This grey day was at least dry when we set off for my encouraging “all good” routine dental inspection from Dr Matthew Hefferan at Birchfield Dental Practice, followed by a forest drive.
This held good until, while photographing – judging by the dry sawdust – a clearly very recently fallen tree which must have straddled the lofty Braggers Lane earlier, I felt the first drops of what was to develop into steady heavy rain for the rest of the day.
Most field horses wore protective rugs in muddy fields.
Here are views from this high point of the lane.
Until we reached Thatchers Lane I stopped photographing the increasing circles dropping into pools, many completely crossing camber of lanes, but here we found their depths could not be discerned and Jackie was not about to chance discovering them.
We turned and headed to Ripley’s
water meadows now draped in the swollen River Avon.
Jackie parked on the entry to a private fishing area which we thought would stay closed for a while, while I got wet. She produced the last two photographs in this gallery.
There was no further rain here today, which remained warm and humid enough to induce drowsiness in
ponies and foals along Holmsley Road as we began our forest drive this morning. The miniature Highland cow wandering along the verge held us up a little as
she decided to cross the road, taking her past Jackie’s open window.
The trunk of a large tree had clearly, until sawn and cleared, spanned Wittensford Lane, the luxuriant hedgerows of which bore
an abundance of eglantine roses, elegant fingers of foxgloves, and hands of honeysuckle.
Half grown piglets pausing, paddling, to partake of muddy gazpacho soup somewhat replenished by yesterday’s rain,
dashed along the verges of Kewlake Lane.
Even one recently shorn sheep along Furzley Lane suffered the panting somnolence exhibited by the ponies earlier.
This evening we dined on racks of pork spare ribs in Maple barbecue sauce on a bed of Jackie’s colourful vegetable rice topped with a thick omelette, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Tesco finest Mendoza Malbec 2020.
Later we drove through just such a gale to meet Helen and Rob for lunch at the Sir John Barleycorn pub at Cadnam.
All the following photographs are by Jackie.
We were greeted with a tree blown across the road nearby.
Arriving just before midday opening time,
my Assistant Photographer was taken with the owls topping the entrance porch thatches. This will surprise no-one familiar with our garden.
She also produced some inside images, including the stack of highchairs, one of which may sometime prove useful to Ellie.
I chose the Railway-on-the-bone lamb curry with pilau rice; Jackie, a burger, chips, and salad; Helen, fish chips, and mushy peas; and Rob, skate wing, chips and salad. We all enjoyed our fusion choices, except that Rob, for whom this was the first such fish dish, wouldn’t choose it again. My brother in law and I both drank London Pride bitter, while the driving ladies both chose soft drinks.
An enjoyable, animated, conversation took place throughout.
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp with fresh crusty bread, of which, on account of my lunch, I enjoyed a very small portion with a glass Patrick Chodot cru du Beaujolais Fleurie 2021. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden.
This morning was again sunless, but this time rainless, as Jackie and I once more filled our Modus with soggy garden refuse which we unloaded at Efford Recycling Centre (otherwise known as the dump) and continued on a forest drive.
We turned left off Camden Lane into
another, which soon ran alongside private woodland. Clearly we were lucky to have progressed along this route, for a large tree had recently fallen across it.
Some pig farmers, responding to the early fall of acorns, had already loosed their animals in order, snuffling and snorting, to root them up.
Seven gleeful piglets dashed across the green, snouts to the ground.
The Gloucester Old Spot intent on dogging my heels must have been their mother.
I am not sure what she did to one youngster when their nose-rings clashed on one apparently tasty morsel, but the youngster leapt with a squeal in the air and swiftly trotted to a safe distance.
Its face made clear its shocked innocence.
Further on a Saddleback sow scavenged for mast.
Nearby it seemed clear that pigs could fly – up a tree at least.
