Ready For Spring

In bright, warm, sunshine this morning Martin cleared more of last year’s dead garden material.

Here he works around the patio and Dead End Path;

The Pond Bed is now ready for new growth,

such as the tree peony in the Palm Bed, to emerge.

Daffodils, for example the tête-à-têtes, are really proliferating.

Summer and Autumn seasonal statues continue to gather lichen,

while Florence casts her shadow across the Shady Path.

Hellebores are beginning to hold up their heads; berberis, sometimes somewhat nibbled lingers on; and a hyacinth which began life in a gift pot returns year after year.

This afternoon, I facilitated enlargement and provided header pictures for the following posts:

Essentially what I am doing with these Classic Edits is converting them to Blocks.

Elizabeth visited this afternoon toting a large bag of very good clothes for Ellie which had once served Ella or Jack. She stayed for cups of tea and conversation including swapping recommendations of TV programmes.

Later the rest of us dined on flavoursome pork bangers and creamy mash with tender cabbage, crunchy carrots, fried onions, and meaty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.

Cutting Back

After lunch I recovered pictures and substituted feature images for the following posts:

His waterproof hooded jacket glistening from fairly steady light rain Martin had spent the morning cutting back last year’s dead garden material.

In order to improve the view from our kitchen window,

he began with the Pond Bed.

As will be seen from a few views I photographed on a walk round the garden, there is much more to be done.

Pearly drops slowly slid from camellias

and hellebores.

Tête-à-têtes and snowdrops happily co-existed, and

the lichen on the Nottingham Castle bench continued to celebrate the purer air of its last resting place.

This evening we dined on succulent roast chicken; sage and onion stuffing; boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli and cauliflower; tender green beans; and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank Diet Coke and I drank more of the Malbec.

A Victorian Rebuild

Early this morning, a representative of Norman’s Heating visited to assess for quotation our requirements for a new oil tank. The good news is that we don’t need such a big container. We await the estimate.

After lunch Jackie drove us all to Ringwood, where we left Flo, Dillon, and Ellie while she and I took a trip out of the forest where we stopped beside

a bridge over the River Avon on the road to Harbridge.

Every year the Avon around the area overflows its banks. This is just

one spot where water meadows are created.

An egret was happily foraging there.

The little community of Harbridge has such a long history that I have included the following paragraphs for those who are interested. You may wish to skip these and scroll down to the churchyard pictures.

‘Herdebrige (xi cent.); Hardebrygg (xiii cent.); Haberigge (xiv cent.); Harebrigg (xv cent.); Hardbridge (xvi cent.).

The parish of Harbridge contains over 4,000 acres, comprising 650 acres of arable land, 986½ acres of permanent grass and 356½ acres of woodland. (fn. 1) The height above sea level is for the most part above 100 ft. and below 200 ft. The soil is sandy, the subsoil gravel, which has been considerably worked. (fn. 2) The western and south-western parts of the parish comprise the great uncultivated tracts of Plumley Heath with its tumuli and Nea Heath. In the south-east is Somerley, the seat of Lord Normanton, with its magnificent picture gallery and its park of 900 acres. Nearly the whole parish together with Ibsley and Ellingham belongs to Lord Normanton’s estate.’

‘The little village of Harbridge, with its church, lies about 2 miles north-east of Somerley, at the edge of the low meadow land to the east of the River Avon. North again are Harbridge Green and North End Park and Farm. Old Somerley is on the northern border of Somerley Park.’

‘In 1086 HARBRIDGE was held of the king by Bernard the Chamberlain, having been held by Ulveva in the days of the Confessor. The assessment had fallen from 5 hides to 3 hides and 1 virgate. (fn. 4) The subsequent history of Harbridge is not easy to unravel. Gilbert de Clare Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, the last of the Clares, was receiving a rent of 25s. 8d. held of the king by knight service at his death in 1314. (fn. 5) This was then committed to the charge of Lawrence de Rustiton, and afterwards of Richard de Rodeneye, Ithel de Keyrewent and Richard de Byflet, keepers of the earl’s lands, (fn. 6) the places of the last two being subsequently taken by Bennet de Cokefeld and William de Aylmere. (fn. 7) It was probably by virtue of the Clare possessions that the king’s name occurs in the Nomina Villarum of 1316. (fn. 8)

‘The king’s parcenary in 1316 was Isabel de Acton. (fn. 9) Her holding may be traced in the messuage and virgate the reversion of which Sir John Poyntz conveyed to Sir John de la Hale and his heirs in 1364. (fn. 10) John Palmer was then holding the estate of the hereditament of Poyntz; after his death it was to remain to Joan wife of Sir John de Acton, deceased, and after her death to remain to Poyntz or by the terms of the conveyance to Sir John de la Hale.’

