Tag: Isle of Wight

Clear, Changing, Light

We began the day with an early trip to Milford on Sea Pharmacy.

Cloudscapes over the Solent and Christchurch Bay were ever changing. The Isle of Wight, invisible not so long avows nicely silhouetted against clear blue sky beyond bands of white cotton and degrees of indigo clouds. Cerulean patches peeped through others. Empty cruise ships waited outside Southampton for Covid-19 restrictions preventing them from taking on passengers to be lifted.

Similar skies prevailed over Keyhaven Harbour

and Hurst Spit, along which a couple of heavy lorries churned up dust before descending to

Saltgrass Lane.

Numbers of walkers and their dogs stood out against the constantly changing skies. Beneath the truck in the third image featuring the spit can be see a husky dog and its human companions.

This group raised considerable attention and a number of questions which the gentleman holding the lead was happy to answer.

After lunch Jackie worked on her water features in the garden while I cleared up a little: transporting clippings to the compost; lifting wind-floored owls, none of which had been damaged; and gathering slender fallen branches.

Having now read the first five chapters of

in which Mr Dickens begins to introduce his characters, I scanned the above frontispiece – ‘It was a clear evening, with a bright moon’ – with the title page and five more of Mr Keeping’s illustrations.

‘The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was nevertheless frail and fading’

‘Neither of the three took any notice of him’ – as the artist shows us.

‘ ‘You have seen the gentleman in this way before, miss?’ ‘

‘He touched the tip of his high nose, by way of intimation that he would let Mr Pecksniff into a secret presently’

Notice how Charles Keeping, in ‘Mr Pinch set forth on a stroll about the streets’ establishes perspective as the lines of the detailed foreground donkeys recede into those of the suggested distant chimneys.

Just before dinner I dashed outside with my camera

to photograph a fleeting sunset.

Dinner then consisted of three prawn preparations, namely tempura, salt and pepper, and hot and spicy; Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice; served with fresh salad, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day”

Knowing that we are about to experience strong gales for three days I lay down the garden chairs and the new water feature as a precaution this morning, and this afternoon we visited the coast at Milford on Sea to make calmer photographs than we would anticipate for a while.

Although from a distance the sea looked calm enough as I focussed on the Isle of Wight and a woman on the seafront shingle,

it wasn’t that tranquil.

Jackie focussed on me photographing

waves advancing in a rush, and seeping back across the shingle.

As we left, a black-headed gull was perched for takeoff.

Should there be anyone who does not know of Captain Sir Thomas Moore, you are advised to consult https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Tom_Moore to read about the inspirational gentleman approaching his 100th birthday who, during 2020 raised our nation’s spirits; £34,000,000+ for the NHS; and, ultimately Queen Elizabeth II’s dubbing arm. This man’s favourite phrase, “Tomorrow will be a good day”, has been celebrated in yarn on the Pilley Street letter box.

After passing this, we drove on to Lepe where, from Inchmere Lane

we looked out over the flats, where I photographed

a solitary oyster catcher, and Jackie photographed

a motor boat.

I disembarked beside a seasonal pool on Exbury Road where I photographed

reflections of overhead trees;

fallen branches; and a mossy bank.

Do ducks lay eggs on a bare scratched circular area of ground? If so, I found one.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s chicken and vegetable stewp with fresh bread, followed by her spicy pasta arrabbiata and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Primitivo Salento.

Twilight Haze

On a dull and frosty morning Jackie photographed some aspects of the garden.

A perky dragon was garlanded in frosted ivy; the ‘Autumn’ sculpture vied with winter;

euphorbia, cordyline Australis, and rose leaves bore fringes of frost and lingering water drops;

some potted pansies were rather limp, while iris reticulata and tulips broke the soil in defiance.

By the time we drove over to Pilley to present Elizabeth (in our bubble) with a tub of Jackie’s substantial chicken and vegetable stoup, the skies had brightened.

In the woodland alongside Undershore a soft toy had successfully scaled the wall that is the undercarriage of a fallen tree.

The decorated postbox in Pilley Street now bears the year date 2021;

the icy old quarry lake bears branches and reflections.

