A Tale Of Two Chairs

About 37 years ago in Newark I bought a Victorian armchair which

became my counselling seat. I had met a tax inspector on the train during my days of commuting to London four days a week. He had told me how, when he interviewed suspects he always occupied a higher perch to give him more of a sense of power. I did the opposite because I wanted to keep clients at ease. They were already giving me the power of their trust.

Not only was my chair lower on the ground but it was long in the seat and therefore just right for my legs. Why was this so?

bustle is a padded undergarment or wire frame used to add fullness, or support the drapery, at the back of women’s dresses in the mid-to-late 19th century.[1][2] Bustles are worn under the skirt in the back, just below the waist, to keep the skirt from dragging. Heavy fabric tended to pull the back of a skirt down and flatten it. As a result a woman’s petticoated skirt would lose its shape during everyday wear (from merely sitting down or moving about). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bustle

This chair accommodated a behind bolstered by a bustle, the owner of which could happily dangle her legs in comfort from nearer the edge. As can be seen, I must have worn my chair to a frazzle. Particularly as there is not much call for voluminous rear ends today, this chair was now occupying too much space.

https://derrickjknight.com/2025/01/27/repairs-and-refurbishment/ contains images of the Victorian rocking chair Dillon used to rock our great-granddaughter Ellie to sleep during her first two and a half years of life. It was already very creaky, and, a twenty-first birthday present from Jessica’s mother, I had never seen it without gaping joints. The above-mentioned post features Andrew Sharp carrying it off for refurbishment.

Today he brought it back, with every joint glued tight and no creaking to be heard.

He had noticed that the triangular blocks to hold the seat at the front were rather too small for the job, and replaced them.

The iron springs beneath the hessian were intact, but the material

needed replacing. Here, in his mobile, Andrew displays this process midway;

and here is the finished article ready to be placed on the blocks.

He is always keen to explain all his careful refurbishment.

Jackie was more than happy to try it out.

Andrew returned the refurbished rocker today and took the bustle chair off to auction. He had volunteered to do this and give us the proceeds. Because he was doing us a favour and we all knew this would simply be regarded as a project for a buyer we asked him to keep the money.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherd’s pie; quite white cauliflower; crunchy carrots; fried chestnut mushrooms, and tasty gravy, with which she drank Diet Coke and I drank Whole Berry Cabernet Sauvignon 2021.

The Brontës

Given her conviction that the members of this multi-talented family were so tightly knit Juliet Barker wrote her life as of the family rather than of individual members.

She makes the point that for the best part of a century and a half until her 1994 publication we had relied on Mrs Gaskell’s biased and misleading depiction of the Haworth parsonage; the father Patrick Brontë; and the brother, Branwell, which, with compelling evidence, she largely debunks.

As is my wont, I will attempt to avoid spoilers, by not revealing too many details, although I do show many of the chapter headings from my Weidenfeld & Nicholson paperback edition of 1995, complete with the author’s prose beneath them. It is most significant that the eldest two of the six siblings did not reach adulthood, and why and how they did not. The four who did were all competent artists as well as exceptional writers.

After the early death of his wife and mother of the children, Patrick did his best to bring up the siblings with the help of their maternal aunt. Barker contends that he was a far more caring parent than the one described by Gaskell.

Our author bases her work on letters, publications, and reported conversations of friends, relatives, and witnesses contemporary with the family members. She balances differing views and claims, whereas she contends that Mrs Gaskell’s informants are largely biased or untrue.

Juliet Barker sets the scenes that would have been familiar to the Brontës themselves and compares them to locations in the 1990s. Thus, “the fell hand of the twentieth century has destroyed most of the Dewsbury that Patrick Brontë knew. Its once proud and separate identity has been lost, swallowed up in the vast and characterless urban sprawl which oozes southwards from Bradford and Leeds. Today, its most dominant feature is the road system – a Gordian knot of flyovers, dual carriageways and underpasses apparently designed to prevent anyone either entering or leaving the town. The shabby remains of late Victorian municipal splendour are dwarfed by the concrete stanchions of modern bridges. Semi-derelict mills, empty warehouses and demolition sites are a depressing foretaste of the town centre. Dewsbury is a town which has lost its way; having obliterated its past it gives the impression it has no confidence in its future. Yet in December 1809, when Patrick arrived, Dewsbury was a distinct entity, a town with a venerable history and a prosperous future in the boom years of the late nineteenth-century wool trade.”

The historical context is also pinpointed by such as the Luddites battle against machines in 1812, the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, the coming of the railway in the 1840s, and the Great Exhibition of 1851.

