landscapes – Page 15 – derrickjknight

Sometimes I Couldn’t Keep Up

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Paul Auster’s ‘The New York Trilogy is a series of novelettes, originally published in sequence as City of Glass (1985), Ghosts (1986) and The Locked Room (1986); and combined into a single volume the following year. The author, born February 3, 1947, ‘is’, according to Wikipedia, ‘an American writer and director whose writing blends absurdism, existentialism, crime fiction, and the search for identity and personal meaning.’

Last night I finished reading the first story which I soon realised was describing a descent into madness. Whose, I wasn’t sure; because of the several identities, realities, and time-frames.

There is also an intertextual relationship with Cervantes’ Don Quixote. It is so long since I struggled to make sense of this great Spanish classic that the significance of the link escaped me.

Chapter 2 almost had me abandoning Auster’s tale. However, I saw it to the end and came to appreciate what the author was presenting. I thought it worth persevering with, and was left happy to tackle the next one.

My copy is The Folio Society’s 2008 edition which benefits from the powerfully atmospheric illustrations of Tom Burns, which won the V & A 2009 Overall book illustration Winner for this work. The museum’s website states that ‘the judges commented that these illustrations make great use of colour, capturing the city in a very fresh and original way. They felt the images integrate perfectly with the text and manage to evoke a variety of sensations such as loneliness, complicated relationships and a sense of speed.’ I’d say he was a worthy winner.

This morning, I scanned another batch of colour negatives from my long walk of July 2003. Regular readers will know that this was executed as an exercise in support of Sam’s epic row of the following year; those who followed the link to ‘Nettle Rash’ will also know that this was not without its obstacles.

There were a certain number of occasions when I lost sight of the rower, either because of these or because there were not enough locks holding him up and giving me a chance to keep pace.

Some of the more pleasant stumbling blocks were created by the flora covering the absent footpaths. Although I can recognise a thistle and a wasp, I lack the knowledge to identify the wild flowers or the white butterfly.

There was ample opportunity to focus on the landscape alongside what I think is the Warwickshire stretch of the Oxford canal. Sometimes there was a benefit in being unable to keep up.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid pork paprika, roasted sweet potatoes, green beans, and red cabbage. I drank more of the Shiraz and the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden.

The Foxton Flight

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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:

‘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 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.

Checking Out The Venue

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Late this morning sunlight burst onto the canna lily given to us by Helen Keenan.

The garden beyond was alive with the buzzing of bees

and fluttering butterflies like this Small White three quarters of the way up the lines of a hanging basket

or this Comma hiding in the shadows.

The dahlia in the first picture is one of those

supported by the white pedestal in the patio.

Dappled starlight seemed to brighten the Stable Door.

Marguerites, petunias, and bidens continue to bloom on the edge of the Dragon Bed;

deep violet petunias spill from the Iron Urn;

while pale pink striped ones accompany similar hued geraniums on the

Cryptomeria Bed also sporting Hot Lips salvias.

More dahlias continue to bloom alongside the Dead End Path,

and in the New Bed.

A Canna lily lifts its flaming torch over the Palm Bed;

Blue Ming Marvellous campanula once more lives up to its punning name in the Rose Garden;

New Zealand flax, rudbeckia, and the remains of a crocosmia Lucifer still provide a sinuous sweep in the Palm Bed;

and clematis Comtesse de Bouchard flounces once more over the gazebo.

Sedum, fuchsias

and asters parade along the herbaceous border.

An orange begonia hangs before the Weeping Birch, the leaves of which appear to confirm that summer really is thinking about departing.

This afternoon we drove out to the other Downton, near Salisbury in Wiltshire, in order to checkout the route to the venues for Rachel and Gareth’s wedding on Saturday. The service is to be held at Timberley Lane, Redlynch, which was our first stop. From there we travelled to Barford Park Farm, where the reception is booked.

Cattle grazed in the field

on one side of the entrance drive.

The fields on the opposite side of Barford Lane basked in the warm sunshine. What a shame that the forecast for this area on the wedding day is continual rain.

Driving through:

on our way home, we noticed that the village public telephone box has now been converted to a book exchange.

Naturally we rummaged for romantic novels.

Jackie all but made off with her favourite find.

The cricket season has ended, but ponies still carry out groundsmen’s duties on the outfield at Nomansland.