At Walhampton I photographed a pheasant on the verge and Jackie focussed on a silhouetted wood pigeon;

on Monument Lane while I caught the lowering sun behind trees Jackie picked out its tipping the monument railings.

Finally the Assistant Photographer caught me

focussed on the dying sunset and twilight haze shrouding the Isle of Wight and The Needles at Milford on Sea.

This evening we dined on succulent fillet steaks; crisp oven chips; moist mushrooms; nicely charred onions; cherry vine tomatoes; and a colourful melange of peas and sweetcorn, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2019.

Fishing The Shallows

On a dank-dull afternoon we drove to Milford on Sea pharmacy for a repeat prescription, with a loop round Keyhaven’s Saltgrass Lane on our return home.

Occasional walkers, like this couple looking across the Solent to the Isle of Wight and The Needles, made their way along the sparsely populated clifftop promenade.

We followed a steady jogger along Saltgrass Lane until we paused to photograph walkers and dogs on the Hurst spit alongside which idle sail boats were moored.

Curlews and turnstones (I am grateful to Quercus for identifying the latter in his comment) fished the shallows;

an elegant swan sailed among resting gulls,

one of which passed the time of day with a trailing cygnet.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s especially spicy pork paprika; boiled potatoes; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, followed by aromatic rice pudding laced with a dollop of strawberry jam with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Up The Lane

This morning I finished reading the justifiably Pulitzer Prize- (for Non-Fiction, 1963) winning work ‘The Guns of August’ (1962) by Barbara W. Tuchman. With painstaking research, shrewd judgement, and skilful prose, the author analyses and describes the first month of the First World War. We are so accustomed to books and films about the madness of the four years’ destructive trench warfare that I found Ms. Tuchman’s tour de force most informative.

I knew the war had been sparked off by the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria, but had no idea why such a conflagration had followed. This book explains the reason and the method.

Germany had been preparing for war on both Eastern and Western fronts for two decades. It was simply accidental that the blue touch paper was lit in the east.

We learn of the desecration of the Belgian neutrality, the courage of its population; the invaders’ belief in the spread of fear as a method of quelling resistance, and their means of exercising it; the speed of the German advance; the infighting within and between the leaders of the allies.

Tuchman closes with an eye to the following four years. I would have welcomed such a work on them.

The details of manoeuvres would probably be more fascinating to serious students of military history than to me, for I found the passages of descriptive writing rather more to my liking.

My Folio Society edition contains copious notes, clear maps, and two batches of photographs which are not really of good enough quality to reproduce here.

On another comparatively mild afternoon we visited Elizabeth and invited her to dinner, which she accepted with alacrity.

We returned home via South Baddesley from where we could view the Isle of Wight in the distance,

and autumn scenes in the fields.

Beside the unnamed lane down which I walked lay moss covered fallen branches.

Gradually a jogger came into view running up the lane. Soon after he passed Jackie’s parked Modus, my Chauffeuse followed me down and picked me up.

As we neared Lymington I photographed a silhouetted tree line.

This evening we dined on succulent roast gammon; creamy mashed potato; piquant cauliflower cheese; crunchy carrots; and tender green beans, with which Elizabeth and I drank Chevalier de Fauvert Comté Tolosan Rouge 2019, and Jackie drank Hoegaarden.

The Reader

After a little clearance work in the garden I spent much of the day finishing reading

This is Penguin Books 1948 edition of Huxley’s novel first published in 1923. Today’s seven and a half pence is the current coin equivalent of the purchase price of one shilling and sixpence. We could, in 1948 have bought six of De Marco’s 3d ice creams mentioned in https://derrickjknight.com/2012/05/29/the-bees/ for that money.

At that time Penguin books were bound with stitching which must be one reason why this copy remains intact.

Huxley’s novel, allegedly comic, is to my mind a tragic farce focussing on London’s post WW1 promiscuous Bohemian intellectuals. His second work of fiction contains his usual exploration of ideas and includes a number of devices such as the dialogue of a musical play within the story. The writing is as fluid as ever although terms like ‘blackamoors’ and ‘nigger mask’ for a band of musicians and a piece of carving, albeit not meant in a derogatory sense, grate on modern ears.

