rose – Page 2 – derrickjknight

Soil Transfusion

An early bird atop the oak across Christchurch Road admired this morning’s dawn sky which presaged a fine day.

And so it was. Warm enough to put the washing out.

My meagre task of the day was to begin the ongoing battle with the triffid invasion from our neighbour, North Breeze.

It is important to tackle the aliens early enough to prevent them from rooting on our side of the ramshackle border, as had this bramble.

When they burst through the greenhouse glass, as they did in the film (see the above link), then we will surely need to watch out.

It is a sad aspect of this jungle that it was once a wonderful garden, where the ghosts of such as

this rose,

this fruit tree,

this camellia,

and this magnolia, battle through to the light.

North Breeze neighbours the whole of the West side of our property, and turns the corner along the North side of the Back Drive,

where, watched by a sparrow,

Jackie was putting the finishing touches (just for the moment) to her creative planting.

Another regular operation she performs, on which she was engaged later, is soil transfusion. Much of the soil in the garden is rather anaemic and needs replenishing. Here, the surgeon has cut out a poorly section, removed the spent matter, and inserted a healthy supply.

She will then sift through the choked plants she has carefully preserved, extracting the smelly allium bulbs, and replant what she wishes to keep.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalrezi with savoury rice and parathas. She drank Hoegaarden whilst I drank Kingfisher.

The Eyes Have It

This morning, when she had finished her work, including planting of spring bulbs, in Elizabeth’s Bed, Jackie joined me in clearing up after yesterday’s installation of the Monet arch. This involved removing more clippings to the burning pile; a slight repositioning of the path edgings; and hoeing and raking the gravel. She had, yesterday evening, retrained selected stems from the two roses.

I had enjoyed a certain amount of banter with a pair of Open Reach engineers who spent most of the day working on a pole outside our house. I suggested that, because of their frequent attendance, they may like to buy a season ticket.

At least their temporary traffic lights slowed the traffic. We could do with them all the time.

Miraculously, this magenta rose still blooms at the end of the stem shown on the arch.

I understand that certain Australians are under the impression that we have stolen their sunshine. They may appreciate the benefits of what they are missing by seeing that

our bees still plunder flowers such as the dahlia Bishop of Llandaff;

that sunflowers, impersonating Catherine Wheels, still tower aloft;

and that this honeysuckle, very poorly earlier in the year, has recovered after liberal doses of systemic fungicide and insecticide.

Later, I made a couple of prints for Frances, and posted them. She had asked me for a copy of one taken by Jenny on 17th.

I was struck by the same pair of sparkling eyes that had smiled at her father’s lens in the 1950s, so I made an additional crop of our sister-in-law herself.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips with pickled onions and cornichons. Jackie drank Festbier, ‘brewed according to German purity law’, and I drank Doom Bar.

Hues Of Blue

On this day, with temperatures around 30 degrees, according to the meteorologists, because of a shift in the jet stream, we are enjoying ‘Spanish weather’.

In case any of my commenters have missed Becky’s observation on yesterday’s post, this is what she added to it this morning: ‘Wow. What lovely followers you have, Dad. x’

A small red rose standing in a tub by our front door, and requiring more space, will eventually be transplanted to the rose garden. Taking her first outing since her knee operation, Jackie drove me to the surgery at Milford on Sea, for me to hand in a repeat prescription request. We met Giles in the car park, and had a short conversation. Feeling confident enough to return home without an escort, my chauffeuse, dropped me near the Beach House hotel, and I walked back by the cliff top/Shorefield route. Whilst I was enjoying myself, Jackie continued to Tesco’s for a shop, and watered the hanging baskets on her return, thus saving me that latter task.

Thistles and convolvulus twinkled in the hedgerows.

Sunlight glistened on The Solent’s various hues of blue,

its passing vessels, and their wake.

You would need to wander down this cliff path to encounter the dog this woman was walking by the breakwater.

I am not really up to descending to the water’s edge, so was unable to warn the fairly numerous swimmers risking a skewering by the WW2 hazards.

Elsewhere sun-tans were sought.

By late afternoon, many of the baskets needed a further soaking. I rendered minimal assistance with this.

A hoverfly, sheltered by a higher bloom in full sun, flanked by budding guards, investigated the flower of clematis Comtesse de Bouchard.

This evening we dined on fillet steak on a bed of onions, garlic, peppers, and mushrooms; chips; and runner beans; followed by mixed fruit crumble and custard. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, whilst I imbibed Louis de Camponac cabernet sauvignon 2014.

Conquering Everest

Soon after dawn this morning, a couple of sleek, dark, lean looking adult starlings led a pair of fluffy fat fledglings onto the roof above their nest. A friendly young blackbird, like the lonely child watching others playing, attempted to join the group. It was chased off by Mum and Dad. Naturally I dashed, such as I can, downstairs for my camera. By the time I returned the birds had flown. We miss them already. Later, Jackie tackled further tidying of the beds surrounding the Heligan Path. I helped a bit, and a bit more in erecting a third arch along The Brick Path. This consisted of nailing an old piece of timber to the dead snake bark maple. We trained the clematis Montana, now devoid of flowers, onto the strut, which we hope will be met by one recently planted at the foot of the tree. To the left of this third photograph can be seen a scented peach coloured climbing rose which, seeking the light now available, doesn’t appear to want to join the white rose and clematis adorning the Gothic arch, and now rambles elsewhere.

