It was too dark when I arrived home yesterday to see what had happened in the front garden next door. A team had spent the day clearing the jungle, including shaping the lonicera hedge that was invading the narrow pedestrian footpath at the front. Jackie made the acquaintance of the owners, whose story is theirs to tell. 
This photograph should be compared with that taken on the 8th. Mike, the postman, will no longer have to take care of his be-shorted legs when negotiating brambles.
This morning, continuing the work on the future rose garden, I cleared away the furthermost box hedge. Since it was bordered by bricks, which are easier to remove than 
concrete slabs, this task was less back-breaking than the one I carried out two days ago. It was, however, slightly complicated by the fact that the posts of a pergola stood amongst it. Another unproductive shallow-rooted apple tree also had to be removed. 
This afternoon, together, we reduced to a manageable level the one apple tree that stands a chance.
I printed up some pictures of Scooby, who had reminded our friend Sheila of her own, 
late, Jack Russell, Cressie, and walked down to the Shorefield post box and back to send them to her. Roger Cobb and his team had finished harvesting the forage maize crop.
Late this afternoon I received confirmation from Mark Vick who has supervised the process on my behalf, that almost everything belonging to the people who were living in my house has been removed today. Exceptions are the contents of the cellar and an additional freezer that is in the kitchen. This is not mine, and I was unaware that it had been connected and filled with food. It was lined up against a wall with other white goods, and couldn’t be accessed without moving the table. It is now crawling with maggots because I turned off the electricity and dumped the huge amount of food that filled my own large fridge freezer. Mark has turned the power back on to freeze down the contents. All these items will be removed next week.
Particularly in the minds of our friends in Ireland and Scotland, ‘The Clearances’, have an historical meaning over which resentment is still felt today. They represent sorry periods in the history of the United Kingdom which, depending on the outcome of the impending Scottish referendum, may or may not soon suffer an irrevocable rift. It was people who were being cleared from their homes, for similar and different purposes in each case.
In 1649, Oliver Cromwell set sail for Ireland from Milford Haven, determined to bring that country firmly under English rule. Having defeated the Irish armies, he forcibly transported almost three quarters of the population of Ulster, Leinster, and Munster to the fourth and poorest province of Connaught in the west. All classes of society were victims of this ‘ethnic cleansing’. Many thousands who resisted were sent to Virginia and the West Indies.
The Highland Clearances in Scotland, of the mid-18th and early 19th centuries was an attempt to eradicate the Clan and Highland way of life, escalated after the Jacobite defeat at the Battle of Culloden in 1746, by the infamous, brutal, Duke of Cumberland. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children were evicted from their homes to make way for large-scale sheep farming. One difference in this case was that, although mass emigration resulted, it was not forced transportation. New towns sprang up, but many resorted to the cities, and in 1792, known as the ‘Year of the Sheep’, thousands took ship to make new homes in America, Canada, New Zealand, or Australia.
Tonight’s dinner consisted of sublime sausage casserole, swede and potato mash, mange tout, broccoli and cauliflower, followed by ace apple and blackberry crumble. Jackie drank more of the lambrusco. My choice was Via di Cavallo chianti 2013.
Tag: box hedge
One For Barrie
Sometimes underground, sometimes stuck among the branches of shrubs, a hosepipe trail snakes across the garden.
It began coiled up behind a water butt outside the back door. Today Jackie tried attaching it to the outside tap, and followed its path. This was not an easy process, and would have been impossible without the amount of undergrowth clearance we have carried out.
Beside the butt, the yellow pipe disappears under paving stones. Between two of these we catch a glimpse of what appears to be white piping. Only a sixth sense prevented Jackie from hacking this out when she was weeding between the stones.
