Early this morning, Jackie photographed the first welcoming dawn we have experienced for a while.
The sunshine lived up to its promise as I wandered around photographing clumps of cheerful snowdrops; bunches of daffodils including tete-a-tetes; bright cyclamen; a variety of abundant hellebores which retained raindrops; and prolific shrubs such as camellias and viburnum. To make room for these images I have begun thinning out some 35,000 photographs in my Mac photo collection.
While I was enjoying myself drafting this post Jackie worked to unblock the shower drain. This afternoon we visited Streets in Brockenhurst to buy cleaning materials, and returned by a slightly circuitous route.
Much of the forest, like this area near Woodfidley, is still waterlogged. Reflective pools bear fallen trees. Still-standing oaks dip mossy toes into clear, still, surface water.
We stopped again at East End to photograph a pony busy trimming a prickly hedge.
Across the road two somewhat battle-scarred bays stood beside East Boldre allotments land. A notice informed visitors that the ponies inside were meant to be there and asked that they should not be fed. Was this, I wondered, a method of cutting out the compost middle man?
This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie served with tasty gravy; flavoursome broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and carrots. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Barossa Valley Shiraz 2017.
Before Jackie discovered that, for the first time in 15 years, we can now view Test Matches live on free to air terrestrial television I listened to the first day of the England v India match on BBC sport. I watched the last couple of overs on Channel 4.
This morning I took advantage of a break between showers to wander round the garden with my camera.
The irises reticulata are all now in bloom, with tulips beside them pushing up.
Other irises and numerous hellebores still collect raindrops.
Camellias are quite prolific.
Honesty seed pods now have a skeletal presence and the metal plant Louisa gave us for Christmas will live on for a while.
Some winter flowering clematis cirrhosa Freckles have survived their recent heavy pruning.
Wherever we go we encounter a plethora of snowdrops.
This afternoon we paid a brief visit to Barry and Karen to deliver his prints.
Afterwards we took a brief drive along the lanes, like Coombe Lane largely waterlogged.
Sunlight streamed across the landscapes, lit the lichen coated hedges, and silhouetted the bones of an oak tree.
A small shaggy haired pony eyed me as I photographed its more delicate be-rugged cousin.
Jackie photographed a pair of rooks – or were they crows? – conducting a corvine conversation.
Several donkeys were installed on Wooden House Lane.
The stream running under Church Lane reflected the trees above.
This evening we dined on the varied flavours of Jackie’s piquant cauliflower cheese; creamy mashed potatoes; smoked haddock; with carrots and petits pois for splashes of bright colour. We both drank Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2020.
On another wet afternoon we drove to Lymington for printer inks and to Milford on Sea pharmacy and Co-op, diverting to Keyhaven on our way home.
Saltgrass Lane was well waterlogged, even though the tide was not yet high enough for its closure.
Walkers, dogs, and vehicles were silhouetted on the spit against dramatic skies.
Sedate swans, occasionally dipping their benthic burrowing beaks, sailed along the water’s surface.
Skeins of geese honked overhead;
turnstones rested on rocks while
Jackie photographed me photographing them, as the rising tide lapped around them
Nearby she also spotted a thrush (identified by quercuscommunity’s comment below as more likely a rock pipit), curlews, geese, and an oystercatcher.
A hardy human pair spent some considerable time immersed up to their necks in the water, arousing the interest of a pair of swans when they changed into their dry clothes. The last picture is Jackie’s.
This evening we dined on tasty Welsh rarebit, Jackie’s choice chicken and vegetable stewp, and fresh crusty bread, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Macon.
On another gloomy wet morning Jackie photographed a selection of our current garden blooms, some decorated with pearls of rainwater.
Here we have sarcocca Hoskeriana, cyclamen, daffodil, iris reticulata Katharine Hodgkin, snowdrops, hellebore, camellia, daphne odorata marginata, and crocus.
Barry, of New Forest Chimney Sweeping & Repairs, then visited to extend the
downpipe across the kitchen extension roof to the guttering.
With our friend reflected in the Velux window he and I enjoyed a very pleasant conversation.
Five chapters further on in ‘Little Dorrit’ prompts a scan of five more of Charles Keeping’s illustrations to this novel of Charles Dickens.
‘Mr Pancks requested Mr Rugg to take a good strong turn at the handle’ of the street pump, which were common sources of water for residents in the mid-nineteenth century. https://johnsnow.matrix.msu.edu/work.php?id=15-78-80 carries a long entry on “The Broad Street Pump: An episode in the cholera epidemic of 1854”.
in ‘My dear soul, you are my only comfort’, we recognise the earlier profile of the magnificent Mrs Merdle.
‘The three expensive Miss Tite Barnacles’ are somewhat less than delightful.
The jubilation of ‘The Collegians cheered him very heartily’ has the artist throwing his hats through the text.
‘The little procession moved slowly through the gate’ demanded the span of a two page spread. No doubt readers will recognise earlier acquaintances.
Although the skies were to brighten later, when we drove into the forest this morning light flakes of fluffy snow had already evaporated to integrate with liquid precipitation.