We stopped for a drink at The Green Dragon, Brook, then continued on home.

This evening we dined on smoked haddock, piquant cauliflower cheese, crunchy carrots, new potatoes, and runner beans. I drank more of the malbec.

What Would You Have Seen?

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I don’t really remember dreams much, but last night I relived my childhood when everything became smaller as I grew older. In particular, walls I couldn’t scramble up to walk along suddenly became manageable. Was this anything to do with the fact that Jackie needs the work surfaces in the new kitchen to be higher than standard? Especially as I was also working out how to pay for the project?

This morning we travelled by car to Kitchen Makers, discussed the fine details, and paid a deposit for work to commence after Christmas. We then drove on to Hockey’s Farm Shop to buy pork sausages and their splendid Pig ‘n’ Pickles Piccalilli. The sausages were essential because we were to dine on Jackie’s sausage casserole this evening and she had bought vegetarian sausages by mistake. We just had to have some meat ones to go with them.

Holmsley Passage sweeps down

across the moors from the A35 leaving Lyndhurst. I left the road at the top of the slope pictured above, and made my way

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=marSWLjaQNw&w=560&h=315]

tripping through the heather, bracken and gorse to the lowest point where Jackie waited to take us onwards. I will let these eloquent landscapes tell their own story.

Mine comes later.

Changeable clouds constantly shifted overhead.

At Hockey’s, where we lunched, alpacas, donkeys, sheep, and horses are near neighbours.

Ducks and geese roam in large pens,

from where they have access to a small pool, today occupied by Khaki Campbell ducks. The pale blue bills of some of these caught my attention.

According to Wikipedia

‘The Khaki Campbell (Anas platyrhynchos domesticus^[1] or Anas platyrhynchos Linnaeus^[2]) is a breed of domesticated duck that originated in England and is kept for its high level of egg production. The breed was developed by Mrs. Adel Campbell ^[3] of Uley, Gloucestershire, England at the turn of the 20th century. The “Campbell Duck” being introduced in 1898 ^[4] and the ‘Khaki’ variety introduced to the public in 1901.^[5]

Adult Campbell ducks weigh approximately 3-5 pounds. Campbells can come in three color varieties: khaki, dark and white. They are a cross between Mallard, Rouen and Runner ducks. The Khaki Campbell drake is mostly khaki colored with a darker head usually olive green lacking the white ring of its Mallard ancestors. The Khaki Campbell duck has a more modest plumage of Khaki covering the entirety of the body. Despite popular misconceptions of skittish or flightly behavior Campbells are a very gentle, passive and friendly breed when raised by hand until maturity. They are a good breed for young families and children to raise.

The egg production of the Campbell breed can exceed even the most efficient of egg laying domestic chickens, with the breed laying an average of 300 eggs a year. When provided a moderate “duck conscious” environment to live in they will lay a more than modest number of eggs per week.

Khaki Campbells become mature at approximately 7 months. Khaki Campbell ducks seldom hatch out others’ young; however, in very communal situations do hatch large broods together. Most brooding behavior has been sacrificed in exchange for prolific egg laying ability in this breed. The ducks, when raised by hand, are not usually defensive of their eggs or nests, making collection of eggs very easy. Mechanical incubators or broody chickens are used to hatch out Khaki Campbell ducklings when ducks are not present in the process. Incubation takes approximately 23 to 28 days for a Khaki Campbell duckling to hatch and eggs need to be inspected for ducklings that have not emerged from their egg completely.’

Pumpkins were on sale at the shop.

Roger Penny way stretches for 7 miles between Godshill and Cadnam. For the New Forest it is a comparatively straight, wide, road on which you are permitted to drive at 40 m.p.h. Even if you are adhering to this limit, which many people do not, contact with an animal would do neither creature nor vehicle much good.

Having seen the second Hit and Run notice concerning a dead donkey in under a week, we passed this self evident sign just outside The Fighting Cocks inn. There are warning signs at regular intervals along this unlit thoroughfare.

Not much further along the road we encountered a black cow. Imagine this in the dark.

With a theme gestating in my brain, we spotted, on the brow of a hill, blending nicely with a tree on the verge, a black and grey dappled pony. Had this creature, facing us, not lifted its head, we would not have seen it. This was the very subject I had been looking for. There was nowhere to stop or turn at this point, and, anyway, we had a convoy. Thinking we had probably missed the moment, my driver found a spot at which to turn around, came back to the spot, and stopped a little further on on the opposite verge.

