Floral Provenance

On an even hotter day than yesterday I took my camera on a walk around the garden this morning.

We are not always sure how some of our plants arrive. This poppy is certainly a self seeded volunteer, but we don’t know about the red hollyhock. It could have been from a seed scattering exercise by either Flo or Jackie last year.

The colourful little lysimachia Firecracker is a plant bought by Jackie after she had seen one in Elizabeth’s garden given by Frances.

Pollies Day Lilies, very nearby, is the home of the National hemerocallis Collection. Some of ours have been bought there.

Delta’s Sarah and Mrs Popple are two of the many fuchsias planted by Jackie that have proved to be hardy in our garden.

This small white hydrangea will grow bigger. It is a cutting from a larger plant Jackie bought from Lidl some time ago.

Years ago our Head Gardener bought phlox plants from pity benches in centres like Everton. They all now thrive under her nurture, as do

various clematis, some of which we inherited,

as we did numerous moon daisies and several hostas.

When we converted a heap of rubble and rubbish including a buried bath complete with taps into the Rose Garden we had a free run to select roses like Roserie de l’Hay, For Your Eyes Only, and Créme de la créme largely for their scent;

low lying lavender, rambling bee-attracting sweet peas, and tall lilies provide variety in that plot.

Some dahlias we have planted, other flowers were in situ when we arrived ten years ago; examples of these are

red and yellow Bottle Brush plants.

Crocosmias red Lucifer and golden George Davison and their neighbouring penstemon are all part of our replanting of the Palm Bed.

This evening we dined at Rokali’s where I chose Jaipur special prawn; and Jackie, Poneer Shashlik. We shared a plain paratha, special fried rice, and Tarka Dhal. I drank Kingfisher and Jackie drank Diet Cola. A truly serendipitous event gave us rather more than we bargained for. As the waiter served us he tipped the rice bowl over so that much of it ended up on the table cloth and my serviette. He took a clean cloth and began scooping it up to dispose of it. The table and everything else was unsoiled. I encouraged him to sweep it onto my plate, saying I was more than happy to eat it rather than have it wasted. It seemed to me quite a result in that any mess I made of the cloth could be blamed on this event. Even better – he did this and gave us a new bowl of rice. Ultimately we couldn’t eat it all and were given a doggy bag to take home. Another good outcome. Also, great fun was enjoyed by all, including other customers.

Needless to say the food was all very well prepared and otherwise efficiently served. The waiter, a family member we had not met before, finished by helping me to my feet.

Oar Point Memorial

The weather has changed again. Today was hot and sunny. This morning Jackie drove me to Sears Barbers in Milford on Sea where I had my hair cut; after lunch we took a trip out to the forest.

Ponies in traffic along Sowley Lane gave me the opportunity to focus

on the verge’s prolific ragwort swarming with bees.

Convolvulus now covers all the hedgerows, like this along St Leonard’s Road,

where bees also plunder the bramble blossom which has simultaneously produced early fruit.

Oar Point Memorial faces the Solent beyond which lies the Isle of Wight, seen through haze this afternoon.

Forest Fields by Michael Renyard

was today adorned with red carnations nodding to red poppies on the little wooden crosses.

Looking down towards Bucklers Hard we noticed a new sign to the museum featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2013/01/12/the-olden-days/

With the heat comes desperate ponies trying their best to protect themselves and each other from flies. These at East End also disrupted the traffic.

One driver vainly clapped in an effort to shift them, until a cyclist dismounted and persuaded them with more success.

A yacht weather vane in Rowes Lane is possibly pea green.

The stand of kniphofia at the front of the Walhampton Arms is extended more each year.

This evening we dined on cheese-centred fishcakes; boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots; and tender spinach and green beans, with which I finished the Appassimento

Memories Are Made Of This

Giles Darvill, who Jackie and I first knew more than fifty years ago, is my oldest still living friend. Having once worked in Kingston Social Services together we have now been near neighbours in two villages on the verge of Hampshire’s New Forest for more than a decade.