Jackie parked the Modus at Crockford Clump and I squelched across
waterlogged moorland and clambered over undulating slopes the basins of which became their own
reflecting, rippling, reservoirs refilled by pattering raindrops dripping from twigs above into the otherwise silent streams below.
Lichen layered arboreal limbs lay shattered among soggy autumn leaves; a perky robin roamed from tree to tree.
A friendly woman walking her dogs told me about the snow and a herd of deer she had seen earlier. Paddy, one of her dogs, lolloped over to me in search of treats and took no for an answer.
Ponies occupied the tarmac at East Boldre whilst communing with a couple of field horses.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s lemon chicken and savoury rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cotes du Rhone.
Determined to comply with our current Covid constraints Danni and Ella, to be joined by Elizabeth, for whom entry to the house was forbidden, were on their way for a tour of the garden when
a very heavy downpour dumped a damper on the proceedings. Raindrops dripped from solanums, crab apples, weeping birch, and pelargoniums. Even Absolutely Fabulous hung her bedraggled golden locks.
Fortunately the rain had ceased by the time they arrived. Ella made directly for the house in search of her favourite mice and other toys. Danni made an effort to explain restrictions and her daughter
diverted in search of monsters. She had to emit the roars herself.
Jackie led her to the dragons, but she became more engrossed in the unicorn and the Waterboy.
When Elizabeth arrived, her granddaughter introduced her to me.
Jackie had placed dry cushions on the benches on which Danni, Ella, and Elizabeth sat while opening one of our presents to our great niece. Like any other self-respecting child not yet two, Ella handed the enclosed parcel to her grandmother, and set off with the bag announcing “I’m going shopping”, leaving her mother to admire the Sloth Christmas jumper.
The sound of the horn on our coffee trolley alerted us to the fact that Ella had escaped into the house and was now repeatedly striking the reception bell with the flat of her hand. We enjoyed a reasonably intelligible conversation and she turned her attention to the toys strewn about the sitting room.
The sun made feeble attempts to throw light on the proceedings before it was time for
little tarts and departure.
Becky joined us for the weekend. The three of us dined on Mr Chan’s excellent Hordle Chinese Take Away fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and our daughter and I drank Mendoza Malbec 2019.
Wild wind howled and piercing precipitation rattled the roof throughout the night and well into the morning.
Jackie photographed and I e-mailed this image of crooked hand from our 200 year old long case clock to Martin Fairhurst of Dials in Lymington who will repair it. Even with the bend the clock keeps perfect time and chimes seven minutes late according to the point of the digit, as if there were no crook in it.
After lunch I made a start on a month’s ironing. When the sun sneaked out I unplugged the iron and we sped after it. Since it had made the effort we would have been rude not to.
The field alongside South Sway Lane, once home to pony Gimlet and her foal,
was now occupied by a nomadic Mallard family.
A drain was overflowing, suggesting that the lane itself will be flooded soon. Last year it became impassable.
The rain had definitely not conceded the skies. Rainbows followed us around
The fast-flowing, rippling and bubbling Balmer Lawn stretch of Highland Water had overflowed its banks. Within seconds of my striding out to photograph it the clouds rolled in, rain hammered down, and my woollen jacket soon took on the scent of damp sheep.
On the signal of the click of my camera a reflective crow was instantly on the wing.
Just around the corner the sun emerged once more, cast long shadows, and burnished trees against a dark slate sky.
Lulled into a false sense of security I walked across a muddy field to photograph ponies sheltering among the trees. They knew that I would soon be walking through torrential bead curtains.
Houses and trees were silhouetted against the clouds’ bonfire smoke. The skies were changing by the second.
I heard gleeful laughter emanating from a parked people carrier whose occupants were impressed by the ponies. As I raised my camera in polite request
the mother of the boys cheerfully wound her window down and, with a smile, said “put your tongue back in”. This was, of course, the signal to stick it out further. Although rain still rolled down the vehicle it had stopped falling from the skies.
As I drafted this post the heavy rain clattered throughout against my window.
This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, green peas, cornichons, and pickled onions with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Coonawarra.
Heavy rain fell from decidedly Stygian skies throughout the morning during which I finished reading the fourth chapter, entitled ‘ ‘Give me combat!’ France: 1894-9′, of Barbara W. Tuchman’s The Proud Tower.
I had previously been vaguely aware of the Dreyfus Affair with dominated the decade, but never really understood it until reading Tuchman’s analysis of the schism that split France. Dreyfus was a French army captain who happened to be Jewish and was unjustly accused of selling secrets to Germany. There is now no doubt that Captain Dreyfus was framed by the French military authorities who used forged documents to condemn him to years of imprisonment. It became a national conflict between the Dreyfusards, convinced of his innocence, and those who believed the military should be supported at all costs. Violent anti-Semitism developed and was pitted against those, largely artists and intellectuals, who fought for justice.
I will refrain from offering more details save to say that the ultimate pardon did not come with a finding of innocence. Ms Tuchman describes the physical and emotional violence of the warring parties, which also involved a failed assassination. France, too, had the seething undercurrent which seemed endemic to the rest of Europe.
