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The landscape around Brockenhurst remained pretty waterlogged when we visited it this morning.
Even though the day was dull, trees were reflected in the pools.
A small group walked along a pitted track leading to a made-up road, enabling a couple of youngsters to ride ponies.
Most home owners in the New Forest, in order to stem equine invasion, keep their gates closed, and have cattle grids fitted. Not so one house for the sale at the end of this road.
A pair of donkeys had wandered in and set about an uninvited pruning service. Not, of course, until I had taken a few photographs, and after the animals stretched over the fence to set about next door’s shrubs, I knocked at both doors. Neither produced a response. I left the animals to it. The male, who appears in most of these images, wandered out and stood in the middle of the road. A woman from Hornchurch, who was down for the weekend was quite concerned for the creature’s safety. We had a very pleasant conversation in which I explained that the asses were not in danger as they had the right of way.
This afternoon I watched ITV’s coverage of the Six Nations rugby match between Italy and France in Rome; and of England’s game against Scotland at Twickenham.
This evening we dined on a rack of pork ribs with Jackie’s superb egg fried rice, green beans and sugar snaps with which I drank more of the bordeaux.
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This morning we drove to New Milton to register with the Birchfield Dental Practice, then do business at the bank and the post office. Afterwards we visited Streets Ironmongers in Brockenhurst where we exchanged our Swan’s Basket for a more suitable grate for the new fireplace, and a bag of coal. As we left the shop, the car thermometer registered 19 degrees. we’ll hardly need a fire. Someone up there is having a laugh.
The land around the Balmer Lawn section of Highland Water has dried out enough for the flooded area, bearing strong shadows from the overhead sun, to contain discrete pools reflecting the trees and the skies.
Some of the shadows criss-crossed the roots exposed by receding waters.
Clear water flowed over the glowing Highland Water bed.
The river itself sparkled in the sunlight.
As I wandered along the banks a pony seemed to move across the landscape. Actually it remained stationary. It was I who changed my position.
Cyclists were reflected beneath the bridge, over which a walker proceeded in the direction of Brockenhurst,
and under which the river streamed.
Other ponies had reclaimed their pasturage. This one set off past the car park towards the river, thought better of it, and, eyes open, went to sleep.
Perhaps it had decided to leave the watering hole to the donkeys,
who, thirst slaked, went off for a scratch
followed by a necking session.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s sublime chicken jalfrezi and mushroom rice, with onion bahji and samosa starters and a side dish of dal makhani and paneer. Jackie finished the Vernaccia di San Gimignano and I finished the carmenère.
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No, there is no letter missing from the title. All will be revealed to those who have the perseverance to make it through the bumper morning’s photographic haul.
Although Jackie is far from well, she was determined on a lengthy forest drive on this clear, crisp, morning. Each time I tried to convince her that I had enough pictures, she refused to turn back for home.
Just around the corner in Hordle Lane, gaps in the hedge brought us into eye contact with sheep who have adopted the colouring of the stubble they have been sent to nibble, and the soil they are revealing.
Our first stop was at Wootton, where the breath of a ridden horse wafted against the arboreal backdrop.
From there we parked on a gravel path beside a group of ponies. While my eyes were fixed on these, Jackie became highly excited by a herd of deer bouncing through the bracken. They were about to cross the road. I abandoned the horses and rushed to the tarmac where
I was fortunate enough to hit my cervine target.
My luck held when I returned to the ponies,
where one, ignored by its drowsy companions, showed two clean pairs of heels in rolling over for a scratch,
then clambered to its feet.
A little further along Wootton Road I spent some time exploring the stream,
partly iced over and penetrating still frosted landscape.
Negotiating networks of roots, and taking advantage of the apparent firmness of
frozen terrain,
I was able to explore areas that had been too muddy to venture into in the past. Mind you, I did manage to fill my left shoe with freezing water, and make the rest of the trip in a more than adequate ice-pack.
A frozen hat hanging over the stream had me wondering whether the owner had got a bit wet.
