Tag: Church Lane

Ancient English Bluebells

This morning I watched the recording of the final match of this year’s Women’s Six Nations rugby tournament – certainly a fitting contest to bring up the end of the series.

Later I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2023/04/30/droll-tales-29/

and converted from Classic to Block edit, recategorising as Garden

A Result

after which, we drove out to Church Lane to visit

our favourite English bluebell wood which must have been producing descendants of the original plants for centuries.

The ancient verges and banks flanking the road sport swathes of the blooms, mingling with such as stitchwort, ferns, and sticky willies, dandelions, and even a solitary mushroom.

I exchanged greetings with a cyclist on the tarmac and enjoyed a longer conversation with the family walking towards me. Naturally we exchanged information about babies in slings.

On Rodlease Lane two women and a dog anxiously peered in both directions seeking safety while taking their alpacas for a walk.

Gilpins, on Undershore Road, is an eighteenth century house in private ownership, so I am not sure about the age of the beautiful brick wall offering a backcloth for seasonal primroses.

This evening we all dined on roasted chicken thighs; creamy mashed, and boiled new, potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli, and tasty gravy, with which I finished the Shiraz.

Along Church Lane

Ten years ago yesterday I began this blog as a daily diary in order to keep my children up to date with my activities. Since then I have taken, different additional directions, largely stimulated by the encouragement and interests of a quite unexpected number of followers and friends from all over the world. Until comparatively recently all posts were uncategorised, making some subjects difficult for new and longer standing readers to track.

One development has been writing about books, often illustrated. This morning I embarked upon the task of changing the category of posts featuring observations about them. “Books” entries will often be found contained within the other activities of the day. A simple example of this is https://derrickjknight.com/2013/09/05/carthage/

Since I have to trawl through almost 4,000 posts to find these, I might take some time.

This afternoon Jackie drove me into the forest for a short trip.

We took the Sandy Down route to

Church Lane. The second of the above images shows a gentleman making good progress on his postprandial constitution; the first is a section at right angles to

a bridge over the stream reflected in the water’s surface.

The lane slopes up to St John the Baptist parish church, where the Ukrainian flag heard flapping in the churchyard on this otherwise silent afternoon adds an extra poignancy to the many others flying in our locality.

Beside the church, ponies crop the verdant fields.

English bluebells still thrive along the way,

between the ancient hedgerow banks along which gnarled roots are exposed.

This evening we dined on well cooked roast lamb; crisp roast potatoes, sage and onion stuffing, and Yorkshire pudding; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli and cauliflower; mint sauce and meaty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Resisting The Spanish Invasion

This morning Jackie and I drove to our annual pilgrimage to Boldre’s

Church Lane, with its high ancient hedgerows and its

private bluebell woods.

Banks and verges are now adorned, in addition to the bluebells, with white stitchworts, and yellow celandines and dandelions.

Jackie and and I saw differing images in the gnarled bark of an aged oak.

Rodlease Lane forms a T-junction with this first ancient thoroughfare, and also hosts this native variety of the blue flowers. When taking these pictures I was careful not to disturb

a bee pollinating a dandelion.

The reason we regularly visit this little area is because it continues to be populated by our own native plants as here

photographed and described by Jackie. The long, slender stems bear dark blue bells bending down one side. The leaves are long and narrow.

The Spanish variety is an invasive plant having largely replaced our home grown examples. To illustrate the difference our Head Gardener

photographed these interlopers when we arrived home. They are larger, more upright, plants with clusters of blooms all round the stems which rise from larger strap-like leaves.

I photographed these hybrids in our front garden. Their bells do hang down, but cluster all round the top of their stems. They also have larger leaves than our natives, none of which, sadly, are to be found on our plot.

This evening I dined on spicy pasta arrabbiata while the ladies enjoyed the chilli free version with Bolognese sauce. We had planned on Louisa, Errol, Jessica, and Imogen coming for Easter, but Covid put a stop to that, so tonight we all had the same Easter pasta in the shapes of chickens, eggs, and bunnies. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

A Wet Bum

On another dull, yet warm, morning which had been very wet, Jackie and I took a short forest drive, returning home just before another deluge descended.

We travelled by way of Church Lane alongside which

horses and ponies occupied sodden fields. While photographing the ponies I ascended a sloping verge covered in a thick carpet of fallen leaves. Hidden by the foliage were thin bramble tendrils, one of which I tripped over and fell once more onto my right shoulder. As I sat wondering how I was going to stand up, three passers by helped me to my feet, one mentioning that he hoped I had no more than a wet bum. I exclaimed that I certainly had one of those.

So did the ponies, and those we saw later outside the Pilley Community Shop.