My mid afternoon today the rain had ceased and a brief appearance of sun had cast a little light over the land.
While I readied myself for a trip into the forest Jackie nipped out into the garden and photographed
raindrops on weeping birch and clematis cirrhosa Freckles.
The chameleon skies were the canvas on which my camera painted
varying tones of indigo and smoky ochres with pink tinges.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s mixed meats and vegetable stoup followed by pepperoni pizza and fresh salad, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank The Second Fleet Cabernet, Merlot, and Petit Verdot Coonawarra 2019.
The sun kept away today, and the cloud-wrapped air was mild.
To increase seasonal confusion the winter flowering cherry has bloomed early and nudges crab apples normally stripped by blackbirds by now.
This camellia is a very early spring bloomer, but never a November one.
Fuchsias like Delta’s Sarah and Mrs Popple just go on and on;
what is Margaret Merril doing distributing her summer scents over the latter?
This pink climber; the deep magenta Gloriana; gently blushing Crown Princess Margareta; never-ending For Your Eyes Only; dewy Mamma Mia; and ever-prolific Absolutely Fabulous still, beyond their normal spans, cling to life.
Even Winchester Cathedral has turned its back on Autumn.
Fatsia knows when to flower;
as for bidens, pelargoniums, and penstemon, they have no idea when to stop.
This afternoon the skies gently leaked and I scanned the last few black and white negatives produced from Kensal Green Cemetery in May 2008.
One of the most skilfully carved monuments in this, the earliest of “The Magnificent Seven” landscaped London cemeteries, stands in honour of Ninon Michaelis (c1864-1895) who ‘was the first wife of Maximilian (Max) Michaelis (1852-1932), a German-South African financier and diamond magnate. Max Michaelis was a partner in the mining company of Wernher, Beit & Co., and came to England in 1891 as the firm’s London director. An avid collector of paintings, he donated a magnificent collection of Dutch masters to the South African government, and endowed the Michaelis School of Fine Arts in the University of Cape Town. He was knighted in 1924. Ninon Michaelis was named as a popular figure in reviews of troops in South Africa. In May 1895, at the age of 31, she died of syncope (fainting), pneumonia and alcoholism. Also deposited in the vault beneath the monument are the remains of Max’s brother Gustav Michaelis (c1858-1901). Ownership of the vault passed to Maximilian’s second wife, Lillian Elizabeth Burton, whom he married in 1908, and who is recorded as the owner of the plot in 1932……..’
‘The monument is attributed to Henry Alfred Pegram (1862-1937). Pegram entered the Royal Academy Schools in 1881 and exhibited at the Royal Academy from 1884.’ (https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1246089).
A side view of this sculpture of artist Wiliam Mulready appears in the book so I will not reproduce it here.
Sorrowful angels populate these Victorian burial grounds.
Another sealed up mausoleum is this one erected for Sir Patrick O’Brien.
His obituary in the International Catholic News weekly reported ‘The death of SIR PATRICK O’BRIEN, BART., on April 25, is announced. The deceased Baronet was the eldest son of the late Sir Timothy O’Brien, Bart. When the Corporation of Dublin was reformed in 1840, Daniel O’Connell was elected the first Catholic Chief Magistrate of the City since the penal times. Sir Timothy O’Brien was the second, and he was again subsequently elected when it became known that the Queen was to pay her first visit to Ireland. It was on this occasion, 1849, that the honour of a Baronetcy was conferred. He had then been member for Cashel since 1845 and continued such till 1857.’ (http://ukcdngenealogy.blogspot.com/2016/08/a-london-cemetery-blumberg-obrien-and.html)
This evening we dined on Jackie’s well-matured spicy pasta arrabbiata and tender green beans with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Valle Central Reserva Privado Merlot 2019.
This morning I was lulled into enough of a false sense of security to imagine that, although the heavy winds that have beset us during the last two days and the rain had desisted, the storm may be over.
The late or very early blooming gladiolus, bowed but not broken, rested on Delta’s Sarah fuchsia now basking in sunshine.
Other fuchsias, such as Mrs Popple, Hawkshead, and Army Nurse continue to thrive.
As I wandered around in the glinting sunlight which licked the eucalyptus stems, the grasses and cordyline Australis, and the lingering beech leaves, I grew in confidence of an unexpectedly fine day. Madame Alfred Carriere shared the entrance to the Rose Garden with Summer Wine hips, while Paul’s Scarlet still soared above the wisteria arbour. The house formed a bright backdrop to the view from the red carpet rose in the Rose Garden.
The fallen pot and trug were easily righted, which is more than could be said for Aaron’s truck which had broken down as he tried to leave yesterday. After an hour he sought our blessing to leave it where it was, which of course we gave.
After lunch, in the blink of an eye, the rain returned.
A few more minutes’ respite was soon granted, after which the wind and rain continued to do their worst to blow our house down.
For tonight’s dinner Jackie produced a delicious beef and mushroom pie with boiled potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and runner beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the La Repasse.
