Tag: Pilley lake

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.

Replenishment

The recent heavy rains have suddenly filled the drought-dried lake at Pilley. This prompted me to circumperambulate it on our forest drive this morning.

Fresh autumn leaves floated among rippling reflections or

broken limbs from their trees,

or lay visible on the shallow bed;

Mallards, glimpsed through overhanging lichen covered branches and their lingering foliage, have reclaimed their natural habitat.

Some of the leaves cluster among mini mushrooms between mossy or

exposed roots and bark flakes from fallen trees on the water-lapped banks.

This evening Jackie and I joined Shelly, Ron, Helen, and Bill at Fordingbridge for the latter couple’s church fundraising quiz night. Helen provided sandwiches, mince, pies, gala pie, crisps, salad and wine; Ron brought beer. We had a very enjoyable time with good natured competition, at which we came third.

On our journey home the steady rain accompanying our outward trip had developed into a deluge, in which the rhythmic whirring of our windscreen wipers could not clear the shield of raindrops that became twinkling stars above parallel columns of light stretched along the tarmac before the headlights of each oncoming vehicle, while our own beams illuminated the fanned curtains of spray thrown up by our wheels from pools across the road to rival the swollen lake seen this morning.

Focus On The Windscreen

Nick Hayter visited this morning to assess the post-refurbishment decorating work he is to undertake. We enjoyed his usual pleasant conversation.

The unconsolable skies shed continuous profuse tears throughout the afternoon, which we began with a trip to the Lymington Post Office collection office to claim a parcel undelivered because of a shortage of £2 in postage. The good news was that there was no queue. The bad news was that the office was closed. I took an alternative option which was to stick the extra postage on the back of their card and post it back to them.

We then drove into the forest to make

a record picture of the lake at Pilley which is avidly collecting more liquid sustenance. I chose not to walk round to the other side for that view since I was already feeling a drip.

While waiting for a train at the Lymington level crossing I had plenty of time to focus on the windscreen.

Perhaps it is the intensity; perhaps the consistently fast pace; perhaps the comparative shortness; perhaps the bloodthirstiness of the historical context of Charles Dickens’s ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ that renders it apparently the most widely read of the master’s novels, in which there is no room for his customary dry wit, and little for his comic turns.

Later this afternoon I finished reading the work which becomes impossible to put down; and scanned the last four of Charles Keeping’s perfectly matched illustrations to my Folio Society 1985 edition.

‘ ‘Hope has quite departed from my breast’ ‘

‘He spoke with a helpless look straying all around’

‘Miss Pross seized her round the waist and held her tight’

‘She kisses his lips; he kisses hers’

This evening we dined on double egg and chips with sausages and baked beans, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Comté Tolosan Rouge.

Patent Love

Our neighbour, Gordon, who lives in Old Rode House, Downton Lane this morning gave us this typed version of an article from The Mansfield and Sutton Times of 29th June 1928:

The highlighted paragraph is the one that specifically features our little hamlet, and is, incidentally evidence that our house was certainly built before the 1930s, as we had been given to understand. I have also scanned the next two pages which describe the life of our area a hundred years ago. Apart from the volume of motor traffic this has not changed much in the intervening years. We do have electricity, but not gas. We are not on mains drainage and dispose of our waste by means of a septic tank. These continuation sheets can be enlarged by access to their gallery.

The few fluffy clouds creeping away from a clear cerulean sky above our garden earlier heralded the cold, bright, day that we were to enjoy. The last image in the above set was produced by looking down on the kitchen skylight from our new first floor sitting room.

We began with a visit to Pilley’s lake where my usual seasonal view bore signs of autumn and a number of ponies

drinking and reflected in the clear, still waters.

Some of the animals wandered across Jordans Lane until a woman left one of the cars and shooed them off.

This was Jules who called her pony over from the far side of the lake and gave him treats – this soon had me surrounded by other equines hoping for the same from me. I had engaged this friendly person in conversation in order to ask her about the foal with the stick in its collar that we had seen yesterday. She had obligingly parked behind Jackie where we enjoyed talking. Jules thought it likely that the small branch would become dislodged. The love between pony and owner was patent.

Assorted equines gathered on the other side of the water.

Donkeys with a foal gathered at East Boldre, where

robins flitted about.

More ponies, casting long shadows gathered on the verges of the beginning of South Baddersley Road. These, we thought, were the group that we often see at St Leonard’s Grange, with their little attached Shetland,

today enjoying an extended scratch on a post, while

one of its taller companions was able to use its hoof.

