footpaths – derrickjknight

A Knight’s Tale (119: The Foxton Staircase)

I continued tracking my son along the Oxford Canal into July 2003,

beside landscaped abstracts of furrowed fields.

Beyond Oxford, Sam took to the Grand Union Canal

alongside which the footpaths were often completely overgrown, albeit

with pleasant wild flowers, such as meadowsweet and willow herb.

The many butterflies flitting about included gatekeepers, red admirals, and ringlets.

The shade from trees like this oak was often welcome in the heat of the day.

About the Foxton Flight of Locks, built between 1810 and 1814, Wikipedia informs us:

‘Foxton Locks (grid reference SP691895) are ten canal locks consisting of two “staircases” each of five locks, located on the Leicester line of the Grand Union Canal about 5 km west of the Leicestershire town of Market Harborough and are named after the nearby village of Foxton.

They form the northern terminus of a 20-mile summit level that passes Husbands Bosworth, Crick and ends with the Watford flight

Staircase locks are used where a canal needs to climb a steep hill, and consist of a group of locks where each lock opens directly into the next, that is, where the bottom gates of one lock form the top gates of the next. Foxton Locks are the largest flight of such staircase locks on the English canal system.

The Grade II* listed locks are a popular tourist attraction and the county council has created a country park at the top. At the bottom, where the junction with the arm to Market Harborough is located, there are two public houses, a shop, trip boat and other facilities.’

On the day Sam guided Pacific Pete down this staircase, family visitors were out in force. For once I was ahead of my son, and reached the locks in time to learn that the canal-side telegraph was buzzing with the news that a large rowing boat was on its way through.

The audience gathered to watch Sam use his giant oar to steer and propel the boat through the locks where there was no room to row.

Did you notice the Asian man gesturing to his family in the third picture, and shepherding them over the bridge in the last, in order to lead them down the slope to see the rower on his way?

There had been no shortage of helpers to push the long balance beams operating the gates.

There were plenty of narrow boats on the waters, but no other ocean-going rowing boats.

I Had Seriously Overdone It

Now we are back in full lockdown I took a walk along Christchurch Road to the

field leading to Honeylake Wood.

So far so good. I was not quite the only walker leaving footprints on the muddy track leading to

the leaf-laden undulating path down to the bridge

over the fast running stream. Reaching the bridge was the trickiest bit. As I slithered down the muddy slopes I grasped at branches rather too flexible in order to keep my balance, hoping they would hold and not dump me in the morass.

On the way down I was able to take in the surrounding woodland.

Soon I was on the upward, firmer, track,

bordered by undergrowth containing mossy logs, a discarded welly,

and bracken-covered woodland.

At the top of this slope I turned for home – just carrying myself and the camera was all I could manage, let alone use it, as, head down and gasping, I retraced my steps and staggered home, aware that I had seriously overdone it. I collapsed into a chair and rested for quite a while.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with which she drank more of the Rosé and I drank more of the Malbec.

A Mating Ritual

I accompanied Jackie on her Ferndene Farm shop trip this morning.

There was no queue for the food shopping, so Jackie did that first before joining

the line of plant lovers, Masks were more in evidence today.

Jackie’s floral purchases were limited because there was only one empty plant tray and the trollies were all in use.

Afterwards we drove on to Tesco to fill up with petrol. There was no queue there either.

Ballards Lake lies alongside Fernhill Road on the outskirts of New Milton. Jackie parked first in Brook Avenue, then in Lake Grove Road while I wandered with my camera.

Residents of Brook Avenue enjoy

blooming bluebells enhancing a splendid woodland view from the fronts of their houses.

One woman seemed to be returning home from a walk with her dog.

Perhaps she had availed herself of the dog poop bin alongside the dappled footpath leading to a bridge over

a shallow stream which

in parts is quite rock dry.

The shadow in this picture is that of another bridge, the crossing of which leads into the

woodland path along which I stood aside for a couple of dog walkers who thanked me for doing so.

The stream featured here is meant to flow under Fernhill Road to link with Ballards Lake.

In fact it is so dry that a scummy surface scarcely swirls after dribbling from drying rocks beneath

the lakeside bridge, one of which posts sports

a child’s sun hat.

