foals – Page 8 – derrickjknight

What Are His Chances?

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Derrick with napkin holder Napkin clip

Jackie tells me that Becky spent months searching for a silver napkin clip, and, just in time for my birthday, found one by James Dixon & Sons Ltd from 1962/3. Presented to me by our daughter and Ian in the restaurant yesterday evening, this is intended to protect my shirts from spillage when I am watching Bargain Hunt on TV at lunchtime.

After said lunch today, I slept through most of the antiques programme and the news. Later Jackie drove us through the forest.

The fly-ravaged ponies and their foals sought shade from the heat wherever they could. This group of two mares and their foals at the corner of Burley Lawn sheltered in silence. The adults could not open their infested eyes, and their infants clung to the mothers’ flanks, seeking the breeze and screen created by the parental twitching tails.

At Chapel Haye, where a young girl brought out water, another group spilled across the road.

Ponies and foals drank from the dregs of the dried bed of Latchmere Stream at Furze Hill, and foraged on the sun-dappled banks.

The animal death count on this seven mile stretch of Roger Penny Way exceeded 120 last year. What, we wondered, were the chances of this little chap not making the list. Donkeys are apparently impervious to the heat, so he was quite comfortable on the tarmac.

This evening we dined on succulent roast chicken; herby sage & onion stuffing: Yorkshire pudding; mashed potato; Chantenay carrots; chestnut mushrooms; and runner beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Newboy.

As If There Were Not Enough Foals

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This afternoon Jackie drove me to New Hall Hospital for a session with Claire, the physiotherapist who was very pleased with my progress. The flexion in my left knee has been increased by 20 degrees in the last two weeks. She adjusted the height ofd my crutch handle because she noticed that I lurch sideways on it because it was a bit too low.

As usual we took a cross-country route back home.

We passed a picturesque thatched cottage with roses round the door. It faced a green with strangely uneven terrain that was carpeted with

ponies and cattle

including Black Baldies.

Further along the lane a cow investigated someone’s garden while the next door neighbour had difficulty driving into hers because another blocked her access.

The Fighting Cocks at Godshill was surrounded by even more donkeys and foals than usual. Some of the youngsters clung to their mothers’ flanks, others flopped on the grass. As if there were not enough foals littering the verges, one eager asinine gentleman attempted to participate in the creation of another. He was rebuffed, and brayed his displeasure.

When these two set off to cross back over Roger Penny Way, we were a little disconcerted. We needn’t have worried. Having slalomed around numerous equine cousins, all vehicles at this point progressed at a snail’s pace.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid chicken jalfrezi served with boiled basmati rice.

The Card Case

Yesterday afternoon Jackie drove me to New Hall Hospital for my first post-discharge physiotherapy session. We arrived 20 minutes early and I homed in on a large and wide chair with high arms. Jackie informed me it was the bariatric chair. Just the job. What was interesting was that this was tolerable on the knee.

I was seen on time by a friendly, personable, and efficient physiotherapist who asked all the usual questions and tested me out on the bed. She was pleased with progress which she pronounced very good. Strangely enough, the most encouraging statement was that this was “very early days”. To me, that meant that the continuing pain, swelling, and limited flexibility was to be expected at this stage. One sometimes clutches at straws.

The only suggestion the young lady had to make was that I should flex the knee a little more when walking. Perhaps I had been a little hasty with that. I have another appointment in two weeks.

We returned via the lanes of Wiltshire and Hampshire taking us through the New Forest to home.

As always in May, the roadside verges were at their best, featuring among many wild flowers, dog roses festooning the hedges. These were at Hamptworth.

For some months now, I have relied on Jackie to park as near as she can to prospective photographic subjects, whereupon I have disembarked and walked back to the potential scene. This has currently become rather more complicated. Not only has my driver had to find a less than dangerous place to stop, but she has been required to manoeuvre the car so that I can take aim through the passenger window. she has as much to do with these photographs as I have.

New foals stagger to their feet very quickly, and are forced to learn to negotiate the uneven terrain pretty much on their own. When Mum stands in a ditch, her offspring has to follow as best it can.

Foals were also discovering the wider world near Wootton Common. This group of ponies foraged among the buttercups.

One youngster set off into the woods,

then waited patiently for adult company before venturing across knotted mossy tree roots.

That evening we dined on Mr Chan’s Take Away fare, leaving enough for a second helping tonight.

During my years of therapeutic counselling, I would sometimes see one or two clients who could not afford it for a minimal token fee. One of these was a young man who had no income at all. Every so often he would bring me a present. I still have a little fruit knife and some paperback books from this source.

I believe I have mentioned before that Becky has produced blog cards for me to give to people I meet who would like to read my posts.

One of my client’s gifts was a beautiful micro-mosaic visiting card case. I used this to carry Becky’s production.