The three surviving sisters and their brother Branwell spent their childhood years writing what Barker terms juvenilia in which they played out their own relationships in their creations of characters which continued into their young adulthoods, and “the attraction of such piquantly shocking characteristics in their creations was that they were so alien to the conventionality of life at the parsonage.” The Duke of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo made him a hero in these works given the fictitious character name.

Barker presents many balanced extracts from her source materials, including their groundbreaking novels, interpreting how the juvenile fantasies and the lives of the three major writers influence their mature works. In particular she considers the many contemporary attempts to identify the originals of many of the characters.

Relationships with publishers and reviewers are explored. In particular how they affect individual family members and how such relationships ebb and flow over the years, especially in an age when communication was mostly by long distance letter writing and subject to misinterpretation. People could not make an appointment by telephone, text, or e-mail; rather they may travel miles to turn up on a doorstep where they may or may not be welcome – indeed they may be too late to attend a deathbed or may not have known someone was even ill.

These are the front and back covers of my copy of the book. The portrait of the three sisters is by Branwell who erased himself from the central space.

The title page illustration is by Emily;

these selected chapter headings. The gallery, where the individual artists are named, can be accessed by clicking on any one of the images.

I closed my posting of this review before we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherds pie, parsnips, mushrooms, carrots, broccoli, mange touts, garden peas, and spinach, with which she drank Diet Coke and I finished the Malbec.

Starting And Finishing

On another cold-cloudy day Jackie drove me to Southampton General Hospital to begin my next round of BCG vaccine instillation. This went smoothly, but the after effects are more than somewhat inconducive to concentration.

I did manage to finish reading Juliet Barker’s ‘The Brontës’, but maintaining focus may take a day or two for a review.

This evening we dined on Bird’s Eye battered cod; oven chips, baked beans, and garden peas, with which I drank more of the Malbec.

Recycling, Reading,And A Ring Of Truth

This finger-tingling morning we transported another 14 bags of garden refuse to Efford Recycling Centre and returned with

two plant stands to replace two that have rusted away in the Westbrook Arbour. The black one between the two chairs is made of cast iron and not likely to rust.

Afterwards I culled all pictures except two from

This afternoon I read more of ‘The Brontës’, before dinner which consisted of the second half of yesterday’s roast chicken with similar fresh vegetables accompanied by Diet Coke for Jackie and Valle de Eco Malbec 2023 for me.

Four Degrees

This morning we woke to the smell of burning oil. Once more our heating was not working.

Top temperature outside today was four degrees centigrade; I don’t know what it was inside, but I certainly wasn’t going out – so after lunch I practiced with my Nordic poles, reaching No. 21 Downton Lane before turning back. I didn’t time the walk this time, yet a stiff cold breeze added enough of a chill factor for me to travel as nippily as possible.

There is still a small supply of crab apples to nurture our regular blackbird visitor.

This afternoon Steve of Norman’s heating came to fix the boiler problem. There was a small amount of oil where it shouldn’t be in the system; Steve cleared it out.

Later, I read more of ‘The Brontës’ before dinner, which consisted of succulent roast chicken; crisp roast potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cauliflower with its chopped leaves for brassica; and tasty gravy with which I finished the Bordeaux while Jackie drank Diet Coke.

“Then There Were Two”

Early on this cold-bright morning, in readiness for a forest drive, Jackie scraped ice off the car windscreen through which

figures along the Milford-on-Sea promenade were silhouetted against the sky above the Isle of Wight.

Alongside Pilley’s Bull Hill cattle occupied the moorland

where, on the road to Beaulieu, sheet ice cracked its waterlogged surface.

Black-hued moorhens sought sustenance on one bank of Little

Hatchet Pond, while a white, reflected, egret waited, poised to dive from the other;

as I prepared to picture three cormorants engaged in similar activity on the main branch of the lake, one flew off.

As Jackie said “then there were two”.

Ponies wandered among the burnt gorse at East Boldre, where mossy

branches were reflected in another winterbourne pool.

This afternoon I watched the Six Nations rugby match between Scotland and Ireland.

Dinner this evening consisted of Jackie’s delicious chicken and vegetable stewp and fresh crusty bread, with which I drank Château Les Fermenteaux Bordeaux 2021.

Not Going Out

Clearly not a day for going out,

photographing a few snowdrops on the circuit round the garden, I practiced with my Nordic walking poles through icy drizzle, taking the same route as yesterday, this time turning back at No. 19 Downton Lane during a total of 14 minutes.

Later I carried out a little iPhotos culling, retaining just three from

The afternoon belonged to Six Nations rugby, beginning with Italy v. Wales, followed by England v. France.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp with crusty bread rolls.