I watched a young woman photographing a young child on the far bank.

Later her group seemed to have spotted something – perhaps the infant had gone wandering.

The lake’s surface bore a number of reflections.

On my circumperambulation (yes, I have coined this word) I spoke to several people at a safe distance. The couple above welcomed my attention because the gentleman enjoys the same enthusiasm.

The old gold bands seen curling round the limbs of these oak boughs above the dog walkers were gently rippling reflections from the wake of mallards and their

ducklings.

I think this was a friendly thrush that greeted me. I would be grateful for any birder letting me know otherwise. (I am reliably informed by John Knifton that this is a dunnock – thanks a lot, John)

The screeching black headed gulls that dominated the orchestra around the lake seemed not so friendly.

In fact the name of this avian species is quite misleading. Their heads are chocolate brown rather than black, and even then only during the summer when their white pates develop this pigmentation.

A considerable about of squawking came from their open beaks.

Some adopted the apparently subservient prone shuffle we had seen in our pigeon day or so ago. Here was another mating ritual.

This evening we dined on a spicy pizza with fresh salad included very flavoursome Ferndene Farm Shop Isle of Wight tomatoes. Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc while I drank Dornfelder Rheinhessen dry red wine 2018.

Walkers In The Field

On a gloriously warm and sunny Good Friday, being the start of a four day holiday weekend, the government was still urging the public to adhere to the coronavirus lockdown regulations; the UK reported death toll was now approaching 1,000 in the last 24 hours; and a small but significant minority of people were transgressing and being variously dealt with by the police.

The diurnal poppies that, if regularly deadheaded, will last for another six months have appeared in the back garden.

In the front we have pink cherry,

two different crab apples,

and Amanogawa blossoms;

while clematis Montana and vinca vie for purchase on the low wall.

After lunch I walked along Christchurch Road to the fallow field, down into Honeylake Wood, and back.

My chosen entrance to the field, avoiding the kissing gate was now becoming quite well trodden.

The arable land is fronted by blackthorn hedgerows

with wild flowers such as daisies and dandelions at their base.

Tractor tracks bend round the opening to the wood,

while through the hedge to the far left the screeching of groupie gulls alerted me to ploughing in Roger Cobb’s top field.

Stretching shadows striated sylvan footpaths and attendant celandines.

I stepped into the trees to keep my distance from two male neighbours I had never met before who lived at the corner of Hordle Lane opposite The Royal Oak.

Among the ubiquitous yellow flowers, in various stages of disintegration in their return to the soil

lay broken branches of birch and other arboreal debris.

Velvet moss coated trunks and roots of trees entwined by meandering ivy.

A very shallow trickle was all that remained of a small stream that usually joins

the greater watercourse which would normally cover

this fallen limb against which it now laps and ripples.

This time I crossed the bridge, continued a short distance up the mounting slope. and backtracked past

a clump of starry wood anemones.

A walking couple crossing the field in my direction on my way back thought better of it and turned round to cross the path of

the two gentlemen I had seen earlier as, keeping their distance, they crossed to my chosen hole in the hedge and presumably returned home before I did.

This evening we dined on succulent roast pork; roasted new potatoes in their skins; crisp sage and onion stuffing and Yorkshire pudding; crunchy carrots and firm Brussels sprouts; red cabbage cooked with onions and garlic in red wine with a touch of balsamic vinegar; and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Mezquiriz.

The Path To Deadman Hill

The day before yesterday I finished reading

being the final novel in the trilogy of the Larkin family, first featured in “Freak Of Fate” in which I described the first book; how I came by it; and the amazing coincidence of the address on the flyleaf, also borne by this Book Club edition published by Michael Joseph in 1960.

In his now familiar rollicking style the author continues to relate the cheerfully energetic romp through life of Pop Larkin, his friends and family. I have now realised that one of the chief pleasures of these stories is the ease with which Bates weaves beautiful bucolic descriptions into his innocently scandalous narrative. For the Larkins, life really is “perfickly” beautiful. Maybe, only 15 years after the ending of the Second World War, that is what the world needed.

