crows – Page 3 – derrickjknight

Thorns And Scratches

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Jackie is making good headway on her Spring planting

Two sarcococcas, small shrubs which already dispense amazing scents, have been tried out with temporary plonking in their pots;

Other seeds, bulbs, and corms to come, are marked with packet labels;

Daffodil

Our first daffodil needed a helping hand to hold up its head.

Camellia

Camellias are now proliferating,

Cryptomeria

and the cryptomeria is sporting fresh needles.

Snowdrops

Most beds are blanketed with snowdrops;

Hellebore

more varieties of hellebore are blooming.

Many cyclamens have survived the winter, the white one here offering a fly a perch.

On this fine morning we took a trip into the forest.

At North Gorley a murder of crows were taking a very cold bath in the temporary pools. In order to park safely for a photograph we had to drive on and tun round, by which time most had flown away, a few engaged in aeronautics, and one remained alone in contemplation.

One of the countryside crafts much in evidence in this area is that of hedge laying. A fine example lines a section of Hungerford Hill at Hyde. Water from the fields is fed into the ditch from pipes sunk into the banks.

This seven minute video demonstrates the skill required to maintain such a living boundary:

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Andv7a0NPEc&w=560&h=315]

Donkeys largely eschew the grass they leave for the ponies that they perhaps regard as wimps whilst, occasionally pausing for a good scratch, they tear away at brambles and anything else prickly enough to test their mettle. These creatures were seen, as usual, at Hyde and Frogham. Could it be that the calloused craters between the nostrils of the young white one trimming the hedge at Frogham, have been caused by its chosen nutriment?

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla. Service was very friendly and efficient; the food was as superb as ever. We shared special fried rice, egg paratha, and onion bahjis. My main choice was Davedush; Jackie’s was Noorjehani. We both drank Kingfisher.

A selection of three photographs have been made from those I submitted. The size chosen is A3+. Raj, manager, wasn’t there, and the others want to check once more with him before I go ahead and produce them.

“Google It”

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Soon after 8 a.m. pink fingers groped along the light grey clouds over Downton

while the sun itself remained largely out of sight behind trees. Slowly the sky brightened, but that was the last glimpse of the sun, and rain set in at noon.

This morning I finished writing the Christmas cards, and posted them on the way to lunch at Helen and Bills home at Poulner, where we were joined by Shelly and Ron.

A hold up on Ringwood Road turned out to have been caused by an injured deer seated on the verge, and attended by a couple beside a stationary car with its hazard lights flashing.

Crow Lane crows

On the corner of Crow Lane a murder of the birds perched in a tree.

Ron, Shelly, Jackie, Derrick, Bill

Helen took this photograph of the rest of us tucking into her intriguing pork roasted with fruit including oranges and prunes; roast potatoes and parsnips, asparagus, runner beans, cauliflower, and carrots with red onions. The excellent fare was enhanced by very tasty gravy.

During the meal, crackers were pulled with a certain amount of trepidation; the contents being investigated with both interest and glee.

We had been greeted with warm punch on arrival and red and white wines were consumed with the dinner. A remarkably light steamed ginger pudding and soft, firm, raspberry mousse were the desserts.

We continued with animated conversation. In order to demonstrate that we are very firmly established in the 21st century, whenever we were either at a loss for, or in disagreement about a fact or opinion, someone was bound to say “Google it”.

Only The Crows

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I spent most of the day grappling with long-distance legal professionals over a small remortgage. I cannot summon the energy to detail this, but it has been going on for weeks and has only been necessary because I am too old to secure a mortgage from my bank. I have grown heartily sick of prevaricating, incompetent, and mendacious professionals who are happy to take your money while providing a useless service.

It is thirty years since I last negotiated such a loan. In those days you could walk to an office, speak to a person, and trust that what you were promised would be done. I don’t think I need tell anyone how it is now, in our progressive, unprincipled, digital age.

Jackie spent much of the day in the garden where she reshaped and added plants to the Dragon Bed section beside the greenhouse.

By 4.30 p.m., for the sake of my sanity, I was desperately in need of a ride in a motor car. Jackie happily obliged.

We began with a look at the sea at Barton. One member of a group on the beach seemed to have brought along a tent;

another man played with his dog;

a couple sat together on a bench;

Walkers,

one with a golden retriever, kept to the path along the clifftop.

Whenever a group of dog walkers meet, they swap engaging stories about their pets. Sometimes the animals are not so friendly. Lily was in trouble. She was admonished as being very naughty for nipping one of the others.

