Perhaps it was the very light overnight frost that led the blackbirds to investigate the neglected crab apples in the front garden.
This one turned its back on them and considerately stayed just long enough for me to photograph it.
We still have plenty of colour in our plot.
There are winter flowering plants such as this viburnum bodnantensis Dawn in Margery’s Bed,
and the tiny clematis cirrhosa Freckles dotted over the gazebo.
Hardy autumnal chrysanthemums we do expect;
maybe some of these fuchsias are tough enough to make it through the winter;
but self seeded bidens?;
still perky nasturtiums?;
sturdy penstemons?;
varieties of geranium not sheltered in the greenhouse?;
roses such as ascending Altissimo,
blushing Schoolgirl,
marvellous Mamma Mia,
and blooming Absolutely Fabulous?
To send these beauties packing it is not yet cold enough.
This evening Jackie produced a fillet of pork laced with powdered mustard, flaked almonds, and brown sugar, served with roast potatoes and parsnips; colourful rainbow carrots, firm Brussels sprouts, and tender runner beans. Having enjoyed a beer beforehand, neither of us imbibed.
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Our crab apples are beginning to line the pavement at the front of the house. In previous years blackbirds have feasted on them. Other birds have preferred holly berries which are falling onto the soil below. This year, it seems, our avifauna are obtaining sufficient sustenance elsewhere.
This morning I took up ‘A Knight’s Tale’ once more. For more recent readers I should explain that, following encouragement from others, I have begun writing the story of my life, taking much information from posts on this blog. As the narrative entered adulthood I became rather uncertain of the direction into which I should take my next step. Childhood had seemed much more straightforward.
This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, with which Jackie fished the Sauvignon Blanc and Elizabeth and I drank Cono Sur Bicicleta reserva Merlot 2017
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This afternoon, Jackie gathered together all the ingredients for her first ever fish pie that she made without a recipe. Potatoes for the mash lay on the worktop alongside butter, leeks, parsley and cheese. Eggs boiled in a pan alongside dishes of mixed salmon, haddock, and prawns to which were added a layer of parsley, and, when defrosted in the sink, spinach. Regarding the meal as a lost chord, that is, a creative effort that cannot be repeated, our Culinary Queen will not give further details of her method. There are a number of available recipes on the internet, although Delia Smith’s Fisherman’s Pie I used from her Complete Cookery Course doesn’t seem to be included on her Internet page.
She took a break before it was time to place the dishes in the oven, and drove us through the forest.
On Holmsley Road the equine staff of a landscaping company kept the grass cropped at the entrance to Wootton Oaks.
Rather splendid crab apple trees stood on the moors at either side of Holmsley Passage.
Much of the heather has browned already, but purple patches are still in evidence.
Although there is no through road along Castle Hill Lane between Burley and Burley Street, we decided to explore it. We were rewarded with sun-dappled forest scenes on either side of a narrow, winding, gravelled thoroughfare.
It was as I walked along admiring the landscape that I met a delightfully fascinating elderly woman who lived on the lane. Having been Chair of the New Forest Publicity Group for a 35 year period, she held a vast amount of the forest history. She nipped into her cottage to obtain a leaflet about the ponies for me. Although much faster than me she came out hobbling because she had a thorn in her foot. She bent down and removed it. It was then she told me she was a verderer. The leaflet explains that the verderers ‘are a body of ten persons appointed to administer the law concerning the New Forest. They hold the register of brands – all pony owners must use a brand to identify their depastured stock. The Verderers also have complete administrative control of all the stallions on the New Forest.’ When we parted, my informant, strode on ahead, paused for a while in a shaft of sunlight, then jogged on past the Modus and into the distance.
While I was drafting this, Jackie cooked two pies in the ovens. She withdrew one for tonight’s dinner and decorated it with sprigs of parsley.
This was served with piquant cauliflower cheese; sautéed leeks and mushrooms; and colourful crunchy carrots. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, Elizabeth, Becks Blue, and I, Casillero del Diablo reserva Cabernet Sauvignon 2016.
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During the morning and part of the afternoon work continued in the garden, mostly in the Rose Garden, although I did also partly composite the Oval Bed.
In the front, the Prunus Amanogawa,
and the crab apples are blossoming.
Hoverflies
and our crinkly little orange poppies are appearing everywhere.
This afternoon we drove to Redcliffe Garden Centre in Bashley to buy some metal stakes for holding the log in place in Jackie’s most recent attempt to keep out the big beast. We continued on into the forest, and on our return bought some stone from Otter Nurseries.
The bank leading up to the Church of St John the Baptist at Boldre now wears a blanket of bluebells and dandelions,
alongside those of primroses.
The thatching at East End, on an L-shaped building much more extensive than the front elevation shows,
continues apace; nevertheless I am informed that, weather permitting, this very large job is expected to take five weeks.
This evening we dined on Mr. Pink’s fish, chips, and pea fritters, with pickled onions and gherkins. I drank more of the Bordeaux.
P.S. In a comment below, Quercus Community has provided this informative link on thatching: http://www.buildingconservation.com/articles/longstraw/longstraw.htm
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A day’s unending dreary drizzle dripping from damp, dingy, clouds over Downton provided ample material for Pearly Kings and Queens to refresh their outfits.