As I approached my prey I noticed that it now had companions.

Suddenly a black one stepped out onto the road.

The dappled grey followed.

The most visible of all was not to be left behind.

As is evident, these animals were in no hurry. Now, imagine it is after sunset. What would you have seen?

The animals have no road sense, and will step out at any moment. Not always in clear sunlight giving bright colours a glow. This last pony emerged from the trees to join the others.

From the first photograph of the three – or was it four? – among the trees, to the colourful chestnut, the time elapsed was no more that a minute.

With this evening’s superb casserole Jackie produced crunchy carrots and cabbage with creamy mash. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the madiran.

Beside The Breakwater

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This morning I pulled up a chair for Eric Gill, with whom I was soon to part company.

When, four days ago, we visited All Saints’ Church at Bransgore, I knew that I would present the parish with my Folio Society facsimile copy of the Golden Cockerel Press edition of The Four Gospels, designed and illustrated by Eric Gill. The original was published in 1931. The Folio facsimile, from 2007, comes with a companion volume of essays by John Dreyfus and Robert Gibbings. The reason for the chair is that the work is too large to fit into my scanner, so I had to use a camera to record the book. Gold leaf is applied to the cover, the spine, and the edges of the pages.

A church that houses Gill’s original stone carvings is surely a suitable home for this book, containing his bold illustrations and superb lettering. Enlarging these illustrations will show the texture of the paper.

Each of the four evangelists is introduced by his own page.

All is contained in a strong box bearing the craftsman’s trademark elegantly simple calligraphy.

In order for me to present the book Jackie drove me to the home of Ingrid Tomkins who had shown us round the church. She explained that it would be kept in a safe place to which interested visitors would be given access.

Afterwards, Jackie and I took a trip into the forest. We drove through the moors towards Burley. Ponies could be seen across the landscape, also bearing the embers of controlled burning of gorse;

and beside the roads stretching into the distance.

One cyclist preferred to push his bike up the hill.

Most of these roads have a limit of 40 m.p.h., reducing to 30 on the approach to villages. Even at 30 m.p.h. collision with a pony could be fatal.

The tourist season is not yet over for Forest Leisure Cycling in Burley,

where a quintet of grunting, snorting, snuffling, scampering young Gloucester Old Spot sows informed us that this year’s pannage had begun. They scratched backs, flanks, and bums against the bollards and street sign as they fell over each to enter Burley Lawn.

Their elegant turns of leg belied their ungainly appearance as they raced to the next possible source of food

upon which, like seething maggots, they all seized at once.

We travelled along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive

where the bracken is browning

and fallen needles carpeting their tree roots.

During the hundred or so metres along the forest verge I ventured, I counted upwards of a dozen discarded drink containers and other detritus;

and lobbed into an otherwise picturesque stream

were more than that number of Carling Special Brew cans.

From here we continued to Kitchen Makers at Sway where Ann took us through two different proposals, both of which look exciting, but one of which is probably ruled out by the shallowness of our drainage system. We are to consider these two options. I told Ann that we have very good reports of her firm from Geoff Le Pard, whose mother had used them twice. Ann had fond memories of Mrs. Le Pard.

We brunched at The Beach Hut Café at Friar’s Cliff. Readers may remember that on a recent visit I chose a meal described as pulled pork burger with chips and salad, and pointed out that this was not what I had been given. My observation was accepted and an undertaking to change what was written on the board was promised. The specials board now features a quarter pound burger topped with pulled pork. There is no mention of salad. I expressed my appreciation of this, which went down well.

The sea was rather wilder today. There was just one couple on the beach, basking beside a breakwater.

It will come as no surprise that, after Beach Hut big breakfasts, pizza and salad sufficed for our evening meal.

A Beautiful Memorial

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This morning Jackie drove us around the forest.

A new residential development is being constructed almost opposite the Parish Church in Hordle Lane.

The builders are

and, as such post a

On the way to Tiptoe, cyclamen emerge from the verge of Mead End Road;

Gates Cottage lies on a bend;

and we exchanged greetings with a couple riding in a trap.

Wobbly Cottage, built on a hill,

enjoys splendid woodland opposite

and alongside.

A little further along the road, Boundary car park offers splendid views of moorland

to which this horse is being led.

