A.P. Maintenance – Page 3

Conquering Everest

Soon after dawn this morning, a couple of sleek, dark, lean looking adult starlings led a pair of fluffy fat fledglings onto the roof above their nest. A friendly young blackbird, like the lonely child watching others playing, attempted to join the group. It was chased off by Mum and Dad. Naturally I dashed, such as I can, downstairs for my camera. By the time I returned the birds had flown. We miss them already. Later, Jackie tackled further tidying of the beds surrounding the Heligan Path. I helped a bit, and a bit more in erecting a third arch along The Brick Path. This consisted of nailing an old piece of timber to the dead snake bark maple. We trained the clematis Montana, now devoid of flowers, onto the strut, which we hope will be met by one recently planted at the foot of the tree. To the left of this third photograph can be seen a scented peach coloured climbing rose which, seeking the light now available, doesn’t appear to want to join the white rose and clematis adorning the Gothic arch, and now rambles elsewhere.

This afternoon, Jackie planted up the cleared section around the dead tree.

While we were thus engaged A.P. Maintenance, in the form of Aaron and his Dad, Dave, continued laying the brick paving in the projected rose garden. This curve perfectly reflects that of the much older Heligan Path with which it links. Those of you who have been following for a while may have wondered what the peripatetic mice have been up to recently. They, and their sheep, now cast as Sherpas, are attempting a conquest of Everest. The base camp has been set up in front of a portrait Jackie drew of her mother many years ago. One rodent perches atop an approach peak that is one of Giles’s stained glass creations, on which flies a flag proclaiming ‘Conquering Everest 2015’. Our double-glazed windows were installed by a well-known firm who claim to fit the best. Get it? We dined this evening on Jackie’s sublime sausage casserole, crisp carrots and cabbage, and creamy mashed potatoes, followed by pineapple sponge pudding and evap. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Louis de Camponac merlot 2014.

School Photos

The potentilla in the front garden is fully in bloom, as are the pansies in Jackie’s window boxes on the wall.

This morning a woodpecker took advantage of its long, sharp, beak to penetrate the suet balls suspended from the crab apple tree.

I took a walk as far as Roger’s field footpath and photographed oak apples nestling in the hedgerow. I had noticed these on a day too dull to produce a picture. It took me some time to find them again.

A.P. Maintenance completed their work on the back drive when Aaron and Robin concreted the entrance.

Today I began replacing the photographic prints Elizabeth had returned to me yesterday. The first album starts in about 1923 and runs to 1978. Before I set them back in their vacant pages I scanned them and put them into iPhoto. One theme running through was that of school photographs. The style and quality of these has changed over the years, but all bear one general characteristic. That is that if they reach home uncreased they are bound to eventually become rather gunged, and many are so badly treated that they never reach adulthood.

My paternal grandparents’ ‘Norwood School for the Sons of Gentlemen’ was small enough not to suffer the fate of other, earlier panned shots of the entire staff and pupils, where some clown would always start out on one edge of the group, and dash round the back to plant him or her self on the other side before the lens reached them, thus appearing twice for posterity.

When I was at school, the photos we proudly carried home were still group images, but now in individual classes or forms as we called them. They were still in black and white.

The form master in the first of these, taken, I think, in 1956, was Richard Milward, who features in ‘No-one Forgets A Good Teacher’; the second, in 1957, Fr Hamer S.J., on whom I focus in ‘Look At That Book’.

That 1957 class can’t be the only bunch of boys who thought it would be cool (‘though we didn’t have that use of the word then) to sign the back of the photo.

These pics, despite having spent most of their life in an album, are somewhat wrinkled.

By 1974, school photograph production was rather more sophisticated. They were now portraits in colour and came in a variety of sizes according to the parental purse. Those of Matthew and Becky have clearly been cut from sheets, probably of four copies which would be distributed among Mums and Dads and grandparents. These bear the stains of an early life partly spent clutched by sticky fingers; partly subjected to spillages one can only speculate at; and possibly twelve months beneath a fridge magnet. I took out as much muck as I could in iPhoto, but cropping was all I could do to rescue this one of Matthew, taken at Holly Mount school in Raynes Park:

Attending that same school was Becky, photographed in 1974 and 1976, when she, too, signed the back of the copy she brought to me.

Michael is also pictured in 1974, wearing the uniform of his Raynes Park school of The Sacred Heart,

and in 1977 at Islington Green school, where uniform was not required.

This evening Jackie drove us to Lymington, where we dined at Lal Quilla. We both drank Kingfisher, and shared an egg paratha. My main course was King prawn Ceylon with special fried rice. Jackie’s was an interesting new chicken dish with pilau rice.

P.S. Here is a Facebook observation from Jackie:

‘What do you mean the school pictures stay under magnets on the fridge for 12 months ?! I still have my school photo’s of Mat and Becky on the fridge here! They have travelled with me for over 30 years! Love ’em.’

and a very acute one from Becky: ‘Interesting that Paul George John Murphy has signed his name in a ring(o).’