This morning I visited him at his home in Milford on Sea where we enjoyed congenial reminiscences.

A Knight’s Tale (61: Soil And Heating From Battersea)

In particular we derived much enjoyment from recounting memories of the time featured in the above earlier post. Incidentally I was later to work in Westminster Social Services with my late friend Maggie Kindred (then Cook) who lived in one of the Dolphin Square flats pictured in that episode of the story of my era.

One of our pastimes during this period was playing chess on a glass table marked out as a board. This was my camera’s view of my opponent on the opposite side.

Ten years later we were to visit Covent Garden Market with Giles and his son Ben; Becky and Matthew, Sam and Louisa

I have a number of stained glass artefacts made for me over the years by my friend, including the chessboard which was a 50th Birthday Present.

In May 1983 Jessica, Sam, Louisa, Matthew, Becky and I visited Giles and his family at their home in the village of Penn Street near Amersham. The children experienced great glee in a cherry blossom

snow storm manufactured by Matthew who had stealthily sneaked up into the tree and given it a good shaking. Giles still has a framed copy of one of these images.

It was a little less than two years ago that we took

Coming Clean

our last walk together, as detailed in this post.

This evening we dined on well cooked baked Gammon; creamy cauliflower and broccoli cheese; crunchy carrots; and soft spinach, with which I drank more of the Appassimento.

St Swithin’s Day

This morning Jackie visited Helen and Bill, delivering our brother-in-law’s birthday present.

Driving via Holmsley Passage she returned with photographs of very wet ponies and a windscreen dripping with raindrops. The rain continued throughout the unseasonably cold day.

“A standing joke worldwide is the English preoccupation with the weather. So how did it come to pass that the English summer should be determined by a long dead Anglo-Saxon Bishop?

“St Swithun’s Day (or ‘Swithin’ as he is also known) is the feast day of a ninth century Anglo-Saxon Bishop of Winchester who died in 862 AD. Swithun was born in the Kingdom of Wessex (an Anglo-Saxon Kingdom in the South-West and the precursor to the unified Kingdom of England) and educated in Winchester, the Kingdom’s capital.

“Little is definitively known about Swithun’s life although he is said to have been the spiritual adviser of Æthelwulf, King of Wessex, who donated much of his royal land to Swithun to build and restore numerous churches. Swithun has also been suggested as the tutor of Æthelwulf’s son Alfred, which would fit chronologically at least, since Alfred was born in 849 AD. Alfred (right) then went on to become the mighty ruler of Wessex and the only English monarch to date to be bestowed with the title ‘the Great’, so a good job well done by Swithun you could say!

“With his link to the town of Winchester, Swithun is unsurprisingly well remembered across the south of England and particularly in Hampshire. However, St Swithun is also honoured as far afield as Norway, where he is commemorated at Stavanger Cathedral. St Swithin’s Lane in London and St. Swithun’s quadrangle at Oxford University’s Magdalen College are also named in memory of the saint. His feast day is also familiar to fans of David Nicholl’s popular novel ‘One Day’, which has now been adapted for the big screen (with surely one of the most questionable Yorkshire accents of all time courtesy of Anne Hathaway!).

“However, whilst Swithun was a popular bishop, his only known miracle during his lifetime was the repair of a basket of broken eggs, dropped by a flustered lady of his parish on unexpectedly encountering the Bishop. His enduring legend is due to events after his death on 2 July 862.

“With his dying breath Swithun is said to have requested that his final resting place be outside, where his grave could easily be reached by both members of the parish and the rainfall from the heavens. Swithun’s wishes were met for over 100 years. However, in 971 when the monastic reform movement had been established and religion was once again at the forefront, Æthelwold of Winchester, the current Bishop of Winchester, and Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, decreed that Swithun was to be the patron saint of the restored Cathedral at Winchester where an impressive shrine was built for him.