The lane narrowed as we left the farm section and tracked the woodland. Suddenly I exclaimed “There is something red in there. I don’t know what it is but it might have legs”. We had by now passed it. My long-suffering Chauffeuse reversed with some difficulty until we reached the small gap in the hedge.
The “something red” had moved behind branches but it did have legs. Was it a young red deer? It unexpectedly displayed the curiosity of
This evening we dined on well cooked roast lamb, roast potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli, followed by moist bread and butter pudding. Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc, I finished the Burgundy, and Dillon and Flo drank fruit cordial.
This afternoon of an overcast day, slowly brightening with brief sunny periods we visited Ferndene Farm Shop to purchase salad items, eggs, and vegetables to accompany this evening’s second sitting of Jackie’s excellent cottage pie. These were carrots, cauliflower, and beans which would be cooked to perfection, and accompanied by Hoegaarden and more of the Malbec, consumed by the usual suspects.
Before we could properly leave Downton, we followed a pleasant equestrienne pair to Silver Street and a couple of defensive cyclists ensuring we could not safely pass them along Vaggs Lane.
Jackie parked at Smugglers Road Car Park from where I wandered among the woodland photographing bracken, gorse, landscape, and the the gently overcast sky.
As requested, I kept to the main tracks, created by ponies. The amount of dog shit littered about suggested that some dog owners had also done so. As we were about to leave, two people, each with a pair of dogs, neither carrying poop bags set off to empty their animals. The man’s charges were immediately let off the lead.
Earlier, a pair of goldfinches had sought camouflage among the gorse.
While she waited, Jackie produced her own images of gorse.
On our departure, another pair of equestriennes gently ambled up the slopes.
At least the person emptying their dog at Abbots Well had the questionable decency to leave the results of the defecation in a poop bag, which did not faze the grazing pony.
Here, the clouds were parting a little more as I looked down on the landscape from the bordering woodland with its fallen trees, mossy roots, and little dog-tooth violets.
The aforementioned delicious dinner nicely rounded off the day.
On an unseasonably mild morning of sunshine and showers we drove into the deserted forest where Jackie decanted me at a few unpopulated points where I wandered with my camera.
Had we been in a hurry down Beckley Road we might have had a closer than comfortable encounter with an approaching van.
Fortunately Jackie had parked on a verge while I photographed autumnal woodland with its yellowing leaves fallen on soggy ground and clinging to dripping trees.
Our next stop was along Rhinefield Road where I rustled leaves underfoot while seeking further fall images.
Passing under the A31 and pausing on Linwood Road I walked back to photograph
reflections in a recently replenished pool, whilst taking in
pleasantly hazy landscapes,
one of which camouflaged a pair of grazing ponies.
Cattle hunkered down among the gorse.
We continued through Appleslade where
the glowing hillsides whispered to the sunlit trees opposite a naked windswept silhouette.
From our high vantage point I watched a close encounter as a pair of horse riders approached and, hopefully keeping social distance, crossed paths with a pedestrian couple. Perhaps they passed the time of day.
On the road above Ibsley ford as I photographed
sunlit woodland we could hear cries of children playing in the grounds of Moyles Court School, like others, currently being kept open. This is not so for pubs, which must be disappointing for the staff of
Elm Tree on Hightown Road who have installed a magnificent poppy display in the now closed garden.
Nick has continued painting woodwork in the sitting room
and wrestling with preparation in the kitchen.
This evening we dined on a second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s fine fare, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.
First published in 1936, just three years before the outbreak of World War 2, “Eyeless in Gaza” is possibly Aldous Huxley’s most acclaimed work. His familiar themes of the tension between emotional and intellectual lives of his privileged hedonistic characters are explored in depth with his usual insightful knowledge of these self-centred human beings. He also deals with the conflict between warfare and pacifism in a far-sighted way which resonates uncannily with our modern conflict between self-seeking hate and generous love. Sexuality in this work is seldom generous, sometimes manipulative, and often short-lived.
The language and the dialogue is always fluent with much easy, poetic, description, and occasional adventurous episodes.
