ford – Page 3 – derrickjknight

“That’s What Having A Horrible Daughter is Like”

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We spent the morning on garden maintenance tasks.

Jackie, with minimal assistance from me, retrained the Wedding Day rose

on the Agriframes arch.

We then reversed the process in that The Head Gardener weeded a route through to the red Japanese maple that was looking very poorly, if not somewhat wizened. She then stood ready for me to pass bits lopped or sawn off.

The final result didn’t look too bad.

We then finished rebuilding the pillar for the urn in the Rose Garden.

Here is a view across the grass patch between tulips and the eucalyptus.

This afternoon we went for a drive in the forest.

A stream kept one of the Brockenhurst fords under water. That is probably one SLOW notice that is unlikely to be ignored.

As I stood on the footbridge to take this shot, a family descended into view. Mother and son joined me on the bridge while father and daughter, dog in tow, entered into a coercive conversation. The dog appeared to want to go in the opposite direction.

Father, daughter, dog running through ford

It was not long before the reason for this became clear. These three dashed across the water filled ford. When I quipped “I didn’t get that. Could you do it again?”, Dad declined. However he did add “That’s what having a horrible daughter is like”. In the ensuing conversation I was given permission to post both the photographs and this statement.

An obliging motorist, without being asked, then drove his car through the water.

Further on, at Boundway, we spotted evidence that a child had left the woods sans socks and at least one shoe.

The high sun cast shadows of the trees onto the undulating leafy terrain.

A brimstone butterfly fluttered about. Can you spot it here?

Loggers had been at work above the gorse laden hills overlooking Wilverly.

I think the white figure here was one of a couple of cattle. They were a bit far away for me to be certain.

Soon after we left this area, Jackie alerted me to a wasps’ nest on an outbuilding.

This evening we dined on Mr Chatty Man’s Chinese Take Away fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the madiran.

On The Road To Brockenhurst

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Jackie and I began the day with a drive in the forest, in order to see how the thatching at East End was progressing.

A shallow stream ran over the ford at Norleywood, enhancing the beauty of the shadows on the road ahead.

A pair of donkeys breakfasted on the hedgerows opposite the house

on which the skilled roofing work had commenced.

As is their wont, one of these creatures crept, silently, up behind me to see if I had any carrots. I am mean enough to disappoint them, however, feeding them is not advised by the verderers, unless you want to catch Weill’s disease.

Jackie had driven further up the road to turn round, by which time the donkeys really had claimed the road.

The other two large lorries were still parked outside the neighbouring house. One was being loaded with soil dug out from the garden.

High above the chicken range a solitary Thelwell child’s pony also enjoyed its morning meal.

The chickens cooed and clucked around their chook house,

sharing their repast with crows,

ducks,

and pheasants, which were freer to roam.

One of the llamas sat with a silly grin on its face

as another gurned at me.

A trio of cyclists paused at the road junction to take their bearings.

They were small fry compared with those who were to limit our progress on the road to Brockenhurst.

As we approached that village, Jackie expressed the wish that they would not be going our way. No such luck.

This afternoon we continued, focussing on the rose and front gardens, preparing for an alfresco summer.

This evening we dined on shepherd’s pie topped with layers of cheddar cheese and mushrooms; crisp carrots, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts and runner beans. Jackie finished the Cotes de Gascoigne and I drank more of the shiraz.

Strange Courtship

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This morning we drove out to Eyeworth Pond and back.

Yesterday evening I described the heavy rain that pummelled the pavement. It continued throughout the night. This is what it did to

Brockenhurst’s landscaped lawns,

and to its ford.

Some vehicles travelled through the water with caution;

others ripped through them; still more turned around and chose another route.

Cyclists used the bridge. I did point out to a couple of these that last year, not only had a pair of them whizzed through the flood, but they had responded to my request to do it again. These two did not accept my challenge. Perhaps I wasn’t direct enough.

On Eyeworth Pond a pair of Canada geese floated around, and occasionally went fishing.

The Mallards were in full courting mode. Sometimes the ladies were encircled by the males, sometimes chased around. At times I wasn’t sure the females were not making the paddling.

One couple did appear to be engaged in a strange courtship involving rear displays and synchronised diving.

Spray formed on a clear pool now covering terrain that normally provided forage for ponies.

A somewhat quizzical blackbird investigated the seeds left on the gatepost to the woodland walk.

A blue tit eyed me from a holly bush,

as did a solitary robin.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid sausage casserole served with slightly orange tinged creamy mashed potato and swede, bright orange carrots, off white cauliflower, pale green sautéed leeks, and deep red cabbage. Jackie drank sparkling water and I drank San Andres Chilean merlot.