Culling Today 3

I have decided that, even when a day is like today, overcast, very cold, and not conducive to leaving the house that, in order to keep my legs moving, I should practice using my Nordic poles. I therefore took a circular tour round the garden, down the Back Drive and along to No. 17 Downton Road and back. This took 15 minutes.

I then continued with my picture culling.

I have saved only Carrie and the Hang Gliders from

none from either

or

and just two from

I spent the afternoon with ‘The Brontës’.

This evening we dined on chicken Kiev; oven chips; green beans; fried peppers and mushrooms; and cauliflower with its chopped up leaves. To drink I finished the Douro.

Brunch At The Potting Shed And A Forest Drive

Late this morning Jackie drove us to The Potting Shed café at Hyde for an excellent brunch.

Over the years we have been in The New Forest this café has undergone several changes of name and management; the current partners have completely turned it around.

For my very first time I have simply copied these extracts from their own website. I could not have expressed them better:

About The Establishment

“Welcome to the Potting Shed! We are so glad that you are considering stopping by, we strive to make each visit truly enjoyable, from the moment you walk through the door to the time you leave.

“We offer a true Forest Café experience with a cosy atmosphere and homemade food all sourced locally. Our menu is inspired by flavours of the season so you will find a varied choice, including firm family favourites and daily specials. Surrounded by the beauty that is the New Forest with the fantastic Donkeys, Ponies and Deer there is much to do nearby including scenic walks, cycling and a water park. There is something for everyone from the idyllic lazy-day stroll through to those seeking a little more adventure.

“We would love to see you and make your visit unforgettable. So come on, join us and let us spoil you.

Explore the New Forest

“Nestled in the heart of the breathtaking New Forest National Park. Our café is the perfect starting point for your next adventure, offering a warm and cosy atmosphere where you can fuel up before exploring the park’s stunning natural beauty. We’re passionate about the New Forest and its surroundings, and we’re proud to call this magical place our home. Our café is a reflection of our love for the park, and we’re excited to share its wonders with you. At our café, we believe that the New Forest is a true national treasure, and we’re thrilled to be a part of this special community. Come and see for yourself why our café is the perfect spot to explore this natural wonderland, whether you are looking for a quaint tea-room for a traditional afternoon tea in the New Forest or something more to prepare you for a hike across the heath.

BOOK A TABLE

Homegrown

“Here at the Potting Shed, we are passionate about growing our own veg, it might not look like the poster carrot, but it does taste so much better. We have spent hours growing our veg and herbaceous plants and we are so proud to be able to sell these direct to you from our café and in our food.

Locally Sourced

“Everything we do is for the community we know and love. Whether it is serving the friendly faces we have grown to recognise or using the produce around us. Ultimately, we believe that local is best. Fewer air miles, more heart and 100% satisfaction guarantee.

Homemade

There’s no place like home and, here at The Potting Shed, we firmly believe that a meal out should be a home from home for you. However, we want to do it better. We pride ourselves on being feeders and feeding people on only the best produce, cooked with love, by us, fresh for you.”

The warmth and pleasure expressed above are well matched by the attentive and careful service, as is the quality of the food.

I thoroughly enjoyed my The Full Works breakfast, while Jackie did the same with her Mini version.

Once I had cleared a little space on mine, revealing items at first

covered by the bacon, I photographed it again so further ingredients could be seen – note the tasty pork and leek sausage, black pudding, and hash brown. I had eaten the other half of tomato.

Whilst there is a cattle grid outside preventing direct access from the

donkeys that can usually be encountered around the corner, drivers do sometimes meet them on the way in.

Now for the drive:

The verges and fields were dotted with numerous catkins and

snowdrops, while ponies similarly stippled Blissford Hill.

As I disembarked to photograph alpacas in the Godshill farm they trooped off to collect their dinner.

Ponies, ignoring the fact that the bright sunshine belied the cold weather, soaked up what warmth they could on the Woodgreen common.

From Woodgreen through Hale Purlieu stretches a long straight road with ancient hedgerows. The mossy tree-roots must have witnessed generations of the joggers we often see on their runs, like the two we met today.

Ponies basked in the open woodland opposite the high banks.

The residents of Lover have cooperated with enthusiasm to celebrate the upcoming Valentine’s Day. This small gallery is mine,

supplementing Jackie’s longer one.

The thatcher of this cottage roof has, with the addition of colour, taken the traditional straw animals to a completely new level.

This evening we dined on Ferndene pork and apple sausages, boiled potatoes, parsnips, cauliflower, carrots, broccoli, spinach and gravy, with which I drank more of the Douro