This afternoon Jacqueline and Elizabeth visited for coffee, Tunnock’s Tea Cakes, and reminiscing.

We had each attended the same primary school, albeit some years apart. Some of our teachers offered each of us the benefit of their services. It was perhaps natural that we should swap stories about these. Those readers who have not already read https://derrickjknight.com/2012/11/01/maureen-potter-and-plasticine/ may care to follow this link for some enlightenment. When, in describing Miss Flaxman’s treatment, I reached the phrase “on the backs of your legs”, Jacqueline said it for me.

This evening Jackie, Becky, Ian, and I enjoyed second helpings of yesterday’s Indian takeaway meal with which I drank more of the Merlot-Tannat and the others shared Pedro Jimenez Sauvignon Blanc 2021

A Frosty Morning

On a crisp-cold frosty-bright morning we drove early to Saint John the Baptist Churchyard to make photographs showing it in a better light than yesterday.

Bramble stems and various leaves in the hedgerows opposite the cross-carved entrance gate were outlined in bright white pigment. The gate picture is Jackie’s.

We both made general views. The more colourful three of the last four in this gallery are by Jackie, who tended to look out to

the views beyond; and up to

a singing blackbird trilling to the crescent moon.

We also photographed each other,

and grazing ponies in frosty fields. Mine is the third image.

I focussed on the colours and textures of the lichen

and moss.

We each had a different take on the ancient yew tree.

A frosted wreath, an autumnal oak, and a fallen stone, caught my eye.

Jackie’s individual tombstones included

that of Hetty Ada Plumbly and her 3 day old son, Frederick. Hetty was the wife of Archibald George Plumbly (1895-1970). Was the death of the mother occasioned by little Frederick’s birth? Did Archibald, who had no more children, never marry again?.

Jackie also found two stones framing death medals: those of Theodore George Cooper, joined later by his father, George; and of Edward Drodge who shared his mother’s grave. Death medals were sent to the relatives of every casualty of The Great War. Given that Edward’s mother, Alice Emily, predeceased her son. we wonder who inserted the medal.

Two among the Canadians who died in the Second World War, namely Flying Officer E Stollery and Sergeant B.W. Turner lie in the war graves section.

We were unable to decipher the wording on the gravestone of an 8 1/2 year old girl also photographed by the Assistant Photographer.

Her last gravestone detail consists of a hand, despite missing two fingers, grasping a feather and a glass ball.

Jackie also produced images of the church roof and weather vane.

On our return home we enjoyed the play of light on Church Lane and the playfully decorated postbox on Pilley Hill.

I spent the rest of the day drafting this, and was certainly ready for dinner consisting of baked gammon and herby pork chipolata sausages; creamy mashed potatoes; juicy ratatouille; crunchy carrots and cauliflower, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Recital.

Not Much Call For It In 2020

On another gloomy and cold morning we ventured out into the forest trusting that the nearer we arrived at midday the brighter the light may become. If anything there was more darkness at noon.

We stopped at Setley Ridge Garden Centre which Jackie, masked up, entered and bought some Christmas presents while I focussed on the displays outside, in the doorways, and through the window.

Afterwards Jackie tucked the Modus onto a verge in Church Lane while I

photographed the fast moving bubbling, rippling, stream with its arboreal reflections.

The old quarry lake at Pilley was once more full enough to provide a still canvas for artistic reflections.

No-one had plucked mistletoe from a fallen tree. I guess there is not much call for it in 2020.

A trio of donkeys spilled over the road at Jordans Lane.

Jackie photographed a driver’s eye view.

Our starter for this evening’s dinner was Jackie’s chicken, bacon, and vegetable stoup. The main course was her succulent shepherd’s pie topped with crisp croquette potatoes; served with firm Brussels sprouts, carrots, cauliflower and broccoli; and meaty gravy. Dessert was apple and gooseberry crumble and custard. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Merlot.

A Reflective Conversation

This morning Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating gave our boiler its annual service and investigated our inability to control the heating by thermostat. He found a piece of equipment was malfunctioning and will book in another visit to fix it. I didn’t really take in what it was.

After lunch we drove to Elizabeth’s to return the suitcase in which she had packed Mum’s presents. She wasn’t in so we left it on the doorstep and ran away. The day was cool, clear, and bright, so we didn’t think it would rain.

On the outskirts of Brockenhurst skeins of cloud stretched across the moors on which ponies cropped the sward.

Jackie parked the Modus on the verge of Church Lane where pools reflected the now skeletal trees and the woman of this friendly couple expressed pleasure at seeing the sun again and its perfect light for my photography.

More reflections were visible in the bubbling, swirling, stream, and the autumn leaves bore the touch of Midas.

