The onset of rain somewhat curtailed this morning’s dead-heading session. Never mind, I managed to catch up, and it didn’t rain at The Oval where Australia were playing Sri Lanka in the men’s Cricket World Cup. Naturally I listened to this.
Today I scanned another set of prints from that holiday, when we took a trip to Croyde Bay for a
where Sam was in his element.
While drafting this I received a phone call inviting me to the Everton Festival final event tomorrow to receive my prize as Runner Up in the photographic competition
for my print ‘Drinking In The Gorse’. Thank you, everyone, for contributing to my final selection.
It being Danni’s birthday she, Andy, Ella and Elizabeth came over for an Indian takeaway from Forest Tandoori this evening. My choice of meal was king prawns vindaloo; Ella’s was her first taste of paratha. I haven’t recorded everyone else’s choices, but we all shared rices, onion bahjis, and parathas. Danni, Elizabeth, and I drank Galodoro Reserva 2016; and Andy drank Diet Coke.
There was much reminiscing about Danni’s childhood memories of her time visiting us at Lindum House. She was able to describe all the rooms she had known. This prompted Jackie to google the house on https://www.rightmove.co.uk/house-prices/detailMatching.html?prop=6676327&sale=59659542&country=england.
We took an early drive to the east of the forest this morning.
Having left Lymington we traversed Snooks Lane. The nature of this narrow, winding, road suggests that it is madness to reach the 40 m.p.h. limit marked on these lanes.
Despite the idyllic location and the recently completed cleaning of the Burrard Monument someone has tossed a coke can over the low wooden rail bordering the grounds.
The tide was out at Tanners Lane where a black headed gull foraged among the silt.
The Isle of Wight, The Needles, Hurst Castle, and the two lighthouses could be viewed through a certain amount of haze.
Our next stop was at Sowley Lane, where a pony grazed, a friendly gentleman trotted with his dog, a cyclist approached; and alongside which oilseed rape blazed through a field.
It was a sleeping baby on the opposite side of the road from his mother that had caused me to disembark. After a while he woke, awkwardly found his feet and wobbled across to the pony mare who, continuing to fuel herself, offered no assistance to her offspring who eventually, unaided, latched on to his source of nutriment.
Just as we were about to continue on our way, the Modus experienced a thudding sound and a gentle rocking. The foal was using it as a scratching post. While Jackie made these portraits our little friend even allowed her to stroke his nose.
We felt a bit stuck in place while the pony seemed stuck on us.
After a last lingering caress, he turned his head and bent it in the direction of his mother. This enabled us to take off, albeit slowly. Turning back in our direction he looked somewhat nonplussed as his image in my wing mirror gradually diminished. I swear he was thinking “where’s it gone?”.
For dinner this evening Jackie produced tandoori chicken; savoury and pilau rice; and fresh salad, with which I drank The Long Way Round reserve Carmenere 2018, another excellent selection from Ian’s Christmas case.
Today was milder and wetter. Last autumn, Jackie had planted up a pair of tubs for Mum’s garden. Now the intended recipient occupies a care home, one of these graces the garden of her empty bungalow. The other stands in front of the trellis adorning our garage door.
We took a short trip to the East of the forest, where, at East End the stunning golden mimosa tree is in full bloom;
a pigeon looks down on it from a nearby naked oak.
The corner of St Leonard’s Road and the road to East Boldre is as waterlogged as always once we have experienced considerable rainfall. Water overflows onto the road and vehicles spray as they pass.
At East Boldre a chestnut pony, ankle-deep in another pool, slakes its thirst. Today it can be said that there was water, water, everywhere, and always a drop to drink.
This evening we dined on tangy lemon chicken; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots; and tender peas.
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One of Aaron’s tasks this morning was to start clearing the falling leaves. He used his handy blower to stir the frisky foliage.
Jackie and I left Elizabeth behind when we left before our friend had finished this morning to meet Frances, Fiona, Paul, James, Danni, and Andy for lunch at the Luzborough House pub in Romsey. Elizabeth had a cold and was careful not to pass it on, either to my two pregnant nieces or to our mother. The venue had been chosen so that sister-in-law Frances, her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson could visit Mum in hospital.
The meals were OK. My choice was steak, prawns, calamari, and salad followed by ice cream sundae. I drank Old Speckled Hen.
On our return home, Jackie and I, having opted not to overcrowd Mum, took a diversion into the forest.
At Bramshaw, we took a lane we have not previously discovered. This led us to Bramble Hill where, sharing the sky with cotton wool clouds, the sun gilded the bright bracken. I was delighted when an obliging young lady brought her steed into shot. As I told her, she had just made a picture.
A string of stately alpacas stepping across the fields of ‘Faraway Alpacas’ in Godshill, passed a blissfully happy hembra suckling her contented cria.
Further along the road a lone chestnut pony took its turn at making its own couple of Autumnal pictures.
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This afternoon Jackie and I took a drive around the East of the forest.
Out of Lymington we turned into Snooks Lane, where we passed a white field horse.
Naturally we explored Pilley a little more. This time a couple of cows showing a partiality for stinging nettles occupied Holly Lane. A cyclist drew up alongside our waiting car. She managed to negotiate her way past the bovine blockage.
The buttressing and thatched roof suggested some age to the white houses on the far side of the green beside the lake I have often featured.
The surrounding woodland adds to the charm of the scene.
Passing another field accommodating a very sturdy working horse, we back-tracked to photograph the back-lit animal in a bucolic scene. As so often, as soon as my intended subject spied me leaning on a five-barred gate he trotted over to make my acquaintance, coming to rest against a possibly electrified barrier. We settled for a portrait.
It was at Shirley Holms that we met Magic Roundabout’s Dougal masquerading as a Thelwell pony.
