Occasional sunny spells on a clouded morning developed into bright sunshine by the time we drove into the forest this afternoon.
Jackie spent some time collecting cuttings with which to populate the
greenhouse pots.
The orange poppies that last just a day don’t normally emerge from the soil until spring. We have several clumps now. These, incongruously beside more seasonal asters, are in the Cryptomeria Bed
which also houses hot lips
still attracting bees.
The cryptomeria itself can be seen beyond the cordeline Australis lending its name to the Palm Bed;
it stands beside the laurel on the far right of the Phantom Path.
The deep red climbing rose soaring over its arch spanning the Shady Path also doesn’t know it is autumn,
although the Weeping Birch clearly has an inkling.
Elizabeth’s Bed
and the patio planting continue to flourish.
Pelargoniums still hang in baskets.
Nugget, this morning patrolled his fences. This fellow, I think, is a rival displaying discretion. I did see our own robin dive-bomb another which immediately scarpered, but he was too quick for me.
These autumn colours brighten Sway Road;
others burnished the landscape beside the A35,
and glowed beneath
an unnamed lane off Cadnam Lane,
along which clusters of mushrooms burst from the moss coating of a fallen log,
and bracket fungus clutched a living tree.
Pheasants, both cocks and hens, dared anyone actually to drive at the 40 m.p.h. limit.
On one side of Tiptoe Road a pair of ponies cropped the verge outside The Old Bakery;
several more slaked their thirst on a winterbourne pool on the opposite side.
A mare led her foal along the road
to add to the chaos caused by a broken down car.
Returning home along Roger Penny Way we were treated to a display of cervine elegance as a young stag stepped on pointe across the road in front of us.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty and wholesome liver and bacon casserole (for recipe see Jackie’s comment below); roast potatoes and butternut squash; crunchy orange carrots, and bright green firm Brussels sprouts, with she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Saint-Chinian 2017.
Early this morning we took a drive into the forest.
From Lymington we entered the sun-dappled narrow, winding, Undershore towards Pilley,
finding glimpses of autumn foliage there and in Lodge Road, across which
a pair of female pheasants trotted.
A group of somnolent ponies occupied Bull Hill.
What. I often wonder, do the field horses make of the freedom of their equine cousins?
This afternoon I watched recordings of the Rugby World Cup matches between Argentina and Tonga; between Japan and Ireland; and between South Africa and Namibia.
Our dinner this evening consisted of Jackie’s wholesome cottage pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; tender cabbage and leeks, with sumptuous gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.
Part of Mum’s deal at Woodpeckers Care home is that she can entertain guests to lunch once a week.
Elizabeth, Jackie, and I were her visitors today. My meal was Cajun chicken with Lyonnaise potatoes, carrots, and curly kale; the others opted for gammon. Mum chose stewed apricots with ice cream for dessert; the rest of us enjoyed plum crumble. We were served in our own quiet room. Service was friendly and efficient. The food was very good.
Afterwards, Jackie and I took a trip around the forest.
It is not unusual to see requests for information about hit and run accidents involving ponies. This, featuring a Shetland on the road to Beaulieu, was one of two we passed today.
Although much of it has been cut back by now, blackthorn has proliferated in the hedgerows for several weeks now.
As we rounded a bend on approaching East End we were struck by this fortuitous juxtaposition of maple and photinia.
Nearby one of a group of basking cattle suckled her calf which was enjoying its own lunchtime.
Donkeys were hard at work trimming the village’s hedgerows.
More cattle were serving themselves to lunch from the verges of Tanners Lane.
Beside Sowley Lane a flamboyant cock pheasant flashed across the road and fled beneath barbed wire fencing.
Another merged into hay stalks among scavenging crows beside a field of rape, many of which
are beginning to slash the landscape with sunlight.
More of the more colourful birds foraged in
this historic field with its
views across The Solent to the Isle of Wight.
This evening we dined on spicy Diablo pizza with plentiful fresh salad. Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc and I enjoyed Maipo Valley Carménere 2016 from the Majestic Definition range.
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This morning I learned that my PSA result was clear – no action required. It is an interesting phenomenon that this is one situation in which no news is good news. The GP only contacts the patient if there is a problem. Otherwise the patient has to make the call.
This afternoon Jackie drove me to Sears Barbers for Peter to cut my hair. Afterwards we visited Tanners Lane,
where a few others were having fun. Two women, children, and a Labrador collected shells; a young man walked his dog; two people rowed a canoe.
