On another dismal, dripping, day Jackie and I took the opportunity of a slight lull in the rainfall in the afternoon to drive into the forest.
A lone longhorn brindle cow bellowed on the moist moorland alongside Holmsley Passage, the verges of which bore water-filled hoof prints. We had passed more cattle as we descended the hill. Eventually the bovine creature turned to make its way up to the others.
Donkeys and a foal may have regretted crossing into Brookside from North Gorley, when
this dog, after studying the infiltrators, threw itself at the gate barking ferociously and scattering the animals it couldn’t reach. Reflected in a puddle the donkeys kept a safe distance and enjoyed a blackberrying session.
We imagined the campsite, alongside which a group of deer were unfazed, must have been unoccupied.
A woman and young girl watched ponies on our way home.
Elizabeth visited later, and became reacquainted with Ellie while chatting with us. She returned to Pilley before Jackie set out for fish, chips, mushy peas, and curry sauce from Mr Pink’s, to which we added Garner’s pickled onions and Mrs Elswood’s sandwich gherkins. Mrs Knight drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Bordeaux.
As the rain increased and the wind began building up to this evening’s expected return of the gales, we took the usual precautionary protective garden measures.
After lunch Jackie and I then embarked upon a damp forest drive
where we thought holidaymakers like soggy cyclists and drivers guided by headlights may have regretted their choice of dates, and
rows of damp donkeys huddled along hedgerows of Bull Hill seeking shelter where they could summed up the dismal day.
This evening we all dined on succulent roast pork with crispy crackling; crisp roast potatoes; sage and onion stuffing; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and broccoli, with meaty gravy and apple sauce with which Jackie drank Zesty and I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.
Almost 50 years ago, when we lived in Soho, and Becky and Matthew spent weekends with us, we often shopped in Gerard Street in the heart of Chinatown. Perhaps I was putting this shoe on in July 1974, for one such a trip.
In June 2008, Becky took her daughter, Flo, on a tour of her old haunts, and sent me this photograph by e-mail.
Regular readers will know that my own mother, who lived until 15th September 2021, had adopted the practice of labelling items with the names, usually of those who had given them as presents, of those to whom she wished to bequeath them.
One which came to me was a Chinese mug and teapot set bought in Gerard street about the time Jessica produced the header picture. Not wishing for her to have to wait as long as I did, I gave this to Becky, who decided to keep it here for when she visits.
This morning my Mum’s great-great-granddaughter took a shine to her Gram-Gram’s mug.
Peering through racing windscreen wipers barely keeping pace with streams of precipitation coursing across the window, on a decidedly cold and wet midsummer afternoon, Jackie and I spied bubbles bouncing from tarmac streaked with reflected headlights as we set out on a forest drive.
Damp sheep huddled where they could beside the road at Bramshaw.
Moorland along Roger Penny Way was barely visible
Venturing across Deadman Hill for this view, ice tipped javelins pierced my skin; I could not see what I was pointing at; and I returned to the car soaked to the skin.
Moorland along the way was scarcely visible.
The first ponies we saw were disrupting the traffic at North Gorley.
Along Gorley Road donkeys dripped; reflecting headlights starred; raindrops bubbled and splashed.
This evening we all dined on Fire Pit beef burgers; fried onions; plentiful salad with Becky’s dressing, and various tasty sauces. Jackie drank Diet Coke and I finished the Merlot.
It is a family run concern also provide animal feed and other such stores and operate a shop selling home produced and other naturally grown provisions, which may be consumed in their plentiful meals on comfortable seating. During the winter blankets are draped over each chair should extra warmth be required – not that there was any call for that today. An aviary of exotic caged birds; specialist chickens, geese, donkeys, ponies, alpacas, and even two wild boars discovered in the forest, all entertain visitors, young and old alike.
Having lunched here for a number of years we have each settled on
firm favourite meals, Jackie’s being called ‘Laura’s Favourite’; mine ‘The Hungry One’ – to which toast had not yet been added when I photographed them. The quality of the ingredients is apparent. Jackie’s choice of cheese in the thick wedge of toast was Blue Vinny; given a choice of salad or chips, as is customary, she chose the fresh salad. I drank tea, while my wife drank latte coffee. The delicate, elegant, cup and saucer add to the homely cottage ambience. It is very good value for money, although the various extra items like hessian bags, pictures, and teapots tend to be priced for the tourist market – but we are no longer simply visiting the area.