“Swithun’s body was removed from its simple grave and interred in the new Cathedral on 15 July 971. A shrine to the Saint remains in the modern Winchester Cathedral to this day.

“According to legend, forty days of terrible weather followed, suggesting St Swithun was none too happy with the new arrangements! Ever since, it has been said that the weather on 15 July supposedly determines the weather for the next forty days, as noted in the popular Elizabethan verse:

“St Swithin’s day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St Swithin’s day if thou be fair
For forty days will rain na mair” 

(As rain pelted down on my head, shoulders, and camera this soggy morning, I received a sense of what we are in for. One picture will perforce suffice).

“Less spectacularly, the superstition may have evolved from pagan beliefs around the changing weather of the Midsummer period. This can be explained today by the patterns of the wind currents bringing weather fronts across the British Isles, known as jet streams. When the jet stream falls to the north of Britain, high pressure systems (usually associated with clear skies and calm weather) are able to move in. In contrast, when the jet stream lies over or beneath the British Isles, arctic air and low pressure weather systems are more common and bring cloudy, rainy and windy weather. Indeed, across Europe there are Saints who are believed to exert a similar influence over the weather, such as St. Medard, St. Gervase and St. Protais in France on 8th and 19th June and St. Godelieve in Flanders on 6th July.” (https://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/St-Swithuns-Day/)

This evening we dined on Jackie’s liver and bacon casserole; crisp roast potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts; and tender green beans, with which I drank Christian Patat Appassimento Rosso 2022 which I was given at yesterday’s party.

Birthday Garden Party

Until the welcoming committee of Danni, Elizabeth, Ella, and Jack burst into singing Happy Birthday I had not realised that the invitation for us to meet at my sister’s was for my benefit.

A fine spread of cold meats, salads, quiche, and warm sausage rolls followed by cup cakes made by the children, strawberries, and a summer fruits tart; with a cool refreshing white wine filled the dining table. We all tucked in with relish then sat on soft seats when I received presents including well selected drawing materials from Elizabeth in an effort to persuade me that my hand was rather less unsteady than I thought. The first of the pictures labelled Bunting Workshop in the later gallery demonstrated that she may to some extent be right.

Although Jackie will snack later, I have no further need to do so.

Afterwards we adjourned to the warm and pleasant sunshine of the garden, where we admired the

flowers flourishing in their beds. Each of these is entitled in the gallery.

Ella and Jack enjoy being wrapped up in the garden map. Their G-Ma, as all three of her grandchildren call Elizabeth, duly obliged.

Bees and butterflies are attracted to the flowers. I photographed bees on alliums and a comma butterfly on a buddleia while Jackie tracked a Red Admiral from plant to plant.

The Bunting Workshop mentioned earlier was in honour of our country’s European Football Final match this evening against Spain. In the last of these images Ella displays her three lions in the rain.

Named by the family as Stinky Flower, this member of the Marguerite family earns its epithet enough for me to be unsurprised that it attracts flies.

When this partial eggshell dropped by a passing avian landed on the lawn Ella wrapped it up to take to school.

Finally, when I was pretty well all in I photographed the aptly named rose Tottering By Gently, “Named to celebrate the 25th anniversary year of Annie Tempest’s classic weekly cartoon. First published in Country Life magazine in January 1994, Tottering-by-Gently depicts the everyday capers of Dicky and Daffy Tottering, and their family, at Tottering Hall.” (David Austin Roses)

Now, honour bound, I am settling down to watch the football match.

Scaffolding East End

Last summer’s rain put an end to the refurbishment of the outside of the house after the west end gable had been completed.

Scaffolding West End

Tony and Cole of Solent Scaffolding had erected the west end scaffolding on 8th July.

Only now has it been possible to pick up the work again on the east end gable. This time Tony’s companion was Matt.

Together this is what they achieved today.

