Tag: landscapes

Preening Swans

Today the air was cold; the cotton-clouded cerulean skies bright and sunny.

After lunch we took a drive as far as Hatchet Moor and back, enabling me to tramp over the

burnt gorse Nash battlefield beside the lake.

Beaulieu Road is lined with pools surrounding the rooted feet of trees which are generally dry in summer.

Walkers with dogs sought dry land and children sought pools in which gleefully to splash.

Muddy tracks surrounded this extension of Hatchet Pond and its environs, paradise to

stately swans exploring the tufted grasses.

Here is Jackie’s take on the swans as they preened and investigated the tussocks.

She waved from her vantage point on the far side of the water, from which she also photographed fishermen in the battlefield and “Where’s Derrick?” (4).

On our return a shaggy grey pony blocked the entrance to Gaza Avenue in East Boldre, opposite which her equine cousins grazed.

One bay crossed the soggy reflective terrain and was immediately followed by a slightly more mottled specimen.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent beef and mushroom pie; creamy swede and potato mash; firm carrots, tender cabbage, and meaty gravy, with which she drank Hoegaarden and, having opened another bottle, I drank more of the Macon.

Sigoules and Eymet

I spent most of the afternoon scanning and labelling another selection of colour slides from the recently rediscovered boxes. Apart from the two of Michael and Heidi, which I now think were taken twelve months later, these were all made in August 2008. During that summer I spent three weeks at various French bookings with my son and his family, saw them on their way to Spain, and stayed another week with my friends Maggie and Mike at Eymet in Aquitaine. As told in https://derrickjknight.com/2012/06/04/the-gite-from-hell/ this set of circumstances was instrumental in prompting me to buy

No 6 rue St Jacques, Sigoules. Mike is seen here opening the door for my viewing.

On this trip I took a few of the many walks around the town and its streets over the next few years. There were hardly any hillside slopes lacking prolific vineyards; vigorous sunflowers flourished in flatter fields; rustic stone buildings provided age-old charm,

My friends had moved from No 6 to be nearer the amenities of Eymet, a veritable English enclave.

Although I had to help Maggie with a pronunciation confusion when she was buying from a fruit seller, there seemed to be more English than French voices heard in Eymet’s popular market. In later years I found it easier to root out second-hand English books on the stalls than French ones.

This was also the occasion of the first of my ramblings around Eymet’s streets and lanes (rouelles). Most French towns and villages have splendid war memorials of which this is a fine example.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s perfect paprika pork; scrumptious savoury rice; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Christmas Covid-Cancelled, Collecting Easter Eggs

Today we took an early lunch and drove to Tesco for our big shop. As usual I sat in the car, Jackie did the business, and I intended to read my book. After one page my sister, Jacqueline, phoned me and that was the end of the reading.

In fact Tesco wasn’t too difficult, so the Caterer in Chief wouldn’t let me unload the shopping into the car for Covid safety’s sake.

We took a diversion round Holmsley Passage and its misty, frosty, landscape on our way home.

As I wandered, fingers and toes tingling, I discerned just one group of grazing ponies.

Others, on Holmsley Road

and Wootton Common were nearer at hand. One, as soon as I paid it any attention, huddled against its companion seeking security.

A weak sun, putting in an appearance over Hordle Lane, silhouetted a number of oaks.

Undeterred by the fact that we are still consuming provisions bought in for Covid-cancelled Christmas, Jackie had made her first Easter egg purchases.

This evening we dined on more of Jackie’s perfect spicy pork paprika; boiled potatoes; firm carrots and cauliflower; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Malbec.

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.

Soggy

Although the skies were to brighten later, when we drove into the forest this morning light flakes of fluffy snow had already evaporated to integrate with liquid precipitation.

Jackie parked the Modus at Crockford Clump and I squelched across

waterlogged moorland and clambered over undulating slopes the basins of which became their own

reflecting, rippling, reservoirs refilled by pattering raindrops dripping from twigs above into the otherwise silent streams below.

Lichen layered arboreal limbs lay shattered among soggy autumn leaves; a perky robin roamed from tree to tree.