Apart from the restrictions during Covid lockdowns the quality of Hockey’s food has remained consistently nourishing, well cooked and presented to an expected consistency over the years. It wasn’t that much of a hardship to receive breakfast in a bun wrapped in a paper bag with disposable cutlery to eat alfresco on tables at a social distance. That they kept going is to their credit.
A cricket match at Hyde provided six Spot the Ball competitions. The gallery enlargements are helpful. Entrants earn a bonus point for the first.
The first five pictures of these donkeys and foals outside the Fighting Cocks pub are mine; the next six, Jackie’s.
A young girl thoroughly enjoyed photographing and stroking a sleepy donkey foal under the gaze of its proud mother and was delighted to be photographed doing so.
On the opposite side of Roger Penny Way several ponies grazed with their foals. It is fascinating how the mothers, when latched onto by their offspring remain negligently necking their own nutriment.
A heavy horse towing a trap raised other photographers’ interest.
As I made my way back to our car I noticed what appeared to be a Classic Jaguar convention beside the Modus.
Jackie was close enough to produce more pictures and to hear the discussions featuring how and where each owner sourced vital bits and pieces.
Our last foal of the day was being taught the game of disrupting the traffic on Tiptoe Road.
This evening we all dined on spring rolls; tempura, salt and pepper, and hot and spicy prawn preparations on a bed of Jackie’s tasty vegetable rice with which she finished the Bangla and I finished the Appassimento.
Wayback Machine helped me recover the missing portrait of Alan Titchmarsh in the first.
What is common to each is that they contain comments and images of old blogging friends who are no longer with us. Some just move on and stop posting or reading. As Pauline, The Contented Crafter, mentioned to me when we first found each other, that is OK. Often we never know the reason for disappearance. One of these stated he was no longer following after a mystifying strop.
Pauline was a generous and friendly crafter whose presents, like her bookmarks and light catchers, brightened the lives of many bloggers. Her death made her sorely missed. The same applies to Cynthia Jobin, a talented poet. Painkills2, an excellent photographer, struggled with permanent crippling pain and did eventually succumb to her ailment. Mary Tang, who grew large fruit trees in pots alongside her apartment in Sydney, has been forced to stop typing because of her condition. I do not know whether she is still alive, but she sent Jackie a mug which she treasures.
It is most helpful when people who are able, like Pauline’s daughter, Danella, let us know why such friends have suddenly become absent.
This hot afternoon, after shopping at Tesco, Jackie drove me into the forest.
Two donkeys sought shade against the side of a building in East Boldre, where
others must have rued their shaggy winter coats.
Further along the road a foal clung to his mother’s skirts when I closed the car door rather too loudly.
Shetland ponies cropped verges of Pilley Street and Jordan’s Lane
where the lake is now drying up, enough for
a pony and foal to graze where they would recently have paddled.
When the mother leading her foal thundered up from the lake bed her offspring became so frisky that I stood pointing them out to oncoming vehicles driving past.
The yarn decoration on the Pilley Hill letter box now advertises the produce that will be available at the fete on 8th of July.
Early this morning Jackie had driven Dillon and his family to Southampton airport to see him off on a trip to South Carolina for family business which will keep him away for two weeks. He was therefore unable to share our dinner of beef burgers in soft rolls layered with bacon, cheese, and Mrs Elswood’s pickled sandwich gherkins, with lashings of fried onions, and herby potato wedges prepared by Becky. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
We began this morning’s forest drive by delivering loaned oil filled radiators to Elizabeth – we took three; she told us she had only lent us two and now was our own. That came back with us and was deposited in our garden shed at the end of our trip.
We were pleased to find that the post box on Pilley Hill was once more decorated with skilful yarn work.
The usual pair of swans glided along Hatchet Pond,
bringing their seven offspring into the mooring bay, in preparation for
a lesson in walking up a slippery slope. Father led the way with arguably the four fittest; followed by mother with three slower cygnets.
Parents periodically paused to preen,
as did this year’s progeny.
In any group there is always a straggler. So it was with this one.
Leaving Dad at the summit with siblings
Mum stepped back down to offer encouragement to the one who had had enough. We moved off before we learned whether or not she was successful,
looked at the waterlilies,
and continued to Ran’s Wood, where
the stream at the bottom of the slope is now drying up.
The roaring and lowing of cattle disappearing behind shrubbery along its path seemed in protest at the paucity of refreshment. Although I could not see them their sound shattered the sweet birdsong, the drone of an overhead aircraft, and the call of a cuckoo.
I settled for shots of ponies on the opposite hillside.
