I’m Only Borrowing It

Probably because it is slightly less cold today, snow began to fall as Jackie drove me to Ashurst for my trip to London.  I was then presented with the problem of buying a ticket.  We should perhaps be grateful that there is a railway station at this village.  Unfortunately there is no person employed to dispense tickets or to help in any way.  This task is performed by a machine.  As usual when I fail to obtain what I need from one of these, I didn’t know whether the problem was the device or me.  I could not find a way of getting it to allow me to apply my Senior Railcard which gives me a thirty percent discount.  Fortunately we had anticipated this eventuality and Jackie had waited in the car, ready to drive me to Southampton Parkway if necessary.  This she did.  On the way there I speculated that the time of purchase might have been the problem.  It had been 9.25.  The train was due at 9.40.  Railcards operate from 9.30.  Maybe the robot was set not to issue my kind of ticket until after 9.30, despite the fact that the train would not come along for another ten minutes.

As it turned out, I caught the same train anyway, and the guard on it confirmed my supposition.  He said the thing to do was to board the train without a ticket and find his counterpart who would issue a suitably discounted ticket.  Of course, the machine would presumably have provided such a service at 9.31, or even a few seconds before that.  The only person inconvenienced this morning was Jackie, who, in attempting to deliver me to a nearer station, found herself having to drive round to Southampton after all.

It was a splendid day in London; clear and bright with no snow.  I walked my usual route from Waterloo to Green Park where I boarded a Jubilee Line tube train to visit Norman for lunch. 

Reflected in a three-dimensional four-sided sculptural construction alongside Sutton Walk opposite the main entrance to Waterloo, a young couple photographed themselves.  As they inspected the result, one of them seemed to have disappeared. 

The low winter sun shone through the parapets of Westminster Bridge.

Waterfowl walked on the frozen surface of the lake in St. James’s Park.

Norman fed us on roast chicken followed by trifle.  We shared a bottle of Chateau David Bordeaux superieur 2010.  I then travelled by underground to Clapham Common to visit Wolf and Luci bearing gifts bought yesterday in Shaftesbury.  Luci produced welcome slices of her tasty pumpkin pie.

My return journey to Southampton was uneventful, except for a memory it prompted.  A man struggling down the carriage seeking a seat on the crowded train enquired after the occupancy of a berth which contained two bags.  He was told the position was taken, and moved on.  It was ten minutes before the female occupant returned to take up her place.  Some twenty years ago, when commuting between Newark and Kings Cross, I had been without a seat of my own.  As I stood in the aisle studying the other passengers, it dawned on me that every time one of them visited the buffet car their perch remained vacant for some fifteen to twenty minutes.  I therefore spent upwards of an hour hopping from one temporarily unoccupied location to another.  When other adjacent travellers pointed out, some rather indignantly, that the seats were occupied, I suggested that they were not at that moment, and ‘I’m only borrowing it.  I’ll give it up when your friend returns’.  This I did and found another vacancy.  It seemed a better option than standing the whole way.

When Jackie collected me this evening, the morning’s flurry of snow had given way to the more familiar rain.

Gold Hill

Dawn across the lawn 1.13

Dawn across the lawn was stunning this morning.

We took advantage of the beautiful conditions and drove cross-country to Shaftesbury in Dorset.  On probably our coldest day this year the temperature was mostly below freezing and never rose above 2 degrees centigrade.  The proliferating pools on the forest floor remained frozen. B3081 moors 1.13 The Hampshire forests and moors gave way, as we crossed into Wiltshire and Dorset, to frosted fields and picturesque villages with names like Martin, Tollard Royal, Sixpenny Handley, and Gussage St. Andrew.  Thatched roofs abounded.

On the New Forest stretch many ponies were grazing, and two deer scudded across the road in front of us.  A white-surfaced golf course was providing fodder for two ponies, one of which was defrosting the green.  Munching comfortably, close to the red flag of a hole, the only actually verdant area was a neat circle around the animal’s muzzle.  We thought that this equine trespass would probably make for some interesting putting for the golfers.

