Ockley – derrickjknight

Travel Challenge Reveal

The 10 day travel challenge required no explanation of the chosen pictures. Now is the time to elaborate a bit.

Day 1 featured a splendid toyshop in, I believe, Monpazier, one of southwest France’s Bastide towns, which I visited with friends Maggie and Mike in September 2003. More about such towns, with photographs, appears in https://derrickjknight.com/2018/01/13/more-bastides/

The woman in the red cardigan clutching her handbag appeared on Day 2. In September 1982 she paddled in the seawater on Bréhec beach in Brittany during a holiday Jessica, Sam, Louisa, and I took with friends Ann and Don. More can be see here: https://derrickjknight.com/2016/09/26/going-for-a-paddle-2/

On Day 3, Jessica stands on Place Fell in Cumbria on 18th August 1992. More images of this trip are found in https://derrickjknight.com/2017/03/12/i-felt-more-than-somewhat-queasy/ with evidence of the reason for my title.

The sunset appearing on Day 4 lit the Atlantic Ocean off Barbados in March 2004 while Sam was completing his epic row. A group of us were following Kilcullen, a support boat for the Ocean Rowing Society’s annual race, first featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2016/02/22/atlantic-sunset/

Further images from that trip and something about the race appear in https://derrickjknight.com/2015/12/02/the-young-gun-and-the-old-grey-wolf/

While on holiday at Instow in Devon in the summer of 1985 we took https://derrickjknight.com/2016/09/04/a-day-trip-to-mousehole/ where the photograph appearing on Day 5 was produced. Sam leads Louisa and Jessica up stone wall steps.

Day 6 features a disused slate mine outside Cerrigydrudion in North Wales where Matthew, Becky, Jessica, Sam, Louisa and I stayed in the summer of 1983. There is more on https://derrickjknight.com/2016/05/21/before-gaeddren/

My uncertainty about Monpazier mentioned at Day 1 shows that my knowledge about where I’ve been can become a bit hazy when I haven’t kept notes. My Day 7 picture is a case in point. I needed an alert reader to point out that this was my first visit to Mousehole, made on honeymoon with Vivien in March 1963. The significance of this photograph is explained in https://derrickjknight.com/2014/05/02/not-lost-after-all/

Day 8 features Port St Charles, Barbados, in March 2004, where Sam is mooring his boat, Pacific Pete. In the background can be seen building work. This is the relevant original post: https://derrickjknight.com/2016/01/22/port-st-charles/

During the years I travelled to London to visit my friend Norman I regularly walked across Westminster Bridge where, in July 2013, I was approached by the five women who were on holiday at Day 9. The encounter, and others, is described in https://derrickjknight.com/2013/07/17/that-was-worth-fighting-for/

Jackie and I enjoyed our honeymoon in Ockley in March 1968. In Day 10’s photograph she looks down on the Surrey countryside from the top of https://derrickjknight.com/2015/02/16/leith-hill/

I am aware that this series may present some confusion to more recent readers who may not have read https://derrickjknight.com/2014/01/05/my-branch-of-the-family-tree/

Inside The Deserted House

Jackie has provided me with updated information on the deserted house mentioned yesterday. Here it is: ‘Having driven fairly regularly past this house over the years, I can report that altho’ it has lost some of it’s character, it still exists, and houses on this prestigious Surrey village green cost an absolute fortune (close to £1,000000!). It was a distant village in 1968, but with rail and road connections so improved, it is now considered to be within working distance of London so commands premium prices. It is a shame really as the whole village is now full of very rich people and does not have the character of the 1968 village we knew. Even the wonderful village store, that sold everything (even leather boot laces for farmers’ boots) has been converted into a very posh dwelling.’

Today I felt much better from the virus, but still stayed indoors and scanned fifteen more of the honeymoon colour slides from March 1968. Here are some from inside the derelict house, with its riddled roofs, gaping windows, and bare boards:

In ‘Tales From The Window Sills‘, I speculate about the ownership of the shoes and newspaper left in the corner of one room.

The Kings Arms Hotel is where Jackie and I spent our four days.

This afternoon’s Six Nations rugby match on television was between Scotland and Wales at Murrayfield. This, the most engaging match of the weekend, resulted in a 26-23 victory for Wales.

Jackie found the energy to do three weeks’ ironing, and cook a roast dinner. Even I managed to press four shirts.

The said dinner consisted of roast pork, potatoes, and parsnips; and boiled carrots and cauliflower. Egg custard was for dessert. I drank a little via di Cavallo chianti 2012.

Tales From The Window Sills

During our honeymoon in March 1968, Jackie and I were intrigued by a deserted house in Ockley. We wandered around inside and wondered if it were for sale, but decided we couldn’t afford it. It would, we thought, have been just our kind of project. Now, nearly half a century later, we find ourselves on a similar adventure. Although not previously unoccupied, our current home has probably required just as much work.

