On our forest drive yesterday afternoon, we noticed far more than a normal number of ponies on the moorland flanking Holmsley Passage.
Jackie found a safe spot to park on the verges of the crumbling lane.
As I disembarked
the horses all moved on
and I made an uphill effort to keep pace with them until they stopped to
merge with the burnished bracken and dehydrated gorse stems while noisily tearing tufts of tasty turf.
Cyclists’ whizzing wheels occasionally warned me to keep to the edge as they sped round bends down the steep sinuous slope.
When we arrived home Jackie photographed a trio of pigeons in the now nearly naked weeping birch tree.
Early this morning I watched a recording of the Women’s Rugby World Cup teams of Australia and England splashing around the waterlogged Aukland pitch, drenched by sheets of rain in their quarter final match; then the other game between Canada and USA.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty chicken and vegetable stewp with which I drank Calvet Prestige Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021, and the Culinary Queen didn’t.
Runners in the London Marathon must run down The Mall, around the corner facing Buckingham Palace, and along Birdcage Walk to the finish, just out of sight, on Westminster Bridge.
Crossing St James’s Park’s Blue Bridge into Birdcage Walk in September 2012, I remembered my nephew, Peter Darby-Knight, bravely struggling to walk to the finish, having injured his knee, many years after my own London runs. I had also watched my granddaughter Emily, on two occasions, representing Croydon in the mini-marathon which takes place on the morning of the major event.
A flock of feral pigeons being fed by tourists reminded me of the mass start to the marathon in Greenwich. It takes ten minutes walking to reach the line, and quite a bit longer to find room to get into your stride. On one occasion I was tripped by a man who tried to pass me in this melee. I ran the race with blood trickling from my grazed knee. He also fell. I didn’t help him up.
In the first London race in 1981, Michael and I had watched the two leading men finish hand-in-hand as they crossed the line. Then, the taking part was all. Like the Olympics, that spirit has evaporated. Winning is all.
My son, who the following year would be eighteen, and therefore eligible to run, suggested we do it together. Taking up the idea in earnest, I trained for it. Thinking that, as a rugby-playing fast bowler, I was fit enough, my first session was a five mile run from Croyon College to our home in Furzedown. When I’d finished I could barely walk. I tottered stiffly down to the box at the bottom of Gracedale Road to post a letter. As I turned the corner on my return, who should be striding down the road but John Bussell. John was a neighbour who had said I was completely mad to contemplate the venture. Quick as a flash, I straightened up, denied my pain, and lengthened my step, to greet him.
Michael had more sense, so I ran the race alone. Despite the strenuous competition at the elite level, there are still many thousands of people for whom just taking part is a magnificent experience. I was fortunate enough to participate three times. Then, the Canary Wharf business complex was a heap of rubble. We wondered what was going to be built. The elation of running this race with the streets all lined with row upon row of cheering spectators can only be imagined by non-participants. Jazz bands are playing, and the world is watching on television. If you are thinking of trying it, do not accept one of the many pints of beer which will be proffered outside the pubs alongside. Rather, enjoy the hoses which may be played on you in hot weather.
Coming along The Embankment you will have your first sight of Big Ben. Your heart may sink when you realise you still have four more miles to go. Do not be tempted, as many are, to walk along the underpass where you cannot be seen. If you do, you are unlikely to start running again.
In 1982, Matthew and Becky ran along the footpath beside me towards the finish. That would not be possible now.
On that day in September 30 years later, entering the park opposite Buckingham Palace, a jogger, attempting to leap the low railings which form a border, tripped and went sprawling. Fortunately on the grass. Some years ago, en route to Victoria where I was to board a train to visit Wolf and Luci in Dulwich, I did something similar. Intending to run there from Harrow Road, in the darkness, off Edgware Road, I tripped on a chain closing off a church car park. I had thought I was still on the footpath. Back-pack in harness, my feet still attached to the chain, I came a right cropper. My hands firmly on the tarmac, I was unable to prevent myself from pivoting, head first onto the unyielding surface. The priest took me in, administered first aid, and called an ambulance; and Wolf and Luci visited me instead. In hospital, where I was being stitched up. I bear the scar to this day. Our meal was a little late that night.