When, almost a month ago, I had visited Milford Community Centre to hand over some of these cards to W.I. members, I thought I had lost this treasured possession. I had not left it at the centre. Today, Jackie had another good look for it, and found it under one of the car seats.

This afternoon Margery and Paul visited and we had our usual enjoyable conversations. Margery, herself a nonagenarian who received a new hip a couple of years ago and now wanders unaided around our garden, is an encouragement by her very presence. She has seen parts of our garden that I have not yet been able to reach.

Birthday Celebrations

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There can’t be many lovely ladies who begin their 70th Birthday celebrations by cleaning up their husband and deliver his ‘shiny morning face creeping like snail’ to a Practice Nurse for removal of metal clips from his knee. That, I am pleased to say, was what Jackie did this morning. She managed to manoeuvre me into the car and drive me to Wistaria GP practice in Lymigton, where I was seen on time. Nurse Libby carefully removed the alien items, pronounced the wound healed, and stated that I was doing very well. This was something of a surprise, given that I don’t actually feel very far progressed. I have to remember that it is only two weeks since the surgery.

Since we were already out in the wide world, we decided to defer prising me from the Modus and take a short diversionary trip home.

On the misty, muggy, moors, families of ponies and a few cattle were kind enough to adopt posing positions at Shirley Holms and Sway, enabling me to record their presence photographically by poking my lens through the open window.

It was, as always, enjoyable to have Richard pay a passing visit at lunchtime. We may have to postpone the planned curry evening next week with him and Marianne.

This afternoon Shelly and Ron visited with a birthday present. Jackie opened both this and one Helen had left on Tuesday. Two very welcome items for the garden.

Andrew Petcher having posted that today is official fish and chip day provided us with the ideal completion of Jackie’s idiosyncratic birthday celebrations. We dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips with Garner’s pickled onions

Forest Fauna

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This morning we transported two huge bags of garden refuse to the Efford Recycling Centre, then drove on to Peacock Computers at Lymington to collect my MacBook and the dongle which enables me to load pictures from my camera.

On this beautifully sunny day we then drove on through the forest.

Of the many groups of somnolent ponies foraging among the gorse and May blossom, the first to catch my eye were those moseying around the moors beside East Boldre. Some simply chomped; one appeared to be resting its neck by standing in a dry ditch; others rested their legs, rising awkwardly to their feet; waited for a bus at a request stop, or occasionally wandered across the road.

Further along towards the Norleywood crossroads a pair of similarly spindly-legged foals were learning to get to grips with the uneven terrain. When they considered I had come a little too close each darted to its own respective mother.

Some of the forest pools still contain enough water in which cattle can slake their thirst. Calves and their parents drank at this one before crossing the road to comparative shade. One protective parent persuaded me to step aside before leaving its offspring to follow.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious beef stew, new potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and curly kale. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Apothic.

Who’s The Daddy?

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As soon as the shops were open this morning we set off on a slipper hunt for my hospital stay. We found a pair immediately at Stephan Shoes in New Milton. We then travelled to the Community Centre in Milford on Sea, where I might have left my blog card case the other day. There was no-one in the office. Next port of call was Peacock’s Computers who had not yet received a dongle they had ordered for my MacBook. I was also unable to send e-mails and left the machine for James to solve the problem.

Ah, well, I had bought the slippers, and James did solve the problem later.

Whilst I was occupied with the computer Jackie waited for me in the car park behind the High Street. I walked the long way round: past the war memorial and through the graveyard of the parish church of St Thomas the Apostle. Pigeons and other birds occasionally perched on the gravestones, and candelabra lit the chestnut trees.

We then took a drive through the forest. Sun-dappled lanes through which we traversed included Barnes; Undershore, where we happily negotiated motor cars and cyclists; and Shirley Holms alongside which field horses enhanced the terraced landscape.

The more open stretches of Shirley Holms were alive with grazing ponies. I focussed on a family group. The smallest foal clung steadfastly to its chestnut mother. A larger, very similar, junior wandered a little further afield from his white (grey) parent. It seemed to me that the grey coloured adult more attached to these last two was probably a stallion, suggesting that there was no need to ask “who’s the daddy?”. A woman on horseback approached us from further down the slope.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Malbec.

An Early Post Box

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A couple of days ago Jackie made a new sign for The Dragon Bed, and left a photograph on my camera.

Paul and Margery made a brief visit at lunchtime in order to deliver a birthday present ordered from their last exhibition. Both were looking in fine fettle.

Afterwards, Jackie drove us around the forest.

Like many other plants this year, the heather seemed to be blooming early.

Not that the ponies noticed.

They just kept their eyes on the grass.