This was just as well, because, almost certainly, this is part of the first piece of plastic hose that emerges in a shrubbery some way across the garden. From the now exposed earth, continuing by attachment to a green hosepipe, it climbs into a now much reduced vibernum. Until I cleared that area, the lengthy irrigation system was entwined among weighty brambles whence it dropped down to weave between plants and shrubs flowing over the brick path that it now runs alongside. The compost heap lies beside a dead tree at the end of this path. The green hose was looped around a branch perhaps seven feet above the soil, and had been flattened before vanishing into the heap. Jackie unhooked the pipe and puffed it out. With the aid of a fork and gardening gloves we extricated it from the pile, the tap was turned on, and, hey presto:
the far end of the garden has a water supply.
Actually, I jest. I emptied the bath today. First I had rather a shock because I couldn’t move it. This was because a thick root of something or other had grown through the plug hole and was clinging on. When, on the 28th June, I had begun to clear out the soil, first Jackie, then Paul, on our visit to The First Gallery, quipped:
‘Just pull out the plug’. How right they turned out to be. Having done so, it was reasonably easy to lift the bath over the box hedge and carry it down the garden. Jackie and I then sorted out a temporary resting place for it on the ever diminishing skip pile. This involved beginning to transport the IKEA wardrobe sections across to the boundary between us and the empty property, so I can use them to make a more substantial cobbled up fence. That will probably be a winter job.
In the still hot and humid early evening, I ambled through Shorefield, passing the now silent rookery and Alice’s rabbits which have grown a bit, to Hordle Cliff top and back.
I stretched out on my back among the grasses and thrift to take some shots of the Isle of Wight and The Needles for Barrie who missed them during his and Vicki’s years in Lincolnshire. I know our friend will appreciate the effort required to get down for the angle of these images, and even more so to turn over and clamber back onto my feet.
Sparkling water was the perfect accompaniment for Jackie’s chilli con carne (recipe) with wild rice and peas that we enjoyed for our dinner.
The Cat’s Paws
This morning Jackie carried out further heavy weeding of the oval bed, whilst I didn’t quite manage to empty the bath.
First I had to reach the object of my attention. This involved pruning the box hedge which was its first line of defence. Then that of brambles had to be breached. Then what I had cut away had to be transported to the pile for burning. Then I had to balance on the rim of the bath and try to make an indentation in the soil and rubbish it contained. Then I shovelled out spadefuls trying to place them somewhere sensible. It was easier when I could stand inside it. Every so often I climbed out and tried to tip it up. It’s no good, I am going to have to take everything out of it before I can even shift it. I do hope it is not made of cast iron. Just In case anyone doubts that yesterday’s picture was indeed of a bath, this is a photograph showing how far I have progressed:
This afternoon we drove to Bitterne to visit The First Gallery’s exhibition of works by Alvin Betteridge and M.H.Clarke. Although the exhibits are not the same as the earlier show, this was the first day of a weekend’s reprisal of the gallery’s first exhibition forty years ago. We arrived between the day’s open show and the later private viewing. If you are interested in original works of art by an established artist and her guests, often equally well known, at reasonable prices ‘in a domestic setting’, you could do worse that visit them at www.TheFirstGallery.co.uk, or better still at home at No. 1 Burnham Chase. We did, in fact, make a purchase which we left with Paul who runs a picture framing surface from the same address. Margery and her son Paul, are good friends of ours and we had an enjoyable conversation before returning to Old Post House.
We didn’t quite manage to go directly home. Ever trying to find routes through the New Forest which don’t involve the usually slow crawl through Lyndhurst, Jackie decided to continue along the A31 to Forest Road from whence she would drive through Emery Down. Forest Road was still closed to traffic following repairs to the cattle grid which should have been completed well before now. It does seem to be a feature of the area that roads are sealed off for works that don’t take place for months on end. With the occasional mild expletive, my chauffeuse continued along the major road to the Burley turn off. By this time we had developed a taste for a Chinese meal and I suggested a greater diversion through Brockenhurst where we could dine at Yenz Chinese restaurant which we had enjoyed as recently as 3rd April. This was not to be. From opposite the establishment I crossed the road in rain reminiscent of last year’s waterlogged summer, to read a notice saying that the business had closed down.