The Patience Of A Dog

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I needed a trip to the bank in New Milton today. As it was a fine frosty morning we took a drive in the forest first and moved on to Friar’s Cliff for big breakfast brunches in the eponymous café.

On the way through Tiptoe we fell in behind a splendid horse and cart. After I had photographed hooves through the car windscreen, Jackie overtook the antique vehicle and stopped further down the road so that I could lay in wait for a full frontal shot.

Holmesley Passage, was bathed in both sunshine

and frost;

as was the still autumnal woodland and the bracken covered moor.

The stream that runs under the road flowed fast over the concrete ford.

Wrapped up and back-packed walkers strode across the moor.

The Friar’s Cliff café was so full that many diners sat outside (remember the dog)

watching the sea, a canoeist kayaking by,

and dogs frolicking on the beach.

We are given a slip of paper containing our order number, and wait for the superb, freshly cooked, food. One couple didn’t touch their bottled water and crisps. They, too, were to receive a café meal.

A young mother clutched both her small son and his scooter as she made for the café. She didn’t drop either before she reached her destination.

We admired the patience of a golden haired dog ogling its owners’ bacon sandwiches without moving a muscle.

This evening we dined on fish fingers, chips, onion rings, and baked beans, with which I finished the cabernet sauvignon.

A Rogue Encounter

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This afternoon we drove to Homebase in Christchurch and purchased a lavatory seat, a handle for the cistern, and a tin of touch up paint to cover a repair to the guest bathroom wall where a visitor had pulled the towel rail off.

After this we toured the forest until after dark.

Some way north of Ibsley our path was blocked for a good fifteen minutes by an obdurate bovine that, head down and white tail swishing, made its deliberate, stubborn, way down the centre of the road. Even the approach of another car did not deter this red cow. Eventually we were able to draw level, by driving onto the grass verge. The idea was to take a close-up photograph with the window open. An upturned head, and a warning bellow gave me second thoughts. The creature then turned left and continued down to a ford which it crossed by means of the footbridge. Giving a couple of ponies a wide birth the animal carried on up the opposite slope and vanished from sight.

A 4X4 then crossed the ford and stopped alongside me. The driver asked me if I had been photographing the deer. When I explained our interest in the cow, she explained that this was a ‘rogue’. It was quite aggressive and possibly dangerous. Efforts were being made to trace the owner, because it needed ‘to be taken out of the forest’.

Jackie had seen the deer and pointed them out. I walked back to the ford to photograph them. Despite the distance, at each click of the camera, more of the creatures raced across the field, as if they were posing for the Lascaux caves.

Further on along the road, we passed two more families behind the trees, with others on the far side of a fence. They were more inquisitive.

Up on the moor at Abbots Well, we watched a sunset rather more muted than of late.

The pool in which these trees were reflected had been dryer a couple of weeks ago.

On our way back, at two different points along an unlit Roger Penny Way, three deer and a pig risked their lives by running across in front of the car. The pig was intent on joining its snuffling, snorting, grunting, family hoovering up a fine crop of beech nuts.

We stopped for a drink at The White Hart in Pennington on our way home. We then dined on Jackie’s lovely lamb curry, onion rice, and naans. I drank a glass of Axis 251 Coonawarra cabernet sauvignon 2015.

‘You Wouldn’t Like To Do That Again, Would You?’

On another warm and sunny day that, once we had got going in the garden, felt like the height of summer, we continued soil preparation. In addition to all her other maintenance tasks

Jackie dug in the compost she had laid on the Palm Bed yesterday,

and I completed the mulching of the rose garden with three more 100 litre bags of Landscape Bark. I swear they are becoming heavier by the day.

Looking from the Back Drive towards this section,

or across the Helicon Path towards the house,

one can see the burgeoning new growth popping up everywhere.

We now have profusions of Spanish bluebells,

and of forget-me-nots.

Permanently perched on the telephone cable over Christchurch Road is a male collared dove,

pretending he is nothing to do with the nest in our holly tree upon which his lady is incubating.

Even when paying a visit, he first lands on the flowering cherry photographed yesterday. Since he is quite a ponderous creature he shakes the boughs freeing many cherry petals,

just as Matthew did to the delight of Hannah, Ben, and Sam in May 1983.

This evening we dined at Dynasty in Brockenhurst with Elizabeth, Danni and Andy. My choice was lamb shatkora, special fried rice an onion bhaji. Along with Jackie I drank Kingfisher. The others drank red wine, cobra, or coke. Service and food were excellent.

The restaurant is close to the ford which we could see was waterlogged. As we were ten minutes early, I sniffed a photo opportunity and wandered down the road.