Setting Ducks Into Flight

This morning we began filling the new wardrobe, which meant bagging up for disposal many clothes we will never wear again.

Afterwards I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/11/06/a-knights-tale-59-about-the-children/

This afternoon we took a drive into the forest. Our first stops were at Pilley, where

the lake is beginning to recede once more, and

rippling water lines the edges with autumn leaves.

The crocheted letter collection box on Pilley Hill now prepares for Remembrance Day.

I called in at the Community Shop to find out who was the creator of these adornments changing with the seasons. Unfortunately the man on duty didn’t know, but advised me to call in during the week.

I settled for photographing cattle, calves, and walkers on the other side of the street.

Although one patch of blue sky separated clouds along the road to Hatchet Pond, louring billows, pierced by Jesus beams hung over the water, where pair of swans and their cygnets set a paddling of ducks into flight.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, pickled onions, and chilli cornichons, with which we finished the Jurancon white wine.

Ready For Her Close Up

This morning we drove Jan, Bob, and DeAna to New Milton station for the next stage of their journey to Switzerland. Jan e-mailed me three photographs taken on the platform for Waterloo.

Jackie and Jan by De;

Jan and Derrick by De;

and Bob and De by Jan.

A brief inspection of further storm damage revealed that Jackie’s favourite view from the stable door has been ruined by

a wind-blown lurch of the Wisteria Arbour.

Jackie had laid down the chairs on the decking, but simply closed up the parasol which had been lifted clear of the table through the centre of which it normally stands, and gently placed against the fence.

Plenty of flowers have, however, happily survived.

This afternoon we took a forest drive, intending to take the route to Pilley via Undershore.

A large tree had, however, been thrown across the now puddly path, so a reverse sweep was required on a lane requiring a numerous point turn.

As can be seen the day began with strong sunshine. This rapidly deteriorated into one of bright, brief, sunny spells forcing their way between dark, heavy, showers pattering on the car roof; spreading racing, rippling, rivulets such that the wipers could not keep pace to provide clear vision; and turning my T-shirt into a wet dishcloth when I stepped out at Pilley lake to photograph its current condition.

The water was now filling up, so that the lone pig which had a couple of weeks ago been part of a group that had frolicked over the dry bed must have been disappointed as it

stood on the surrounding landscape.

Rain now pelted where porkers had pootled.

On Cadnam Lane ponies reflected on pools; sheltered from the rain; or failed to dry their hair after another downpour.

Pigs were unperturbed by the elements, one was certainly ready for her close up.

This evening we sat at our lonely table and raised our glasses, containing more of the Sauvignon Blanc, and Chevalier de Fauvert Comté Tolosan Rouge 2019, to absent friends while reprising last night’s repast of sausages in red wine.

Seeking Shelter

On a dank, drizzly, morning we visited Lymington High Street early to buy birthday presents. We had to wait half an hour for one shop to open, so I took the opportunity for a spot of people watching.

Cyclists negotiated other traffic;

a number of toddlers rode in buggies;

some were prepared for rain, while others improvised with coats;

one couple contemplated care options;

a blue bird alighted on a mobile phone;

crossing the road required nifty footwork;

two pairs of sandals were well synchronised;

W.H.Smith’s was being decorated;

it looks as if someone was late;

a child was introduced to Costa Coffee.

I was just about to photograph this friendly gentleman’s dogs as he moved off. When I told him so, he stopped, turned the buggy round so I could photograph both children and dogs, and engaged in an enjoyable conversation with Jackie and me.

When the weather brightened somewhat this afternoon we drove to Pilley for the intermittent check on the views across the lake.

Whoever crochets the cover for the post collection box on Pilley Hill has remembered that we are still meant to be in summer.

The lake is even drier than our last visit; blackberries are burgeoning on the far side, in company of yellow ragwort.

As I walked around the even more receding water line I could see the movement of animals beneath the trees. Upon investigation I discovered the group of Shetland ponies who must have trooped all the way down from the Norley Wood end of Bull Hill, where we normally encounter them, clearly seeking shelter and proximity to liquid refreshment.

This evening we dined on the last of the cottage pie supplemented by a pork chop each and fresh vegetables, with which Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc and I drank Chevalier de Fauvert Compté Tolosan Rouge 2019

Attached To A Petal

Today dawned bright and sunny with a welcome breeze to lessen the gathering heat and humidity which made gardening too unpleasant after we returned home from an outing.

By courtesy of Danni’s voucher birthday present to Jackie we enjoyed a most enjoyable brunch at Rosie Lea Tea Room (ex The Hobler Inn) on Southampton Road. My already plentiful and well cooked Full English breakfast was supplemented by my wife’s donation of her hash browns and toast.