Towards the end of 1983, Sam participated in a mini marathon organised by his nursery school in South West London’s Furzedown.
Even when supported by Becky and Jessica, Louisa didn’t think much of the idea of joining in.
Jackie spent this, the hottest afternoon of the week, continuing her work of tidying and planting the garden,
I spent some time collecting up debris for the compost bin and sweeping paths like those named Brick
and Gazebo.
The strong sweet scent of the swinging wisteria penetrates
the closed stable door during the evenings.
A pair of Orange Tip butterflies seeming to savour honesty flittered about.
The clematis Montana Mayteen planted to mount the
now limbless cypress overlooking the Dragon Bed.
The light magenta blooms of Magnolia Vulcan beside the tree have benefited from the light revealed by the amputations;
while this red climbing rose we inherited, no longer having the arboreal arms to reach for, may follow the Head Gardener’s directions.
The velvet petals of these deep mauve tulips Queen of the Night
were intended by Mrs Knight to blend with the potted varieties planted in the Rose Garden at the same time.
Unfortunately the recent winds stripped the earlier blooms until, almost overnight the late risers yawned, stretched, and opened their eyes a couple of days ago.
These red wallflowers complement various locations;
similarly hued rhododendrons,
like these in the Palm Bed, are beginning to burgeon –
bench, box, and bluebells indulge me by continuing the alliteration.
This evening, as we enjoyed pre-dinner drinks on the patio, we witnessed an avian courtship.
On the far side of the garden a wood pigeon who didn’t fancy his chances, turned his back on the proceedings on the eaves where
another, attempting to look suave, winked
at his prospective mate – for life – prostrated himself
and gradually nudged towards her. She feigned enough interest for him to repeat the movement until he became close enough for her to fly off teasingly. Naturally he played his part and followed in pursuit.
We dined on tender roast lamb; crisp roast potatoes and Yorkshire; crunchy carrots; tangy red cabbage; and meaty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Mezquiriz.
clematis Marie Boisselot in the Kitchen Bed which also contains an as yet small wisteria, clusters of ferns, Japanese maples, the now ubiquitous erigeron, and self seeded bronze fennel which will have to go when it outgrows it’s welcome.
Other clematises include Niobe, now rivalling the fading wisteria and the burgeoning rose Paul’s Scarlet for space above the Wisteria Arbour; and Doctor Ruppel, one of which is beginning its ascent up the arch facing the Westbrook Arbour.
At the Brick Path corner of the Dragon Bed a deep red peony prepares to top off the happy planting of phlox and geraniums.
At the far side of this bed the magnolia Vulcan is beginning to relish the light now permitted into its corner.
The pink rhododendron in the Palm Bed sits opposite the deeper variety in Margery’s Bed.
There are a number of vantage points along the Brick Path.
The yellow diurnal poppies alongside the Gazebo Path
can be seen slightly above the centre of this view through the Cryptomeria Bed.
Before Aaron left this morning he had mown the grass patch which is beginning to warrant the epithet lawn.
Rose Madame Alfred Carriere soars above the entrance to the Rose Garden; Jacqueline du Pré adds harmony; Laura Ford a splash of yellow beside Roserie de la Haie; and Gloriana a touch of majesty to the side fence.
Aquilegias dance with ferns in the South Bed;
weigela festoons the fence above them.
Three hawthorn trees, swathes of libertia, and carpets of erigeron give a distinctly white hue to the Back Drive borders.
These are glimpses of the garden in not quite mid-May.
While we enjoyed pre-dinner drinks on the patio a pair of pigeons settled down for the evening in the copper beech.
For our dinner we travelled around the world in 60 minutes. We enjoyed Jackie’s special fried rice with Japanese tempura prawns, Chinese pork spare ribs, Indian tandoori chicken, Belgian Hoegaarden beer and more of the Chilean Carmenere wine.
Today the weather was fairly gloomy. Early rain gave way to overcast clouds and oppressive warmth. Our own garden seemed the best venue.