‘By the early part of the 15th century Harbridge, then known as a manor, had come into the hands of a Henry Smith who was unjustly disseised by John Poole. (fn. 11) However, in January 1500 Thomas Poole of Holwall (co. Somers.), a descendant of John, sold and quitclaimed to John Smith of Askerswell (co. Dors.) grandson of Henry, both for himself and Margery, late wife of Thomas Trowe, and possibly sister or mother of Thomas Poole, (fn. 12) all right and title in the manor of Harbridge, together with all the possessions of the late Margery Trowe, and those occupied by Jane widow of John Poole, uncle of Thomas, and by Edith Poole widow. (fn. 13) The full sum due on this sale was not paid off, however, until 1504, (fn. 14) and meanwhile Poole conveyed the premises to Sir John Turbervyle and to Richard Kemer. (fn. 15) Nevertheless Nicholas Smith, heir, presumably, of John, died seised in 1538, (fn. 16) leaving a widow Sybil, on whom Harbridge was settled in dower for life, and a son and heir George. Sybil apparently married as her second husband John Okeden, (fn. 17) with whom she was holding the manor for the term of her life in 1541, (fn. 18) in which year Jaspar Smith, presumably brother of Nicholas, settled all his reversionary right on Thomas Whyte. Sybil died in 1551, leaving as heir her son George Smith before mentioned, then sixteen years old. (fn. 19)However, by 1567 Harbridge was carried by coheiresses Elizabeth and Jane to their respective husbands John Rose and Francis Poyntz. (fn. 20) The remainder was to Ambrose Rose of Ringwood, who sold it in 1601  (fn. 21) to John Wykes of Harbridge. Francis Poyntz quitclaimed to the new lord a few years later. (fn. 22) The Wykeses continued to hold during the greater part of the 17th century. John Wykes had been sequestered in 1649 and in 1654 he was still awaiting redress. (fn. 23) In 1688 Lewis Bampfield and Elizabeth his wife and Margaret Wykes, spinster, were party to a conveyance of the manor, when, however, one John Wheeler seems to have been in actual possession. (fn. 24)Elizabeth and Margaret would seem to have been the co-heirs of the Wykeses and Margaret was probably the Margaret wife of William Bowreman who with her husband and Lewis and Elizabeth Bampfield sold three messuages and land in Harbridge, Ellingham, Hurst, Blashford, Rockford, Ringwood, Lyndhurst, Linwood and the New Forest to Henry Hommige in 1689, warranting him against the heirs of Elizabeth and Margaret. (fn. 25) By 1693 the manor was in the hands of Edward Twyne (fn. 26) and in 1700 Joseph Hussey and Mary his wife sold it to Joseph Gifford. (fn. 27)Early in the 18th century Gifford must have sold the manor to James Whitaker, (fn. 28) who in 1733 conveyed it to Dayrell Hawley. (fn. 29) No further mention of Harbridge Manor has been discovered until 1810, when it was held by Percival Lewis. (fn. 30) Soon after that it passed to the Earl of Normanton (see Somerley) and now forms part of the Somerley estate.’

‘The Punchardons had an estate in Harbridge for a considerable period. In 1263 Robert de Punchardon and Alice his wife quitclaimed from themselves and the heirs of Alice a messuage and a carucate of land to William de Punchardon, Maud his wife and Hawis her sister and the heirs of Maud and Hawis. This seems to have been the same estate of which in 1375 John de Boyland of Eling and Alice his wife, holding it of the hereditament of Alice, conveyed a moiety to William de Athelyngton and a moiety to Oliver de Punchardon, the whole estate being in the actual possession of John Bereford and Denis his wife for the life of Denis. (fn. 31) Oliver de Punchardon died seised of lands there in 1417. (fn. 32) Like Ellingham (q.v.) the Punchardon moiety of Harbridge passed to the Okedens, (fn. 33) and in 1604 William Okeden sold it to Thomas Worsley, (fn. 34) who died seised in 1620, (fn. 35) leaving an infant grandson Thomas Worsley as his heir. Thomas Worsley’s daughter Barbara was the wife of a William Bowreman, whose namesake, possibly himself or a son, was dealing with land in Harbridge in 1689. (fn. 36) From that date this moiety of Harbridge undoubtedly merged in the manor proper and belongs at the present day to the Earl of Normanton.’

‘The church of ALL SAINTS is an ashlar-faced building consisting of chancel, nave and west tower, rebuilt in 1838 in 15th-century style, but part of the tower masonry appears to be older. There is a small wall tablet to Edward Dodington ob. 1656, with a quartered shield.