Whilst in Wiltshire I was so engrossed in a telephone conversation I was having with Becky that I did not notice Jackie slow down, drive into a farm entrance, perform a three point turn, and return the way we had come.  I did notice her bring the car to a standstill. Frozen brambles 1.13 (2) Looking out of my window I learned what had brought about this about turn.  The roadside to my left bore a clump of crystallised brambles.

Thank you, my subject scout.

As we paused in a layby above Shaftesbury, to take in the splendid views descending to the level of the town, Jackie mentioned that one March she had sat at that spot, watching mad March hares leaping up and down in the fields below.  Throughout the town we noticed representations of these creatures, so hers was clearly not an uncommon experience.  Soon after this we came to a very hairy corkscrew in the road, rapidly twisting and turning until our goal was reached. Gold Hill 1.13 (1) Having parked the car, we wandered along the high street until we came to Gold Hill, the steep cobbled road made famous in 1973 by the Hovis television advertisement produced by Ridley Scott, who was to become even more famous as one of our major feature film directors.  In 2010 Victoria Pendleton posed as the girl on the bike replacing ‘The Boy on the Bike’ in the original minor masterpiece.  She, currently, is probably even more world famous.

Gold Hill 1.13 (2)We both walked down and back up Gold Hill.  I then left Jackie in the comfort of a coffee bar and restaurant at the top of the hill, walked down again and had a ramble before joining her.  At the bottom of the hill I turned left along Layton and then Hawkdene Lanes, then left again and eventually back into the town centre which I explored for a while.

Alongside the carpark we had noticed an Indian restaurant and decided to lunch there.  This was the Aroma, an absolutely marvellous establishment in an unpretentious situation.  It is to be thoroughly recommended.  The food was top quality, the decor tasteful, and the service excellent.  We drank our usual  Kingfisher and Cobra.

Jackie hadn’t had enough time to ‘do’ all Shaftesbury’s charity shops, and hadn’t explored the town as much as I had, so after our meal we put that right.  In my earlier exploration I had found The Cygnet Gallery at Swan’s Yard, and bought a couple of presents there.  Consequently I introduced Jackie to this artists’ cooperative and we bought another, and some cards.  The shop has a range of beautifully produced items including paintings, photography, ceramics, leatherwork, jewellery, and others.  I found it particularly good because everything was of good quality and craftspersonship.  They were carrying no-one.  Prices were very reasonable.Gold Hill 1.13 (4)

On our return the hills above Shaftesbury seemed to be full of pheasants attempting to get themselves plastered on the tarmac.  There were the usual ponies wandering across the road, and as the sky was darkening we were relieved we were not in the dead of night on the unlit road across the moors of Hampshire.

A late evening fry-up with toast completed the day

The Village Lunch

Running Hill 1.13Running Hill was glorious this morning as I set off to walk a quirky Q linking the two fords with the Fleetwater phone box.  This red phone box, incidentally, no longer takes coins.  Bishops were in the process of moving people out of Barter’s, a rather large yet homely house which has just been sold.

The only humans I saw were in cars. Poppy's head 1.13 Steaming exhalations emanating from ponies’ nostrils, snorted downwards, soared upwards and evaporated.  Come to think of it, mine were doing the same.  Poppy nutted Libby out of the way so she could get to the water bucket.  Berry had said that this horse was the one in charge.  She demonstrated this today.  No resistance was offered by the wilder animal.Sheep in field 1.13

Sheep were strung out grazing in the sunlight.