I finished reading my somewhat careworn first edition today.
The remnants of the green shield logo of Boots Book-lovers’ Library and what looks like a peel-resistant borrowers record inside the back one suggest that my copy began life as an item on those shelves.
The lending libraries were established within branches of Boots across the country, employing dedicated library staff whose training included examinations on both librarianship and literature.[2] Boots’ libraries displayed books for browsing on open shelves[3] at a time when many public libraries had closed access. A catalogue of the books available was first published in 1904.
Subscriptions were available in Classes A and B, the latter being restricted to borrowing books at least one year old, as well as a premium ‘On Demand’ subscription.[4]Boots Booklovers Library edition of The Saint in Europe
Books carried the ‘green shield’ logo on the front and an eyelet at the top of the spine.[5] Membership tokens were rectangles of ivorine[6]with a string similar to a Treasury tag; the string could be secured through the eyelet so that the token acted as a bookmark.[7]
Boots also briefly reprinted classic books at the start of the 20th century under the imprint ‘Pelham Library’,[8] named after the flagship Boots shop on Pelham Street in Nottingham,[9] and later sold books as ‘Boots the Booksellers’.’
My mother was regularly taking my brother and me to Wimbledon Public Library from the late 1940s, (https://derrickjknight.com/2012/05/25/miss-downs/) so the 1964 Act mentioned above obviously had no effect on our town.
Like dogs marking their territory, previous readers had left deposits throughout the pages. The burn marks on page 17 we assumed had been left by a pipe smoker – they singed through three pages; other small greasy spots, about which it was best not to speculate too much, filtered through an equal number of pages; I wondered whether any of the numerous finger prints of varying hues had been held on any national data bases.
Nick began to make headway on the coloured walls in the sitting room, whilst adding coats to the white and to the ceiling.
We left him to it this afternoon and shopped at Ferndene Farm Shop where there was no queue, then took a short drive into the vicinity of Burley.
I wandered among the woodland on the outskirts. The tree fungus sprouts from the fallen tree. Roughly in the bottom centre of the last picture can be discerned
a bouncing squirrel on its way to climb a small holly carrying a chestnut which looked rather more than it could chew.
The spreading oak tree on the way down the hill into the village now wears a golden cape. The Queen’s Head is Covid-closed.
The pool on Forest Road has completely filled up now, and was reflecting nicely in the late afternoon sun.
Autumn leaves rested beneath the water.
On Bisterne Close a young foal was undertaking an apprenticeship in hedge clipping.
We have become Elizabeth’s bubble; she joined us for dinner which consisted of Jackie’s cheese-topped shepherd’s pie; crunchy cauliflower and carrots; firm green beans; and meaty gravy. Cherry pie and cream was to follow. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank more of the Faugeres, which involved opening another bottle.
The thousands of people who crowded the UK parks and beaches over the weekend; and the London Underground yesterday, gave the Government no option but to send us into compulsory lockdown, which was announced and came into place with immediate effect last evening. Again this morning the tube trains were packed.
All non-essential retail outlets are to close; everyone is to stay indoors except when shopping for essentials once a week or for outdoor exercising once a day; gatherings of more than two, except for family groups must stop. Clearly complete policing will be impossible. Much will still depend upon common sense and consideration for others.
At the moment the police are only able to use persuasion. The regulations will imminently be enshrined in law and fines for infringement will be introduced.
This afternoon Jackie drove me up to the highest point of Holmsley Passage and decanted me onto the terrain, where I walked for forty minutes in complete isolation.
She photographed the proof. This was my outward journey;
this the return.
I have mentioned before that we see things differently when on foot than when driving.
We had never known that, even on this high, albeit undulating and soggy, ground, There lay a deep, reflecting, pool.
I passed a recently toppled tree
in the woodland on the right hand side going down the lane
A pair of walkers
descended the steep slopes of the heathland;
a lone cyclist prepared to cast down the lane.
