primulas – Page 6 – derrickjknight

In The Verges

Today was sunny and warmer. I made my way this morning down to Roger’s footpath and back. This was more of a hobble than a ramble, but the swelling on the knee has subsided and I have left off the Ibuprofen.

To be found in the verges of Downton Lane are:

Crocuses Celandines

Primroses

Primulas

More celandines

Daffodils

Grape Hyacinths

and drink cans, like this one from Budweiser which will soon be nestling in ladies’ bedstraw.

We have blue celandines in the garden, where

Jackie has continued work on the new bed,

and we have erected a plastic chain to enhance the barrier at the end of the drive. This seems at least to have deterred a plumber’s van.

When the tits give them a chance, chaffinches are now visiting the bird feeders.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Lymington Hospital for my pre-assessment to see whether I am fit for surgery for the fasciectomy. After completion of a questionnaire, checking of blood pressure and pulse rate; measuring height and weight and calculating BMI; taking swabs from nostrils and groin to check for MRSA; applying an ECG; taking blood tests; and anything else I might have forgotten, it seems that I am. The operation should take place some time in April.

Elizabeth came for a visit and, later, we drove off to Lymington’s Lal Quilla in our separate cars, and enjoyed the usual excellent meal and friendly service, including a chat with the chef who really loves his work. My meal was king prawn naga and special fried rice. We all had onion bhajis for starters and drank Kingfisher.

Emulating The Master

On another dull morning my matinal amble around the garden was again brightened by Jackie’s fresh planting. She has filled the first window box on the front wall with primulas, more of which, in pots, she has placed ready for insertion into the new bed, further built up by Aaron, that was once the compost heap.

Our winter flowering clematis Cirrhosa has developed well over the last five months.

A pale pink camellia has forced its way through the jungle of the abandoned garden next door.

Later, delving into my archives, I travelled back to July 1967 and scanned a batch of colour slides of that date. At that time I was very keen on the work of Bill Brandt, who according to Wikipedia, ‘(born Hermann Wilhelm Brandt, 2 May 1904 – 20 December 1983^[1]^:14), was a British photographer and photojournalist. Although born in Germany, Brandt moved to England, where he became known for his images of British society for such magazines as Lilliput and Picture Post, later his distorted nudes, portraits of famous artists and landscapes. He is widely considered to be one of the most important British photographers of the 20th century.^[1]‘

What intrigued me most was the photographer’s focussing on sections of his models set in the landscape, giving the impression that they were part of it.

With Jackie as my muse, and Brandt as my inspiration, I made a series of photographs including knees and elbows.

Back in 1967 I left these images as they were. Brandt worked in black and white. Today, by reducing saturation, increasing contrast, and selecting crops, I had a stab at emulating the master, adding my own touch by using hands and face.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s perfected chicken jafrezi (recipe) and really special fried rice, with minty vegetable samosas. The recipe for the rice is essentially that for the savoury one, with finely chopped omelette mixed in.

My wine was a wonderfully smooth claret, Chateau Gabaron 2012, which came in a hamper from the House of Bruar that Luci and Wolf had sent us for Christmas. Jackie drank her customary Hoegaarden.

Sharing A Meal

When we arrived in Downton on 31st March last year, clumps of large leaves were present in the front garden. Following our policy of giving unrecognised plants time to make themselves known, we refrained from disturbing them. These produced nothing more until now. We don’t know what they are. Does anyone? The holly leaf in the first picture gives the scale of the small blue flowers that have poked their heads out. The next two offer enlargements as an aid to identification. The fresh foliage is much smaller than it will be in the summer.

Today I took a slightly longer and more gainly hobble around the garden than yesterday. Other new arrivals are different varieties of primula, and the first of the numerous alliums which will crop up everywhere as the year goes on. These latter are very welcome in the beds, but far too many of them pierce the gravel and brick paths. As the weather warms up their heady aroma is nowhere near as appetising as that of the frying onions that tempt you to stop at a hot dog stall. Indeed, when we first savoured it we thought there must be a problem with our septic tank.

Among the new daffodils are tiny tete-a-tetes.

A single layer of bricks that, last week, Aaron placed at the end of the back drive in order to deter offending vehicles, has survived unscathed.

During our lunch we watched others enjoying theirs. Through the kitchen window I was able to photograph the avian diners.

First, a pair of greenfinches sat opposite each other, as did Jackie and I.

When I reached the window, one flew off, leaving its less timid mate in sole possession.