These were the garden views from the marquee which we occupied.

From there we drove to Pilley for an up to date record of the scene. The lake is fuller after the recent rains;

more of Quarry Cottage is mirrored in the additional little pool;

it is still possible to walk across to take in

the view from the opposite side, in the foreground of which foxgloves linger and blackberries develop.

Today the lake invited further reflective photographs.

When approaching East Boldre from opposite Hatchet Pond I glimpsed waterlilies through trees. Jackie parked beside the verge along which I walked until I came to the open view I knew would emerge.

On the way I took in the delights of grasses, heather, blackberry blossom, and bees, one of which had become attached to a petal from a previously plundered plant.

Many of the ponies we passed were sheltering from what developed into a much hotter period. An exception was this group including a growing colt grazing along the roadside.

White butterflies flitted over a field of flax further along the road.

Having seen what we had for brunch, readers will not be surprised to learn that no later sustenance was required.

The Sound Of Tearing Grass

Humid, leaden, weather continued today, although there was no threat of rain. After a dozy morning I attempted to join Jackie in the garden. I bagged up one set of refuse before realising that this was far too optimistic following the night that had just sapped my energy. The Head Gardener finished her planting, then metamorphosed into my Chauffeuse and drove me into the forest.

We began with our photo report on Pilley Lake which the recent rains have filled a little. The second image shows that foxgloves and brambles still fill the foreground;

sections of road barriers suggest recent works of some sort; and the little pool that had been bone dry a couple of weeks ago now reflects Quarry Cottage on the corner.

The Hatchet Moor section of Hatchet Pond was populated by a pair of swans and their cygnets who circled the surface, weaving through the prolific water lily beds. The last of the avian pictures with lilies was produced by Jackie. We were not the only photographers on an outing.

The only sound in evidence on such a still day was the ponies’ teeth tearing at the grass at East Boldre, in an operation so delicate as to refrain from uprooting the sward.

Like the lake at Pilley, many of the ditches are filling up with rainwater which reflects ponies crossing at East Boldre. Unfortunately I missed a shot of the foal leaping, but he did well.

Although not a football fan I did watch the Euro 2020 championship match between England and Germany. It is, after all, mandatory.

This evening we dined on our second helpings of Red Chilli takeaway with which we both drank Kingfisher.

Chekhov Stories

On an even hotter day today we started gardening even earlier.

While Jackie concentrated on tidying and watering,

despite the efforts of another dislodged and overhanging climbing rose, I

cleared another arm of the Rose Garden of weeds.

Just before lunch, Mark and Rob, two of Aaron’s team, arrived to set about the Back Drive. Mark pruned the hawthorn and Rob began the weeding.

A typically insightful post from josbees sent me back to reread

Nigel Lambourne’s frontispiece, ‘ ‘I followed Zinochka stealthily and saw …’ ‘ is suitably enigmatic.

The cloth boards and spine are printed with the artist’s images. The spine is rather faded, and a little spotty, but it is almost 50 years old.

Zinochka and the young boy feature in ‘Hatred’ (1887). Elisaveta Fen, in her introduction states that ‘the tale, told by a middle-aged man reminiscing about an incident in his childhood’ displays the author’s ‘seemingly effortless penetration into the mental processes of a small boy…..’conveyed with great economy and as convincingly as his more detailed analysis of the psychological states of characters in his later stories’. I would agree with these observations, but am left wondering why the adult heroine maintained hatred for her young brother-in-law for spilling the beans about what he had seen. I am reminded of a charismatic late lifelong friend of mine who inspired either love or hatred and once said to me that he didn’t mind which people felt, as long as they did not find him boring. Did Zinochka feel two sides of the same coin?

‘The girl curled herself up in the case’ illustrates ‘A Romantic Adventure with a Contrabass’ (1886). I would agree with Fen’s opinion that ‘It’s humour is light and gentle, characteristic of Chekhov in a playful mood’.

I will feature more as I work my way through the book.

Late this afternoon we drove to Pilley lake for our roughly weekly record photos. From both sides the further receding is apparent; for the second of the two shots across the reflecting lake I shifted the viewpoint to take in the foxgloves and the brambles.

On the moorland at East Boldre the cattle mostly sat and chewed the cud, while the ponies stood and grazed or chewed each other’s necks.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delightful savoury rice; prawns of the tempura and hot and spicy variety; and tandoori chicken tikka, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie started a couple of days ago.