A gull atop a post ignored the swirling eddies where currents clashed in the otherwise calm waters.
En route to this site we had noticed a glimpse of the view across to the Isle of Wight from Shotts Lane. The second picture reveals the Isle of Wight ferry and smoke from a fire on the island. The cattle in the third image conveniently wandered into shot.
In order to remove the five barred gate from the scene I needed to scale it a bit, then climb down again.
Pheasants in Sowley Lane, no longer dressed in their mating finery, reflected this later season by picking at stubble in a ploughed field. Others sought the shelter of the Becks Farm drive.
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Yesterday evening we enjoyed the usual excellent food and friendly efficient service in the perfect company of Elizabeth, Danni, and Andy, at Dynasty Indian restaurant in Brockenhurst. This family grouping is always full of stories, fun, and catching up with current events. So it was then.
When John Keats penned his immortal line ‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ he was not thinking of Spring. This morning, one could have been forgiven for thinking so. Well, at least the ‘mists’ image. As I stood peering into the film covering Lymington River, a gull winged its way into view, alighted on a circular yellow buoy, and quickly sped off again.
I crossed the road and leant on a rail chatting to a little family who were on their way to the quay for a crabbing expedition. I was able to tell them about the reed beds, and thatching. One little girl told me that her Mummy had a coat like my jacket. “Well, it’s red. But longer”, she added.
On leaving Lymington we followed a pair of cyclists up the hill towards the east. These two had the good sense to stay in single file and on our side of the road. We are accustomed to and accepting of this. Whilst I can fully understand the joy of cycling for exercise, I cannot fathom why anyone would charge around bends on our narrow lanes two abreast. This happened twice today. On the second occasion a large group was involved. Fortunately our vehicle is a Modus, not a large lorry.
Donkeys were just about visible at Tanner’s Lane. Three grazed in the field against the backdrop of a burgeoning rape crop; another pair chomped on dry seaweed on the shingle.
An angler in a boat would not have been able to see the Isle of Wight behind him; a black-headed gull floated nearer the shore.
As we drove away from the beach, a decidedly grey pony, deviating at the last minute, headed straight for us.
Fat pheasants wandered quite leisurely around this area. Why, we wondered, would one decide to cross Sowley Lane?
Ah. There’s the answer.
Bright purple aubretia lit up the ancient stone wall alongside the ruins of St Leonard’s granary, beside which
drowsed representatives of the usual group of ponies. Before the rains set in, the chestnut against the rusting fence rails would not have been able to enjoy admiring its mirrored image. What, perhaps, these photographs cannot display is the absolutely still silence conveyed by these creatures.
Only the tiny Falabella raised an eyebrow as I approached.
This afternoon a smiling sun warmed the garden from a cloudless blue sky.
This evening we dined on smoked haddock fish cakes, piquant cauliflower cheese, mashed potato and swede, and carrots and broccoli, with which I finished the Comino Nuevo.
James, of Peacock Computers, visited to examine the iMac, and took it away to restore it to working order. In anticipation of the Apple’s removal, I had scanned a set of photographic prints from May 1993 onto the Windows laptop. We had also thought the weather would be bad this afternoon and I would be able to use these to illustrate today’s post. In the event, the sun shone and the winds were high enough, at more than 50 m.p.h. to suggest a trip into the forest. The 1993 set will appear tomorrow.
A short distance outside East End cattle grazed on a hillside that was topped by an oak tree sporting a car tyre.
The little falabella pony which
sometimes joins its cousins outside St Leonard’s Grange,
spent its time crossing from one side of the road to the other.
Another just stayed in the road.
When we reached this point, one of the ruins of the granary was nicely silhouetted
against the lowering sun, bestowing a sepia tone.
We continued along the road, intending to return for sunset. Pheasants chased each other across the lanes and the autumnal fields.
On our return golden streaks stretched along the sky.
We took a diversion down Tanners Lane on our journey home. Those streaks had deepened over the Isle of Wight.
The winds pressed so strongly against the car door that it felt as if it was close to a wall. Just one other vehicle was parked in front of us. Perhaps it belonged to the windsurfer
who skimmed over the choppiest waves we have ever seen there,
constantly changing
direction, and almost blown away.
This evening we dined on Jackie;s gorgeously spicy chilli con carne, with her most savoury rice wearing an omelette jacket. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.