Cliffs are still crumbling.

Only the crows (if they are rooks forgive me – I don’t know the difference)

can truly feel safe on them.

As if to prove this statement, one of these took off, and clung precariously to the loose pebbles.

Down below a jogger on the beach path

checked her watch without breaking her stride.

As we travelled inland, ponies periodically exercised their right to ownership of the roads.

Sunset smiled over Roger Penny Way on our return.

Later, The Raj in Old Milton provided our takeaway meal with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the malbec.

Joints Not Yet Stiffened

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After the usual weeding and tidying in the garden, Jackie drove us out into the forest, where we eventually lunched at Hockey’s Farm in South Gorley.

We travelled via Nomansland where I communed with a disinterested group of ponies cropping the grass beside a recumbent foal.

One of the adults came close to nudging the infant of its chosen patch of sward.

As it snoozed, the little one rested its heavy muzzle on the firm ground.

Eventually even that became too much and the creature collapsed, prone and sprawling. You very rarely see the older animals lying down, for they all sleep standing up. Not so the youngsters whose joints have not yet stiffened.

As we neared the village of Hale, domesticated horses in a field along Tethering Lane wore the fly masks and ear muffs I have mentioned before. These lucky animals are thus offered protection from pestilential flies. As so often, crows peck around what the horses leave behind.

The small village of Hale has a public green surrounded by thatched houses and a school, some pupils of which were engaged in hearty sports as we arrived. I thought it politic not to photograph the proceedings.

The road through the village also divides the grounds of Hale Park. On one side we see the drive to Hale House;

on the other an avenue of trees extending into the distance. The approach is splendid enough now, but what an impressive coach drive would have been enjoyed in its eighteenth century heyday. There is no public access, so we rely on Wikipedia for the following information:

‘Hale House

Hale House was built by Thomas Archer, Groom Porter to Queen Anne, and Baroque architect, who bought the manor of Halesometime after 1712.^[1] He demolished an Elizbethan mansion which had been designed by John Webb for the Penruddock family.^[2]^[3] The house was designed and built by Archer around 1715.^[3] It was remodelled around 1792 by the architect Henry Holland.^[3] Other alterations were made in the early and late 19th century.^[4]

The house has two storeys and seven bay-windows at the front.^[5]^[3] It has cement rendered walls, a portico with pediment and Corinthian columns, and a slate roof.^[5] The service wings flank the house but are detached.^[5] They also are of two storeys, with cement rendered walls and slate roofs.^[5]

It is now a Grade I listed building.^[4] The house is in private ownership and is not open to the public.

Hale Park

The grounds were laid out from about 1715 by Thomas Archer.^[6] During the 19th century and early 20th century the grounds were simplified and new features were added to the gardens.^[6]

The park includes a circular pool surrounded by yew hedging and topiary shapes.^[6] There is a Ha ha towards the south.^[6] The park contains a number of copses, and lodges including the South Lodge which has a Doric portico.^[6] Tree avenues cross the park, including a lime avenue which runs north east to Hatchett Lodge, and extends beyond park.^[6] The Mount is possibly from the 17th-century house and is enclosed by hedging.^[6]

At one time there was an ice house in the park.’

Further on, outside Woodgreen, as I emerged from the car to home in on another equine mother and child, I noticed that another photographer had the same idea.

Possibly slightly alarmed by the attention the baby sought a top up from a comforting nipple,

after which it tottered away,

twitching its tail and tossing its head this way and that in an attempt to repel flies.

Then, like its pony cousin, it sunk to the ground,

stilled its tail, supported its head, and settled down to sleep.

After our substantial lunches, fish fingers and baked beans sufficed for dinner this evening. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Why Did The Pony Cross The Road?

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This morning, headed for Hatchet Pond, we drove out to the forest early enough to see the children trailing to Lymington’s schools.

The pond itself was now rivalled by waterlogged terrain

that had been settled by a group of mallards, already pairing up among the reflected trees.

Various gulls, more mallards, crows, and ponies

basked

and flew around Hatchet Pond,

on the far side of which a couple of cormorants perched on posts in the water,

and a solitary swan drifted among last year’s plants.

Dappled ponies grazed among the golden gorse,

and alongside additional pools.

These gentle creatures, ignoring the thorns of gorse and bramble, tore at the clumps of grass.

Now, why did this one cross the road?

To join its foraging fellows.

The forest terrain was covered in clear rainwater bathing last autumn’s leaves,

and reflecting trees.