This morning we visited Bill and Helen to exchange birthday presents.

We diverted to Abbotswell, near Frogham, on our way home, then decided to lunch at The Fighting Cocks at Godshill.

In the deeply pockmarked gravelled car park at the top of Abbotswell hill a couple of riders were persuading two splendid, reluctant, black horses into their trailered transport which, with their weight, seemed certain to increase the potholes.

I took a short walk among the undulating woodlands overlooking the sloping landscape below.

As always in such terrain it was necessary to tread gingerly over tree roots.

Bees swarmed among wild blackberry blossoms.

Cattle and ponies congregated in the valley below.

A lone cyclist sped along a footpath

and re-emerged on the path to Deadman Hill on the other side of Roger Penny Way. To think that just four years ago I would take that walk without thinking about it.

My lunch at the pub consisted of steak and ale pie, chips, and peas; Jackie’s was mushroom stroganoff with which she drank Hop House lager. My drink was Ringwood’s Best.

Long haired miniature ponies groped their way across the greens beside Cadnam Lane where

an enterprising hairdresser had given a bug-eyed tree stump an impressive Mohican.

The Head Gardener has a little friend in the form of a juvenile robin that follows her around during the day and has taken to joining us on the patio for a drink in the evening. Jackie, on this occasion, drank Hoegaarden, I drank sparkling water, and Robin drank water from a flower pot saucer.

After this, Jackie and I dined on pepperoni pizza and salad; Robin probably finished off what was clinging to his beak.

Beach Photography

Yesterday our blogging friend Jill Weatherholt posted about EtchASketch. She asked what toys from our childhoods gave us nostalgic memories. Responding to my comment she prompted me to feature the birthday present I gave Jackie on 1st June this year. She happened to mention her father’s Christmas Santa gifts which were designed

something like this kaleidoscope. Twisting the lens would produce different rose windows viewed from the opposite end of the telescopic device. I, too, cherished childhood memories of such objects. This prompted me, with help from Elizabeth, to research the internet for a genuine antique, as opposed to retro, example.

By turning the tiny handle the lucky children of 1870 were able to produce their own variations.

My short walk on this hot and humid afternoon was

along the clifftop at Barton on Sea, where it looks very much as if there has been more soil erosion since I last tramped there. This pair of readers kept a sensible distance.

Another couple carried their dripping ice creams

to the nearest bench where

taking a large bite was in order.

A number of people brought their own seats. Perhaps the lone woman’s companion had gone in search of ice creams,

perhaps from Marshfield Farm on sale at the Beachcomber café. Someone has lost their bobble hat; the child through the fence has retained his cap.

As always, a number of mobile phones were being put to use.

Mallow and grasses border the footpath;

Photographers shared a crow’s eye view of the Isle of Wight.

Various groups gathered on the beach or in the water; paddling, building sand castles, launching balls for dogs, carrying equipment, or swimming.

Others indulged in photoshoots.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy and aromatic chicken jalfrezi; her turmeric pilau rice, fresh onion salad; and paratha from the little shop in New Milton. The Culinary Queen drank Blue Moon, while I drank more of the New Zealand Merlot.

The Foxton Flight

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS ITS ENLARGED GALLERY

It rained all day today. Aaron, who could not work in such weather, came for a pleasant chat over a mug of tea.

I will not bore either my readers or myself with full details of today’s BT episode. But it does warrant a brief mention. Yesterday, as you know, I had been promised a phone call from a manager about the charge of £50 to change the name on my account. The young lady who telephoned me from India this morning was certainly no manager. When we came to an impasse she transferred me to someone in England. The best I could glean from her, after she had consulted with her manager, was that this could only be done free of charge was by changing the phone number then transferring it back. There was no guarantee that our existing number would be accurately returned. I told her, for the recording, precisely what I thought of her company, stated that it was only my reluctance to change our number and my e-mail address, that kept me with them; and that I wouldn’t bother to take her up on her kind offer.

Then I scanned another set of colour negatives from my longest walk.

I don’t usually tinker with the colours in my photographs, but I did have a play with these three landscape shots.