This morning turned out to be rather longer than planned and required a little more energy than anticipated to be expended. We began with a trip to New Milton for shopping, including a new watch strap for me. We then returned home to collect two large bags of garden refuse for the dump.
It was to be quite fortuitous that we had the bags on board when we set off into the forest from the Efford Recycling Centre.
Egrets were fishing on Lymington River,
where the usual boats were moored.
A long hoarding has been in situ around Threeways in Pilley for quite a number of years has at some time served as an art gallery. Paintings by a variety of artists remain in situ.
Ponies, in return for the freedom of the village, keep the grass in front of the houses cropped short.
There were many ponies in evidence at the road junction at St Leonard’s Road, East End. We weren’t going to get past them, so just watched this grey
leave its post on the centre line, turn,
and, passing a companion at the swampy corner, cross
the road towards East Boldre, leaving another chestnut to take over traffic control duties.
The pony standing in the pool
liked a drink with its grass, which took its mind of the fly on its nose.
Another grey advanced on me, no doubt seeking goodies, in which it was to be disappointed.
Travelling on, we hadn’t covered many metres of St Leonard’s Road before our road was blocked again.
Pheasants, both male
and female, skittered backwards and forwards into the hedgerows,
except on Tanner’s Lane, where they gathered in a bouquet.
Sunlight sparkled on the water between the mainland and
the Isle of Wight.
Hello. What was this on the shingle beach?
It was Emma’s car, a Twingo.
Watched by her mother, Paula, and two other young ladies attempting to offer advice, guidance, and assistance, the driver had, with her mother and dog, set out for a walk which had to be abandoned. It became immediately necessary to free the vehicle. But how?
The car’s wheels just span on the loose pebbles as Emma vainly tried to climb over them. I helped guide her onto a firmer section, but this involved first having to reverse further down towards the waterline, turning, driving at an angle to the foreground of this picture, then reversing as close to the corner post as possible. Despite her fears, the young lady kept her cool, and almost made it. Several times.
It was then that I remembered the orange bags. By this time Jackie had joined us, so she fetched them. We placed them on gravel behind the wheels. It was still difficult. We then roped Jackie’s hessian supermarket bags into service so we had all four wheels covered.
Still no joy, until we were joined by another gentleman with rather more knowledge, especially about being very very gentle on the accelerator. Emma turned left at the point in the picture above, and reversed slowly towards the corner. With all hands on the bonnet; backs, thighs and knees straining, we tried again. We had lift off. Emma just avoided reversing into a hedge. We all gave each other hearty hugs, and Jackie and I drove home for a late lunch.
This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away fare. And very good it was too. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the malbec.
Jackie and I began the day with a drive in the forest, in order to see how the thatching at East End was progressing.
A shallow stream ran over the ford at Norleywood, enhancing the beauty of the shadows on the road ahead.
A pair of donkeys breakfasted on the hedgerows opposite the house
on which the skilled roofing work had commenced.
As is their wont, one of these creatures crept, silently, up behind me to see if I had any carrots. I am mean enough to disappoint them, however, feeding them is not advised by the verderers, unless you want to catch Weill’s disease.
Jackie had driven further up the road to turn round, by which time the donkeys really had claimed the road.
The other two large lorries were still parked outside the neighbouring house. One was being loaded with soil dug out from the garden.
High above the chicken range a solitary Thelwell child’s pony also enjoyed its morning meal.
The chickens cooed and clucked around their chook house,
sharing their repast with crows,
ducks,
and pheasants, which were freer to roam.
One of the llamas sat with a silly grin on its face
as another gurned at me.
A trio of cyclists paused at the road junction to take their bearings.
They were small fry compared with those who were to limit our progress on the road to Brockenhurst.
As we approached that village, Jackie expressed the wish that they would not be going our way. No such luck.
This afternoon we continued, focussing on the rose and front gardens, preparing for an alfresco summer.
This evening we dined on shepherd’s pie topped with layers of cheddar cheese and mushrooms; crisp carrots, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts and runner beans. Jackie finished the Cotes de Gascoigne and I drank more of the shiraz.
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This morning’s sunshine lasted long enough
to draw me into pruning the rose garden. By the time I had finished the skies had clouded over and rain begun.
Between showers Jackie was able to plant primulas into the large window boxes on the front wall.
More camellias are in full bloom, and
all the beds are clamouring for our attention,
but we abandoned them in favour of a drive to Tanner’s Lane beach,
where the usual boat was moored on the mudflats.