It hung beside one of the many tyre swings that I have spotted in the forest. Had there been a mishap?
Eventually, glancing back at the more open landscape,
I joined Jackie, patiently waiting in the car with her puzzle book.
We moved on to Helen’s favourite view, from the Picket Post car park near Ringwood.
I walked out along the ridge around a deep valley, where I noticed a gentleman looking down the hillside.
He was waiting for female and canine companions.
Frost still lay in the sunless sides of the slope,
whereas it had melted on others.
A beribboned tree provided me with a mystery. My solution is that an enterprising wedding photographer led the bride and groom to this spot for some romantic images. That’s what I might have done, anyway.
Leaving this landscape behind us
we progressed to Eyeworth Pond where twitchers were out in force.
Someone had hung a number of feeders on the trees, and placed seed on the barrier to the footpath. They attracted, among others, blue tits, nuthatches, robins, and blackbirds.
Was this a sparrow hiding in the holly?
Numerous ducks paddled on the lake,
and the area bore its own frosted landscape.
Here, I did manage to miss a tree root and take a tumble. Never mind, the camera was safe.
Before leaving Fritham I failed to interest a pair of dozing donkeys in conversation.
It was then I noticed a phenomenon that should not have surprised me. The breath of the slumbering equine creatures came at very slow intervals and was feeble in its ascent into the ether. One could not hold up its head. The exhalation was nothing like that emitted by the exercising horse at the beginning of this saga. Makes sense really.
This evening Jackie produced a dinner of tender roast lamb, perfect roast potatoes, and crisp carrots with green beans, followed by spicy rice pudding. She drank sparkling water and I began an excellent bottle of Barolo 2012, given to me for Christmas by Helen and Bill.
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The bright sunshine that tempted us out for an early drive through the forest was to last all day.
Beams searching their way into the trees picked out the browns, the golds, the greens, and the greys of the season.
while dog walkers shared the bracken coated moors with browsing ponies.
Sunlight slashed the road skirting Holmsley on the way to Burley.
I am no good at cars, so I cannot identify either the old or the new models passing each other here. No doubt a reader will oblige. (Cue, Barrie). (Barrie responded to his cue and put this on Facebook: ‘As to the cars, the old one is what looks like a bog standard Austin 7 albeit quite an early one (1920s) as it does not have a rear fuel tank. The newer one at first I thought was a Volvo (new cars all look the same to me!) but expanding the picture shows what looks like a round red badge on the grill so I believe it to be some sort of Jaguar, but I stand to be corrected!’)
There are a number of golf courses in the New Forest. As we passed one just outside Burley, I notice both ponies and putters on the green. By the time Jackie had parked the Modus and I had walked back, the golfers were moving on, to another tee on the opposite side of the road. I pointed out to one that a ball lay in the ditch. He thanked me, hooked out the ball with a club, and joined his friends who were surrounded by a similar equine audience.
Undeterred, the sporting trio teed off.
Another group of three ponies dozing on the verge of Burley Street had not moved by the time I returned from a wander down Honey Lane.
The lane, pock-marked by pitted pools, was more hospitable to Land Rovers than to our little car, so Jackie parked up and left me to it.
We took a rest and a late breakfast at The Hyde-Out Cafe. My choice was a Full English, while Jackie’s was fried eggs on toast. That took care of lunch, too.
There were warning signs informing drivers that pigs were roaming free, but just beyond Gorley it was a cyclist who hogged the centre of the road.
A more sensible female equestrian kept her steed to the edge of it.
Not so a group of donkeys, one of whom held eye contact through our windscreen until the helpful horse nudged it and its friends aside, and continued on its way.
A free Forest pony, sporting Regency style ringlets, observed all this with interest.
As we approached Godshill, a helmeted cyclist employed staccato stop-start attempts to lead his family across a road junction. He alternated between calling them forward and sending them back, as he made the same movements. To our relief, he was eventually successful.