The bells are three in number, all by Thomas Mears, 1839.’

Extracts from https://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/hants/vol4/pp604-606#p1

The lichen covered gravestones are largely indecipherable, although there are good number of the Pratt family. Many seem to bear very early Victorian dates, and look even earlier. There is a phalanx of four shaped yews guarding the entrance path, and one of greater age round the back. Snowdrops are in abundance.

This evening we all dined on Mr Pink’s fish, chips, and mushy peas, Garner’s pickled onions, and Tesco’s sliced gherkins. Jackie and I both drank Grüner Veltliner 2020.

Santa’s Float

On another cold, albeit slowly brightening, day Jackie and I took a forest drive just after 11 a.m.

Autumn leaves flocking on the still, silent, surface of Pilley’s icy lake will need a thaw before they begin their slow, rocking descent to the bed beneath.

Sage green lichen clung to branches

and decorated damp ivy coated trunks;

lesser limbs became embedded;

spectral skaters scraped converging rimy streaks across the frozen water,

while shaggy Shetland ponies quietly grazed.

The majority of this stubby little herd had rectified their recent absence from Bull Hill

which they now shared with curious cattle.

This bovine fixed me with a customary stare, then turned and

crossed the road. I tried not to take it personally.

Lymington River is tidal and therefore not frozen, and able to ripple and reflect the weak sunshine and Santa’s float.

In an effort to reorganise her fridge and larder, the Culinary Queen produced a varied menu for this evening consisting of left over helpings of my Susan’s chicken, of Shelly’s beef stew, one of her own earlier penne Bolognaise dishes from the freezer. She and I opted for the Bolognese while the others enjoyed some of everything. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

A Damp Drive

On another day of gales, gloom, and bursts of weak sunshine our brief forest drive took us along

Bisterne Close,

with its glistening autumn leaves soaking on soggy verges;

its mossy rooted and speckled lichen coated trees;

other one-eyed specimens with fanged exposed roots rising from ancient hedgerows;

a Magnum mushroom;

and bedraggled ponies wandering across into the woodland.

On the outskirts of Burley I disturbed a herd of fearful deer who didn’t know which way to run.

A so often when we dine beneath heavy rain beating on our Velux window overhead with gale force winds gusting outside, we blessed Barry for sealing our kitchen extension roof after several others had failed. Tonight’s meal consisted of pork spare ribs in sweet barbecue sauce with Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice and tender green beans, accompanied by more of the Cabernet Sauvignon for her, and of the Bordeaux for me.

A Sunny Interlude

I’m happy to say that James Peacock sorted out our internet problem this morning, in time for me to keep a dental checkup appointment, which was satisfactory.

We celebrated by buying a new washing machine to replace our older one which is becoming cantankerous.

This afternoon I was able to feature yesterday’s forest drive with photographs.

After three days and nights of gales it was refreshing that afternoon to experience gleaming sunlight glinting off

wet leaves and rivulets running down verges such as these in

Undershore, with its

wet leaves,

glistening branches,

and lichen covered trunks rising from high, soggy, verges.

Broken, lichen-green, branches dangled from wind blown trees.

High hedgerows lined one side of Bull Hill

while autumn leaves

and holly berries carpeted the other, more level, equally damp, terrain.

The wheels of most vehicles, like this bus at East Boldre, flung up showers of scintillating spray.

Outside East End the beautifully patterned hides of damp pasturing ponies sparkled in low relief.

One reflective verge revealed an image of a pedestrian gate beside a cattle grid at the Lymington end of Sowley Lane.

While I was making up my mind whether to focus on a flock of pheasants or a female deer in a field, the ruminant fled off into the distance.

This evening we dined on pork spare ribs marinaded in lime and ginger sauce and topped with satay sauce on a bed of Jackie’s colourful savoury rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Pierre Jaurant Merlot – Cabernet Sauvignon Bordeaux 2020.

Sleeping List

This morning I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2022/05/11/a-knights-tale-132-awaiting-the-arrival/

While streaking rain of varying velocity pelted upon us all afternoon, Jackie drove Flo and me to Lyndhurst where our granddaughter bought a selection of craft materials.

On our return home we diverted into woodland around Brockenhurst.

An egret in Highland Water flew off just after I took this shot.

Reflecting pools were already forming on the recently dry terrain; raindrops pelted rapidly increasing circles over rippling reflections on the stream’s surface, clear enough to reveal

the gravel bed beneath;

year upon year of such deluges have exposed bank-side roots of

lichen-covered oaks.

We drove down the gravelled roadway towards Standing Hat, passing cattle, crows, and ponies occupying the woodlands.