It is not usual at the moment for different species to share a meal, but our then unaccompanied visitor seemed content to accommodate a blue tit.

Once this little creature hopped down to a lower perch,

The more cautious greenfinch joined the party, the couple remaining on the alert to repel any more boarders, but allowing their companion to continue lunching.

Finally, the smaller bird having had its fill and flown off, the braver greenfinch took its place on the lower berth, whilst its mate emulated the cow in the hedge.

My egg and bacon wasn’t too congealed by the end of this little interlude.

This evening, for our dinner, Jackie produced her classic cottage pie, cauliflower, carrots, and brussels sprouts, followed by a juicy raspberry crumble. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Heritage de Calvet Cotes du Rhone Villages 2013.

P.S. Jackie thought the plant was possibly borage, and Vicki Haynes confirmed it. This enabled my lady to do further internet research, establishing it as a perennial borage, boraginaceae trachystemon orientalis. In UK it is termed Oriental Borage. In Turkey the plant is eaten as a vegetable.

Spring According To Susan Hill

This morning I ambled gingerly down to the Shorefield post box and back. My right knee remains sharply painful. Perhaps I am stuck with it. A few sturdy daffodils, such as this one alongside snowdrops, cyclamen, hellebores, and pulmonaria in the shady bed, swayed bravely in the strong breeze blowing through our garden. Our several varieties of camellia shrubs are now quite full of blooms. Primulas and celandines adorned the hedgerows on Downton Lane. Stick-insect-like Lichen clinging to budding branches, and golden gorse glowed above them. Susan Hill’s ‘yellow season’ is arriving.

At the other end of the day heavy rainclouds over the garden were given a peachy tinge by the setting sun. I was showered by peach juice whilst shooting the scene.

I am becoming addicted to antiques programmes on daytime TV. Is this the thin end of the wedge?

This evening’s dinner was Jackie’s flavoursome cottage pie with crisp cabbage and carrots, followed by custard tart. She drank Hoegaarden and I imbibed Chateau Clos Renon Bordeaux superieur 2012.

Not Exactly A Chair

Over coffee, Jackie and I began the day discussing the detail of the Churchill queue photographs posted yesterday. Even I, who had been there in January 1965, was surprised at what can be revealed by clicking on the images to enlarge them. This prompted me to add a postscript that you may find as fascinating as we found the exercise. Little did I know, when I pressed that shutter, that it would one day be possible to send those pictures and comments on them, for immediate consumption, across the world at the touch of another button.

Afterwards, I extended my gentle amble to the entrance to Roger’s fields. Primulas are now blooming on the verges of Downton Lane, and, on this more overcast day, yesterday’s vibrant tree bark colours have made way for gentle sage greens and silvery greys.

First chatting to Carl in the pub car park, I engaged in a longer conversation with Paul, a very friendly builder living at number 25, who was clipping his hedge. He noticed me photographing a pine branch that had been ripped off and thrown across the other side of the road. He told me it was very unusual for these limbs to be torn from the trees, and that even now it would be very difficult to break off the cones.

After lunch, as today would have been Jackie’s mother’s birthday, we drove to Everton Nurseries where we bought primulas and snowdrops which Jackie planted by her Mum’s plot in Walkford Woodland Burial Ground. Only natural woodland flowers are to be set there. Although the primulas are cultivated, they will, if they survive, soon revert.

We then moved on to Molly’s Den in search of a chair, and instead came away with a rather attractive bevelled mirror which we think is probably contemporary with our house.

A rack of pork ribs in barbecue sauce provided our evening sustenance. This was accompanied by Jackie’s savoury rice, this time including and enough finely diced vegetables as to suggest it was an exquisite biriani, and crisp red cabbage stir fry. Jackie drank Peroni, whilst I chose Lidl’s 2012 Bordeaux Superieur.