We made our way home via Roger Penny Way, one of the major thoroughfares traversing the forest.
This evening we dined on beefburgers with caramelised onions on a bed of roasted vegetables; mashed potato; carrots, cauliflower, spinach, and Brussels sprouts; followed by Jackie’s tried and tested pumpkin pie with whipped cream that had been bought and paid for. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, while I quaffed Cono Sur Bicicleta pinot noir 2015.
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Mat arrived with Poppy this morning. Our granddaughter was walking about and talking scribble. She was straight into toys.
She likes playing with the mice;
but was soon absorbed with the seal box and its fish contents, making lots of cooing noises.
Stopping for beverages at Beaulieu Farm Shop, where there was an Halloween table on display
we took a packed lunch to Hatchet Pond so Poppy could see the gulls,
which Jackie began to feed with the stock of seed that Matthew had supplied.
It wasn’t long before the hopeful donkeys came over for what they saw as their share. They were even more interested when our lunch appeared. Matthew correctly observed that that was why we were discouraged from feeding the asses..
Poppy wandered around clutching her food, which, naturally, was liberally smeared around her mouth.
A rather large fungus mushroomed through the turf.
Matthew used an interesting method of feeding the swans;
then took his daughter to look at the water.
He and Jackie then began a swinging game which had to be constantly repeated.
Thinking Poppy might like the tyre swing on Tanners Lane beach, we made that the next visit. She wasn’t happy with this swing, which was a little too advanced for her, but she was quite content to wobble about the shingle.
Across The Solent we could see a string of yachts passing the Isle of Wight.
After our offspring had returned home, Jackie and I dined on her perfect pork paprika with wild rice, followed by chocolate eclairs. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the shiraz.
There are many long-stayers in the garden this year. One of the most amazing is the sweet pea.
This morning Jackie drove us to Steamer Point and back.
On a wall outside one of the houses near the cliff, a lad perches to get a good view of
Friars Cliff Beach.
Believe it or not, this sparkling waterfront is out of season,
so dogs are now welcome to frolic in the sand and roam off the lead.
Waves throwing up spray buffeted the breakwaters
supported by strong beams bound by weathered bolts.
Also frolicking on the beach was a family group,
who later joined the throngs in the Friars Cliff Cafe
where I consumed The Big Breakfast, not quite as daunting as the Olympics one, and Jackie settled for the more standard Friars Breakfast.
Later this afternoon we visited Mum in West End.
We took the route through Beaulieu where the now grown cygnets were being taken for a walk amidst ducks and jackdaws by their parents.
The donkeys in the background gave the birds a wide berth as they set off on their customary traffic disruption exercise.
We spent a couple of hours with Mum during which Jackie cooked her dinner. Elizabeth and Jacqueline joined us and Jackie and my two sisters left Mum to rest while we drove to Jewels Indian restaurant and enjoyed a convivial meal with much reminiscence. The food and service were excellent. My choice was king prawn pathia and pilau rice with which I drank Cobra. We shared a naan.
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This morning Aaron began taking dead branches out of the cypress tree. As can be seen, there is still much colour in the garden. I photographed him and made him an A4 print which I cannot upload, receiving the same message as yesterday. I tried several times and have come to the conclusion that the problem is a direct result of the loading of the new Sierra Mac operating system on Friday. I cannot phone Apple because the help line is not operating at the weekend.
My granddaughter, Emily has asked me for some of her baby pictures for a project at her workplace. I sent her a link to an earlier post, ‘Emily Goes Wandering’ which she had already seen, and is pleased with.
I then e-mailed several scans of earlier prints. First Sam holding his niece;
then Louisa cradlng her;
and finally me.
This afternoon Jackie drove us to the beach at the end of Tanners Lane. On a mild, sunny, day a number of families were enjoying wandering among the donkeys, or searching for crabs in the rock pools. Sunlight glinted on the water and provided the clouds with highlights.
Jackie played with sea shells as she sat on a wooden breakwater within reach of Portsmouth’s spinnaker.
