donkeys – Page 21 – derrickjknight

The Camperdown Elm

I have before mentioned the small bridge over the stream at the bottom of Running Hill.

Today I decided to follow the stream. As it reached the side of Hungerford Cottage, it tracked the side of the garden and continued along the back of it and the other houses at Seamans Corner, thence alongside the fences to the fields behind the houses on Seamans Lane, eventually running through the field that is home to the mare and foal beside Suters Cottage. It took quite a few ducks, and a number of trips, to learn this fact. I made my way home through London Minstead.

Just as I arrived at the Corner, a driver asked me the way to the New Forest Inn. This, of course, is in Emery Down. You can imagine the confidence boost it gave me to be able to give her precise directions.

At the tree seat on the green a mother was photographing her family. I offered to take one with her in it, and, naturally, asked if I could also use my own camera, explaining why. As, camera raised, I prepared to frame my shot, ‘are you local?’ was yelled from a stationary car with another behind it. That familiar queue was forming. ‘Yes’, I replied, turning round. ‘Wait a minute’. They didn’t, but they did disturb the family group, so I had to take another picture to do the father justice. I allowed myself to hope the vehicles stayed lost.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Poulner and Bill’s 80th birthday party. Helen and Bill put on a splendid spread in the garden where Ron was on excellent barbecue duty. Friends and relatives flocked to their home. Many of these brought contributions of food and drink. When we left soon after seven, the host and hostess were still going strong.

As the A31 was fairly slow-moving, it being a Sunday evening with holidaymakers returning home from the West country, we took a leisurely drive through the lanes, villages, forest, and heathland of this northern section of our National Park. The evening light lent a russet glow and dappled contrasts to the landscape. Various animals, even more leisurely than us, sometimes held up the traffic. These jams were shorter-lived and more pleasant than those we had just left.

A mare and her colt were eventually persuaded to the roadside. The foal looked back at us as if wondering what we were doing on his road. He had already learned to use his fly whisk.

Further on, the road was completely blocked by a string of donkeys seeming to congregate at one cottage.

This was the home of Roy who explained that they were hoping for something to eat. I expressed the view that this was not likely to be in vain. The very friendly and fit-looking 83 year old then told me about the Camperdown elm. I would not have known this tree, and neither had Roy until an arboreal expert had recognised it. It was the creatures’ favourite delicacy.

Roy showed me the umbrella shape that his assinine friends had chomped out of the tree. He had his own private topiarists. The donkeys pruned his tree, but he wasn’t sure, at his age, whether he would be able to get up to do the same for the rose on the side of his house this year. He took me inside. The Camperdown became a parasol, and Roy broke off branches to feed to the animals.

While I was being thus entertained, Jackie waited patiently a little further down the road, where she had to wind up the car windows to keep errant asses’ noses out.

Already amply fed, we relaxed for the rest of the evening.

The Fly Whisk

We are now basking in hot, sunny, weather. To celebrate I walked the Mill Lane/Emery Down loop in sandals.

Near the farm holiday cottages at the top of the lane, in addition to the usual crop of ponies, two young donkeys grazed in a field. Even from a distance I could tell they were asses because their ears were clearly elongated.

The millpond’s streams are now less full and the lake, for that is what it is, now bears irises and waterlilies.

Many of the roads and lanes around Minstead have barely enough room for one vehicle. Passing tends to be a pretty dodgy affair. Whether driving or walking you have to take care not to be persuaded into a ditch. The road leading to Emery Down on today’s route is particularly narrow. Despite signs indicating that there are passing places, some cars are forced to back up quite a long way. All the roads were very busy today. At one point a car meeting two others and a motorbike head on took the better part of valour and went into reverse. As there was no way a pedestrian could thread himself through there, I could only ‘stand and stare’. Well, I now have plenty of time for that.

There is far more concern for those on foot as one enters Emery Down. Especially as there is also a blind bend near the village hall, the sign warning drivers what they may encounter is really rather necessary.