This afternoon I watched the Wimbledon Ladies’ final between Barbora Krejcikova and Jasmine Paolini.

This evening we dined on Southern fried chicken; onion rings; chips; baked beans; and mixed veg.

The Saga Of The Volsungs

This is Part One of Book One of The Ring Legends of Scandinavia. “We begin with what promises to be the furthest-reaching, fullest possible version on the human side of the Ring legends. The Saga of the Volsungs stretches from end to end of the story, telling of the two great families: the Volsungs, into which Sigurd is born, and the Gjukungs, into which he marries….. The Saga… was composed by an anonymous author between 1200 and 1270, probably 1260 and almost certainly in Iceland. As such it belongs to the flourishing Icelandic saga culture of the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries.” (Elizabeth Magee)

This version is based on the text edited and translated by R.G. Finch in London 1965.

This story involves myth, magic, superstition, deception, trickery, treachery, love triangles, family history, bloodthirsty conflicts, rivalry, and mystery.

Reminiscent of the death of William Rufus on a deer hunt in England’s New Forest, the tale begins with Bredi’s murder by Sigi, reputed to be a son of Odin. Throughout the saga Odin appears as a “man” with various descriptions and significant actions. Thus reality merges with myth, and magic, as in “….a large pair of stocks was fetched, and at a certain spot in the forest the ten brothers had their legs clamped in, and there they sat all day, and night came on. And at midnight an old she-wolf came out from the forest to where they were sitting in the stocks. She was large and evil-looking. What she did was to bite one of them to death, thereupon devour him, then go away…….on nine consecutive nights the same wolf appeared at midnight, and each time she she killed and ate one of them until all were dead and Sigmund alone remained.” Trickery is employed by Signy, daughter of King Volsung to outwit and destroy the wolf.

“Numerous spears hurtled through the air, and arrows, too, but his norns looked after him, so he remained unscathed….”. “Norns, according to Magee, “are semi-divine female beings who weave the web of fate: past, present and future; the valkyries are Odin’s wish-maidens, who ride through the heavens, sway battles, select those heroes selected for Valhall, and serve the inexhaustible brew of ale to them when they arrive. Some are said to be Odin’s own daughters….”

Most confusing for readers such as me is that names are variable and interchangeable. The Icelandic Sigurd is the German Siegfried. The Sigmund of the above paragraph is the father of Sigurd who also has a son Sigmund. I doubt that I will get my head around all these, although the translation is fluent and very readable, and there is a good glossary of names in the appendices; it is splendid story anyway.

In addition to the fluid prose we have much poetry such as “Gold is now rendered,/ recompense for you,/ much for my head./’Tis not luck will be/ the lot of your son:/ Death to you both it brings.” put in the mouth of Loki, the mischief maker of the gods. Brunhild’s comprehensive advice to Sigurd, beginning “War runes you must know/ if wise you would be. / On sword-guard grave them,/ on hilt sockets, / on hilt’s iron grip, / and twice say Tyr’s name” and continuing with such stanzas as “Speech runes you must know,/ to be spared, if you wish/ repayment of grief rendered./ Wind them about,/ weave them around,/ side by side set them/ there at that Thing/ where throngs shall come,/ all to full session faring”. Tyr is the god of war; Thing is the parliament. Further such advice such as “Watch out for trickery from your friends” is delivered in fluent prose.

As I explained earlier, Simon Brett’s powerful illustrations are given in a block between pages 360 and 361. This is because there is so much overlap in the stories that each engraving could serve more than one part of the book.

Here are today’s offerings which may well be repeated as we progress through the work.

This evening we dined on more of the roast lamb with the addition of mushrooms and fresh vegetables. Neither of us imbibed.

Exercising Her Priority


Soon after lunch today we set out on a forest drive.

A pair of ponies with their foals occupied corner of the bank of Beaulieu River. One rose to its feet and trotted off for a feed.