We visited The Trusty Servant Inn, known locally as ‘The Trusty’, for lunch.  This was a monthly village gathering attended by both familiar and new faces.  The pub, in winter months, provides one course from a selection of four or five, for £6 a head.  Jackie chose fish and chips; I had shepherds pie; and we drank Peroni and Doom Bar respectively.  The village is proving to be most hospitable.  At our end of the long row of linked tables one subject of conversation was the alleged Grinling Gibbons work over our entrance hall fireplace.  No-one can yet verify the provenance of this.  Nor has anyone come up with a definitive origin of the word Seamans.  Oz thinks Richard Reeves in Lyndhurst might help with the latter.  We also spoke about ancestry, names, and nicknames.  Oz, actually Robert Osborne, has been Oz since he was a ten year old schoolboy.  Friends of mine sometimes call me Del, and, when they want to be really amusing, Del Boy, with reference to David Jason’s classic television character Derrick Trotter.  Oz would not answer to Ozzie, and Diane declines to be called Di.  Diane and Bill; Oz and Polly (Pauline); Eileen and David; and Jackie and I got to know each other quite well in the time.  At the far end of the table were Mary; and Jeanie and Nick, and a few others we didn’t meet.  Mary had driven past us en route; Jeanie was the woman on whose door I had knocked in search of Seamans Lane information on 9th December last year; Nick is the husband who wasn’t in.  We had a few words with them when we left.  I list these names in full in the hope that this will help me remember them.Village lunch 1.13

While I was walking in the morning Jackie went shopping in Totton’s Lidl.  Among other purchases she came back with a child’s play-tent and a fan heater.  The reason for the heater is that she is beginning to feel cold in the bedroom, whereas I don’t notice it.  After lunch we decided to visit Aldi in Romsey where I had seen an electric blanket.  Initially there was no sign of one.  Searching under a pile of pillows like a terrier throwing up soil from a foxhole, we unearthed the one I had spotted, fortunately hidden from the view of anyone else who might have liked it. Hand cooked potato chips By the checkout there was a tub of ‘Hand Cooked Potato Chips’.  This amused us.  Like almost every display near a checkout, this one contained supplementary items dumped by people who had changed their minds.  The woman on the till was very pleased when I told her that if there were an Olympic sport in checking out, she would be in the team.  Her speed and friendliness were equally impressive.

Our evening meal was the same as yesterday.

A Bouncing Baby Boy

We drove back to Highcliffe early this afternoon, for Jackie to shop and for me to walk.

The contrast between this moist Monday and yesterday’s sunny Sunday was marked.  Highcliffe beach was deserted except for me and a jogger. Gorse, Highcliffe 1.13 I walked along the cliff top first, before descending to the shore by muddy steps beside which the Council had placed a notice claiming that the provision of this facility did not constitute a right of way.  I wondered whether this was some disclaimer of responsibility should someone have an accident. New Bin 1.13 Near the bottom of this path, a correctly labelled ‘New Bin’ had been installed. It is definitely not an old one.  On the shingle, where yesterday Sam and Malachi had watched the receding tide, were wading birds, presumably waiting for their supper to be presented by the sands.Wading birds, Highcliffe 1.13

When I met Jackie at the car park, she had not had time for a full tour of the town’s many charity shops.  I therefore joined her to finish the task.  Among other objects, we discovered more contributions to the toy and dressing-up boxes, and a lampshade to replace a weekend casualty.  As mentioned before, Highcliffe has more than its share of charity shops.  I have probably visited them all by now.  What is extremely noticeable is that none of these establishments has the familiar smell of stale clothes which is so prevalent in their London equivalents.

On the way to our destination Jackie slowed for a female pheasant in the road in front of us.  The bird started, veered sideways, flew straight into the windscreen, bounced off, and continued its journey.  This reminded me of one of my earliest memories, from the summer of my third birthday.  I think it was Uncle Bill who was driving us to Brighton.  These are details which emerged in the later telling among the family, so I’m not quite clear about them.  What has remained vivid in my memory, is the image of my younger brother, with me in the back, deciding he wanted to get out of the motoring car, opening the door and doing just that.  Mum screamed; I dashed to the other side to look out and watched Chris, fortunately in a nappy, bouncing across the centre of the road into the path of oncoming traffic.  Bill brought the car to a standstill.  Somebody rushed out and gathered up the happily unharmed little soul.  Fortunately there were fewer, and slower, cars around in 1945, and the M23 hadn’t been invented.  Mind you, we do now have childproof locks.  The problem with them is that it takes a child to work out how to open them.