The Task Ahead Of Me

A.P. Maintenance have done a grand job on the back drive. The section in the foreground, abutting the road, is to be concreted next weekend.

The clematis Montana is now spreading down the dead trunk.

More rhododendrons are in bloom.

Yellow flowers, like those now appearing on tree peonies, attract insects, such as this iridescent-winged fly.

Today I finished reading ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird’, Harper Lee’s masterpiece from 1960. So many people have responded to yesterday’s post saying that it is one of their favourite books, and even more that it is on their reading list, that I will not give details here. Instead I will describe its impact. Set in 1935, this is a tale told through the eyes of a little girl from the ages of four to eight. It can be seen as an insightful piece of character building based on keen observation and a knowledge of what childhood was like. It also deals in a sensitive way with a profound social issue that was still relevant in 1960. For good measure there is a side-issue of a mystery beautifully solved at the end.

The writing is fluid. It has a gentle pace that picks up fast as the story unfolds. Characterisation and descriptions of small-town life are perfectly credible.

I did not want to put it down, and therefore consumed it in two sessions, one of several hours.

If it’s on your list, read it. If you intend to return to it, do so.

I probably won’t, because I’ll never manage to open many of my unread books. As I popped my Folio Society edition, that is enhanced by the fine pen and ink sketches of Aafke Brouwer, back onto it’s shelf, I was reminded of the task ahead of me.

The eight volumes on the left are some of my Heron Books set of the works of D.H. Lawrence from 1969, a reasonably produced cheap illustrated edition within the budget of a young family man. I have read most of them, which is more than can be said of the John le Carre quintet. I have read The Night Manager, but don’t remember much about it. ‘Our Game’, hasn’t even been removed from its cling film wrapping. The Aladdin I bought because of Errol le Cain’s illustrations. The next four I haven’t opened. I may have read ‘A Very Long Way From Here’, which I think was aimed at teenagers, although I was much older. Of the rest, only Doris Lessing’s ‘The Fifth Child’, and the two by Andrea Levy have been read. ‘Small Island’ describes the disappointing experience of early Jamaican immigrants to England; and ‘Fruit of the Lemon’, the, equally disillusioning visit of a descendent to the island from which her family originated. If you like ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’, you will like these. Doris Leslie’s ‘Peridot Flight’ is part of my Auntie Ivy’s collection, given to me when she moved into a care home at the end of her life. Maybe I’ll read that before my days are over. Maybe I won’t.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious sausage casserole (recipe), mashed potato, with crisp carrots, cabbage, and runner beans, followed by profiteroles. I drank Alexis Lichine cute exceptionnelle, Bordeaux superieur 2013, and Jackie imbibed Hoegaarden Belgian beer best before 15.08.16.

A WRAF Beauty

Early this morning Jackie discovered an ailing bird which may be a baby pigeon. She made it a little hospital bed, complete with water and a suet ball.

By the end of the afternoon our little friend was struggling around the garden, unable to fly, because its tail-feathers were shredded.

Aaron continued his work on the back drive. Acute observers will notice that the IKEA wardrobe sections have been once again recycled. A comparison between these two photographs, from the beginning and the end of his day, demonstrate what Aaron Parris can do as A.P. Maintenance.

Feeling reasonably recovered from the virus, on this bright, crisp, day, as crows filled the skies above the brassica field, I took a very gentle amble along the woodland walk. My right knee didn’t like it much.

The path remained pretty muddy, especially down by the fast-flowing stream, where, to reach the footbridge, I still needed to teeter on the fallen logs.

Beyond the bridge the footpath inclines quite steeply and is consequently much drier. Sunlight picked its way through the bracken, the trees, and the fallen leaves. Bright green lichen and and mosses glowed in the clear light.My post ‘A Statuesque Beauty’ featured an image of Jackie’s mother standing with her lifelong friend Sheila. Upon Sheila’s death in a nursing home, her daughter Margaret retrieved a small framed photograph from her bedside table. This is a signed photo of my late mother-in-law, Veronica Rivett. Margaret sent the picture to Helen. This copy is destined for Jackie’s other sister Shelly. I was, of course, engaged to make two more prints, one for each of the other sisters. Jackie brought it back from yesterday’s sororal meeting, and I worked on it today.

Apart from a small tear, the effect of which I was able to remove, this picture, which could have been of a film star of the day, is in pristine condition. It is inscribed July 1942, which, by coincidence, was the month of my birth. There is no prize for discovering the location of the tear.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalfrezi (recipe) and savoury rice (recipe) accompanied by supermarket samosas and onion bajis left over from Christmas. Her choice of beverage was Hoegaarden, whilst I finished the bordeaux.

Honeymoon

Aaron came today to continue completing my work on the back drive. He was as quick, efficient, and neat as usual. This young man certainly gets through a phenomenal amount of work in a day.

Jackie had a better memory of our ‘Engagement’ outing. I appended her Facebook comment as an informative P.S. to that post.