Regular readers will know of my penchant for leaving bookmarks in my own copies for posterity to find within the pages. Sometime before the mid 1960s someone has beaten me to it

with this compliments slip, from perhaps Joan, who might have been trying to get her pen to work by scribbling as I sometimes do in order to make the ink flow. The telephone number is the key. Before the 1950s very few people had telephones and the early exchanges were operated manually by banks of usually female staff who connected callers to the required recipient. As in the number on this slip the areas were identified by the first letters of the location followed by four digits. All-digit numbers were introduced in the early 1960s, when the TEM of Temple Bar became 836. Later still London numbers were, in two stages, further divided to begin 0207 (inner) or 0208 (outer).

Watching me reading, and correctly assuming that this would all appear on today’s blog post, Jackie decided to make her own contribution in the forms of

her photograph of me and this Father’s Day card Becky sent me some years ago.

Shortly before sunset we drove to Barton on Sea to have a look at it. These are my photographs;

and here are Jackie’s,

with a couple of me.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy paprika pork, tender runner beans, and boiled new potatoes, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Médoc.

In Their Element

Although steady rain returned this afternoon, this morning’s weather was bright and sunny, so we, wisely as it turned out, paid attention to the forecast and took a forest drive.

Tanners Lane, down which, as so often, we encountered ponies on our way to the beach has been impossible to negotiate during the tourist season. What with that and Covid we have not visited this for six months or so.

This barrier log is one means residents employ of deterring parking across their entrances or on their verges.

A solitary trio of walkers enjoyed the beach, so close to the Isle of Wight.

The incoming tide whisked foam bubbles which, like outsize frogspawn clusters, clung to floating seaweed binding the moistened rocks.

After having been dry for several months the pool outside St Leonards Grange, thanks to three days of almost continual rain, is now full again, and most of the members of the local equine tribe are back in their element enjoying weed soup, while one

favoured drier fodder on a bank beneath a spreading oak.

This evening we dined at The Lamb Inn at Nomansland, approaching which Jackie photographed me; also her main course of an excellent beef burger and mine of an equally good steak and ale pie with roasted carrots and parsnips. Each was served with a bucket of chips. Our respective desserts were perfect moist chocolate fudge cake and Bakewell tart of similar quality, each with ice cream. My wife drank Carlsberg and I drank Doom Bar.

Foxglove And Twinkle

Early this bright, sunny, and cool day we drove out to Pilley to deliver a letter to Elizabeth. I popped it into her letter box and we continued on our way.

I have a couple of times before featured the horse and pony occupying the garden of Jordan’s Cottage on the corner of Bull and Jordan’s Lanes. Today I was to be formally introduced. As I photographed the two equines feeding from their trough a Gentleman planting flowers invited me in. This was Roderick, whose granddaughter owns these creatures. The horse is Foxglove and the pony, Twinkle.

Given her freckles, Foxglove is so aptly named. She is an eventer who is convalescing while recovering from and injured back leg. Roderick confirmed that the mask is for protection from flies. Seeing me back away as the horses trotted over to me when I entered the small paddock, he assured me that they were very friendly. I laughed and explained that I was not afraid but had to keep my distance to use the lens on my camera. In fact I left the paddock to take the shots of Foxglove in her mask. It would, of course, have been rude not to have photographed Twinkle’s eye.

On Norleywood Road we passed trick cyclist who probably wasn’t a psychiatrist. This was to have been on our way home until Jackie took a diversion down

Lower Pennington Lane to investigate the nature reserve at the far end.

Hurst View camping site was packed out and I could hear voices planning their day’s trips all the way down the lane along which I walked while Jackie waited in the car, parked on a verge just before a considerable narrowing of the thoroughfare.

Even cyclists had little passing room.

The marshland to my left was quite dry and occupied by a few basking ponies. The Isle os Wight could be seen in the distance.

When I reached the entrance to the bird sanctuary it seemed that the caravan site was decanting its entire contents who were making their way along the dedicated path which I consequently decided to eschew and set off across undulating terrain which I largely had to myself. I took the last section of the path on my return and I have to say that the boys in the third picture above thanked me for stepping aside.