This evening Jackie produced an excellent lamb jalrezi with pilau rice.  She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Roc des Chevaliers Bordeaux superieur 2010.

Highcliffe

Malachi is most definitely at the ‘why’ stage.  This morning, over breakfast, he asked Jackie ‘why?’.  She had a ready answer, smiled, and said ‘I anticipated that one’.  ‘What does that mean?’, he asked.  ‘I knew you’d ask why?’, she replied.  A mischievous grin game over his face.  ‘Why?’, he said.  Why is it that children always win that game?

Incidentally, does anyone know a good method of removing baked beans, beef stew, apple juice, milk, and goodness knows what else from cream damask covered dining chairs?

Today was a beautiful, if cold, day.  We therefore had a trip to the beach at Highcliffe.  Ponies were much in evidence on our drive through the forest, so the safari plan was more successful today than yesterday.

Highcliffe beach 1.13We walked along the beach and back to The Cliffhanger restaurant where we had lunch together before Sam and Malachi set off back to London.  This was the only time I have seen the beach here full of people, obviously taking advantage of the rare dry day.  Dogs and children were particularly enjoing themselves.

Malachi’s favourite occupations were throwing stones into the waves; avoiding the surf; and climbing rocks. Sam, Malachi & surf, Highcliffe beach 1.13 Watching his Dad scattering pebbles into the receding tide, reminded me of similar games I had played with him when he was pretty much the same age as Malachi.  The little lad, according to his Dad, misses no opportunity to climb about on rocks.  Naturally he loved climbing on the huge rough boulders on this beach. Malachi climbing rocks 1.13 Observing Sam guiding him in his exploits reminded me of my son’s guiding hand in Cumbria more than twenty years ago, which I described on 14th July last year.

Malachi wasn’t interested in the cuttlefish bone Jackie picked up and showed him, and we were more interested in unusual stones than he was.  Stones were just there to chuck into the waves.  We, however, spoke of an interest in pebbles with holes running through them.  This led us to Matthew’s extremely long bell-pull.  In his house in Seaford, Mat had rigged up a lengthy rope running from the fourth floor.  On this cord were threaded a string of stones from the beach with holes running through them.  Jackie and I, unbeknown to each other, had contributed stones for our son’s collection during our years apart.

Sam & Malachi against the light 1.13We stood at the ends of the breakwaters, enjoying the thrill of the spray ricocheting up from the rocks.  A certain amount of bargaining was involved in determining how much time Malachi could spend riding on his father’s shoulders, and how much he had to walk.  This involved using the posts bearing lifebelts as markers.  Malachi had to make it to ‘the next red thing’ under his own steam to warrant being hoisted and carried aloft.  Again this brought back memories of my carrying Sam in the same manner.  Most of the way, in fact, Malachi was so absorbed in his rock climbing as to forget his desire for a ride.  At one point Sam and I had to follow him along a line of rocks, in age order, with Grandpa bringing up the rear.

Wheelies on the rocks 1.13A highlight of the return journey was the group of young men doing wheelies on the rocks.  They were very competent and very confident, for their limbs were unprotected and none of them came a cropper.

The Cliffhanger was very full.  Jackie had gone on ahead and felt somewhat uneasy about holding a table for four with one coffee for an hour.  The very friendly staff were quite relaxed about it.  When the rest of us arrived it was so warm inside that it seemed incongruous to see windswept people with faces reddened with cold entering the establishment in search of a table.  Sam and I enjoyed haddock, Jackie scampi, and Malachi a burger; all with chips and salad.  Jackie and Malachi had icecream to follow.  Sam drank coffee; Malachi blackcurrant squash; with water for me.Sam, Malachi & others, Highcliffe beach 1.13

This meant that salad sufficed this evening, after a visit from Elizabeth who brought Christmas presents from Jacqueline and from Danni.  I drank a bit more of the Marques de Montino rioja reserva 2007 I had opened with my sister.  Jackie imbibed a small bottle of Hoegaarden.  We did have bread and butter pudding afterwards.