I then spent the morning scanning 36 colour slides from our four day honeymoon in March 1968. In ‘Tales From The Window Sills’ and ‘The Watchers Watched’ I have described and illustrated aspects of this holiday in Ockley. The first of these mentions the deserted house, and the second the fire.

The King’s Arms, where we stayed, is a 16th century coaching inn with attractive beamed walls and ceilings. We took all our meals at the hostelry and spent the days exploring the environment, the farms, the fields, a lake, and the churchyard.

We wonder what has happened to the deserted house that fascinated us so much.

The one event that seemed to draw out the whole village, streaming past the derelict home, from which it was visible, was the exciting fire which, at first, seemed to be engulfing a rather grand house, but transpired to be burning a shed.

The fire brigade were called and dealt with it quite swiftly.

This afternoon I watched England beat Italy 47-17 and Ireland beat France 18-11 in the Six Nations rugby tournament.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice, followed by apple crumble and custard. We both drank Kingfisher, neither of us finishing a bottle. Never mind, we both continue to improve.

P.S. Update on the deserted house, from Jackie’s Facebook comment: ‘Having driven fairly regularly past this house over the years, I can report that altho’ it has lost some of it’s character, it still exists, and houses on this prestigious Surrey village green cost an absolute fortune (close to £1,000000!). It was a distant village in 1968, but with rail and road connections so improved, it is now considered to be within working distance of London so commands premium prices. It is a shame really as the whole village is now full of very rich people and does not have the character of the 1968 village we knew. Even the wonderful village store, that sold everything (even leather boot laces for farmers’ boots) has been converted into a very posh dwelling.’

Communing With Ponies

Today we ventured out. Firstly, I made my way down the garden to admire Aaron’s work of yesterday. Perusal of the last two photographs featured on 26th June last year show what this now bare patch looked like then. For the rest of that summer I cleared most of what was growing there, and invading from next door. Anyone who has followed my summer posts will know what a task this was.

The piles of concrete and bricks seen in those two pictures show how much of this material I had dug out, not to mention the bath. The job still required completion, and I’d had enough, which is why I had engaged Aaron Parris of A.P. Maintenance. Aaron charges a very reasonably hourly rate, and works thoroughly throughout, having to be encouraged to take tea breaks. We now have a blank canvas on which to plan our rose garden.

Our next morning outing was by car. Jackie drove us around the Northern parts of the forest. Even driving through the splendid heathlands and the winding treelined roads in gorgeous sunshine I felt rather dozy, until I stepped out for a while to commune with a group of basking New Forest ponies whose somnolence made me feel as if I were positively frisky. Mostly, these animals were undisturbed by my presence. One grey, however, stirred itself enough to turn and see whether was anything to eat in my camera.

The shadows cast by this wonderful wintry light which sharpened the landscape were just what the doctor would have ordered for lifting the spirits, had he or she been asked. Many people have found swimming with dolphins to be soothingly curative for those suffering from depression. Unless you are unfortunate enough to be afraid of these silent ponies, I can recommend communing with these gentle creatures as a peaceful experience.

We dined this evening on chicken Kiev, chips, and baked beans, followed by Bakewell tart and custard.

This morning’s outing was initiated by Jackie, and required a certain amount of willpower. This evening, however, I really felt I was on the mend, and was grateful we had made the effort.

‘Painting With Light’

With extensive cloud cover and intermittent rain this morning was considerably warmer than yesterday, but far less inviting for my Hordle Cliff top walk. Nevertheless a rainbow did attempt to put in an appearance, as did a watery sun over The Solent, which sent ochre coloured waves crashing against the blending shingle on the beach.
Whoever broke into the garages of the empty Royal Oak pub was bound to have been disappointed, for there was nothing they wanted inside. The deciduous trees on Downton Lane have mostly lost their foliage, but the evergreen pines have retained theirs.
In an attempt to cheer up the day an inflated memento from a Macdonald’s Happy Meal bobbed in the stream, and a festive reindeer has arrived in Shorefield Country Park.
The skies had brightened considerably by midday when Aaron Parris of A.P. Maintenance came with a colleague and cleaned out our guttering. I engaged him to complete my work on the back drive, and to level the former kitchen garden.
By 2 p.m. the winter sun was strongly in evidence and the temperature several degrees colder. I took a short stroll down the lane with the object of reprising some of the morning’s shots. These are the results:
By 3 p.m. it wasn’t far off sunset.
Chris Weston, on his training course, described photography as ‘painting with light’. Perhaps these images, all unenhanced, and taken at different times on the same typically English day, illustrate what he meant.
The chauffeur was feeling a little under the weather, so unfortunately we were unable to attend Margery and Paul’s annual Christmas singing party, but trust the usual good time was enjoyed by all.
Since the chef was also feeling a little frail, we dined out at the Rivaaz, where I enjoyed lamb nagin and special fried rice, with a few titbits donated by Jackie from her choice of the buffet meal. We both drank Kingfisher.