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.

Decidedly Damp

I have realised that the persistent discomfort I have been feeling since my catheter removal has been the consequence of an infection, which I discussed over the telephone with my GP who ordered antibiotics for us to collect after lunch.

As we left for the Pharmacy, raindrops thundered on our car roof and swept across the windscreen.

The rain continued from early morning throughout the day until a brief respite later as we returned home.

We had returned to splashing along the wet roads.

The few ponies we did see on our trip were decidedly wet.

The freshly washed woodland colours brightly glistened.

and reflecting pools were filling up again.

We have learned that when the weather is stormy gulls tend to venture further inland.

This one, complete with bag of filched chips, is perched on the Tiptoe postbox.

Tonight we dined on Parmigiana crispy chicken breasts; piquant cauliflower cheese; boiled new potatoes, carrots, green beans, and spinach, with which I drank Georges Duboeuf Fleurie 2022.

Garden Views Today

This morning I published

An Innocent Punished

Martin and Jackie have been working steadily at clearance and planting over the last few weeks. Much of the pot planting visible in the following garden views has been recently accomplished by the Head Gardener while our invaluable Journeyman Gardener has used fork and spade in the beds.

In labelling images in the gallery I have generally named one item; assiduous readers will identify others.

The demise of our Weeping Birch was enforced early in the spring.

The Bed still bears its name, and a rambling, scented, Rosa Silueta Lavender has been planted to clamber over the truncated tree.

This afternoon Elizabeth visited bringing a gift of get well dahlias which she had bought because they reminded her of what I had grown in our parents’ garden when we were young.

We then all dined at Rokali’s where I chose lamb Archery with puris; Jackie enjoyed paneer shashlik; and Elizabeth, sag chicken. My sister and I shared special rice. Jackie drank Diet Coke and Elizabeth and I, sparkling water. Service, cooking, and friendliness were as good as usual.