On the outskirts of Burley we took a pot-holed drive down Tyrell’s Lane,

where I was struck by the topiary fronting a house called Ladywell. This reflected the thatched roofing

which bears a peacock motif on top.

Next door, Tyrell’s Way’s garden sports a magnificent gunnera.

As I have occasionally mentioned, sheep are inquisitive creatures. This one in a field at the end of Tyrell’s drive, even lifted its head from its grazing at my approach.

This was in stark contrast to the low maintenance ovine mother and child occupying a garden in Furzley, who completely ignored me.

Stony Cross Plain, just north of the A31, seems to be the province of Shetland ponies,

one of which thought that a discarded tissue was not to be sniffed at.

A recumbent foal

occasionally stirred itself to stand. This creature has become accustomed to flies,

which is more than can be said for its younger cousin at Nomansland, still skipping in confusion at the irritation.

A visit to Eyeworth Pond revealed nothing of interest, except for this post box near the Royal Oak, that we had not noticed before. Shultze gunpowder factory operated near the pond from the 1860s until the early 20th century. This receptacle was erected to make the postman’s life easier, in the days before delivery vans. It was recently restored by the Forestry Commission.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s roast chicken, savoury rice, breaded mushrooms, tempura vegetables, and salad. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon/tempranillo.

“Are The Ponies Fat?”

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This morning Jackie drove me to Sears Barbers in Milford on Sea, where the affable Peter cut my hair as well as usual. We then continued into the forest.

Strong overhead sunlight dappled the autumn leaves carpet of the forest floor,

giving a spectral air to fallen trees

and their ripped out roots.

Even here, on the outskirts of Brockenhurst, cans can be casually discarded.

On the crossroads in the village itself two ponies and a foal deliberated which way to turn.

I walked around them to obtain better light, and the little one sought comfort and succour from its mother.

A young North American visitor stopped to ask me the way to The New Forest. I informed him that he was in it. He wondered where he could go for a day’s hike. I gave him some suggestions, one of which was that he should buy a map in the main street to which I directed him. He then asked “Are the ponies fat? Or perhaps pregnant?”. I suggested that the one he was looking at was probably pregnant, but also explained that because we had experienced such a mild winter they had found plenty of forage and were not as thin as they often were when the weather had been severe.

As we emerged from the village we saw a large group of ponies, foals,

and cattle grazing, flopping, and vying for shelter under the spreading branches of a mature oak.

Possibly in an effort to shake off the persistent flies

some of the horses shook themselves and strode frantically across the grass.

Other ponies disrupted the traffic as they sought shade by the roadside.

On Hordle Lane as we made our way home we had the pleasure of watching two concrete mixers negotiating a safe passage before we could continue on our own. I expect the drivers knew there was a ditch on the left-hand side.

Elizabeth came to lunch and Jackie plied us with a plentiful array of cold meats, cheeses, and salads, with which I drank more of the malbec and the ladies drank sparkling water.

After this, we visited Braxton Gardens and scoffed scone cream teas.

It should come as no surprise that further sustenance later on was surplus to requirements.

Whilst we were sitting in the garden we received a telephone call from Matthew to say that he, Tess, and Poppy would be arriving later tonight so that they can be with us on my 75th birthday tomorrow.

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.

Shade

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In order to use the services of the Post Office whilst Jackie was visiting the Birchfield Dental Practice, this morning I parcelled up some items the Australian branch of the family had left behind; wrote a cheque for the water bill in Sigoules; and packed up the various documents required for my tax return. I then posted everything.

Afterwards, Jackie took us on a drive through the forest.

The unfortunate ponies struggled to find relief from the overhead sun, and clustered where they could under trees offering inadequate cover.

Tormented by flies, one of this group scratched against the tree trunks;

the others just bore their discomfort in silence. The beastly insects crawled over these wretched creatures’ eyes, noses, and mouths.

We could at least benefit from the car’s air conditioning, and choose to venture into shady lanes, three of which are featured for Jill’s benefit.

The domesticated horses enjoyed better shade,

even when grazing.

Outside the shop at Pilley one string of ponies queued for the phone box

While others kept down the grass in front of the houses. This smaller animal, despite its leopard skin coat, was bullied by one of the larger ones when it ventured away from the gate.

Foals are becoming big enough for their mothers to leave them to their own devices. One white mare attempted to escape the attentions of her little one, who was having none of it, and, on spindly legs, quickly trotted after her.

The little ones are still learning to tolerate flies, and twitch about in vain.

The lonely male just went to sleep.

Sadly, juvenile tails are no use as fly whisks,

so our little limpet clung to Mum,

keeping within the sweep of hers.

We visited Tanners Lane on our way home. Despite the low tide, the appearance of water, against the backcloth of the Isle of Wight, gave the illusion of coolness.