Whisking and flicking at flies, mares’ tails were much in evidence today. (Anyone who cares to humour me may wish to read yesterday’s post to glean a full appreciation of that sentence. It will, after all, be my birthday very soon after this ramble is posted.)

Jackie hoped to retain her resolution to be rather mean with the birds today. Except for the two near the feeding station, her myriad of hanging baskets are now chock full of gorgeous flowers. The exceptions are suffering from a surfeit of guano. They have required mucking out, which means they have been shorn of clumps that had the misfortune to lie under the avian post-prandial evacuations. The miscreants were punished by being sent out into the forest to forage for a day.

Later this afternoon I began reading my friend Michael Kindred’s book ‘Once Upon a Game’.

For dinner Jackie served up Dandy and Beano style pork and leak sausage and mash with which she drank Roc Saint Vincent sauvignon blanc Bordeaux 2011. I finished the Maipo red and began a Cimarosa shiraz cabernet sauvignon of the same year.

Later Mat and Oddie turned up to eat the last of the sausages and a tin of Butcher’s.

Cheers, Errol

Louisa, Errol, Jessica and Imogen and I made an early start as Errol drove us to Ocknell camping and caravan site near Fritham, so they could investigate the facilities. They have bought a tent and intend to start camping. We went out along Roger Penney Way, where I thought we might see donkeys, cattle, and even pigs, to complement the ponies. We did see a few, but more were to come.

The nearest we got to pigs were the Peppa Pig brochures which the girls studied avidly as their parents sought information at the site’s reception office. They had, of course enjoyed a trip to Peppa Pig World with Jackie and me on 3rd November last year.

On our return, I suggested a drive through Fritham, where we were treated to prolonged close-ups of both donkeys and cattle who were in no hurry as they ambled up the road. There can be no more ungainly gait than that of hoofed animals on tarmac. Even the new calves show signs of their parents’ awkwardness. The donkeys showed us their rear views. The cattle ambled towards us aiming, no doubt, for their sheds at the junction leading to The Royal Oak. When we turned back after coming to the end of the road, they had clearly been in no hurry, so we had to follow their rears as well. On Stoney Cross Plain there were a number of forest pony foals to be seen.

It was not yet 10 a.m. when we returned to the Lodge. We had already had one diversionary trip to stop Jessica and Imogen from waking Eleanor’s household. Eleanor is ten years old and my granddaughters were itching for her to join them in the den. But the curtains were drawn in her flat and it was Sunday morning. I therefore stood in for the young lady until our very early lunch, necessitated by the family’s long journey back to Nottingham.

The den is within the spreading limbs of an enormous rhododendron which provide an excellent climbing frame. Paving of various materials, some of which have been decorated with charcoal from a bonfire; a little fabricated gate; a patch in which carrots are being grown; a set of wind chimes; various plaster ornaments on a bird-feeder; and a wooden seat straddling the almost horizontal branches, are all features of this creation. With immaculate timing Eleanor came in to view just at the point of lunch. As quick as a flash the girls were off to join her. Imogen took her cucumber-filled crusty roll off with her, and returned a few minutes later for earth to be scraped off the filling. Naturally she was given fresh ingredients.

This evening I received a photograph from Errol that he had taken yesterday. Strangely enough, I was walking in the wrong direction (I am indebted to Becky for this interpretation of the picture, which is more apt than my original).

We were also grateful to Errol for providing the drinks that went with our evening meal tonight. Jackie drank a can of Stella he had left in the fridge, and I finished a bottle of a French wine he had bought at the village shop. This beverage trips off the tongue as well as it slid onto it. It is Lazy Lizard Shiraz 2011. We ate oven fish and chips followed by Jackie’s rice pudding and Sainsbury’s profiteroles.

