

Can You Tell The Difference?

Before bed last night I watched the highlights of the third day of the third test between England and Sri Lanka.

After lunch, restricting myself to the Rose Garden, I carried out my first session of dead heading since my last cystoscopy.

After a considerable rest I took my camera round the garden.

These images all bear their titles in the gallery.

Bees, Small White butterflies, and even a tiny hoverfly in the last of these pictures enjoyed the day’s warm sunshine.

A smaller bird had a word in the ear of an owl.

Summer Wine (the first) and For Your Eyes Only are two of the roses I dead headed. Can you tell the difference between them?

This evening we dined on maple pork belly slices; Jackie’s fried savoury rice, and cauliflower.

Rain Reigns

After dinner yesterday I watched the highlights of the second day’s play, shortened by bad light, of the third test match between England and Sri Lanka.

Today the sun briefly pierced the cloud cover which regularly showered the garden with ever increasing crescendos.

After a shopping trip to Lidl where we splashed through puddles to load the dripping car I took advantage of a couple of sunny breaks to

photograph the glistening garden – front

and back.

I finished reading https://derrickjknight.com/2024/09/08/a-traitor-to-his-own-flesh-and-blood/ and published

A Traitor To His Own Flesh And Blood

This evening we dined on succulent chicken Kiev; boiled new potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and green beans.

A Traitor To His Own Flesh And Blood

In this, the fifth tale from my Folio Society collection of stories from the seventeenth century forward thinking Spanish writer, Maria de Zayas (introduced in https://derrickjknight.com/2024/09/02/the-ravages-of-vice/ ) we revert to the author’s usual themes of love, honour, self-interest and retribution meted out by the male sex.

“I would rather my son were beheaded than badly married” states a rich and powerful gentleman who opposed his daughter’s suit by another whose “ancestors had been peasants. Although, in compensation, they had been Christians for many generations and were also rich, it was not surprising that such a stigma should have been kept secret.”

A father and brother contrive to bring about an execution in which a priest is forced to hear the victim’s confession before it is carried out. Saving a soul is seen as more important than a life. As usual, despite the deception involved, this is presented as a matter of honour. A further similar murder is carried out on account of a friend’s persuasion.

Here is Eric Fraser’s powerful illustration to this story.

The Waterbutt

This morning I watched the highlights of yesterday’s start of the third test match between England and Sri Lanka, much of which was lost to rain and bad light.

For the rest of the day, tired of photographing raindrops, I settled down with Maria de Zayas and published

Forewarned But Forestalled

While reading I faced the dahlias Elizabeth had brought me as a get well gift.

Three days ago when we arrived home from a rainy forest drive we found a boxed waterbutt from Amazon on our doorstep. We brought it

inside in order to unpack it when the rain stops. It is still there.

This evening we repeated last night’s pasta arrabbiata with which I finished the Fleurie.

Forewarned But Forestalled

This fourth tale in The Folio Society selection of stories of Maria de Zayas, introduced in https://derrickjknight.com/2024/09/02/the-ravages-of-vice/, has a change of mood, of power; and a humorous theme.

This time clever women are the tricksters and men the victims of their jokes and deceit. The first fool was “so chastened by his experiences that he now scorned all women without exception, a sentiment quite contrary to reason, because for each wicked woman there are a hundred good ones. Not all women are wicked and it is not just to blame all for the crimes of a few. But he maintained once and for all that there was no trusting them, especially the clever ones, because they, from having ben calm and sensible, suddenly became flighty and vicious and took men in with their cunning wiles.”

The author closes with “I can now bring to an end this amazing story, which was intended as a warning to those ignorant people who condemn brains in a woman…..and if a woman is going to be bad, she will be bad whether she is clever or stupid, though in the first case she is more likely to b able to control herself.”

Here is Eric Fraser’s faithful illustration to this story.

A Shameful Revenge

On another day of relentless rain I stayed indoors and occupied myself with reading, including this third story in my Folio Society Maria de Zayas collection.

De Zayas writes that it is not acceptable for a man of good society and wealth to marry a woman, even of the same background, without similar riches; it is, however, satisfactory to win such a prey by any means possible as long as the affair is kept secret in order to preserve her reputation and his honour. In such a situation “the moment he saw her, or so he maintained, he lost his heart to her. (The worst thing about men to my mind [says the author] is that they profess to feel much more than they really do.)”

Persistence and false promises are preferable to force, although any method may be employed to break down honourable resistance to a dishonourable suit. Once satisfied the lover eventually tires of his love. When “unable to consummate his lust [he] had been in despair…now he regretted it. And the worst of it is that there are many men like him; there always have been and there still are today. There are many [such women] too, and neither one nor the other regret what they are doing until they have plunged into the same abyss as engulfed all their predecessors.”

“Who but a man could be guilty of such a betrayal!” Nevertheless our author says “You will surely allow me, gentlemen, in this tale of mine about a man’s deceit, to express my admiration for a woman’s wrath, for you will recognise that a woman’s fury often springs from a man’s duplicity.” Our author would have agreed with William Congreve that “Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned.”

Revenge is acceptable if in defence of honour; one of the schemes in this story is less shameful than the other.

As so often in these stories a shamed woman has recourse to “taking the veil” in order to preserve her life. Shakespeare’s Hamlet enjoins Ophelia to “get thee to a nunnery”.

Here is Eric Fraser’s engraving for this story.

This evening I dined on Jackie’s penne pasta arrabbiata sprinkled with Parmesan cheese, while she opted for a plateful of vegetables, including carrots, cauliflower, green and runner beans. I drank more of the Fleurie.