Boats and buoys bobbed.
Just as I was about to photograph the shadows cast by a tyre swing suspended from a stunted, gnarled, tree, the facility became occupied by a young girl. I found her mother and asked if I could photograph the current scene. Once the mother had recovered from her initial thought that I might have wanted the child removed, she was more than happy to grant her permission.
A young man from East Boldre told me that, on just one day in the year, it is possible, at low tide, to walk across to a Spitfire normally under water. He had done it when he was twelve, ten years ago. That looks like a subject for tidal research.
After passing a pheasant-filled field on our way home we stopped for a drink at the The White Hart in Pennington. We received a very friendly welcome. It is not unusual in English pubs to have free nuts or crisps available on the bar counter. Here we were given roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding with mint sauce.
The walls were decorated with photographs of the area in bygone days. One of a knife grinder from 1900 reminded us that our streets had been visited by one during our childhood: mine in Stanton Road, Raynes Park, South West London in the 1940s; Jackie’s in Penge, South East London in the 1950s.
The sky, on our departure from the pub, was so enticing that we nipped over to Lymington to have a look at the sunset.
Anyone who feels deprived of photographs is advised to follow the link above. Otherwise, we must pray that the Apple help line can get to the core of my problem tomorrow, and I can insert the photos I took today. (It was not until 25th that I managed to complete this task)
This evening, we dined on superb chilli con carne and savoury rice. I drank more of the Madiran.
Early this afternoon Jackie drove us off to the north of The Forest. Refraining from the opportunity to indulge in her customary giggle on passing Sandy Balls, she settled for a late lunch at The Fighting Cocks in Godshill.
The view from the pub across to the green always includes animals. Today we had a predominance of cattle, including one of the Highland breed.
The one pony in sight sheltered under a tree, surrounded by grubbing rooks.
My choice for lunch was a large Yorkshire pudding filled with the pubs own tasty home made sausages, creamy mashed potato, fresh peas and onion gravy. This made me think of my maternal grandmother, a Yorkshirewoman whose eponymous puddings were made in a large baking tin. I drank Doom Bar. Jackie enjoyed a baked potato containing cheese and beans, accompanied by a coke. The publican was very friendly and accommodating of a couple who had turned up for a meal after 3 p.m.
Donkeys had taken over the gardens and car park.
This engaged some of the customers.
The crouching girl showed sensible discretion as she rapidly rose to her her feet which led her legs away faster than the rest of her as she clutched an adult hand when the donkey paid her some attention.
Two other asses availed themselves of wooden posts for a good scratch
then set off down the road in search of some traffic to disrupt.
The skilful mural decorating one of the inside walls of the hostelry obviated the need for me to photograph the building.
This is the time of year when, if you are quick, you will see sounders of swine as they speed through the forest, snuffling, foraging, grunting and squealing in search of mast, or acorns and other fruit of the trees.. The first group of these had vanished by the time I emerged from the car. This is an extract from the New Forest website:
“PIGS IN THE NEW FOREST (PANNAGE)
Pannage is the practice of releasing domestic pigs into a forest (also known as ‘Common of mast’), and goes all the way back to the time of William the Conqueror, who founded the New Forest. Pannage is no longer carried out in many areas but can still be observed every year here in the New Forest National Park. In the Autumn after the acorns, beechmast, chestnuts and other nuts have fallen, up to 600 pigs will work their way through the forest eating them from the forest floor.
You can usually find the pigs roaming the forest floors from around the third week in September or whenever the acorns begin to drop from the beautiful trees. The exact Pannage dates are decided by the New Forest Verderers and the Forestry Commission and is based on seasonal variations. The 2016 Pannage season start[ed] on 12th September.”
Near North Gorley I managed to catch a trio of these animals including a Gloucester Old Spot. Note the rings through the noses, which would be the envy of some of our young people.