The Olden Days

Malachi, Jackie & toy box 1.13A  sleepy Malachi began the day watching ‘Ice Age 3’ whilst I sat with him.  Jackie offered breakfast.   My grandson was more interested in finishing up Christmas chocolate money.  We produced the toy box that his previous requests had stimulated us to provide.  He shook it up and actually played with the contents.  When it was time for computer games again, Jackie remembered she had a cake-making game on her laptop.  This was a great success and he learned what for him was a new skill, using a pre-iPad piece of equipment with a mouse. Malachi & laptop 1.13 If we keep at the idea of going back through time, we might familiarise him with a quill pen and ink.Jackie, Malachi & laptop 1.13

Jackie drove us this morning to Buckler’s Hard.  We had hoped for a pony safari on the way, but the deluge was upon us again, so the animals were seeking what shelter they could in the depths of the forest.  Sightings were at an absolute minimum until we reached Beaulieu where ponies and cattle joined forces to disrupt the traffic.

Bucklers Hard 1.13Buckler’s Hard is an eighteenth century shipbuilders’ village on the River Beaulieu.  Some cottages in the only street are still occupied.  The village shop has comparativly recently closed its doors, but the chapel remains a place of worship.  Two cottages are given over to a series of tableaux, each in its appropriate room recreating the life of a worker and his family.  One is of a labourer and the other a more skilled shipwright.  The rooms reflect the differences in status.  The pub, unchanged since the old days, continues in business throughout the year.  We enjoyed a drink there.  No-one else was wandering around the village getting wet, although several people were dining in the tavern.

Before you reach the village there is an interesting and informative maritime museum.  There are many exhibits describing exactly how the old ships were made.  Models of sailing vessels are in evidence, and various tableaux offer insights into village life. Tavern tableau, Bucklers Hard 1.13 The reconstruction of a group of known characters in The New Inn, was particularly impressive, with recorded snippets of conversation and noises off, to enliven the scene.  Malachi testing his captaincy skills 1.13Whilst Malachi was reasonably interested in the other exhibits, the one that drew him back time and again, together with whoever he could drag to it, was yet another electronic game.  This was designed to test skills of captaincy.  I began to fear the cry of ‘come on Grandpa’ whilst I was looking at something else.

Although no longer in use for general shipbuilding, among the Hard’s several contributions to the Second World War effort was the construction of segments of ‘Mulberry Harbour’ which were towed across to the Normandy Coast for the D-Day landings in 1944.

As we returned in our heated, waterproof, car, I reflected that we may this morning have demonstrated a piece of equipment which must be historic to Malachi’s generation; and we may have looked back in time at the museum;  but at least we weren’t having to be exposed to the elements in a horse and cart.

Malachi ate first this evening.  He had baked beans on toast, some of which ended up in his mouth.  When we came to lay the table for the adults’ dinner, we realised that, as he had been sitting in Jackie’s place, she had baked bean stains all around her setting.  Sam and I therefore turned the tablecloth around so that she would get a clean area of the cloth.  Unfortunately Malachi had sat on the other side last night, so there were signs of beef stew to greet Jackie.  We therefore reversed the tablecolth so it wasn’t too bad.  After this palaver, we dined on roast beef; Jackie drank Hoegaarden; and Sam and I shared a bottle of Terres de Galets Cotes du Rhone 2011.

Have You Got An iPaD?

ImageRunning Hill was full of ponies as I set off to walk the ford ampersand on this crisp sun-kissed day.  Others, throughout the route, had begun their day-long quest for fodder.  In ‘Furzey Gardens road’ some half a dozen were lined up as if in a trough.   One was forced to turn its head to stay in frame.  They are reaching higher and higher for prickly greenery.  Sheep basking 1.13Sheep in a fold munched, basked, and idled away the morning.  The avian residents were very vociferous.  I recognised a blackbird in a hedge, and robins and pigeons flitting and flirting across the lanes of Minstead.