Dougal wears a reflective collar intended to alert motorists at night should he venture on to the road. Someone had hung one of these on a post at the cattle grid at the end of this road. Drivers in the dark may imagine the post is our little character. I hope the neckwear’s owner has not met an untimely end.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef pie; luscious gravy; new potatoes; crisp carrots; Brussels sprouts; and red cabbage. Jackie drank Hoegaarden; Elizabeth, Marlborough Pinot Noir 2017; and I finished the Malbec.
This afternoon Jackie and I transported to Oakhaven Hospice Charity Shop in New Milton several boxes of kitchen equipment rendered surplus to our requirements after the installation of the new kitchen. We then ordered a quotation for recovering our Chesterfield sofa from Jem Fabrics.
A drive to Hatchet Pond was next.
I have noticed that when families are cycling in the area it is always the youngest member who speeds on ahead. So it is with cygnets. Here, under a sky the colours and texture of a soiled lawyer’s wig, one of this year’s offspring led its parents along the surface of the lake.
On shore, it flexed its muscles
and told the gulls where to go.
A coot paddling among the surf,
and several mallards stepping out on the bank made up the avian population.
Angling families tried their luck.
A wandering pony searched for fresh grass,
while a patient donkey, at the head of the queue,
waited for its friend, the kindly vendor, viewed in his wing mirror,
to hand over the last of his own ice cream.
This evening we enjoyed second helpings of Mr Chan’s Chinese Take Away fare. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Elizabeth and I drank Calvet’s Cahors Malbec 2016.
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Becky and Ian returned this morning to their home at Emsworth. This afternoon Jackie drove Flo, Dillon and me out for a drive in the forest.
On the way to Beaulieu, Flo spotted a row of antlers among the gorse on the moors. They belonged to a string of stags. Jackie turned the car round and returned to the spot, where the animals still congregated. As long as we stood still and kept our distance, cervine curiosity kept them interested. When I edged forward, slowly at first they turned tail and suddenly rushed back into the golden covert.
In the foreground of this landscape are some of the many pools springing all over the forest at the moment.
As we approached Beaulieu an obliging pony put on a display of disrupting the traffic for our family visitors.
We visited The Yachtsman’s Bar at Buckler’s Hard for refreshments.
A number of yachts and motorboats were moored in the harbour.
We made a small diversion down to the beach at Tanner’s Lane where we watched a helicopter flying across the Isle of Wight.
The next stop was at Lyndhurst where, in the churchyard of St Michael & All Angels, Flo and Dillon were shown the grave of Mrs Reginald Hargreaves, otherwise known to the world as Lewis Carroll’s Alice. Dillon produced these selfies, while I photographed the stone commemorating Anne Frances Cockerell which I suspect was that of a 23 year old who probably died in childbirth, leaving her husband to live on into the next century.
I also photographed roofs of the Crown Hotel and adjacent buildings,
while Flo crouched to focus on the street below, before she and I photographed each other.
The next grave to be visited was that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, complete with pipe. It was Flo who captured these images whilst I focussed on her and Dillon.
This was in the graveyard of
Minstead Parish Church. Only the first, vertical, picture of these last seven is mine. The others are Flo’s. The list of rectors, beginning in the thirteenth century, bears out the age of the shattered, regenerated, yew tree to the left of the last photograph, said to be at least 700 years old.
Back home, we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips with mushy peas, pickled onions, and gherkins.
This morning I made a birthday card for Orlaith, using this photograph taken by Holly a few days after her daughter’s birth.
Jackie drove me to New Milton to post it this afternoon, and on afterwards for a forest trip via Holmsley Passage.
Beside the passage this pony
caught my attention
as it appeared
to be scratching
the bracken. Actually it was stamping it down so it could get at the grass. Too much bracken is harmful to horses.
Birch trees
stood out on the moorland,
and holly berries brightened the woodland opposite.
As we continued along the road,
we noticed a strange tree in the distance.
This was the Burley mobile telephone mast in disguise.
At the end of the Passage, according to this milestone just one mile from Burley,
we turned off right along a cul -de-sac on which we discovered a pool
reflecting
the surrounding trees.
Fungi sprang from fallen logs;
a dead branch dangled.
An enclosure beyond the far side looked rather like a Drift pen.
The road led to the enticing woodland
and undulating landscape of Clay Hill.
The mist rising above Bashley on our return had a distinct aroma of woodsmoke.
We diverted to Keyhaven where the clouds looming overhead
were reflected in the waterlogged tarmac,
and a menacing hoodie lurked on Hurst Spit.
This evening we dined at Mansoori Heights, a recently opened Indian restaurant in Milford on Sea. It was very good. Jackie’s main meal was paneer shashlick; mine was prawn vindaloo; we shared a starter platter, egg rice, and a methi paratha, and both drank Kingfisher.
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The mist that shrouded the garden never left Downton today.
Motoring further away from the coast into the forest in the mid-afternoon, Jackie and I left the fog behind us and were treated to bright sunshine sending splayed shafts through the trees alongside
Holmsley Passage.
The few leaves that still clung to the slender branches became dancing will-o-the-wisps flirting with autumn’s bronzed ferns;
and individual trunks were spotlit pillars.
Haze surrounded a solitary pony on the roadside approaching Burley, where
pools of recent precipitation reflected housing, trees, and sky.
The herd of red deer that had not been in evidence on our last visit to that village had today, as is their wont, invaded the field in front of the Manor House, where they rendered lawn mowers redundant.
By the time we returned home via Hordle Lane the mist had (in)visibly thickened.
This evening we dined with Becky and Matthew on Jackie’s tasty cottage pie, tender beef in red wine, and piquant cauliflower cheese. I drank Languedoc rouge 2015.
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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.