Balmer Lawn’s land alongside Highland Water was similarly awash.

That river runs under the A337 on the approach to Brockenhurst.

It provides reflections from the bridge over which we drive.

This evening we dined on our tried and tested choice of M3 from the set meals of The Family House Chinese restaurant in Totton. As so often the establishment was full of both Chinese and English family members with dual heritage children milling about. As I said to the assembled company on our departure, “one of the reasons we like this place is that it is a family house”.

A Dewy Morning

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Throughout the garden we have plants, such as these bidens that enliven the front entrance, that have self-seeded from tubs and hanging baskets.

It was a dewy morning in the forest when we went for a drive.

On the outskirts of Wootton, through a break in the trees, we glimpsed a string of ponies making their way along a bank which turned out to be one side of a dug out car park. Naturally, in the interests of photography, Jackie drove us into it, performing the usual slalom around waterlogged pit-holes.

I ascended the steps and mingled with the ponies, one of whom had a bit of catching up to do.

The gorse bushes wore cobweb and dewdrop strings of pearls;

and moisture lay across the moors. Gulls were forced to share the terrain with crows, dogs and their owners,

whilst riders galloped horses in the distance.

Further on, there was evidence that someone had lost a pretty scarf wrapped around a tree.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious beef stew and mashed potato, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Gilbert & Gaillard Chateauneuf du Pape 2014. We deserved it because the iMac is still playing up, and I could only post these pictures by e-mailing them in medium size to myself and putting them into WordPress from the Windows laptop. I couldn’t load them directly onto the laptop because I had deleted them from the camera on uploading them to the Mac. Well, it had worked well yesterday.

Container Delivery

Today we transported four more bags of cuttings to Efford Recycling Centre.

The first two,

giving us the sense of a light at the end of the tunnel,

we disposed of before lunch. For most of the winter the heaps have lain the length of the left hand side of the drive. Most are from the griselinia hedge that Aaron trimmed in the autumn.

The left hand corner of the entrance, beyond our five-barred gate, was continually being driven over by vehicles entering and leaving the care home alongside. We have finally constructed a suitable deterrent. The chain is actually plastic, but it works, and these daffodils, pansies, and primroses remain unscathed.

Here is a current view centred on The Shady Path,

and another on the Gazebo Path.

Birds, like these crows, often stand sentinel on the scrawny oak across Christchurch Road.

My replacement inks were delivered this afternoon, so I was able to complete the best part of my allocation of the flyer printing after we drove the last two bags of cuttings to the dump.

At the moment the two huge containers dedicated to garden greenery are constantly being filled and emptied again. When we arrived for our third trip, the huge structure to the filling of which we had contributed this morning was being replaced by another. Watching the driver reversing his lorry into the very narrow space available, I was full of admiration for his skill.

This morning’s recycling haul was six terra cotta pipes which we bagged in order to test The Head Gardener’s ingenuity. She’s bound to find some use for them.

This afternoon we returned with pair of aluminium garden chairs in need of a nattier coat of blue. They went straight into the front gardener’s rest.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s super sausage casserole; mashed potato; and crisp cauliflower and broccoli. I finished the El Sotillo. Jackie abstained.

A Bit Of A Bummer

Continuous rain fell today, but the temperature was still very warm.

Jackie drove me to and from New Milton for the London train and lunch with Wolf and Luci. From Waterloo I took the Northern Line tube to Clapham Common and walked to our friends’ home in Hambalt Road, reversing the process after stimulating conversation and an excellent lunch prepared by Luci. We enjoyed a tasty chicken casserole, new potatoes, and a tangy melange of some six or seven flavoursome vegetables. Luci’s seasonal pumpkin pie perked up with black cherries. She and I drank a very good Claret from 2012. Wolf, as always, preferred apple juice.

With more than an hour left of the outward journey, a gentleman preparing to sit on the opposite side of the corridor from me, had some difficulty removing his outer clothing. This necessitated his wriggling his rear end in my direction in a rather ungainly fashion. The aisles on these trains are very narrow. It was only after he had managed to place part of the said stern on his seat that I realised the young man was not. In fact he was so fat that one leg was permanently planted in the gangway. When people squeezed past, it was I who, for self preservation, needed to lurch to my right in order to avoid contact with various anatomical parts, depending on the height and contours of the individuals concerned, and whether their fronts or backs were presented to me. The bunch of keys attached to the guard’s belt could have put my eye out. A bit of a bummer, really.