Cyclists were out in force, and outside Burley, pony trekkers adopted their two abreast defensive technique.

Wild ponies, knowing they have the right of way, don’t bother.

Driving through Thorney Hill, Jackie spotted a rather beautiful little church. As we searched for a suitable parking spot, one of two gentlemen clearing a ditch in front of it beckoned to us and opened the gate

leading to the Renaissance style building. We were to learn who was represented by the angles over the circular window and the bell tower.

First, we wandered around the graveyard with its New Forest backdrop.

Inside we received a warm welcome by a couple greeting visitors. We had had the good fortune to discover the church on the day it was taking part in the Historic Churches open day. Normally, apart from regular Sunday services at 9.20 a.m. it is only open on Saturday afternoons from May to September between 2.00 and 4.00. The information that follows is gleaned from the leaflet ‘All Saints’ Church, Thorney Hill’.

The church was built for ‘Lord John and Lady Constance Manners. Lady Constance was born Hamlyn-Fane, a family with connections to the Earls of Westmorland.’ ‘The family also owned Clovelly Estate, and it was in All Saints’ Church Clovelly that she married John Masters, 3rd Lord Manners of Foston in 1885.’

‘John and Constance Manners had five children: Mary Christine, twins Betty and Agnes, John and Francis. During a visit to India Mary Christine contracted cholera and died. She was buried in Clovelly, but the family near [their home at] Avon Tyrell [house] and built All Saints’ Church in 1906.’

‘Detmar Blow, believed to be John Ruskin’s last protégé, was commissioned to design All Saints’ Church.’ ‘A sense of space is created by use of both square and round pillars, made from fine Caen stone.’

‘On the two sets of wooden doors are carvings of a cherub face, believed to be that of Mary Christine. On our visit a small spider was engaged in spinning a shroud.

‘A commemoration plaque to her is situated on the back left hand wall. It is carved by Eric Gill and listed by the Tate as among his finest work.

‘Sadness again struck the family when their son John was killed in the first days of the First World War in the retreat from Mons. His body was never found. Constance Manners chose Bertram MacKennal, an Australian sculptor, to make the bronze effigy of John, now placed in the Church. He uses a soldier’s belongings to great effect in the sculpture. The inscription and distraught angels above are carved by Eric Gill.’

A photograph of the young lady stands on the wall above her brother’s monument.

‘The most striking feature in the church is the mural. It was painted in memory of Constance, who died in 1920, by Phoebe Traquair, an Irish lady by birth who lived in Scotland. It is one of only two of her murals in England; all the others are in Scotland. Phoebe was a leading member of the Arts and Crafts movement and worked in many media, including enamelling, jewellery and book-binding. She completed the mural in 1922 aged seventy. The theme is Te Deum – Praise the Lord. As in others of her murals Phoebe Traquair has used the faces of real persons, living and historical, when painting the characters…..quite a few have been identified with varying degree[s] of certainty’ These are available on consulting a key kept in the church.

‘The dome top is painted gold which reflects and gathers the light around a portrayal of Christ in Glory. At his feet are children from Thorney Hill School possibly taken from a photograph of 1922.’

A floral display behind the splendidly original pulpit is perfectly colour coordinated.

I ascended the wooden spiral staircase

to the organ loft

in order to secure an aerial view of the sanctuary through a chandelier.

The circular window behind me focussed on the forest.

The need for the Thieves Beware notice on the front door is made clear in the leaflet. ‘In the last fifty years All Saints’ church has suffered several disastrous events. The lead on the roof was first stolen in 1966. The aluminium which replaced it was found to be perforated with pin sized holes resulting in damage by damp. With the help of English Heritage a lead roof was again fitted in 2005 only to be partly stolen in 2013. Fire has struck several times, fortunately there was time for anything removable to be taken outside. The storm in January 1990 brought down all the trees in front of the church, snapping some of them in half and leaving the church inaccessible for weeks.’

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb pork paprika, wild rice, green beans, and broccoli. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Fleurie.

P.S. My friend Barrie Haynes posted this on Facebook: Barrie Haynes Thanks for that Derrick, truly one of the wonders of the New Forest. When I was a boy the children of Thorney Hill had a special class at school, as they were a rough lot and smelled! I’m not making this up. There was also a myth that the lady in question was in fact entombed there and because of an expert make over by the embalmer, looked just the same as the day she died. I had lots of friends in Bransgore, but we were warned that the church was haunted and we never went up there after dark! If she was brought back from India to Clovelly it would be very interesting to see the logistics of this operation, the cost must have been enormous but the Manners were never short of a few bob! Hope this is of interest to your readers.