Wikipedia tells us:
“The practice of wearing clothes decorated with so-called pearl, actually mother-of-pearl buttons, originated in the 19th century.[1] It is first associated with Henry Croft, an orphan street sweeper who collected money for charity. At the time, London costermongers (street traders) were in the habit of wearing trousers decorated at the seams with pearl buttons that had been found by market traders. Croft adapted this to create a pearly suit to draw attention to himself and aid his fund-raising activities.[2][3] In 1911 an organised pearly society was formed in Finchley, north London.[1]
Croft died in January 1930, and his funeral was attended by 400 followers from all over London,[1] receiving national media coverage.[4] In 1934 a memorial to him was unveiled in St Pancras Cemetery, and in a speech to mark the occasion he was said to have raised £5,000 for those suffering in London’s hospitals.[5] The statue was later moved to the crypt of St Martin-in-the-Fields, Westminster. The inscription reads:
In memory of Henry Croft who died January 1st 1930 aged 68 years. The original Pearly King
The pearlies are now divided into several active groups. Croft’s founding organisation is called the Original London Pearly Kings and Queens Association. It was reformed in 1975[1][2] and holds the majority of the original pearly titles which are City of London, Westminster, Victoria, Hackney, Tower Hamlets, Shoreditch, Islington, Dalston and Hoxton. Other groups have also been established over the years. The oldest is the Pearly Guild, which began in 1902.[1][6] Modern additions include the London Pearly Kings and Queens Society, which started in 2001 following a disagreement,[1][3] and the Pearly Kings and Queens Guild.[7] Despite the rivalries, each group is associated with a church in central London and is committed to raising money for London-based charities.[1] A parade of real-life Pearly Kings and Queens was featured at the 2012 Summer Olympics Opening Ceremony.
This evening we dined on succulent slow-roasted duck breasts in plum sauce on Jackie’s splendid savoury rice. I drank Cimarosa Reserva Privada cabernet sauvignon 2015.
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We didn’t much feel like taking the Christmas decorations down last night, so left it at unplugging the lights. When you consider that the Head Decorator is also the Head Gardener, you will realise how daunting is this task.
Imagine our delight then, on coming down this morning, to find that leprechauns had been in and completed the job. Leprechauns in the forms of Becky and Ian, of course.
The pastel pink winter flowering cherry in the front garden now blends with the brightly coloured crab apples, which have not yet been finished off by the blackbirds, thrushes, and tits that still feast on them.
Becky has, in recent weeks, taught herself to knit on line – using what Matthew has termed the Interknit. She has, without the aid of patterns, produced a set of sample shoes for Poppy,
who took great delight on trying them on soon after she arrived with Mat this morning.
Poppy enjoys playing with the mice which have periodically featured on posts. She makes a beeline for them when she arrives. She is also fascinated by the chimes of the grandfather clock and the other striker in the kitchen.
It therefore seemed appropriate for four of the mice to run up the clock.
Matthew and Poppy had to leave soon after 4 p.m., so were unable to share the classic roast pork meal that Jackie served up, thus demonstrating a remarkable improvement in her health. She and Becky finished the Barcelino, and I began a very special médoc, Baron des Tours, given to me by Helen and Bill for Christmas.
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This morning, a larger thrush commandeered the crab apples. A game of hide and seek was required to photograph it.
This afternoon we watched a TV production of Agatha Christie’s ‘Witness for the Prosecution’. Without giving anything away I can say that Toby Jones, as a romantic, consumptive, solicitor, did a magnificent job of leading an excellent cast in a superb period drama faithfully portrayed, complete with London smog.
I have the misfortune to have a family branch addicted to the Daily Mail crossword. This meant that yesterday, when I found one discarded in Hythe Marina Village, I felt duty bound to bring home the newspaper. Added to the puzzle that Matthew and Becky had purloined from the Beachcomber cafe ‘paper, there were two copies. This was still one short, so I scanned and printed two copies from today’s Mail’s original.
Jackie, Matthew, and Becky were then able to relax into friendly competition with their clipboards.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef in red wine, roast potatoes and parsnips, carrot and swede mash, Yorkshire puddings, Brussels sprouts, and breaded mushrooms. None of us imbibed.
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This morning we awoke to a garden dripping with decorations supplied by the Christmas fairies, some of whom still flitted among the trees:
This afternoon we are off to Lyndhurst for the last of the Christmas shopping, then on to West End to visit Mum then share a meal with Elizabeth at Jewels Indian restaurant. I don’t expect to have enough oomph left on our return to post any more to day, so will report on anything of moment tomorrow.
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Well, I’m still struggling to upload photographs. James Peacock came this morning to get fibre optic broadband under way, but BT Open Reach had not taken the last step in installation. This appears to have been done late this afternoon so James will return tomorrow.
While James was wrestling with this, I chatted to a blackbird enjoying a brunch of crab apples. This one has now mastered the technique of chipping away at the fruit without knocking it to the ground. The bird no longer attempts to swallow the meal whole, but neither does it lose it like a toddler learning to use a fork. In fact it was very like a little person, in that bits of food tended to be plastered over its beak.
Our friends Margery and Paul came to lunch and we enjoyed our usual fun conversation well into the afternoon. Jackie made a delicious spinach soup which was followed by a plentiful salad with haloumi, ham, and pork and chicken pie. After that, ham sandwiches sufficed this evening.
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Today’s weather was in complete contrast to yesterday’s. Although it was even warmer, rain persisted throughout the day. For as long as I felt I could risk soaking the camera I crept around the garden with it.
The deciduous trees have now lost most of their leaves; the cryptomeria japonica is sprouting new growth; bright yellow bidens continue to bloom; camellias are beginning to bud; even the blackbirds have kept away from the glistening crab apples. Crazy, I know, but it is beginning to look just a little like winter.
At lunchtime Ian came to collect us and take us, via Emsworth, to Tess’s Christmas event at the Village Shop. Whatever time we get home, I don’t expect to be in a fit state for posting any more, so I’ll do a bit more tomorrow.
