Tag: carriage

Highland Games

Late this morning we visited Mum in Woodpeckers where she continues to thrive. This time she availed herself of the blanket provided.

Afterwards we drove into the forest for a picnic in the car.

The day was cooler and overcast. From the bridge on Rhinefield Road I obtained enough light to photograph reflections in the stream.

Still host to a small holly tree, the toppled ancient oak at Bramshaw has now been completely cleared away,

with the exception of fallen leaves now camouflaging foraging wagtails.

A pair of donkeys leaning beside a brick wall watched

a couple of Highland cattle pondering their next move. I have often photographed them before, but not until today have I been formally introduced to Splash and Blackie. They stood aloof while a young lady did the honours.

As I returned to the car they heaved their lumbering bulks onto the tarmac and with swaying gait set off in the direction of Furzley Common which was our destination. Fortunately Jackie was able to negotiate our way round them.

We parked beside a stream and settled into our lunch when

a regular clop of horses’ hooves alerted me to the approach of a carriage and four passing a herd of cattle who were themselves soon to feature in our story.

Having journeyed a lumbering mile from Bramshaw the two Highland cattle approached and set up a regular lowing. “I wonder if they are going to join those cattle over there?”, I mused.

They were, indeed. In Splash’s case somewhat vigorously. It is not just the local flora that are confused about the season.

As I was about to return to the car a quartet of portly porkers approached. I was forced to attempt to evade the attentions of the Gloucester Old Spot. Jackie’s cackles from within almost drowned the snorting slobbering of my new admirer as she raised her dripping snout for a kiss. I was scared of this, but even more scared of her feet as she rounded me beside the car door. Being trodden on by a creature weighing up to 280kg was no joke. In the circumstances I thought my Chauffeuse was a little harsh.

This evening we dined on crisply roasted chicken thighs, sage and onion stuffing, parsnips, and Yorkshire pudding; piquant cauliflower cheese; creamy mashed potatoes; firm carrots, peas, and Brussels sprouts, and tasty gravy, with which we shared the last of the Rioja.

Where’s Sheila?

Rose red clomberStake to rose red climber

A prolific red climbing rose was becoming a hazard as it stretched across the front door. It needed tying up. But there was no trellis left available. Fortunately we have found a number of large pointed metal spikes rather like giant Meccano struts, in various parts of the garden. I banged one of those into the stony soil with a heavy mallet, threaded garden wire through it, and used it as a hawser.

Just after one p.m. Jackie drove us to Brockenhurst to collect our friend Sheila who is spending the week with us. Whilst waiting for Sheila I saw my first ever bearded sparrow perched on a Leyland cypress apparently watching the trains go by. Bearded sparrowI wondered whether it might be collecting train numbers, as I had done  in the 1950s along the railway path between Wimbledon and Raynes Park, clutching lists published, I think, by Ian Allan Publishing. Chris and I would eagerly check off in the books the numbers carried by the trains that would pass our house. As I pondered this and walked onto Platform 3 to meet Sheila’s train, I noticed one of those very numbers on the rear of a Lymington link service waiting for the late arrival from Clapham Junction. I don’t have those books any more, so I couldn’t check it, but the railwayman on the platform assured me it was unique to his carriage. I wonder, are they still published?

Brockenhurst station, train, Country Lanes

Beside the railway stands a carriage which has seen enough days to perhaps have featured in one of my old lists. It now appears to house a cycle hire firm, offering a way of exploring The New Forest.

I had plenty of opportunity to memorise number 158888, because her train was late and Sheila wasn’t on it. With an hour to kill before the next one, we repaired to the Forester’s Arms for lunch. I enjoyed fish, chips, and peas, and most of a pint of Ringwood’s Best. Jackie’s Baked potato with tuna and salad was equally to her taste.

Forester's Arms

Afterwards we returned to the station in good time for the next train.

Sheila wasn’t on it.

Now what? I thought as I climbed up this steps from the platform then turned right towards another set that would lead down to the car park. I then stopped, turned round and walked the other way towards the stairway to the ticket office. I thought there could be just a chance that a lost lady might be lurking there. And there, as I descended the stairs, was Sheila in a phone box, about to make a call to our home which would have been unoccupied because we were at the station waiting for her. She had, having missed the first train, decided to come by a different route, arriving on a different platform.

We then had a pleasant drive through country lanes back home, spent an afternoon catching up with each other, and then enjoyed the culinary skills of the head gardener. Succulent sausage casserole, crisp mange-touts and carrots, and creamy mashed potato and swede, were followed by a lemon cake that Sheila had brought, with evap. Hoegaarden was imbibed my Jackie, the rest of the merlot by me, and lemonade by Sheila.