I have mentioned before how most public conveniences outside central London are no longer kept open. As I left Clapham Common underground station, I noticed that the railings for the lavatories attached to the building were unbolted and open. For a moment I had thought I may be able to avail myself of the facilities. Before descending the steps I noticed the chairs half way down, the board advertising Live Music, and, more importantly, what WC now stands for. If you care to click on the image you will also see it. This was also rather disappointing. I can only hope that some of the original closets have been retained for the use of current customers.

The street behind the station, beyond the grass bank at the edge of the common, is also more up-market than it once was. I wonder what the generations of crows have made of the changes.

From Seaside To Forest And Back

On another glorious summer’s morning Jackie drove me to the surgery at Milford, where I handed in my repeat prescription order. She then deposited me at The Beach House so that I could walk back along the cliff top and up through Shorefield, thus avoiding the ascent of Park Lane.

Sleepy yachts slipped past The Needles and The Isle of Wight, along The calm, bright blue, Solent, reflecting the clear sky above.

Scarlet Pimpernels straggled underfoot.

Colourful lichen clings to memorial benches

like this one.

What is fascinating about these benches that line the cliff paths, is that they give you some idea of the length of retirees’ twilight years, and demonstrate the longevity of lichen.

Work continues on the re-sited footpath, brought some way inland following last year’s cliff crumble. Three cyclists sped along it. One waved cheerily. In the distance can be seen the crew adding fine gravel to the tarmacked surface. When I reached them I took rather a good photograph of the workers, but their head man preferred not to have their faces flying round the internet, so I deleted it.

A gentleman and his black labrador descended the steps down to the beach. The dog dashed down the bank, possibly indicating that he didn’t want to be photographed either.

The normally reluctant crows didn’t seem interested. One just continued preening.

Another, tattooed, man, attempting a tan, toted his shirt along the shingle.

A few days ago I featured signs warning swimmers off, because of World War II defence ironwork. A photograph now shows the spikes, rather like those that in medieval times aimed to ensnare horses.

This afternoon Jackie drove Sheila and me around the north of the forest. Donkeys wandered on the road in Mockbeggar.

One, standing in the soporific sunlight, cast a sharp shadow.

Another, sensibly stayed in the shade.

Before having a drink in the garden of The Foresters Arms in Frogham, we visited the nearby Abotswell Car Park.

Dog roses decorated the shrubbery. Beyond these it is evident that the small lake is almost dry.

Just how did the owner of these keys ever leave the car park?

There was no suitable stopping place for photography on Roger Penny Way, but, as we approached Cadnam, there was enough of an hiatus in the traffic flow for me, from the back seat of the Modus, to produce an image of

the pony family that had ambled across the road.

This evening we all dined at Lal Quilla in Lymington. The meal, service, and friendliness were as good as ever. I chose a new dish called Chicken Jaljala. This was cooked in a sweet, sour, and hot tomato and onion sauce. I will certainly have it again. Jackie and I drank Kingfisher, whilst Sheila’s choice was sparkling water.

It wasn’t far off 10 p.m. when we admired the sunset from the quay.

In Search Of Daylight

Eric, as Jackie has now termed our visiting pheasant, scarpered as soon as I entered the garden this morning, but the less timid robin commandeered the bird feeder, and crows circled the chimney pot. Soon they will be vying for territorial ownership of it.

Through the jungle that is the garden of North Breeze next door, another camellia, looking a bit dog-eared, has thrust upwards in search of daylight,

and our viburnum, now we have opened up the garden, and cut back this plant, has no need to climb so high before blooming.

The stump Aaron has trimmed on the back drive presents glorious golden abstracts.

This afternoon I finished reading the fourth of G.K. Chesterton’s ‘Father Brown’ stories, ‘The Secret of Father Brown’.

Later, when the skies had dulled over, and rain begun to fall, from inside the sitting room, Jackie spotted a goldcrest in the shrubbery. From a good metre our side of the window I pointed my Canon SX700 HS, set on auto, at the bird, which had by then dropped onto paving beneath. I pressed the shutter an instant before it flew off. There was no second chance. The uncropped image above is the whole scene. Beneath it is the cropped version. I publish both, not to display my dubious photography, but in praise of the camera.

Keen to begin watching ‘Agatha Christie’s Marple’ in time to give me a reasonable chance of staying awake, Jackie decided to dictate the description of our evening meal. ‘We had the same as yesterday and Jackie drank water’, she said. Who am I to argue?