Bees, nevertheless, were busy plundering the amanogawa cherry now in full bloom.
Tulips, which, until now have kept their collars tightly buttoned, are beginning to think about loosening their ties.
Avian courting continues in the weeping birch.
The golden Japanese maple glows despite the lack of sunshine.
Dicentra joins primulas, hellebores, daffodils, fritillaries, and honesty in the West Bed.
Honesty is a biennial bloomer. The transparent medallion-shaped seed pods, so attractive when backlit in the autumn, as effective as a careless sneeze, scatter the germs that raise these spires of colour everywhere in the spring. This is its year.
The daffodils in the above photograph of the Cryptomeria Bed are later blooms which will delight for some weeks more. Others are past their best.
The vinca is a plant which, given free rein, would dance over all the beds and consequently requires a certain amount of containment. When we first arrived the garden was choked with it.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome sausage casserole; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and tender green beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Juicy Assemblage.
This morning Jackie drove me to the GP surgery in Milford on Sea where I was relieved to learn that my lingering symptoms are probably due to stress – I can certainly agree with that, and just continue to take it easy.
This afternoon my Chauffeuse took me on a trip to the north of the forest.
A motley array of pigeons set off flying from the colourful tiles of the roof of Moyles Court School as we travelled through Rockford.
In a field across the road the more delicate domestic horses still sported their rugs as protection against the cold nights.
The sturdier New Forest breeds have no need of such raiment.
I closed my window before this chestnut at South Gorley could stick its nose through it.
As always, a pair of mallards took up occupation in a pool at North Gorley.
Donkeys lined the verges at Ibsley and on the Gorley Road,
where deer lounged in the sunshine, also frisking beneath Abbots Well Road,
where grazing ponies enhanced the landscape.
It is normally impossible to stop the car on Roger Penny Way. Today was the exception that enabled me to snatch this shot before following traffic arrived.
No passenger seat was vacated in the making of this post.
This evening we dined on excellent chicken shaslick, salad, and paratha from Forest Tandoori, followed by ginger ice cream.
The Head Gardener has become less enamoured of our Lucky pheasant who has clearly taken up permanent residence. Unfortunately, he tends to redistribute her careful placement of shells and peck new shoots off her heucheras. She now tends to attempt to persuade him to depart. He is, however, very smart. Yesterday he led Aaron a merry dance around the potting sheds. Humans are bound to stick to the paths. Lucky can nip across the beds from one to another.
On this, the warmest afternoon yet, as I moved from one bench to another basking in the sunshine,
our ring-necked strutter followed me around as if to enquire what I was doing here.
Meanwhile, overhead, taking up vantage posts in the still naked trees, well-fed pigeons dozed, preened, and stretched in readiness for the mating season to come.
This evening we dined on Forest Tandoori’s excellent takeaway fare. My choice was chicken jalfrezi with special rice; Jackie’s was chicken biriani.
CLICK ON LONDON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED. CLICKING ANY GARDEN PICTURE ACCESSES THE GALLERY, EACH ONE OF WHICH CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT.
Today the sun slunk back behind the newly whitewashed ceiling from which occasional leaks did spring.
In July 2005 the weather was finer, so I took a trip back there in the form of scanning another dozen colour slides of the Streets of London series.
Unless they’ve relocated to much grander property in Wisconsin, Double K’s Snack Bar in the aptly named Sandwich Street WC1 is probably no longer trading.
The mural on this corner of the Lewis Carroll Library in Islington’s Havelock Street has not escaped the attentions of a graffiti spray can. Its premises in Copenhagen Street N1 currently appear to be rather more splendid. This is a popular educational resource for children and adults.
A palette and bags of building materials in Freeling Street serve as a seat for a worker taking a break for refreshments and phone conversation.
A typical London corner shop stands on this corner of Chapel Market and Penton Street.
At the close of the 18th century townhouses with rear gardens were built along what was then Chapel Street, when it formed the eastern boundary of the new suburb of Pentonville. A fire engine house was erected in 1792 and heightened in 1822; it survives today but in poor condition.
http://hidden-london.com/gazetteer/chapel-market/ gives us this information about the market:
‘The essayist Charles Lamb lived at two addresses in Chapel Street in the late 1790s.