A solitary yacht sailed alongside the Isle of Wight,
as a ferry boat threaded its way past The Needles.
At low tide seaweed clung to rocks and breakwaters.
Further along the coastline gnarled trees were coming into bud,
as rain-laden skies loomed over the sunlit landscape.
Egrets were among the birds feeding on the shore.
One rewarded my numerous efforts to catch it in flight.
Having left Tanner’s Lane and begun to drive along Sowley Lane it seemed as if we were on the floor of a school dance from my teens. In the undergrowth on one side of the lane were assembled a bouquet of hen pheasants.
The less fragrant cocks patrolled the opposite side.
Plucking up courage, they paraded a bit,
then slipped through the barrier to join the ladies.
Just before sunset at Milford on Sea a crane silhouetted against the skies was a reminder that the beach huts destroyed in gales a couple of years ago are being rebuilt.
We hastened to Barton on Sea and waited for a pair of figures to make their way along the clifftop so that I could include them in my shot. Following their progress I was to discover that the gentleman was pointing a camera away from the west, and photographing the Isle of Wight.
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On quite a misty morning, we went out for a drive in such a direction as the spirit moved us.
We crossed the Lymington River and turned right along Undershore Road, giving us an atmospheric view of the level crossing we had just passed over.
Just to the left of my vantage point, a duck led her paddle of ducklings onto the water from the muddy bank.
Originally heading for Hatchet Pond we diverted to Tanners Lane, along which was walking a blonde woman with her equally slender and elegant saluki, who were soon to join us on the beach,
where Jackie found the skull of the spirit that had led us there,
and I photographed the sun, the sea, birds overhead, the shingle, the invisible Isle of Wight, a beached boat, and a ferry.
We travelled on in the vicinity of Sowley where the obligatory pony stood hopefully in the middle of the road
and pheasants sped across a field.
Snooks Lane near Portmore led us back to Lymington and home.
I have not dwelt on my daily continuing wrestling with uploading my pictures. Suffice it to say that James Peacock made another visit, bringing his own Apple laptop to try that. The problems were the same, leading us both to the conclusion that the problem lies in the BT internet connection. James is to investigate the possibility of getting this improved.
This is a well researched and beautifully produced A4 size laminated paperback. In tracing the antecedents of these young men who died in WW1, the conflict that was supposed to end all wars, we learn much about the early European settlement of New Zealand. It was only in 1840 that the first British immigrants came to join the Maoris who had come from Polynesia before the 14th. century.
It was only in 1909 that the New Zealand Army was formed, yet it sent more than its fair share to join the 1914-18 conflict, and to die in foreign fields, and in the New Zealand General Hospital No. 1 in Brockenhurst. Almost as many succumbed to illness as to wounds. A proportion of the men were Maoris.
Those of European origin mostly emanated from parts of the UK, notably Scotland. We learn their civilian occupations, and those of their antecedents. As one would expect there was a preponderance of farmers and craftsmen.
The agonies of the men and of their bereaved families are apparent in their factually related stories.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious liver casserole, served with saute potatoes on a bed of peppers, leaks, garlic, and mushrooms. Dessert was cherry crumble and custard. I drank Abbot Ale.
Having spent far too many hours attempting to load today’s photographs onto WordPress, and feeling like the spider of the legend of the Scots king Robert I, I am forced to leave gaps above, which I hope to fill in due course.
explains: “It is said that in the early days of Bruce’s reign he was defeated by the English and driven into exile. He was on the run – a hunted man. He sought refuge in a small dark cave and sat and watched a little spider trying to make a web.
Time and time again the spider would fall and then climb slowly back up to try again.
If at first you don’t succeed – try, try again.
Finally, as the Bruce looked on, the spider managed to stick a strand of silk to the cave wall and began to weave a web. Robert the Bruce was inspired by the spider and went on to defeat the English at the Battle of Bannockburn.
The legend as it is now told was first published by Sir Walter Scott in ‘Tales of a Grandfather’ in 1828, more than 500 years after the Battle of Bannockburn. It is thought that Scott may have adapted a story told about Sir James Douglas.
Caves across Scotland and Ireland are said to be legendary cave of Bruce and the spider: the King’s Cave at Drumadoon on Arran; King Robert the Bruce’s Cave in Kirkpatrick Fleming near Lockerbie; Bruce’s Cave – Uamh-an-Righ, Balquhidder Glen; Bruce’s Cave on Rathlin Island…”
Early the next morning I managed to load the rest of the pictures.