‘That’s Not A Yew Tree’

On the forest strip alongside our Upper Drive, as I set off to walk via Furzey Gardens road; the ford; and the footpath to All Saints church, I met the unusual sight of four foraging ponies. Their sunlit-dappled coats blended in so well with the trees that it was only the swish of a rebounding, suddenly released, holly breakfast branch that alerted me to the presence of a brown one that could have been a trunk or a shrub, or both. Because the church footpath would require the use of wellies I was suitably attired to venture into the mud and heaps of soggy leaves to wander among the animals who actively ignored me, simply getting on with their meal. Just as the ponies’ camouflaged coats reflected the strong sunshine, the steaming swirls of their breath were demonstrative of the temperature. It is amazing to me that three rain-free, sunny, days have been enough to dry their fur and enable them to shake off the mud that matted it. Some pools nevertheless still contained cracked ice.

At the top of its hill the churchyard basked in sunshine, although its carpet of spring flowers was frosted. I wandered among the memorial stones, noticing that many were now so worn as to be illegible. The more recent ones told a story. It took Sarah Woodhouse, for example, exactly twenty years, to lie again alongside the contemporary husband, James, who had accompanied her in life. Long widowhoods seems the lot of so many women.

A rosary is reflected in the brass plate attached to the wooden cross still marking the grave of Louisa Wells who died just four months ago. A sheet of paper attached to the reverse asks that the myriad of pots of flowers should not be removed as the writer will keep it tidy. A well-stocked vase on the recent grave alongside this one had toppled over. I picked it up, rearranged it for balance, and wedged it in the loose soil. I was struck by the number of vases of flowers that marked this cemetery.

As I approached the lych gate to let myself out of the churchyard, I noticed a gentleman down the lane leading up to it, photographing something directly into the sun. Rather intrigued by this I walked to his viewpoint. Silhouetted against the bright blue sky, with the sun providing a glaring corona, was a familiar skeletal arboreal creature displaying long nobbly fingers, and signs of amputation of large lower limbs. I greeted the very friendly and cheerful elderly photographer. Despite his hearing aid it was clear that he needed to lip-read me. He and his wife, who remained in the car, had spent weekends and worshipped here for many years. They had now to attend services in another church which had a Loop system for people who are hard of hearing. Without that benefit he cannot hear what is going on.

It soon became clear why he was photographing the oak tree. ‘Do you know that tree is 700 years old?’, he asked. The penny then dropped, for I too had read the descriptive brochure supplied in the porch. ‘Is this the one mentioned in the leaflet?’, I tactfully enquired. ‘Yes’, he replied, ‘the one by the lych gate.’ Pointing out that there was another tree the other side of the gate, which I thought was more likely to be the correct one, I asked what information the leaflet had provided. ‘It is a yew tree’, was the answer. ‘Well, that is a yew tree and it has fallen down and been regenerated’, said I, helpfully. ‘Do you know?, he responded, indicating the oak, ‘I thought that wasn’t a yew tree’. We both went back into the churchyard and photographed the correct tree, in context. My companion, who certainly had all his marbles even if he didn’t know his trees, was most grateful. He said I had saved him much embarrassment from family and friends, who, when shown the original picture, would have said: ‘That’s not a yew tree’.

Rounding the Trusty Servant Inn I returned home and accompanied Jackie back to the pub, where we enjoyed the monthly village lunch. My choice was fish and chips and Doom Bar ale; Jackie’s was lasagne and Peroni. Given that we are told that this sunshine will soon come to an end, we decided to make hay and took a trip across the sun-streaked forest and hazy heathland to Fordingbridge. We had a mooch around there, bought a few books, and a top for Jackie, and returned the way we had come. Lots of donkeys joined the ponies in shaving the forest floor.

For our evening meal Jackie produced an all-in-one pie of left over beef stew and mashed potato including some fresh vegetables. As long as no-one is going to imagine the meat is pony, I think this should be called verderer’s pie. It was jolly good whatever it is called. This was followed by mini Co-op syrup puddings which were perfectly acceptable. The drink distribution was the usual Hoegaarden and red wine, in this instance Carta Roja gran reserva 2005.

We finished the day by watching, on BBC i-Player, episode 1 of the second series of ‘Call the Midwife’. This is intriguing, exciting, and nostalgic entertainment.