To the annoyance of the well-heeled residents, costermongers began to sell their wares along the street during the 19th century and by the 1860s a fully-fledged and relatively reputable market was in operation. Official designation as a street market came in 1879.
Chapel Market in March 2014*
Three years later John James Sainsbury opened his first Islington store at 48 Chapel Street, managed for a while by his eldest son, John Benjamin. The venture was so successful that the Sainsburys opened three more shops in the street, including their first branch specialising in poultry and game.
By the 1890s Chapel Street had one of the two largest markets in the Clerkenwell and Islington areas, divided roughly equally between food and non-food stalls. Furniture, earthenware, second-hand clothing and drapery were among the most popular merchandise. The council renamed the street Chapel Market in 1936.
A few mainstream retailers and fast food outlets now occupy premises towards the eastern end of the street but for the most part this remains a traditional and unpretentious market, selling mainly household goods and food. It is open every day except Monday. Despite its continuing popularity, Chapel Market is vulnerable to a future change of use owing to the high value of land in Islington.’
The Victorian Royal Free Hospital began life as The London Fever Hospital. By the 1990s this redundant facility was redeveloped for varying types of residential accommodation. http://www.locallocalhistory.co.uk/islington/royalfree/ has much interesting history on this site, modern manifestations of which include
Old Royal Free Square N1
and Southwood Smith Street N1
London’s feral pigeons are ubiquitous. Here a trio dice with death near a corner of Battishill Street.
I do hope the driver of this Urgent Courier in Kember Street had managed to deliver his package before his van was clamped.
The gentleman on the balcony in Bernard Street WC1 appears to have scaled great heights in search of a mobile phone signal.
Now, can you spot Louisa and Errol outside the Victoria Palace Theatre?
I’ll give you a clue. The woman in white conversing on her mobile stands beside them when the traffic crossing figure is green. It becomes red while she approaches me, still apparently engrossed in the screen.
These three shots were all taken from outside an Indian restaurant where the three of us had enjoyed a pre-theatre meal before seeing the show, aptly described on the board as ‘The Greatest British Musical I’ve Ever Seen’.
Once more, by late afternoon, the sun shone from a gently clouded blue sky.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb sausage casserole and mashed potato flecked with carrot. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Barossa Valley Shiraz 2016.
My 75th birthday was very pleasurable. Matthew, Tess, and Poppy woke up here in the morning, and Shelley and Ron, Becky and Ian visited in the afternoon. We all sat in the garden after lunch.
The first present I opened was from Poppy, who had chosen it. A certain amount of self-interest was rapidly confirmed.
Our granddaughter provided her parents with their own party hats.
Matthew obligingly assembled a colourful bird house that Louisa and Errol had sent me. Poppy saw it as a handbag and commandeered it for a tour of the garden she undertook with Tess;
she was intrigued to be introduced to one of her floral namesakes,
and to many other blooms,
with some of which she picked and adorned herself.
This was one view of the Kitchen Bed,
and another seen across Margery’s Bed, each containing
a number of day lilies, some of which Jackie dug up for Tess along with several other plants.
This scene is beyond the Heligan Path bench.
Being a Kiwi, Tess was able to describe exactly how to propagate New Zealand flax, and to explain the haka.
The reason for this was that I understand that this war dance also represents other events such as courtship, and I had no idea whether the capers of the pigeons on our roof represented war or love.
Becky brought over a beautifully hand stitched and embroidered dress that her niece Poppy had left behind at her home. Poppy couldn’t wait to strip off and model it. This treasured possession had been made by Tess’s friend, Daphne Harris.
This evening, except for Shelly and Ron who had left earlier, we are all going to dine at Lal Quilla. Regular readers will understand that that means I will enjoy a hot curry and drink Kingfisher, and at the end of the meal will be past caring what anyone else consumed. Should anything out of the ordinary occur, I will report on that tomorrow.