Close to the ford, opposite an aptly named house called ‘The Splash’, lies Minstead Study Centre. Minstead Study Centre 1.13 Taking the motorists’ warning sign literally, I have been calling this establishment a school.  On passing the centre and the nearby twig circle mentioned in posts of 4th, 26th, and 30th December 2012, I was reminded that Berry had clarified both the purpose of this educational facility and the source of the ‘pagan’ circular constructions.  The truth is far less mysterious than I had imagined.

The Study Centre is a forestry learning establishment for schools who send groups of children to discover the delights of the New Forest. Bare oak branches 1.13 I have, in fact, seen crocodiles of escorted children emerging from the forest track.  One of the exercises these young people are given is the creation of the circles.  So I am not likely to encounter ‘The Wicker Man’, from the 1973 British horror film, remade in America in 2006.

This afternoon wagtails wandered about our lawn.  When Sam phoned to give me an estimated time of arrival for him and Malachi, who are staying for a few days, Malachi asked to speak to me.  Sam passed him the phone.  This little chap, who is not four until March, began with ‘excuse me’.  He went on to tell me he had just seen a sign which said you could buy coffee.

Malachi 1.13When they arrived, Malachi, taking off his shoes, asked the question we had feared.  ‘Have you got an iPad?’.  We hadn’t of course.  Fortunately Sam had an iPhone.  This meant we were half way there.  We still had to access the internet.  Our old laptops were not adequate to download Malachi’s games.  The iPhone was, but we required a password to access our home hub.  Of course we couldn’t remember it.  Eventually, I remembered how to access BT wifi with Fon.  And we got Sam on.  I ask you, its enough to remember all these terms, without throwing passwords in as well.  Malachi was soon esconced on the sofa with a game he had downloaded. Sam & Malachi 1.13 With a little help from his Dad he played games of varying degrees of difficulty.

Jackie produce a delicious beef stew and bread and butter pudding.  Malachi drank milk.  Sam and I enjoyed Selexione Sangiovese Shiraz 2011, a rather nice Sicilian wine.  Malachi had to be persuaded to eat enough of his dinner before he was allowed to get back to his games.  After his bath I struggled to maintain his interest in my rendering of Winnie the Pooh.  My own son seemed more intrigued.

Bursitis

Cottage from Seamans Corner 1.13

Just after dawn I set off walking to Lyndhurst to visit the GP Surgery.  I took the A337 route which is half a mile less than the Emery Down one, as I wanted to be sure of being in good time.  Consequently I was twenty minutes early, and could easily have chosen the pretty route.  The purpose of my visit was to discuss removal of a seborrhoeic wart which has adorned the side of my face, hidden in sideburns until recently, for about fifteen years.  The time has come, I decided, for us to part.  My new GP, Dr. Alison Cleland, agreed, and an appointment is to be made for its removal.

Walking along the A337 I pondered upon GPs I have not known.  It has been my good fortune not to have troubled the NHS much, and, apart from the period in 2010 when I was in need of a hip replacement, I have only made two other visits in 40 years.  These were both in Newark.  I do not remember the name of the second man I saw.  It was he who told me the growth on my face was benign.  He asked if I would like it removed and I opted to leave it.  The first was Dr. Mark Hunter.  My need for him followed an incident on one of London’s minor bridges.

I cannot recall which particular bridge I was crossing a bit more than twenty years ago, when, for some reason, I raised my right arm to point something out.  I was walking on the right hand side of the pavement and pointing across my body.  This meant my elbow was sticking out a bit.  Suddenly.  Smack!  The elbow had been hit with a loud crack from behind.  A quick inspection told me that the crack hadn’t come from inside my funny bone.  I looked up to see, speeding on down the road, a van with a bent wing mirror.

I wasn’t going to let the driver get away with that, so I sped on after him.  Unfortunately for him, he had picked me out during my running days, I was wearing my trainers, and he had to stop at a red traffic light.  All of which was in my favour.  He was a little surprised at seeing a raging Fury banging on his side window.