A friendly woman walking her dogs told me about the snow and a herd of deer she had seen earlier. Paddy, one of her dogs, lolloped over to me in search of treats and took no for an answer.

Ponies occupied the tarmac at East Boldre whilst communing with a couple of field horses.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s lemon chicken and savoury rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cotes du Rhone.

A Nippy Little Pig

When I ran regularly across London to work I would adapt my route according to traffic conditions. This is what Jackie did early this morning as we took a drive in what we knew would be the very small window of reasonable light when she had to follow

a huge vehicle negotiating its way along Hordle Lane which was difficult enough without the Mums’, Dads’ and Grandparents’ school run. At the junction with Everton Road the large motor turned left so we continued straight on once the school crossing lollipop man granted his permission.

The stream meant to run under Holmsley Passage flowed fast over the ford. Having dropped me on the far side Jackie drove back through the water to present me with a photogenic splash.

I also pictured woodland with a fallen tree, and a grey pony more interested in us than in its relative trotting behind it.

On the moorland stretch of the road a burnished bay blended with browned bracken;

and billowing clouds soared above hazy landscapes.

There is always a large reflective pond on the left up Clay Hill.

Today a winterbourne stream provided another mirror on the right hand side.

In order for mobile phone masts to be permitted in the forest they are required to adopt an arboreal appearance. There is one at the bottom of this hill.

Pigs at pannage snuffled-snorted, as they burrowed their eager way into heaps of autumn leaves and muddy ditches, occasionally trotting backwards and forwards across Holmsley Road. The last three pictures in this gallery represent the slobbering mobbing to which I was subjected when I emerged from the car in order to photograph the mobile pork in search of a different kind of mast. It was difficult enough to dodge the trotters and keep focussed without being nipped in the back of the leg while attempting to capture the little Gloucester Old Spot. Fortunately neither my trouser nor my skin was penetrated.

The rain set in for the rest of the day after we returned home.

For this evening’s dinner Jackie produced a minced beef pie with a topping of potato slices; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; firm Brussels sprouts, and meaty gravy with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Silhouettes At Sunset

We set out for a drive in the forest an hour before sunset.

There were a number of people out riding, such as this young lady on Barrows Lane. They were usually in no particular hurry. Neither were we.

As I emerged from the Modus high on Holmsley Passage, a dog in a Land Rover fixed me with its baleful beady eye.

A number of dog walkers, like this woman with her pair, were also taking the air.

A couple of motor cyclists followed a fast moving car, the driver of which did his best to splash me as he sped past. Fortunately I had anticipated the shower and (with poetic licence) nipped over the bank in the foreground.

The late sun burnished both landscape and ponies. The second black and white subject stretched its neck whilst emitting an extended whinnying.

Alongside Bisterne Close a group of ponies seemed intent on stripping the holly branches until, with one accord, they trooped off into the woodland and out of sight.

We just had time to catch

sunset at Barton on Sea where groups of well distanced visitors provided me with a choice of silhouettes. A young family played cricket on the green. The ball was struck in my direction, my reflexes kicked in, and I bent at the knees in an attempt to scoop it up. I couldn’t get down far enough and had to plead dodgy pins. My pride hurt the most.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s savoury omelette-topped rice served with a quartet of prawn preparations, namely salt and pepper, hot and spicy, tempura, and skewered in a skein of shredded potato. The Culinary Queen and I both drank Greco di Tufo 2019, a most mellow Italian white from Lidl.

Cheered Up By Sunset

Today began unpromisingly dull and wet. I scanned the last few colour slides from

Abney Park Cemetery in May 2008. The second image and

the two which follow have been converted to black and white. The first of these shows a typically decorated capital. The second is the Pesman family grave. According to jacobstree.co.uk Frederic Adolphus senior, originally an artificial flower maker, lived for 81 years. His wives, Agnes Susan née Peak, daughter of a builder; Mary Ann, née Bulford; and some of his children were not so fortunate. The last name on the stone, obscured by ivy is probably the son of Frederick and Agnes who, along with two sisters, did not survive early infancy. Two of their daughters did survive, one to be 90.