Along Furzey Lane a seated shaggy donkey and a couple of cows basked in the sunshine. In fact, apart from those on the move above, all the cattle we saw were lying down.
Another donkey still sporting winter wear enjoyed a good scratch at East Boldre until
joined by a friendly foal of the other equine kind.
This evening we all dined on tasty baked gammon; piquant cauliflower and broccoli cheese; boiled new potatoes; and crunchy carrots, with which Jackie finished the Viognier and I drank Trivento Mendoza Malbec 2021.
I altered the category of the second one to Garden.
On this overcast yet dry afternoon, mild of temperature, Jackie and I took a short forest drive.
Three donkeys concentrated on cropping the moorland sward at East End.
Noticing some members of a familiar group of ponies on the verges of St Leonard’s Road, I cried “Where’s the Shetland?”
Others of the gang straggled further down the road while we looked for their stubby little acolyte who,
when I disembarked to photograph her, trotted with some alarm at a brisk pace to the security of her big sisters.
Jackie photographed me photographing the whole process.
This evening we all dined on slow-cooked roast beef; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes; firm carrots and Brussels sprouts; and very tasty gravy, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Frappato Syrah.
I sat in the car reading while Jackie shopped in Tesco; then I loaded the shopping into the car and we took a short forest drive.
Water buttercups creamed the reflecting lake at Pilley,
where washing was draped over a gate to a lakeside cottage.
Ponies of varying sizes and breeds basked on Bull Hill pastures,
while three donkeys behaved similarly around the road sign opposite No 1 Sowley Lane
Later, Louisa asked me to trace the post of her 21st Birthday party so she could extract some of the pictures. I did. There were no pictures on it.
Flo came to the rescue by introducing me to the Wayback Machine. This is a site which captures everything anyone has put on the Internet. Fear not, I won’t try to describe the process, but our granddaughter has written it all down for me. I may try to do it again, but here is
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tricolour penne pasta arrabbiata sprinkled with parmesan cheese with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Passamano Frappato Syrah 2021.
This is the view that, a couple of days ago, prompted me to wander round the garden with a camera. By the time I got around to it the sun had fled along with its shadows.
So I had another go this morning.
In particular I was keen to capture such blossom as had survived last week’s gales. These include the towering Amanogawa cherry; a more normal pink one; and burgeoning crab apple.
After lunch Jackie and I took a forest drive where there was not much
sign of life until we came across a trio of somnolent donkeys adorning the verge of Tanners Lane.
All bore small patches of skin exposed from torn tufts of hide;
one carried a cross upon its back.
I wandered a little further down the lane, photographing
blackthorn and
bluebells on a bank beneath a tree from which emanated sweet birdsong, the ambience being somewhat soured by the oppressive pong of muck spreading.
The most awake donkey ambled down to join me in the shade.
This evening we all dined on moist roast chicken; flavoursome pork and apple sausages; crisp roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding; soft cabbage; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Côte’s du Rhône.
Knowing that this morning’s dry weather was due to turn wet – which it did – Jackie and I took a forest drive that needed to extend no further than Pilley where rich photographic pickings were to be found.
As we clanked and clattered across the cattle grid into the village we found a veritable herd of shaggy haired donkeys foraging, sleeping, and scratching around the green at Pilley Street and May Lane
Some sprawled somnolently, their hooves tucked beneath them;
a small group surrounded a car attempting to drive down the lane;
others tore and crunched at prickly bushes;
one adventurous animal investigated a parked truck.
Some of those not using low scratching posts engaged in mutual grooming. The last of this group of pictures was obtained through the passenger window glass. I would the window down, saying I wonder whether I could get a clearer shot through the opening. “You won’t” said Jackie. An instant later the eye of a donkey appeared in my viewfinder. The hopeful animal had obscured my sight as it attempted to enter the Modus.
We wondered whether to take home to Dillon a baseball cap left on a post.
Further on, we witnessed much reflective activity on Pilley’s lake,
including that of Canada geese,
a pair of mallards,
and the ripples beneath an inactive set of branches.
Opposite the bus stop a grey pony enjoyed a lunch of cold soup. The last six of these pictures are Jackie’s.
Later, I continued the tedious task of facilitating enlargement of the pictures in the following posts from the Classic Editor period:
This evening we all dined on tender roast beef, crisp roast potatoes, parsnips, and Yorkshire pudding, with firm carrots and Brussels sprouts, and meaty gravy. Ellie enjoyed her squashed vegetables with gravy and horseradish sauce. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.