I told him what he had done.  He was crestfallen, and possibly rather scared.  He said he didn’t know he’d done it.  When I pointed to his wing mirror he had to accept that he may have hit something.  By this time I was feeling sorry for the startled gent; my elbow wasn’t hurting; and I couldn’t be bothered any more.  I’d used up all my adrenalin in the chase.  I also reflected that I may not have been entirely blameless.  Maybe my elbow had been stuck into his wing mirror, rather than the other way round.  So I let him off, just this once.

That night I became aware of another bodily growth, rather more alarming than the one on my face.  A soft-centred tennis ball had appeared on my elbow.  The next day I visited Mark Hunter who sucked out the unnecessary fliud.  With an instrument, I hasten to add.  Apparently I had bursitis.  All this was quite painless.

My visit to Dr. Cleland today wasn’t quite painless.  She suggested that she took my blood pressure whilst I was there.  ‘Fine’, I said.  She then asked me if I’d ever had a ‘flu’ jab.  I hadn’t, and wasn’t about to.  She persuaded me otherwise.  I had my first ‘flu’ jab after my blood pressure was tested.  All this was very good-humoured.  As she began to take the reading she said that maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the innoculation before taking the blood pressure.  She needn’t have worried.  It was ‘nice and low’.  The needle stung a teeny bit.  I hadn’t been afraid of the needle.  I just didn’t want stuff which might make me feel under par for a day or two to be stuck into me.  Well, it has been.

I decided to walk back via Emery Down.  Unbeknown to me Jackie had decided to come and fetch me.  She rang me from Lyndhurst as I was walking through the village.  By the time she reached me I had passed through Emery Down.  After I got into the car we decided to go to Ashurst and check out the London trains, as this is rather nearer than Southampton Parkway.  The station was, unsurprisingly, unpersoned, but we gleaned the necessary information.  We decided on a drive through the forest.  Breakfast at Needles Eye Cafe, Milford 1.13Via Brockenhurst and Lymington we arrived at Millford-on-Sea where we brunched at The Needles Eye Cafe from which we had a misty view of the Isle of Wight.  (Florence, please note the absence of the apostrophe in Needles is no doubt deliberate, innit?).  Watching the slender rays of sun sliding through the cloud cover and painting a silver line on the sea was fascinating. Isle of Wight from Milford-on-Sea 1.13 Strangely enough, the more the sun appeared, the more the view of the famous outcrops at the end of the island was obscured.

This evening Jackie produced ham and pea soup, followed by cheese and mushroom omelette, and very tasty they were too.  Strawberry jelly and evaporated milk was for afters.

Feng Shui?

Jubilee Gardens, Ringwood 1.13

An exchange with Lorna Barnett about a restaurant in Bali took me back to my Bayswater days.  I lived in Leinster Mews for six months in 2007.  Almost opposite, in Leinster Terrace, were two Greek restaurants about 100 yards apart at either end of a parade of shops.  One was always so full that, even alone, it was necessary to book to gain entrance.  Needless to say it was an excellent establishment where Alice, aged about seven, once had fun with the waitress.  They had struck up a banter throughout our meal.  When it came to the complimentary Delight, Alice said: ‘Ooh.  Turkish Delight.’  ‘No’, said the young lady, ‘it’s Greek Delight.’  Laughter all round.  Although Alice was somewhat confused she knew it was a joke. The other restaurant was always empty.

Two years later, when running down this street, I noticed that the unpopular venue was up for sale.  This morning, on Googling Leinster Terrace to check the location, I stumbled across ‘The tale of 2 Greek Restaurants’, a 13.11.09 posting on his blog by Dr. Michael Oon.  Dr. Oon mentions that the empty eating place had finally closed its doors.  He put the relative success of these two establishments down to Feng Shui.  The Halapi, because of its location enjoys floods of energy from two different sources, whereas the now defunct Zorba had this mystical force rushing downhill away from it.  I never tried Zorba, but I enjoyed several excellent meals and delightful service at The Halapi.  I suspect there is more to it than the relative fortune of the location of footprints.  Possibly the cooking and waiting?

