Buckler’s Hard – derrickjknight

Reading

The storm winds roared throughout the night and did not lessen until late this afternoon when we took a short forest drive.’

Rather like me, Ellie is a reader of eclectic choices. Although her words are not yet fully clear, she knows what is being said to her, and can identify pictures and is indeed able to trace the written word with her fingers, saying, in her own way, the words she is apparently reading.

One of her current favourites is Jackie’s Gardener’s World. She can display an apple when she sees one.

Her favourite card is this one from Sue W, which she often carries around with her, tracing the words and pointing to the sheep, several times a day – this set was produced by Jackie.

Needless to say, her parents have brought her up with books from her very early days.

On our drive mushrooms pierced the verges of Church Road;

Mallards are still at home on Pilley lake;

Cormorants were at their posts on Hatchet Pond, where coots scooted beneath them.

Naked oaks were everywhere silhouetted against the sky.

Jackie also photographed the birds on Hatchet Pond;

the Christmas tree and visitors to Buckler’s Hard; and trees against

the sky shortly before sunset.

On our way home, I pictured the sunset over Southampton Road at Pennington.

For dinner this evening we all revisited Jackie’s still plentiful chicken and turkey stewp and fresh bread, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

All My Ducks In A Row

On a bright, fresh, and crisp morning we took a drive into the forest. Slanting sunshine set the thawing frost glistening and lengthened shadows.

We tried a visit to Tanner’s Lane. This meant driving between rows of parked vehicles with no turning space. I walked while Jackie turned back.

We had imagined this little hidden beach would be safe enough. No such luck.

This was the only group keeping some distance from others on the sand and shingle.

There were other dogs, one in the water with three hardy humans.

I was not inclined to linger.

We continued to Sowley Lane where I was next decanted.

Some oak leaves dallied on gnarled limbs; others, grounded, glistened with dew drops; holly prickles had broken one’s fall.

Two men in a boat discussed their best fishing spot.

We stopped for a look at Buckler’s Hard,

where a robin drew our attention to the parking restrictions.

As we passed Beaulieu Mill Pond I spotted a pair of long necked log peacocks on the far bank.

Jackie parked and I walked back past the border of reeds to photograph them.

On the way there I managed to get all my ducks in a row.

Down a bank along Lymington Road a solitary donkey enjoyed a breakfast of spiky thistles.

Ponies preferred grass

or languorous cogitation of the thawing frost in the hazy sunshine.

In her Modus Jackie aroused the attention of an inquisitive field horse which she photographed along with

golden silver birches and glistening white terrain.

This evening we dined on Mr Chan’s Hordle Chinese Take Away’s fine fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra which involved opening another bottle.

A Stag Party

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Becky and Ian returned this morning to their home at Emsworth. This afternoon Jackie drove Flo, Dillon and me out for a drive in the forest.

On the way to Beaulieu, Flo spotted a row of antlers among the gorse on the moors. They belonged to a string of stags. Jackie turned the car round and returned to the spot, where the animals still congregated. As long as we stood still and kept our distance, cervine curiosity kept them interested. When I edged forward, slowly at first they turned tail and suddenly rushed back into the golden covert.

In the foreground of this landscape are some of the many pools springing all over the forest at the moment.

As we approached Beaulieu an obliging pony put on a display of disrupting the traffic for our family visitors.

We visited The Yachtsman’s Bar at Buckler’s Hard for refreshments.

A number of yachts and motorboats were moored in the harbour.

We made a small diversion down to the beach at Tanner’s Lane where we watched a helicopter flying across the Isle of Wight.

The next stop was at Lyndhurst where, in the churchyard of St Michael & All Angels, Flo and Dillon were shown the grave of Mrs Reginald Hargreaves, otherwise known to the world as Lewis Carroll’s Alice. Dillon produced these selfies, while I photographed the stone commemorating Anne Frances Cockerell which I suspect was that of a 23 year old who probably died in childbirth, leaving her husband to live on into the next century.

I also photographed roofs of the Crown Hotel and adjacent buildings,

while Flo crouched to focus on the street below, before she and I photographed each other.

The next grave to be visited was that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, complete with pipe. It was Flo who captured these images whilst I focussed on her and Dillon.

This was in the graveyard of

Minstead Parish Church. Only the first, vertical, picture of these last seven is mine. The others are Flo’s. The list of rectors, beginning in the thirteenth century, bears out the age of the shattered, regenerated, yew tree to the left of the last photograph, said to be at least 700 years old.

Back home, we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips with mushy peas, pickled onions, and gherkins.

Salt Marshes

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Early this morning I walked around the garden to survey the elemental damage. The review of the situation was actually encouraging.

The nicotiana and agapanthus staked up a couple of days ago have perked up;

as have the white gladioli,

and the surviving Priscillas

in the New Bed.

When we arrived, the clematis Campaniflora in the front garden rambled over all the other plants, including numerous brambles. We cut it down drastically. It has set off again and is now, the tiniest such bloom we have, dancing with abandon.

The Hot lips salvias are similarly enticing.

The gauras, and heucheras have just bent gracefully with the wind.

This clematis at the top of the Agriframes arch, an unnamed bargain from Lidl, has proved sturdy enough.

On the strength of that pleasant surprise, we enjoyed a drive around the forest. We didn’t visit Buckler’s Hard, which featured on 12th January 2013,

but peeped through the fence at others who were doing so as we drove past.

St Leonard’s Grange is one of the fifteen barns that once served Beaulieu Abbey. There is not much of it left at Beaulieu St Leonard’s. Just one and a half gable ends and one and a half walls. At 300 ft long and more than 50 ft wide it was one of the largest in Europe.

Here are part of the roofs of a newer building.

I found some nearby farm buildings equally photogenic.

Further on past Sowley, we ventured down a dead end road called Tanner’s Lane. This led straight to a shingle beach we couldn’t drive onto because this is what it was:

These were the salt marshes we had seen from the cruise boat out of Lymington Marina,

which was, in turn, even in the hazy sunlight, visible from here;

as was Hurst Castle,

and The Needles, demonstrating that the castle is on the nearest mainland point to the island.

An empty boat bobbed among the buoys.

Here is yet another view of the Isle of Wight and The Needles, for the delight of Mary Tang.

We will shortly leave for Barry and Vicki’s home in Poole. We are to try out the Isan Thai restaurant in Parkstone Road. Anyone who wishes to be informed about our gastronomical investigation must defer their gratification until tomorrow.

The Olden Days

A 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. If we keep at the idea of going back through time, we might familiarise him with a quill pen and ink.

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.

Buckler’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. 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. Whilst 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.