A Slap In The Face With A Wet Fish

I don’t watch enough television to make it worth while viewing anything that is serialised, because I am bound to miss some episodes. I find it preferable to await the appearance of boxed DVD sets. Thus, those two superb HBO series, ‘The Sopranos’ and ‘The Wire’, kept me entertained whist I was recovering from my hip replacement operation at the end of 2010. I have so far missed ‘Homeland’, which is well recommended and until now, ‘Downton Abbey’. This began to be rectified yesterday evening because Becky and Ian bought Jackie the boxed set of all five series for Christmas. We watched the first episode.
Serious frost, its outlines emphasising the patterns of nature, descended upon Downton overnight. Seeking to savour the spectacle I took an early walk to Hordle Cliff top and back. Downton Lane was very slippery. Ice on the pools made its own patterns. The owner of a boxer dog tottered gingerly down a slope, whilst his pet, legs splayed, the claws of its paws scratching the surface, slithered on ahead. Footprints of walkers and dogs, and deeply rutted cart tracks stood proud in frozen mud.
I crunched my way along the more crackly than usual shingle for a while, noticing that frost clung to organic matter, like driftwood and cuttlefish, rather longer than to the colder stones. As I walked down the steps I was momentarily alarmed by a cry of ‘Scooby’. I turned around and saw a Jack Russell/Pomeranian cross, bearing the same name as Flo’s Jack Russell/Beagle. This mixture had produced an animal not weighed down by an oversized head.

Where shadows had fallen across the steps down to the beach, or the sun had not yet risen above the back of a bench on the path leading to Shorefield, the white precipitation persisted.

A house on Pless Road cast its sharp black shadow on the bright evergreen hedge opposite.

All her life Flo has fondly imagined giving someone a slap in the face with a wet fish. Imagine her delight when, Jackie having bought some smoked haddock for this evening’s dinner, Becky volunteered to precede her shower by being the recipient.
We watched three more episodes of ‘Downton Abbey’ before Jackie and Becky prepared the classic symphony in white fish dish. We are now as hooked as were the contents of the meal, the accompaniment to which was Wairu Cove sauvignon blanc 2014.

A Christmas Rehearsal

On a dull, blustery, yet mild, morning I took a stroll along Hordle Lane to Apple Court House and back. Bordering the drive to the house bergenia and primulas are blooming, on this, our shortest day of the year.
A motionless long-eared owl, no doubt on the lookout for small mammals, perches atop the newly, beautifully, thatched roof of a house on which Hallmark builders have been working for a week or so. Thatching is one of the country crafts still thriving in England. It is the practise of builders to place a decoy, usually of the avian variety, in order to deter other birds from grubbing around for insects, or nicking material for their nests.
Doing a little Googling in a rather unsuccessful attempt to check my facts, I found, which is not unusual, one of my own photographs on an information site. Just as my introduction to the owl above is one of my sad little jokes, so was that picture. Instead of describing a genuine decoy as a live creature, I likened a living pigeon to a thatcher’s creation.
Another of my photos, also used, portrays the skeletons of decoy ducks that have themselves lost their plumage to scavengers. I wonder how long it will take for my owl to grace a twitcher’s website. My Lesser Antillean Bullfinch does, after all, with my permission, grace Fatbirder’s Barbados page.
This afternoon we drove to Helen and Bill’s home in Poulner for a Christmas dinner with them and Shelley and Ron. We enjoyed a superb roast venison meal with roast potatoes and parsnips; and a full range of vegetables cooked by Helen. The gravy was delicious. Iced Christmas pudding and sherry trifle were the sweets, followed by cheese and biscuits, coffee and mints. My choice from the available beverages was a very good malbec. Apparently venison was, in earlier times, a traditional Christmas roast. In Dickens’s time, as described in ‘A Christmas Carol’, goose was the festive meat. One topic of our conversation centred on the even earlier, Tudor, practice of stuffing smaller birds inside larger ones. A swan, we believed, would contain a goose, which held a chicken, into which a duck would be pressed, and that in turn would house a quail; thus forming something like a set of culinary Russian dolls. Obviously only the very rich could afford such a banquet.
An exchange of presents, thus forming a Christmas rehearsal, took place afterwards. As was normal in the Rivett household in which the sisters had grown up, Helen followed their father’s practice of providing a large plastic bag for ‘herk’. This was a word he had coined for discarded wrapping paper that otherwise would have been flung excitedly to all corners of the living room.
Later, we took a break in our session of The Name Game, to squeeze in tea or more coffee and delicious homemade mince pies and/or shortbread. In this game one person represents a character that may or may not be human, real, or fictional. The others, within 20 questions, each of which must be answerable by ‘yes’ or ‘no’, must guess the identity. I might, when I was Arsene Wenger, not have misled my questioners had I known his true nationality. But they didn’t hold it against me. This was fun, as was the whole event.
Water was the only sustenance required when Jackie and I returned home.
P.S. Later this evening, Jackie did some further Googling on the subject of the owl, There doesn’t seem to be any real consensus on the term or the purpose of what I have called ‘decoys’, although my term is probably incorrect. The most consistent name is ‘finials’, and they could simply be decoration serving as a signature of the thatcher. Whilst ‘decoy’ may be incorrect I do like the deterrent idea. Here is the text of Jackie’s observations:

Not called decoys by thatchers (decoy ducks are used by hunters I believe) but known as straw finials, they are a west country tradition that came from decorating hay stacks and corn stacks, used on roofs since at least the 17th Cent, I found an East Anglian thatcher who advertises that altho’ straw finials are a west country tradition he is willing to incorporate them if the costumer should desire it!