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Ringwood for her to have a shop and me to have a wander.  From High Street I walked down West Street where it was market day.  From the comments of the stallholders, some of whom were packing up early, they weren’t having a very lucrative January.  I ventured into Jubilee Gardens which had become a fishing lake.  This informed me that the Avon was still in spate. Caravan site, Ringwood 1.13 Opposite this public park there are a number of angling suppliers and a path leading to the static caravan site I have seen surrounded by water from the other side of the flooded fields.  Their gardens were waterlogged and access to the riverside was impossible.

I walked back to the Castleman Trailway by the usual route and along it in alternate directions, first right, then left and back to the carpark via The Bickerley.  The paddling ponies I had seen on 23rd December 2012 had clearly been rescued, for they were nowhere in sight and there was no difference to the levels of the fast-flowing water on either side of the trail.  On the bridge over the swollen river Avon I met a beautiful catwalk model in canine form. Ozzie and owner 1.13 This was Ozzie, a young Saluki accompanied by his equally elegant owner.  Despite his gangly friskiness on display for my benefit, I was informed that he was a ‘real couch potato’ indoors.  Even after our engaging conversation, the dog’s conscientious companion remembered she had to ‘pick up his poo.’  She carried a plastic bag for the purpose.

Oven-cooked fish and chips sustained us for the evening.

History Group

Hungerford Cottage 1.13

The early morning light, as I began walking the London Minstead/Shave Wood loop, gave Hungerford Cottage, in its setting, an idyllic appearance. Backlit ponies being led 1.13 On Seamans Lane I was approached by a woman, against the light, leading two ponies of clearly dissimilar varieties.  I believe I had seen part of this group on 8th December.  The difference was that this time the larger horse was a foal, and the Shetland pony had, that time, borne a little girl.

Further along, attached to a hedge, I spotted yet another pair of gloves (see post of 3rd January). Gloves on hedge 1.13 These, I left in situ.  The sky soon clouded over, as if someone had replaced a clear electric light bulb with a pearl one.

After I spent an afternoon clue writing Jackie produced a delicious meal of slow roasted pork belly which we ate in time for her to drive me down to Minstead Hall for my introduction to the Minstead History Group, following which she came and collected me.  This was an unstructured and somewhat loose meeting to which we had been asked to bring, in one e-mail an object of local history interest, and in another a favourite object of our own, and talk about it.  I was rash enough to bring both and to compound this by asking for clarification as to which had been required.  Like the army ‘volunteer’ who gets to clean the latrines, I was asked to start.  Having brought the portrait of Jackie, the subject of my post of 15th July 2012; and a photograph of the alleged Grinling Gibbons mantelpiece described on 9th December, I decided to start with the mantelpiece.  No-one could verify the claim of Jeanie that this was the work of Gibbons, although all were intrigued with the problem and enjoyed the story of my knocking on doors in an attempt to discover the origin of Seamans.  Neither did anyone know the history of that name, even those who had lived there for many years.  In fact I got applause for my presentation, but the fact that I had also brought a personal favourite was forgotten.  I judged it impolitic to remind people.  Only three others had brought beloved objects which were all fascinating, although not of local historic interest.  Those were well received and Jill and Steve discovered, through bringing mementos of their antecedents that they both had origins in Hinton Martell in Dorset.

A number of those present had lived in or around Minstead all their lives.  Others, like me and Jill, had settled there from other parts of England.  The fact that Jill didn’t grow up here made the link with Steve all the more remarkable.  Tom Penny, a ninety three year old retired farmer was there with his daughter Jane.  After the presentations, Tom very soon became the focus of attention.  He is lucid, intelligent, and with a lifetime’s knowledge of the village and its denizens.  People were particularly intrigued at his description of the second wife of the squire of the 1940s.  He used to deliver milk to the grand house and would be summoned to her presence.  In his opinion she can only have washed about once a week, for fear of removing the paint that was so caked on her face as to obliterate all wrinkles.  Oz, who is a leading member is keen that someone should write down Tom’s words, although he is aware of the difficulty of this task.