Decaying and lichen-clad fallen branches juxtaposed with old and new fallen leaves demonstrated the march of forest ecology.

We watched a sleeping foal’s continuing list, oblivious of its mother’s easing away for her fodder.

This evening we dined on fishcakes with a soft cheese centre; new potatoes with onions; piquant cauliflower cheese; crunchy carrots; and tender peas with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Malbec, and Flo drank elderflower cordial.

A Second Chance

Is it perhaps an example of Karl Jung’s synchronicity that I should have come to the end of an acclaimed modern masterpiece with which I find myself at odds on a day when the Kremlin is shelling Kyiv, the capital of Ukraine.

I began reading “A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor Towles soon after Christmas for which Tess had given me the book as a present. It is indeed a book of great ‘charm, intelligence and insight’ as quoted from the Sunday Times on the front cover. The narrative is very well crafted from start to finish. The apparently effortless language flows beautifully at a smoothly engaging pace. The relationships between his rounded characters are sensitive displayed. Knowledge of arts and history is demonstrated.

I do not have enough insight into Russian history to understand whether the story of a man spending almost his entire adult life in comparatively privileged house arrest following the 1917 Revolution is the comic genius that some newspaper critics are quoted as attributing to it.

So, although I did ultimately enjoy the book for its tale-telling and for its humour, with that dilemma in mind I could not find it funny without wondering about all the Russian people who lived and died under, or were forced to flee from the Communist regime.

Maybe it is more about the human capacity for acceptance, adaptation, and ultimate internal freedom.

Today was a bright and sunny as yesterday, so we drove out to St Peter’s Church at Bramshaw to test my resetting of the 35mm lens.

I had been given a second chance.

Unfortunately there were no ponies on Nomansland village green, so I had to make do with

some on the road at Frogham;

one against the rapidly descending sunset;

and one drinking from the pool at Ibsley.

This evening Jackie fed us on an extra pot of the chicken Jalfrezi and savoury rice prepared for Elizabeth’s event on Sunday. Because this is milder than my taste she gave me a chilli coulis made with four of the bird’s eye variety. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Finca Flichman Gestos Malbec 2018.

The Gloomiest Day Yet

Yesterday evening I read more of ‘Great Expectations’ and can now post five more of Charles Keeping’s superb illustrations.

In ‘Wemmick’s arm was straying from the path of virtue’ the artist uses a double page spread to indicate space between the elements of the scene.

‘He hugged himself with both his arms, looking back at me for recognition’

‘We sat down to consider the question, What was to be done?’. Here space is indicated by a significant empty chair.

‘I looked stonily at the opposite wall, and forced myself to silence’ might be seen as an example of passive aggression.

‘All that water-side region was unknown ground to me’, nevertheless, it is not beyond Mr Keeping’s imagination.

On what was probably the gloomiest day yet of our current stretch, we took a forest drive after shopping at Tesco.

Given that the camera usually picks up more light than does the human eye I have chosen not to brighten any of today’s images from mid-afternoon. Jackie parked the car along Forest Road while

I wandered about a stretch of woodland the images of which reflected the mood of the day.

The last of these carries the reflection of the Modus which Jackie had brought down the sloping road to pick me up.

This was Burley Road at 3.30 p.m.

Back along Forest Road ponies remained unperturbed by the cars or their headlights.

One we had seen earlier planted firmly across the road had turned her attention to the other side of a plastic fence.

More lichen brightened a stone on the opposite side of the road.

Further along ponies partook of provisions of hay.

This evening we dined on roast lamb; mint sauce; Crisp Yorkshire pudding; perfectly boiled potatoes, carrots , and cauliflower; and tasty gravy, with which I drank more of the Shiraz, and Jackie drank more of the Chenin Blanc.

Late Afternoon In Ran’s Wood

Many hours of my life have been spent tramping the streets of London. These consequently appear on many of my blog posts, although one series has been particularly dedicated to them From 2004 to 2008 inclusive I made hundreds of photographs with the constraint that the road name must be included in the picture. They featured from Streets Of London posted 21st May 2015 to Tyburnia And Other Parts Of West London on 30th January 2021.

Having recently been alerted to the reader-friendly possibility of creating new categories, such as that of “A Knight’s Tale” I spent much of today converting the above-mentioned series from “Uncategorised” to “Streets of London”.

Towards the later part of this afternoon we took a forest drive.

Driving down Furzey Lane to Ran’s Wood Jackie was able to stop the car and photograph a plethora of pheasants through her window.

She parked up and I wandered the woodland, with its soggy terrain; its browsing ponies; its lichen covered trees; its burnished bracken; and just one pair of walkers.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pork paprika and savoury vegetable rice. She drank Carlsberg and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2019.