Sam in Pacific Pete 7.03

Beyond Oxford, Sam took to the Grand Union Canal

alongside which the footpaths were often completely overgrown, albeit

with pleasant wild flowers, such as meadowsweet and willow herb.

Of the many butterflies flitting about, I only recognised the red admirals. (See John Knifton’s comment below)

Oak leaves 7.03

The shade from trees like this oak was often welcome in the heat of the day.

About the Foxton Flight of Locks, built between 1810 and 1814, Wikipedia informs us:

They form the northern terminus of a 20-mile summit level that passes Husbands Bosworth, Crick and ends with the Watford flight

The audience gathered to watch Sam use his giant oar to steer and propel the boat through the locks because there was no room to row.

Asian family leaving Foxton Flight 7.03

Did you notice the Asian man gesturing to his family in the first picture, and shepherding them over the bridge in the last, in order to lead them down the slope to see the rower on his way?

Child helping at the locks 7.03

There had been no shortage of helpers to push the long balance beams operating the gates.

There were plenty of narrow boats on the waters, but no other ocean-going rowing boats.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s glorious sausage casserole; crisp carrots, cauliflower and red cabbage, and creamy mashed potatoes. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished Helen and Bill’s Malbec.

Ever-Changing Skies

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE. THE INDIVIDUAL PHOTOGRAPH NEEDS JUST A CLICK.

Aaron of A.P. Maintenance has recently completed the last section of fencing, and reorganised the compost bins. Today, he and his nephew Rory took away some of the resultant rubbish. This photograph is one of the few that I was able to take today in sunshine and with a dry camera.

During the rest of the day I was in and out to the garden attempting a few photographs of plants enjoying the sunshine and the showers. Perhaps only the duck and the frog were really in their element. The rain bejewelled primulas, daffodils, camellias, clematis cirrhosa, hellebores, iris, pulmonaria, and faux poppy sat for me quite nicely.

By mid-afternoon I conceded victory to the wind which enforced such rapid changes in the skies that all this last batch of pictures were produced within minutes during which rain fell continuously. Clouds rolled rapidly across the Heavens, sometimes concealing, sometimes revealing the sun

throwing its glowing light on this holly trunk against a sludgy bank of cloud.

This evening we dined on minced beef pie, creamy mashed potato and swede, red cabbage, crunchy carrots, leeks, and onions. I finished the merlot.

Back On Track

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

James Peacock of Peacock Computer Systems collected the iMac today and took it off for surgery. In the process he helped me out with the WordPress problem, and I was able to insert into the ‘No Resolution’ post

the sunsets at Lymington.

This afternoon we went for a drive in the forest.

The tide was out on a glassy Lymington River which was bright and clear in the sunlight.

On the eastern side of the river stand the reed beds, where a solitary swan, tail in the air, dived for food.

Undershore Road road runs alongside the river.

Jackie parked, at the point above, so that I could take a ramble along a footpath.

This narrow way offered on the left a view of the reed beds.

We have had such an extended dry period that the path mostly remains reasonably dry;

although streams meander from the river.

All this work has been carried out on my Windows laptop. I think you could say I was back on track.

This evening we dined on spicy Turkey, lamb and mint sausages, mashed potato, and carrots and runner beans al dente. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I consumed more of the Fleurie.

Rockford Common

This still life arrangement needed no tweaking from me. Even the January morning sunlight was warm enough to defrost the bread.

After lunch Ian drove us through the forest until we arrived at Rockford Common which we eagerly explored.

Ian left off his conversation with one pony to warn me that another was rapidly advancing on me from behind.

The creature was momentarily nose to nose with me, but moved off and continued chomping grass,

with companions spread around the area.

I wandered around on my own for a while,

until spotting Becky, Ian, and Scooby on top of the sandy hill.

Our daughter and her dog followed Ian back down.

Becky then led me back up to the top where we walked along a footpath,

then returned the way we had come. We looked down on the ponies with which I had earlier been communing.

Back in the car, on the way home we stopped for a pleasant drink at the attractive Royal Oak pub in North Gorley.

This evening we reprised yesterday’s macaroni cheese meal, without the asparagus. Jackie and Ian both drank Peroni, and I started on the last bottle of El Sotillo.