Free Ice Creams

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We spent a sweltering morning on garden tasks. Jackie prepared an area in the West Bed from which Aaron had removed an ancient, unproductive, rose yesterday for a replacement yet to be acquired. I occupied myself dead-heading and clearing up.

This afternoon we drove into the forest. Jackie did her best to avoid the bank holiday visitors, many of whom were beginning their slow trek home.

We found ourselves at Thorney Hill where the views down the slopes were uninterrupted; the bracken is beginning to adopt its autumn colouring;

and blackberries sprawled over the hedgerows.

The occasional car, and one sole cyclist occupied Braggers Lane,

further along which we stopped to observe horses in a paddock. Some wore fly masks.

The fencing cast criss-crossed shadows.

As we were about to leave, Heather and her companion drove up. Despite her Scots accent, this delightful woman owned one of the horses. Another belonged to her friend. Heather was enjoying an ice-cream. She offered us each a Magnum, for which we were suitably grateful.

The two horses were eager to be tackled up for a ride. Their noses appeared over the barred gate, and I do believe that, as they were petted, they sampled Heather’s ice-cream cone.

Once my driver had consumed her choc ice on a stick, we waved farewell and continued on our way.

Ponies at Furze Hill cropped the grass

beside a stream

into which one of this year’s foals ventured

for a paddle while it chomped on blackberries.

Possibly it was this creature’s parent that pounded down the slope and across the pool to the far end; slaked its thirst, then clambered past me to the road. I thought it best to move out of the way. It looked quite heavy.

I had made my way down to the pebbly bed of the stream, so, when a passing cyclist called to her companion to look at the baby down there, it took me a second or two to realise she was referring to the young pony.

After this we enjoyed a drink in the Foresters Arms at Frogham, and returned home.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wonderful beef in red wine; creamy mashed potato; and crunchy carrots, runner beans, and broccoli. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Pruning Service

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The landscape around Brockenhurst remained pretty waterlogged when we visited it this morning.

Even though the day was dull, trees were reflected in the pools.

A small group walked along a pitted track leading to a made-up road, enabling a couple of youngsters to ride ponies.

Most home owners in the New Forest, in order to stem equine invasion, keep their gates closed, and have cattle grids fitted. Not so one house for the sale at the end of this road.

A pair of donkeys had wandered in and set about an uninvited pruning service. Not, of course, until I had taken a few photographs, and after the animals stretched over the fence to set about next door’s shrubs, I knocked at both doors. Neither produced a response. I left the animals to it. The male, who appears in most of these images, wandered out and stood in the middle of the road. A woman from Hornchurch, who was down for the weekend was quite concerned for the creature’s safety. We had a very pleasant conversation in which I explained that the asses were not in danger as they had the right of way.

This afternoon I watched ITV’s coverage of the Six Nations rugby match between Italy and France in Rome; and of England’s game against Scotland at Twickenham.

This evening we dined on a rack of pork ribs with Jackie’s superb egg fried rice, green beans and sugar snaps with which I drank more of the bordeaux.

Our friend, Ginene Angel of https://foxandfinchantiques.com, has asked for the publication of our new fire at night.

Here it is Ginene.

Forest Pursuits

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We spent the morning driving around the forest before lunching at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms.

The strong early morning sun forced its way through the rising mist, and eventually dominated the blue skies, warming

the landscape,

and eventually lighting the lichen-covered oaks,

some of which were reflected in the myriad of pools like these on the way to Burley.

Crossing the road I arrived at another small lake that turned out to be part of a golf course.

As I contemplated the green further up the hill, I imaged what it would be like to hit your ball into the water.

Preceded by their voices a group of golfers dragged their bags into view. I passed on my thoughts, and the gentleman facing me in the second picture, informed me, with a wry smile, that they didn’t need to imagine it.

There are many fords on the forest roads, with bridges for pedestrians wishing to cross swollen streams. This crossing near Burley was dry,

and clear water flowed fast beneath it.

On this fine spring Saturday there was much traffic on the road. This did not deter somnolent ponies who ignored cars slaloming around them and cyclists whizzing through the central gap.