Before lunch we drove to Ferndene Farm Shop and bought a Christmas tree, the needles of which

attempted to spear me on the way home.

The weather gradually improved this afternoon when we drove into the forest.

Barrows Lane is becoming soggy. Jackie parked on the verge while I photographed the landscape including two field horses in bright red and blue rugs.

By sunset over Hatchet Pond the skies had really cheered up.

When I came to draft this post I was hard put to distinguish between Jackie’s and my shots. The second gallery images are, I believe, those of the able Assistant Photographer, who,

driving home, metamorphosed into my Chauffeuse, and parked at East Boldre while I photographed

the remnants of the sunset reflected in a Winterbourne pool

and providing a backcloth for skeletal trees.

For dinner this evening Jackie provided lamb jalfrezi, mushroom rice topped with slices of boiled egg, and vegetable samosas. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra.

Stygian Skies

Heavy rain fell from decidedly Stygian skies throughout the morning during which I finished reading the fourth chapter, entitled ‘ ‘Give me combat!’ France: 1894-9′, of Barbara W. Tuchman’s The Proud Tower.

I had previously been vaguely aware of the Dreyfus Affair with dominated the decade, but never really understood it until reading Tuchman’s analysis of the schism that split France. Dreyfus was a French army captain who happened to be Jewish and was unjustly accused of selling secrets to Germany. There is now no doubt that Captain Dreyfus was framed by the French military authorities who used forged documents to condemn him to years of imprisonment. It became a national conflict between the Dreyfusards, convinced of his innocence, and those who believed the military should be supported at all costs. Violent anti-Semitism developed and was pitted against those, largely artists and intellectuals, who fought for justice.

I will refrain from offering more details save to say that the ultimate pardon did not come with a finding of innocence. Ms Tuchman describes the physical and emotional violence of the warring parties, which also involved a failed assassination. France, too, had the seething undercurrent which seemed endemic to the rest of Europe.

My mid afternoon today the rain had ceased and a brief appearance of sun had cast a little light over the land.

While I readied myself for a trip into the forest Jackie nipped out into the garden and photographed

raindrops on weeping birch and clematis cirrhosa Freckles.

The chameleon skies were the canvas on which my camera painted

varying tones of indigo and smoky ochres with pink tinges.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s mixed meats and vegetable stoup followed by pepperoni pizza and fresh salad, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank The Second Fleet Cabernet, Merlot, and Petit Verdot Coonawarra 2019.

Close Encounter Of The Covid Kind

On an unseasonably mild morning of sunshine and showers we drove into the deserted forest where Jackie decanted me at a few unpopulated points where I wandered with my camera.

Had we been in a hurry down Beckley Road we might have had a closer than comfortable encounter with an approaching van.

Fortunately Jackie had parked on a verge while I photographed autumnal woodland with its yellowing leaves fallen on soggy ground and clinging to dripping trees.

Our next stop was along Rhinefield Road where I rustled leaves underfoot while seeking further fall images.

Passing under the A31 and pausing on Linwood Road I walked back to photograph

reflections in a recently replenished pool, whilst taking in

pleasantly hazy landscapes,

one of which camouflaged a pair of grazing ponies.

Cattle hunkered down among the gorse.

We continued through Appleslade where

the glowing hillsides whispered to the sunlit trees opposite a naked windswept silhouette.

From our high vantage point I watched a close encounter as a pair of horse riders approached and, hopefully keeping social distance, crossed paths with a pedestrian couple. Perhaps they passed the time of day.

On the road above Ibsley ford as I photographed

sunlit woodland we could hear cries of children playing in the grounds of Moyles Court School, like others, currently being kept open. This is not so for pubs, which must be disappointing for the staff of

Elm Tree on Hightown Road who have installed a magnificent poppy display in the now closed garden.

Nick has continued painting woodwork in the sitting room

and wrestling with preparation in the kitchen.

This evening we dined on a second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s fine fare, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.