The larger of the other two pink ones suddenly delivered a ferocious snout side-swipe to the other. The open mouth gives an indication of the decibels achieved by the resounding squeal emanating from the victim. Perhaps this was Mum administering a clip round the ear.
It is difficult to convey the pace at which these apparently cumbersome creatures hoover the forest floor.
After they had had their fill they flopped by the roadside.
Speaking of having had one’s fill, you have seen my late lunch, so will not be surprised that I did not join Jackie this evening in a second helping of our Chinese Takeaway.
I had an interesting conversation at my bank this morning. For some months now there have been placed several bowls of sweets on the counters, for customers to consume. I commented that they still had these on offer. ‘We do look after you’, was the response. ‘Hmm’, I observed. ‘Do you know what letter I received this morning?’ ‘No’, was the reply, ‘I left home before the postal delivery’.’The bank is no longer paying interest on current accounts’, I informed the teller. I was transferring money to France. I doubled the amount. My money might as well be under the mattress.
This afternoon Jackie drove us to Lyndhurst to buy birthday presents, after which we went on a driveabout.
As we left three spiders were waiting in the centre of their webs in the front garden. When we returned, almost three hours later, none had moved.
It is still hot and humid in our environment. With children back at school, the family holiday season is over, but Lyndhurst High Street was still teeming with older visitors,
many of whom were enjoying ice creams
purchased from one or other of the thriving purveyors.
The street is well stocked with gift shops, of which Goose Green is a fine example.
At the top of the High Street, on the corner opposite the church of St Michael and all Angels, stands the Lyndhurst Antiques Centre in which Elizabeth holds a cabinet. We took the opportunity to view this and were very impressed with the quality of her stock. We did buy one of the birthday presents from another dealer. It would be too much information on this post to reveal the details.
Next to this centre there is the double-fronted Down to the Wood, stocked with well-made wooden items. We have shopped there in the past.
On the road in the vicinity of Beaulieu, a number of elderly, stately, open-topped motor vehicles were taking the warm air. Some were going at quite a lick, but not as fast as this dodgy photograph suggests.
Also pictured through our car windscreen were some of the many donkeys blackberrying in the hedgerows. You or I might carefully select our berries, pick them off one by one, and drop them into a container brought along for the purpose. Not so these equine creatures. They just chew the whole branch. We had to stop and wait, so I didn’t need to rush the shot.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious Lamb jalfrezi, parathas, and onion rice with an omelette on top. I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.
There was much electricity in the skies overnight, but none in the house. It was all required for a spectacular thunderstorm. From the news this morning it was apparent that we were very fortunate. Even in Christchurch, about eight miles away, a house was struck by lightning, and in other parts of the country many people woke up to continuing power cuts.
By late afternoon, when we were on a driveabout, the skies had broken up, but still looked dramatic.
Before then, I had filled two more of our large bags with chopped up branches, and we had taken them to the dump.
As before, bees had worked alongside me.
Following a roundabout route, we found ourselves at Hatchet Pond where
donkeys basked
or foraged.
The youngster snoozing by the Lyme disease poster is quite appropriately positioned, because, although the ticks carrying this very nasty complaint inhabit the forest grasses and shrubs, they are also carried by the donkeys.
The two adults seem so much more elegant than many of the asses found wandering in the National Park that we wondered whether they might be mules.
A family by the lakeside had come to feed the birds,
which became very excited at the prospect;
in particular, when watching them fight over breadcrumbs, we were given plentiful evidence of why the collective noun for seagulls is a squabble.
The donkeys turned up for their share,
and became quite persistent.
A magpie also tried its luck, until being seen off by a gull.
Not far away, in Furzey Lodge, a thatcher’s donkey has found its way onto a roof;
and the agisters’ pound is dedicated to Jeffrey Kitcher, M.B.E. : http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/8646105/Jeff-Kitcher.html
This evening we dined on chicken breasts in sweet chilli sauce, Jackie’s onion rice topped by an omelette, and runner beans. I drank Old Crafty Hen.