Now what? Well, we could try Lymington. We did.
As we wandered along the High Street, Lymington looked remarkably quiet and closed for a holiday centre on a Saturday night in summer. Tesco’s was open, so Jackie went in and enquired.
She was directed to the far end of town to Fusion Inn. It wasn’t serving Chinese food, but, much more appropriately termed fusion, Thai. ‘That’ll do’, we said.
And it most certainly did. The food was excellent; the service friendly and efficient; and the Tiger beer thirst-quenching.
Still serving as a pub, the integral restaurant provides the fusion bit. By inference, we have surmised that the building dates from the 1750s. This is because of the legend on a brass plaque affixed to the wall by our table. According to the manager the pub was originally called ‘The Old English Gentleman’; later it became ‘The Black Cat’; and eleven years ago ‘Fusion Inn’.
The feline name came from a brick in the wall. A small section of the brickwork in a plastered wall has been left free of rendering. This is to expose the paw prints of a cat that we are told would have been left in the wet brick in the 1750s. It was found by John Allison during restoration work.
An Alfresco Bath
The red bottle brush plant, which I passed on my way to continue work on the kitchen garden, is now looking resplendent.
There are a great deal of treasures hidden in the undergrowth of today’s target area.
Peeking through nettle leaves, for example, are raspberries. A blackcurrant bush bears fruit, strawberries soon will, and St John’s wort lies at the bottom of the green cage.
A previous post, in which I described mistaking an acanthus for a thistle, demonstrates how it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between somewhat similar plants. Today, until the head gardener informed me that raspberry bushes are less thorny than brambles, I was uncertain in the application of my loppers. Neither was I sure about stinging nettles which look very similar to another plant that bears a spire of purple flowers. When I was faced with a plentiful crop of both, there was nothing for it but to remove my gloves and clutch the leaves. These particular nettles bear slow acting poison, so I rubbed them a few times before I was sure I had been stung. They were a little like a strong curry that doesn’t betray its chilli content until you’ve taken a few mouthfuls. And rather less pleasant.
I am pleased to report that the acanthus has recovered from my savage attack, and has produced new shoots, one in bloom.
By mid-afternoon it was apparent that the expected rain, which had deterred me from thinking about a bonfire today, was not going to arrive. I therefore left the kitchen garden clearance for another day, and began the fire. This was rather fortuitous, because I had reached a stumbling block near the back fence. This came in the form of a box hedge which had got beyond itself and barred access to the back section. I cleared this as best I could of weeds, convolvulus, and the ubiquitous bramble, by stretching over the obstacle. I then struck something I could not clear without circumventing the box. Jackie had transferred a number of the finds, like a pleasant saxifrage, the St John’s wort, and several kinds of mint, to other parts of the garden.
What I had found needed to be emptied before it could, no doubt, be moved and filled with colourful flowers.
It was a bath.
Towards the end of the day I was grateful for some assistance from the head gardener in cutting up combustible materials and placing them in a wheelbarrow so I didn’t have to practice touching my toes to pick them up. This helped to ensure that I didn’t topple over while doing so. In fact, even in what Sam would call my able-bodied years, I never could touch my toes without bending my knees.
Before dinner Jackie planted a clematis texensis Duchess of Albany in a cleared part of the kitchen garden, and trained it against an existing pergola. Our rose garden will also contain clematises. She added a shell to the fence, for the humorous touch.
After this we dined on chilli con carne (recipe) with wild rice and peas, followed by Post House Pud based on strawberries. The strawberries were eight days beyond their ‘best before date’, so they were a bit furry, but with a certain amount of judicious cutting, we saved a few. Jackie drank her customary Hoegaarden and I enjoyed a Longhorn Valley cabernet sauvignon 2012.