I crossed to the other side where bright yellow gorse
dotted the heath
where a small family kept their distance;
as did a cyclist disappearing on the pitted track.
I photographed trees in silhouette
while Jackie also photographed a tangle of lichen covered branches;
and a robin with its mate practising
social distancing.
Careful not to interrupt this pony’s slumber, I did poke my lens out of the window at Brockenhurst.
We took a diversion to Pilley on our way home, tapped on Elizabeth’s window, pulled funny faces, and bravely ran away. She came out after us and, keeping a little more than the requisite distance we enjoyed a pleasant conversation.
Today’s weather pattern was again that of sunshine and showers.
This morning Margery and Paul visited to return my copy of “Framley Parsonage’ and to borrow “Can He Forgive Her?” and “The Last Chronicle of Barset”. At this rate our nonagenarian friend will finish reading my Trollopes before I do.
It will come as no surprise to readers of yesterday’s post that I needed a trip to the dry cleaners in New Milton, albeit only for my jacket. After this we took a drive into the forest via Ashley Road where
a rainbow shone its light on a grateful magnolia.
A verge-grazing Shetland pony looked up at Boundary when Jackie clapped her hands to alert her to our presence.
Around the corner lay one more fallen tree.
We were again treated to a rich variety of cloudscapes in watercolour, with or without
rainbows.
Ponies dotted the landscape outside Brockenhurst where I stopped to photograph
a still active railway bridge, when
a pair of cyclists obligingly approached, happy to have enhanced my photograph.
Not so obliging to Jackie’s mind was the driver of the car that added interest to my next one.
That is because she had readied herself to take a silhouette of me under the bridge and he insisted on ruining the shot. She produced this one instead.
Before that she had settled for one including the cyclists, the car, and me
through the rain.
When she photographed me aiming my lens she had thought I was focussed on her. In fact I was making the second of the rainbow pictures above.
Beside the bridge lurch these mossy trees marked with reddle. Many trees are so painted, sometimes with other pigments. I am not sure of the significance of the hues but imagine they must be a foresters’ code for a planned procedure. (Andrew Petcher’s comment below provides a link which answers this point)
They are on the edge of reflecting waterlogged terrain partially fed by
a swollen weed-bearing ditch.
Part of the path to the bridge is now covered by clear water
replenished by raindrops, the descent of which Jackie was photographing.
While returning home via Lymington the cawing of numerous rooks alerted us to the
growing occupation of a rookery. Some of the birds flew back and forth;
others remained on watch.
At times sunlight spilt across the road.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which with which she finished the Sauvignon Blanc and I started a bottle of Chateau Berdillot Cotes de Bourg 2018
The briefest glimpse of the weak sun effecting a halo on the silhouetted lonely pigeon in the copper beech that Jackie photographed this morning was its only appearance on this otherwise grimly dismal day.
She had left the house from the stable door in order to sweep beneath the wisteria arbour.
Nugget, immediately perching on her long-handled dustpan, had other ideas.
The Head Gardener decided to use her other broom. Her robin was onto that, too, so
she simply photographed him, on the ground, on the broom, and on the coiled wisteria, until he suddenly took off
( “Where’s Nugget?” (54) )
to sing war cries to Muggle. Now “Where’s Nugget” (55).
Sway Tower from South Sway Lane emerged into view from the murk as we drove into the forest this gloomy afternoon.
Through the five-barred gate pillbox slit the red deer herd were seen stepping elegantly across the lawns of Burley Manor.
On the outskirts of the village a sudden rapid jerky movement alerted us to the presence of a squirrel among a pile of logs awaiting the decomposition that would return them to the soil.
Further on the sodden terrain contained pools reflecting trees;
fresh reflecting streams bubbling along;
and loosened shallow roots of toppling trees. It is not simply the gusting winds that bring down these forest residents.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherds pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, and Brussel’s sprouts with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bordeaux.