On our way into Brockenhurst several cattle stretched above a fence to crop garden shrubs; while a photographer examined her mobile phone to investigate the pictures she had produced of two ponies at the crossroads by the bank.

More ponies with their offspring wandered over the moorland at South Weirs. The last of my pictures in this set is of the prone foal lifting its head when startled by the sudden cough of a passing cyclist; Jackie’s are the last five images including the suckling foal and the last image of the pony exercising her right to priority over oncoming vehicles.

When driving home through Lyndhurst Jackie parked the car and photographed donkeys attracting attention on the opposite pavement.

A cow guided her calf across the road outside The Rising Sun, while

around the corner in Tiptoe Road, another mare and foal grazed on the verges.

This evening we dined on roast breast of lamb; boiled new potatoes; firm carrots; and tender green beans with which I finished the Cahors.

Reading And Listening

This afternoon Elizabeth visited for a while wishing me well as she was at a wedding on my birthday.

After this I listened to the Test Match between England and West Indies on BBC News when not reading the introduction to

The first of these images is of the boards, back and front, of my edition; the second the Title Page and Frontispiece by Simon Brett.

Elizabeth Magee has gathered and woven together the array of saga, myth, and legend from the Germanic and Scandinavian peoples drawn on by Wagner in his Ring series. Because of the nature of the collection, involving similar but differently told stories from differing sources, Simon Brett’s powerful illustrations are gathered together in one block.

In Scandinavian mythology Yggdrasil, the frontispiece image, is most significant. “Underlying it is a whole cosmos, a universe created by the interaction of fire and ice and embedded in the great void. Central to the cosmos is the World Tree, Yggdrasil. According to Snorri, the three roots securing it reach down to the underworld Niflheim, out to the frost ogres and up to the sky among the gods and light elves. Its branches spread up to heaven and over the earth. The world is formed of concentric circles, surrounded by sea. Midgard is the home of humankind; rimward are the giants, and right at the hub is Asgard, seat of the gods on earth. Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, brings the gods every day from earth to heaven. Within the earth dwell dwarfs and dark elves.” (Magee)

I will follow the editor’s sections and add the pictures as I work my way through the book.

This evening we dined at The Lazy Lion in Milford on Sea, where I enjoyed fish pie with a minted melange of peas and other green veg followed by a summer fruits créme brulée with which I drank Flack’s Double Drop; Jackie’s choice was sun-dried tomato and pesto with halloumi cheese with which she drank Diet Cola.

A Book Of Spooks And Spectres

This being the second successive day of unrelenting rain I finished reading

published by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd in 1979, of which this is the book jacket.

Manning-Sanders introduces her collection of stories from all over the world by explaining the difference between Spooks who have always been ghostly beings with a king to rule over them and a country of their own; and “Spectres [who] on the other hand have not always been Spectres. They were once creatures of flesh and blood, generally human beings, who after death, find the gates of heaven and hell shut against them, and so must return to earth…” Spooks are generally happy beings, and spectres unhappy ones.

Each piece has been translated into lucid and clear prose in the author’s own language. “Ruth Manning-Sanders [1886-1988] was an English poet and author born in Wales, known for a series of children’s books for which she collected and related fairy tales worldwide. She published over 90 books in her lifetime” (Wikipedia)

Robin Jacques /ˈdʒeɪks/ (27 March 1920 – 18 March 1995) was a British illustratorwhose work was published in more than 100 novels and children’s books. He is notable for his long collaboration with Ruth Manning-Sanders, illustrating many of her collections of fairy tales from all over the world. In much of his work, Jacques employed the stippling technique. (Wikipedia)

Here are the drawings from this book.

I was clearly influenced by such illustrators when I produced the 1981 cover for the Queens Park Family Service Unit Annual Report, and the drawing of Auntie Gwen in 1985 for my Social Work Area Team magazine Age Lines

This evening we dined on Pepperoni Pizza and plentiful fresh salad with which I drank more of the Cahors.