The two interchangeable pictures I put up today are both from colour slides taken in that house. As is my wont, I photographed them in situ on the wall, so the reflections and locations form parts of the images.

The two old shoes lying on the newspaper were exactly as I found them. Whose were the footwear? A previous owner? Someone who had sheltered there? We will never know. IKEA did not come to the UK until 1987, so the shelves alongside the photo on the wall of the downstairs loo were probably unknown to the mystery owner of the worn down heel. There is no window in the little room, so photographs made there always contain a light hanging from the ceiling and glowing over the subject in the corner.

As can be seen through its kitchen window, the garden of that old house was as beset by brambles as is ours now. Had someone enjoyed a meal on the dusty plate? Was it the owner of the shoes? We didn’t look inside the box, but were there any rotten eggs inside it? Had the contents filled the plate? How had they been cooked? Who now knows?

I framed today’s picture to show a reflection of our own windowsill which, until recently, had also featured brambles, and, quite fortuitously, my shot included the far end of the ledge containing Jackie’s maternal grandparents’ wedding photograph behind a family heirloom. Mr and Mrs O’Connell, the dapper Edwardian groom and his beautiful wife, stand behind a glass dome containing the bride’s bouquet and tiara which Jackie now treasures.
After working on these images, I walked along Hordle Lane and left into Stopples Lane to deliver a cheque to Abre Electrical.

Dog roses now adorn the hedgerows.
Adjacent to Apple Court Garden I noticed a horse box being filled with logs, and heard the sound of a chainsaw. I wandered into the garden and spoke to the logger. He was clearing trees for his neighbour. The quid pro quo was that he disposed of the brushwood and kept the logs for his own wood-burning stove. He showed me a pile of ashes that was all that was left of the branches of four trees from yesterday. He also said that any wood could be burnt in the stove.

This is pretty much what I had been thinking of doing with our cuttings pile.

Whilst I was out, Jackie made an excellent start on clearing the right hand corner of our front drive. Apart from freeing the shrubs from each other and from brambles, this now enables her to have a clearer view when driving onto Christchurch Road.
My lady spent the afternoon completing her preparation of a superb evening meal for us and for her sisters Helen and Shelly and brother in law Bill. We enjoyed a pleasant evening together over Jackie’s blissful beef casserole (recipe) meal followed by tangy apple and gooseberry crumble and custard. Various wines and sparkling water were imbibed and a toast drunk in Cava in celebration of the recent arrival of Helen and Bill’s grandson William (to be known, like his grandfather, as Billy).

Roundabouts

Jackie and I had another drive into the Surrey countryside today, this time to Ockley for lunch at The King’s Arms where we had honeymooned in 1968.

Whilst passing the roundabout just outside Dorking which bears a sculpture of a giant chicken, I was reminded of the roundabouts in France. Certainly in the area I am familiar with, around Bergerac in the Dordogne, there are numerous roundabouts carrying structures reflecting something of significance to the area. One of those in Bergerac (the decision makers presumably having resisted the temptation to erect yet another statue of Cyrano), contains seafaring figures pulling on ropes, an artificial beach, and running water. This is situated on the riverside and speaks of the ancient barge-going traffic. One in Les Landes has a huge chair which, upon investigation, turns out to be celebrating furniture makers of centuries ago. A few more of these on our overcrowded roads would brighten up traffic queues. (Except for The Chicken Roundabout on the A143).

And so to The King’s Arms, where this Knight eagerly opened his arms in 1968. Surprisingly neither the pub nor the village seems to have changed much in 44 years. It is a beautiful area with fond memories. As we were keen not to leave the four year old Michael we only had a break of 4 days whilst Jackie’s mother Vonnie cared for him. The excitement engendered by a shed fire, which seemed to bring out the whole village to watch the firemen do their stuff, was nothing compared to that of being alone together for the first time.

This Sunday the food was excellent and the beer acceptable. Jackie had first-rate roast pork and I had fish in tempura batter and chips which were very good. As far as I can tell, having consulted Chambers on our return home, tempura simply means deep-fried. It certainly was deep-fried. We each had very tasty and spicy butternut squash soup and sticky toffee pudding.

I am indebted to my then elderly friend, Kenneth Lovell, for the discovery of Ockley. As a teenager I had spent a short holiday one summer with Ken and his friend George at Ken’s house there. Ken and I used to draw and paint alongside each other at his house in Raynes Park when I was a teenager. Ken, an artist and illustrator, would be working on his illustrations for S. G. Hulme Beaman’s Toytown series of books (on one of which Ken gave me the honour of a minor collaborative role) , and I would be receiving the benefit of his observations on my juvenile efforts.