I Didn’t Get Lost

It was very murky in the New Forest today when I took the Fritham walk from the AA book. Rain drizzled all day. Jackie drove me there and went off to do her own thing whilst I did mine. She had been indicating in good time that she wanted to leave the A31 via a slip-road on her left, when another car came zooming up on her inside making it impossible for her to leave the major road at that point. She was forced to go on to the next opportunity.

Soon after leaving Fritham, ‘a hidden hamlet’, I ventured into Eyeworth Wood, which presented the townie with another woodcraft lesson. The half-mile long path was even more difficult than those I had taken last week. There were no dry sections at all. The mud had even stronger suction, and several fallen branches had to be negotiated. At least the direction was clear, although I was forced into the bracken at times in search of surer footing. Each of my shoes, at different times, was sucked into the muddy maw of the quagmire. It was here I met a couple sporting green wellies. They told me that was what I needed. I’m clearly going to have to get a pair. Before I do this again.

I came to ‘a tree-studded heath, with far-reaching views’. On a different day this was probably an accurate description. Today, visibility was about 500 yards. Thereafter I was required to ‘walk through a shallow valley to a car park at Telegraph Hill’. The bottom of the valley was a pool deep enough to wash some of the mud off my shoes. The only animals I saw were a few cattle near the car park. Ponies and deer were keeping well out of the way. A long, wide, path through heathland leading south past a tumulus to Ashley Cross was virtually all large pools, some of which harboured pond weed. I gave up trying to avoid them, contenting myself with the knowledge that my feet were dry and my shoes getting washed. It is amazing that my feet felt dry, for I had got my socks very soggy and muddy when I lost my shoes. I bought the socks with the walking shoes. They bear the legend ‘Smart Wool’. They certainly are pretty clever. As soon as I returned to The Firs I took off my shoes and socks and proceeded to wring out my muddy socks which still had pieces of holly adhering to them, before inserting them into the washing machine. When she was told the story of the shoes Elizabeth called me a stick in the mud.

In the last section through the forest trees were being felled, the logs being piled up around Gorley Bushes. As I watched the men in the trees working with their power tools I thought of those ancestors of theirs, in the early centuries after Henry VIII had the forest planted, who, with only manual equipment felled and dressed this timber for the building of ships for the defence of the realm. Trees then were even trained to grow in the right shapes for specific parts of the ships. It took a long time to build a ship in early times.

Rather like the Bolton Marathon (posted 11th. August), the last stretch of this walk is uphill. Having ascended the slope I arrived back at the Royal Oak pub forty minutes ahead of the allocated time for the walk. The fact that, for the first time, I didn’t extend both distance and time in an AA walk, is because I didn’t get lost. I tracked Jackie down in the pub and we returned to The Firs for a left-overs lunch. As we drove out of Fritham four bedraggled donkeys filed miserably past the car.

For the last few days we have been puzzled by telltale heaps of pigeon feathers on the lawn. We had attributed these to raiding foxes. We were wrong. Jackie witnessed the demise of one this afternoon. The poor unsuspecting bird was, as usual, foraging for pickings under the bird feeders; for seeds dropped by lighter, more agile avians who could perch above. Suddenly, ‘thwack’, in the flash of an eye a predator struck. As Jackie moved to see what was happening, the sparrowhawk made off with its prey. It reminded me of a crow in Morden Park a couple of days ago which had fled its comrades with a large white object in its beak. Later, as we set off for Sainsburys to return the party glasses, we saw a squirrel scaling a telegraph pole at the end of Beacon Road with a biscuit held in its jaws.

From Sainsburys we proceeded to Jessops where it had been my intention to get the staff to show me how to read how many photographs I had left on my memory card, and, if necessary, to buy another. The camera seized up in the shop and has to be returned to Canon for investigation and repair. I was most upset. Fortunately Elizabeth has an earlier model and has lent it to me for the two to three weeks it will take for mine to be returned to me.

This evening we took Danni and her mother to see the building Danni had found for us and to dine in the Trusty Servant. Danni regrets giving us the flat, thinking she should have kept it for herself. We all enjoyed our meals. Jackie drank Budweiser and the rest of us shared two different red wines.