Jackie photographed the stream as it ran through the garden beside which she had parked, and the autumnal trees above it.

I produced pictures of a gentleman paddling a boat; moored yachts; starlings perched on masts; and a couple of young female cyclists engaged in a reflective conversation.

Jackie, meanwhile, also photographed starlings claiming crows’ nests; a gull taking a rest; a street lamp lit up in readiness for the evening; and swans approaching gulls in a row alongside vacant rowing boats.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, cornichons, and pickled onions followed by custard tart, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Autumn Reflections

Jackie and I each photographed a few flowers

blooming yesterday morning. Here are the Assistant Photographer’s contributions. The first three are of Mrs Popple fuchsias and a giant which has lost its label; next is a white solanum with the bright blue Ali Baba planter in the background; the hanging baskets following contain petunias and bacopas; next, not actually a flower, are bejewelled weeping birch catkins; and finally we have raindrops on black eyed Susans.

Mine were chrysanthemums of varying hues, still hot lips, and, believe it or not, yellow antirrhinums.

Before lunch today we took a short drive into the forest, via

Lower Sandy Down which offered

a number of autumn scenes.

Church Lane, running up and down from Boldre to Pilley, came next.

Jackie parked on a verge while I stood on the road bridge contemplating

the now fast-flowing stream and its reflections.

This tangle of oak branches and the weeping willow tresses were also visible from my vantage point.

At Pilley we encountered a number of ponies beside the lake,

and noticed that Foxglove and Twinkle now have chickens for company.

The cyclist who squeezed past these donkeys on the road must have been intrigued at the number of times we passed him as we wandered around in circles at this point.

Back at home Nick continued working proficiently yet at a rate of knots. Moving from room to room as he put curtains back up and another coat of paint on the door in the sitting room; he further prepared the kitchen and added paint to walls and ceiling. One of the horrors he had to deal with was the hole in the lath and plaster wall into which had been driven by our predecessors a bracket on which swung a large fridge that blocked the doorway during their residence.

Unfortunately our craftsman will have to leave the work in the kitchen until after 19th January which is the earliest that Barry Chislett-Bruce can repair our leak. Reflecting their reliability and the quality of their work, both these men, thorough experts in their fields, are very busy, so we are happy to wait.

This evening we dined on crisp oven fish and chips; green peas; piquant pickled onions and gherkins, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Prestige de Calvet Cotes du Rhone Villages 2019.

“Not Where You Want To Meet Something Coming Round The Next Bend”

Quite early this morning we drove along

Mount Pleasant Lane beside which

sweeping landscaped fields harboured horses, some sporting fly-protection masks.

Our original destination was South Sway Lane, along which

free manure is usually on offer. All that is required from people helping themselves to this gardeners’ gold is that we leave replacement empty bags for those

that we load into our cars. As always, this morning a quantity of flying livestock came with the horse droppings, so as soon as we arrived home I transported this lot to the compost bins.

Before that we drove around for a while, pausing at Longslade Bottom where I wandered among

ponies, a foal, and walkers with or without dogs. The crowds had not yet built up.

Approaching a bend in Church Lane on the way to Pilley Jackie observed that this was “not where you want to meet something coming round the next bend”.

Very soon she found herself backing round that same corner.

On arrival at Pilley we encountered another group of assorted ponies. I explained to a couple of European visitors that the lake bed on which some of the larger animals were grazing was not normally so dry. The tourists were quite alarmed at the violence with which the smaller ones were butted out of the way by the bigger variety.

A solitary bay fronted the thatched cottages beside the green..

This evening we dined on second helpings of Forest Tandoori’s excellent takeaway fare with which I finished the Malbec and Jackie abstained.

A Modern Day Drove

Beneath cloudless cerulean skies we took an early drive into the forest this morning.

A cool breeze blew along sun-dappled lanes like these named

Rodlease

and Church.

At a corner of the latter a tractor ploughed a field some distance from a couple of grazing workhorses within view of adjacent woodland.

Along the road to Beaulieu a number of pools scooped out by generally regular rains have been dry for most of this year, which must be disappointing for

foraging ponies and their foals.

Peering ahead along St Leonard’s Road we discerned that a developing traffic delay had been caused by a modern day cattle drove executed in a more comfortable manner than the cowboys of old by a couple of motorised farmers herding them to their home field fronting the Isle of Wight. At one point I disembarked and attempted to keep pace with the animals while slaloming round splatted pats littering the tarmac. I had no chance of catching them.

Further along the lane a familiar string of ponies trotted on the edge of the verge. The little Shetland had no trouble holding its own.

We carried out a late afternoon watering session before dining on Jackie’s splendid chilli con carne and my plain boiled rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.