This was the scene as I approached, directly into the sun.

I was a bit slow to catch two cyclists wheeling through their spray. As they passed me I cried: ‘You wouldn’t like to do that again, would you’. ‘Do it again?’ was the reply. ‘Yes’, I answered.

They immediately turned tail, sped through the water,

and, returning quite happily, enjoyed another shower.

An Historic High Street

When thinking of High Street shops today, one imagines the chain store outlets that can be found in major cities across the globe. Not so in Brockenhurst. It is possible to drive through this village for years without coming across Brookley Road, which is the high street. Jackie, Ian, Becky lead this group of pedestrians on the way to the rows of small, local, shops.

Somehow the buildings in this thoroughfare, some dating from the nineteenth century, have escaped succumbing to corporate facades.

The ladies and gentlemen’s outfitters, Reynolds, for example still sports its original entrance complete with adjustable front railings.

Day Lewis Pharmacy still has its original windows.

Jackie parked opposite Brock Ante and led our daughter inside the antiques shop where we had bought one of Becky’s Christmas presents. In view of what I was about to see, the name of the barber was rather fortuitous.

A short while later, Knots, Knits & Crafty Bits opened their door to display enticing yarns.

Alongside Splish Splash stand Village Veg and Village Butcher.

As I reached this point, I encountered Ian, who had wandered further down the street. He alerted me to the ford.

Heavy overnight rain had converted much of the forest into a mini Lake District. Some roads we had driven through were awash, and ditches lining the route into this end of Brockenhurst had run into the stream that was forded at the end of the street.

This made the signpost ‘High Street via Ford’ even more descriptive.

Although some vehicles made an about turn and did not venture into the rushing water, others, at varying speeds, carried on through. The faster the car, the more the spray.

Ian came back to join me and we walked together back to the shops.

A queue had now formed outside Bakehouse. The youth of those present suggests that the bakers are feeding the students of Brockenhurst College, which must contribute to the village’s prosperity.

My earlier photograph also shows Best Sellers which is being decorated. I do hope that does not mean that this bookshop has closed down. I will keep an eye on it.

The Post Office, a survivor of an ever-reducing band, stands next to Reynolds and the delicatessen. Jackie’s Modus is parked outside the pharmacy. In how many high streets could this happen?

After our rendezvous we all drank cappuccinos in The Buttery.

Possibly the most modern building in the street is the Dynasty Indian Restaurant, to which we returned this evening.

Dimly visible on the pavement, a couple of ponies lurked outside.

The food was excellent and the service friendly and efficient. The staff offered to photograph the group. A notice proclaimed that reading glasses were available for customers who had forgotten to bring theirs.

We shared onion bhajis, and an egg paratha. My main meal was ayre jalfrezi with special fried rice. Becky drank zinfandel rose and the rest of us drank Kingfisher.

P.S.

In order to highlight Gordon Le Pard’s important comment I append it here:

‘I, Like my brother, know Brock and its watersplash well. But on another note, here is a game you can try to see how historic a high street is. You will soon notice that, however modern the shop fronts are, they are all about the same width. If you pace it out you will find that they are about five paces wide, or ten or fifteen. This is because when the street was laid out the Saxon or medieval surveyors used the measurement of a rod, 5½ yards to lay them out.
The measurements remain as one of the most difficult things to move is a boundary, unless you own the lands on both sides, which is the origin of the two and three rod (pole or perch) width shops.’

Journey To The Sun

Today’s weather followed a somewhat similar pattern to that of yesterday. After a morning’s pottering Jackie drove us in mid-afternoon to the North of the forest where we wandered around our old haunts between Ringwood and Fordingbridge.
Already, pools began to to gather on the heathlands and the forest floors, and streams, like this one near North Gorley, overflowed their fords.
This particular area, although well populated by ponies, has quite a number of donkeys roaming. A family of four, quite oblivious of the traffic, occupied the road at Hythe, and at Hungerford a pair indulged in a passionate necking session before one was prevailed upon to suckle her foal. These animals do, of course, have right of way in The New Forest, where car drivers must just be patient.
As the sun gradually sank to the horizon, the initially pastel shades of the cloudscapes had, by the time we stopped at the Godshill carpark and Jackie released me with my camera, deepened into a dark indigo pierced by strident reds and yellows and the white heat of the flaming planet .
With the glow of the sun at its lowest point, the already red-brown New Forest ponies took on a brighter shade of russet, thus blending with the autumn leaves and pink clouds of its surroundings.
Soon after our return, we dined on pork spare ribs marinaded in barbecue sauce, superb savoury rice, and green beans, followed by blackberry and apple crumble and clotted cream. I drank more of the rioja, and Jackie enjoyed her customary Hoegaarden.