In the circumstances it is hardly surprising that the only birds I saw were flocks of Canada geese,

occasionally joined by others flying in.

Against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight, The Needles, Hurst castle and their lighthouses, across the marshland could be seen walkers, cyclists and a dog. Particularly the last of this gallery would benefit from bigification.

A few goats occupied a field opposite the campsite.

After lunch I put in another stint at pruning Félicité Perpétue in the front garden.

Later this afternoon Elizabeth came for a cup of tea and stayed for dinner consisting of another of Jackie’s succulent cottage pies; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender cabbage; and meaty gravy, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Carles.

I Couldn’t Hold The Camera

The winds coming off The Solent on this hazy morning must have been far stronger than the 58 m.p.h. that had been forecast. I say this because, for the first time, I was unable to stand still on the clifftop , and was constantly being blown backwards. I was forced to sit on a bench which was firmly rooted in place.

The Isle of Wight and The Needles were swathed in haze,

and I needed the security of the bench to photograph the choppy waves sparkling in the occasional shaft of sunlight

that also illuminated the Beachcomber café beside which a woman tossed a ball for her eager retriever.

In the opposite direction another woman walked alongside her canine charge.

Before collapsing onto the bench I photographed a couple’s progress along the promenade. Because I couldn’t hold the camera in the face of the fierce gusts I occasionally produced unexpected results, one of which is the black and white image above;

mind you, in this pairing you might think the shifted angle provided the more satisfying image.

Unbeknown to me the Assistant Photographer followed my proceedings.

She then drove us inland where we could expect the winds to be less forceful.

We followed lanes less travelled like Bennets, Anna,

and London, bearing its usual amount of fly tipping. On this particular corner beside a farm gate I have already pictured a burnt out car, and, further along a trio of abandoned fridges.

This evening we dined on cheese centred haddock fish cakes; piquant cauliflower cheese; firm boiled potatoes and carrots with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

A Vehicular Stand-off

A week or so ago I searched for a phone ringing to my right. I went through jacket pockets, opened cupboards etc – all to no avail. A while later the same thing happened. Jackie picked up the phone to my left which I thought had been silent. It was then I realised that the surfeit of wax in my left ear was now affecting my hearing; and I hadn’t imagined I would be unable to detect sound direction. This morning I kept an appointment for clearance at the Milford on Sea ear clinic. Most of the stubborn substance was removed, but I was given a date for another visit to complete the job.

We abandoned the idea of a walk along the clifftop because the car parks were filling up fast

and masks were not much in evidence.

Some couples were content to stand and stare at the pastel shades of the Isle of Wight and Hurst Castle in the haze that had set the fog warning sounding during the early hours.

We then tried Keyhaven where we were unable to park even if we had wished to scramble past visitors.

We proceeded along Saltgrass Lane to the spit which was again becoming decidedly overcrowded with visitors, some of whom were unaware that the shallows would deepen when the tide came in.

Once the lane bends to the right past the bridge the only possible passing spaces on what becomes a one track road would be the verges. These were all occupied by parked vehicles.

We soon approached a vehicular stand-off. The dark blue car in front of us sat nose to nose with the light blue model. The third picture in this series shows the intimacy of the snogging session. Eventually, seen in the next two shots, a mid-blue vehicle prised itself from its tight spot, leaving the lighter one the challenge of squeezing itself in. My maternal grandfather was fond of asking anyone who leapt into his vacant chair “would you be in my grave as quick?”. This driver was very unlikely to complete the manoeuvre with any turn of speed. We didn’t wait to see. We just got the hell out of there and went home to lunch.

During the afternoon we engaged in more sweltering watering and dead-heading activities until, early in the evening we drove for a while around the lanes less travelled.

In a field alongside Rodlease Lane

a group of small breeds of pony, one of whom studied us mournfully from behind the barbed wire fence.

In Brockenhurst it was the turn of ponies to block the road, one rather underfed mare still suckling her offspring.

Another had the good sense to stick to the woodland verges.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; crispy duchess potatoes; and crunchy cauliflower and broccoli, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Mendoza Argentine Malbec 2018.