P.P.S. Barrie Haynes has sent me an equally enlightening comment: Most surprised to see a thatcher has placed an owl on a roof as when I was a child, many of the old New Forest people (my mother was a ‘Cooke’ from Emerydown) thought owls anywhere near the house brought bad luck!

Sold By Spencers Of The New Forest

On a glorious spring morning Jackie drove us to Ferndene Farm Shop in Bashley Cross Road. The ground is drying up and many pools on the roads and heathland receding.
I have before photographed the shelves inside this shop which has the best produce of its kind I have sampled. The produce outside would grace any good garden centre. Like everything else they sell, all the merchandise is in tip-top condition.
A good range of garden plants and wonderfully colourful cut flowers glowed in the sunshine.

Brightly hued primulas were much in evidence.

Daffodils, violets, and hyacinths were arrayed in trays.

Less flamboyant shrubs, heathers, and grasses displayed pastel hues.

The most vibrant palettes had provided pigments for the roses, carnations, and chrysanthemums in the various bouquets. There were also bunches of tulips and narcissi.

Even the compost bags are attractively packaged.

From the farm shop we drove to Milford on Sea and wandered around there for a bit, then checked out Everton Nurseries. You see, Spencers’ sign in the garden of the house on which we have recently exchanged contracts to purchase, confirms that Ferndene Farm Shop, Milford on Sea, and Everton Nurseries will soon be our local resources.

It announces:

The farm shop’s superb smoked ham provided the meat for our salad lunch.
This afternoon I watched two Six Nations rugby matches on television. Ireland beat Italy by a lot and France beat Scotland by a little. Neither game was very inspiring, although Brian O’Driscoll enlivened the Irish performance by profitable flashes of brilliance, and Yoann Huget scored a ninety metre interception try for the French.
This evening we dined on battered cod and chips, gherkins, pickled onions and mushy peas, with which I drank a glass of Bergerac Grande Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot 2012.

Back To Work Tomorrow

Jackie’s bedroom seedlings of nasturtiums and marigolds have woken up to the season and are springing forth.

We drove to The Firs, calling in first at the Village Shop to deposit dry cleaning; the bottle bank near Minstead Hall; then on to Lyndhurst to post a couple of parcels and visit the NatWest Bank to transfer some money to the Barclays account in France. It is a reality of village life that no longer can we pop across the road, as in London, to satisfy our every whim. But who cares?

Even the trip to Elizabeth’s was dual purpose. The Firs has been my business address for some years now, so I needed to collect my post. The main reason, however, was to survey the garden and make a start on this year’s work therein. We were delighted to see how much the plants have benefitted from the composting of the last two years, and in particular how the new beds now look established.

The winter has been so wet, so cold, and so long, that Elizabeth was only able to begin weeding last Sunday. That is therefore a priority, after the cutting of the grass, composting, and a bit of refurbishment to one of the bins I made last summer. When contemplating setting out on a long and daunting task it is always a satisfactory delaying tactic to make a list and start mañana. So we had lunch with my sister, made lists in our heads, and arranged to return tomorrow. Well, at least a commitment has been made.

Fritillaria meleagris is one of the many bulbs planted in the autumn, hoping they would come up in the spring. They have, as have tete-a-tete and other daffodils, such as white narcissi; muscari; numerous hellebores; self-seeded primulas; and a variety of pansies, notably those surrounding the bird bath. Many other flowers, in the beds and in various containers, have survived, and we are able to imagine how everything will look when it is all tidied up. But before that we must get back to work tomorrow.

A further very good reason, I convinced myself, for not making a start today, was that I needed to complete the paperwork for my accountant, and get a cheque off to EDF in France to cover the estimated electricity bill for rue Saint Jacques, since it has been sitting in The Firs whilst I was in France, and gone past the settle before date. We therefore had to go back home so that I could do that. And I did.

Further wildlife, in the form of two boys playing football on the lawn; and a young girl building a den in the far corner behind the rhododendrons, has emerged to enjoy the better weather.

This evening we enjoyed a meal of Aldi oven fish and chips, mushy peas, and gherkins.