A domestic horse tore nonchalantly at the beech hedge beside its wire fencing.

At Brockenhurst a working Telephone box was reflected in a seasonal pool.

The structure had clearly been left exposed to the elements without protective paint for a number of years. A pile of rubbish carpeted the floor, and it was necessary to negotiate a discarded poop scoop bag to reach the peeling door.

Perhaps it would have been an idea to offer the management to local residents as in the case of this one at Wootton. This is also reflected, but it would be more savoury to make one’s way through mud and pony droppings than the obstacle mentioned above.

There were many golfers playing on various courses on this beautiful morning.

Also engaged in forest pursuits were dog walkers like this couple drying their dog after a romp amongst the dewy bracken.

Cyclists abounded. Take note of the two heads ascending the hill behind those in the first picture.

Many horse riders were seen on the country roads and across the moors.

Joggers exercised alone,

or in couples. Do you recognise the two heads seen on the road to Burley? Here they are somewhat later.

For lunch at Holmsley Jackie chose her favourite macaroni cheese. My meal was an excellent fish pie served with carrots, peas, and greens.

This evening the Culinary Queen produced a thick mushroom and cheese omelette for our dinner.

Breathing Pace

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No, there is no letter missing from the title. All will be revealed to those who have the perseverance to make it through the bumper morning’s photographic haul.

Although Jackie is far from well, she was determined on a lengthy forest drive on this clear, crisp, morning. Each time I tried to convince her that I had enough pictures, she refused to turn back for home.

Just around the corner in Hordle Lane, gaps in the hedge brought us into eye contact with sheep who have adopted the colouring of the stubble they have been sent to nibble, and the soil they are revealing.

Our first stop was at Wootton, where the breath of a ridden horse wafted against the arboreal backdrop.

From there we parked on a gravel path beside a group of ponies. While my eyes were fixed on these, Jackie became highly excited by a herd of deer bouncing through the bracken. They were about to cross the road. I abandoned the horses and rushed to the tarmac where

I was fortunate enough to hit my cervine target.

My luck held when I returned to the ponies,

where one, ignored by its drowsy companions, showed two clean pairs of heels in rolling over for a scratch,

then clambered to its feet.

A little further along Wootton Road I spent some time exploring the stream,

partly iced over and penetrating still frosted landscape.

Negotiating networks of roots, and taking advantage of the apparent firmness of

frozen terrain,

I was able to explore areas that had been too muddy to venture into in the past. Mind you, I did manage to fill my left shoe with freezing water, and make the rest of the trip in a more than adequate ice-pack.

A frozen hat hanging over the stream had me wondering whether the owner had got a bit wet.

It hung beside one of the many tyre swings that I have spotted in the forest. Had there been a mishap?

Eventually, glancing back at the more open landscape,

I joined Jackie, patiently waiting in the car with her puzzle book.

We moved on to Helen’s favourite view, from the Picket Post car park near Ringwood.

I walked out along the ridge around a deep valley, where I noticed a gentleman looking down the hillside.

He was waiting for female and canine companions.

Frost still lay in the sunless sides of the slope,

whereas it had melted on others.

A beribboned tree provided me with a mystery. My solution is that an enterprising wedding photographer led the bride and groom to this spot for some romantic images. That’s what I might have done, anyway.

Leaving this landscape behind us

we progressed to Eyeworth Pond where twitchers were out in force.

Someone had hung a number of feeders on the trees, and placed seed on the barrier to the footpath. They attracted, among others, blue tits, nuthatches, robins, and blackbirds.

Was this a sparrow hiding in the holly?

Numerous ducks paddled on the lake,

and the area bore its own frosted landscape.

Here, I did manage to miss a tree root and take a tumble. Never mind, the camera was safe.

Before leaving Fritham I failed to interest a pair of dozing donkeys in conversation.

It was then I noticed a phenomenon that should not have surprised me. The breath of the slumbering equine creatures came at very slow intervals and was feeble in its ascent into the ether. One could not hold up its head. The exhalation was nothing like that emitted by the exercising horse at the beginning of this saga. Makes sense really.

This evening Jackie produced a dinner of tender roast lamb, perfect roast potatoes, and crisp carrots with green beans, followed by spicy rice pudding. She drank sparkling water and I began an excellent bottle of Barolo 2012, given to me for Christmas by Helen and Bill.