In Search Of The Action

Yesterday Becky gave me another computer lesson, this time in tagging. She showed me how to tag my posts and explained the significance of doing so. That, therefore, is another editing job for me. I made a start on the task this morning.

A violent storm that had raged throughout the night and morning gave way to a calm, springlike afternoon. This was perfect for an art assignment Flo had hoped to complete.

The one problem was that the task was to photograph horses in action. And, as my readers will know, New Forest ponies are not prone to activity. Mostly they are at least upright, but occasionally they are simply prone. We thought an expedition to the north of the forest would perhaps offer possibilities for the occasional evidence of movement.

More trees had been uprooted during the night. Those that had been on the roads had been cleared away. Others lay where they fell. What really gave Jackie a white knuckle drive was the amount of water across the concrete and tarmac. The fords were all awash with fast flowing water, as were the ditches. Sometimes, as on one stretch on the outskirts of Ringwood that I had happily walked through quite recently, the road was flooded. At this particular point our chauffeuse stopped altogether, thinking she would have to turn back. An oncoming car sprayed its way through the water, giving her the confidence to try it, which she did successfully. The brakes had to be tested after each ford encounter.

It was the perhaps unlikely village of Ibsley that provided the photo opportunity that we sought. As we drove slowly through it, having just crossed the ford, three ponies made a dash for a waterlogged spot in front of the cattle grid to a residential garden. Small orange showers flashed in the sunlight, and the animals leapt into action. The woman who lived in the house had just tossed a supply of carrots onto a patch of dry land. These were soon devoured and hopeful nostrils quivered in the donor’s direction.

No more carrots being forthcoming, Flo and my cameras were mistaken for tasty morsels and they and we were silently nuzzled.

It was to be Scooby who really set the cat among the pigeons. Of course he remained in the car with Jackie, but he became a wee bit excited at the sight of such huge potential dinners wandering about. Indeed, his glutinous mucus will probably never come off my passenger seat window. His barking had the effect of a summons on all the ponies in the vicinity. Our car was soon surrounded, causing a log-jam in the traffic.

Our granddaughter and I had as much fun photographing each other photographing our subjects as simply shooting the animals.

When we arrived at Hyde, we were awarded a bonus of a couple of donkeys particularly interested in holly leaves. After a session with them, Flo strode across the large expanse of green, to picture another pony, and in the process missed a horse and rider. But that wasn’t really a subject she needed.

She had already photographed a sublime pony’s head and a delightful set of donkey choppers.

We dined this evening on Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice which was as delicious as ever. Flo’s variant was boiled egg korma. My beverage was Kingfisher and Jackie’s was Peroni.

Conversation Breaks

This morning I disturbed our cervine trio on the upper drive. I had intended to walk my ampersand, but took a right turn just before reaching the usual ford. This road, unsurprisingly, also had a ford. Passing Newtown I took a bridleway up to the main road towards Emery Down and returned by my normal route.

There is a small green at the point where the Newtown road joins the bridleway. On this green has been formed another strange perfect circle. This one is made of large pebbles. The other circle, discovered on 4th December, consisting of twigs, seemed, on my return journey, to have been reinforced.

Towards the end of the bridleway I came across three women talking. Two were on horses, the third was on foot. One of the riders was Berry, who lives at number 1 Castle Malwood Lodge. The pedestrian was the mother of the other equestrian. I mentioned that Alison, whom I had met some days ago, had asked me if I knew Berry. We chatted for a while. Later on my walk my path crossed with Berry’s again. I asked her if it would be possible for Flo to have a ride whilst she is with us. It would. Berry will let us know when.

Near Seamans Corner I met Martin, who is the Father Christmas lookalike I had first encountered on 17th November. He was, as usual, pushing his severely disabled adopted son in his buggy. For the first time we stopped and had a long talk. Bearing in mind my profession it is quite a coincidence that Martin set up Minstead Lodge school for people with learning disabilities twenty six years ago. Last Friday was his last day as Director. The school is also involved with Furzey Gardens, and Martin is changing his role to become the public face of the two agencies and how they interlink.

I also spoke for some time with Anne, who lives in a large house in the village, the garden of which is now somewhat waterlogged. Today’s walk was punctuated by conversation breaks.

This evening Jackie excelled herself again with a wonderful roast lamb dinner. Jackie and Ian drank Stopham Estate English pinot blanc 2010 which was very enjoyable; Becky had Diet Coke best before March 2013; and I finished the Fleurie. As I write, Scoobie is crashing about in the kitchen gnawing at the bone which Becky says will last for days.