This afternoon, Jackie planted up the cleared section around the dead tree.

While we were thus engaged A.P. Maintenance, in the form of Aaron and his Dad, Dave, continued laying the brick paving in the projected rose garden. This curve perfectly reflects that of the much older Heligan Path with which it links. Those of you who have been following for a while may have wondered what the peripatetic mice have been up to recently. They, and their sheep, now cast as Sherpas, are attempting a conquest of Everest. The base camp has been set up in front of a portrait Jackie drew of her mother many years ago. One rodent perches atop an approach peak that is one of Giles’s stained glass creations, on which flies a flag proclaiming ‘Conquering Everest 2015’. Our double-glazed windows were installed by a well-known firm who claim to fit the best. Get it? We dined this evening on Jackie’s sublime sausage casserole, crisp carrots and cabbage, and creamy mashed potatoes, followed by pineapple sponge pudding and evap. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Louis de Camponac merlot 2014.

The Garden Map

Come for a further wander down the garden paths.

Stepping out of the utility room stable doorway, we meet this little rose that was bramble-bound last year.

This frilly new pink poppy sits quite well against the red Japanese maple, visible from the kitchen window.

Opposite our small patch of grass, we think designed for a dog loo,

against the backdrop of a yellow Japanese maple, speckled New Zealand flax arches over red penstemon and budding thalictrum.

Passing the other end of the Phantom Path, at the far end we see a yellow-green-leaved tree, only one branch of which seemed alive last year, before we lopped out all the dead wood.

Jackie transplanted the outspoken orange hawkweed, regarded in other parts of the world as an infestation, from the former kitchen garden. It now enlivens the Oval Bed.

This Sambucus, planted not so long ago, now blooms behind the potting shed.

The back drive is now framed by new planted troughs. In the top right hand corner of the picture can be glimpsed a basket suspended from the slender arch through which we now walk into the garden. Please don’t tell the head gardener that I keep banging my head on it.

From the end of the drive we turn left to see how Hallmark Builders are getting on with their ‘massive’ project on the recently sold The Spinney at number 11.

Two men are building a beautifully curved wall.

Back down our own brick path we see the delicate pink rodgersia, yet another member of the saxifrage family.

Just past this plant lies the Dead End Path.

Back at the house, the pink striped Rosa Gallica is now blooming against the kitchen wall,

and the Rosa Glauca soars above the patio.

Taking visitors on a meandering trip is rather easier than the task on which the head gardener has been engaged during much of the last two or three days.

John Whitworth recently expressed his need of a garden map. We are not lovers of straight lines, but, had we had a few more, Jackie’s task would have been so much easier. When she proudly presented the finished chart, I then had the task of reproducing it. Since it had been drawn on A3 paper, which is too large for my scanner, I had to photograph it with my little SX700 HS Canon. Having the benefit of neither Ken Morse’s equipment nor his expertise, it was difficult to achieve an unwarped rectangle from above. Here is the finished masterpiece:

Later this afternoon I had transferred the bonfire ashes to the compost heaps, and raked back the shingle that I’d scraped out for a makeshift hearth.

It is hardly surprising that there had been no time for cooking. There was nothing for it but to go out for dinner. It was Spice of India that was graced with our presence, for which we were rewarded with an excellent meal. My main course was naga chicken with special fried rice; Jackie’s was chicken shaslik and salad. We shared a paratha, and both drank cobra.

‘Sign That, Dad’

You may be forgiven for imagining that there can be no more new plants emerging in our garden. On the other hand, you may anticipate many more. Today I offer:

colourful purple chives which sit well among the flaming heucheras;

this unidentified peach rose;

the rambling geranium Azure Rush, which makes good ground cover;

and the crinodendron Hookerianum, or Chilean lantern tree that was incorrectly identified as Chinese last year.

This morning I sprayed herbicide on the fresh weeds coming up on the back drive. This gave me the confidence, later, to walk to the postbox on Christchurch Road, and possibly to continue across the field to as far as the wood. I took one look at how overgrown the footpath has become, thought better of it, and returned to Old Post House. Just think, if this were in the 1960s, I would not have needed to walk anywhere.

Now it is time for the second of my Five Photos – Five Stories.

You may know by now that during the nineteen Newark years I commuted to Kings Cross. This sometimes meant that I had a little time to kill. On one such occasion, about 1994, when I had given up wandering about outside the station fending off a persistent ‘working girl’, and decided to sit inside until departure time, I received a phone call from Sam.

Jessica’s and my son, knowing there would be a photo kiosk in the station, asked me to take a couple of photographs in the booth, for a school project he was engaged in.

And Sam was such a truthful boy.

Anyone who has used these photographic facilities will know that first of all you have to adjust the seat so you don’t take a shot of your torso. You then must try to smile in time with the flash, which is anyway inclined to catch you by surprise and give you scary, startled, eyes. You probably will need several attempts.

I had plenty of time, so I persevered.

A day or two later, our son wandered into my study where I was engrossed in working out the three-dimensional crossword I was compiling to fit into Mike Kindred’s grids.

‘Sign that, Dad’ he said, thrusting a folded sheet of paper onto my manuscript pages. He knew I would trust him, and probably not ask what it was about. I didn’t ask, and duly complied.

Jessica, scarcely more devious than Sam, decided, for my birthday, to take me out on a surprise trip somewhere down the A3. As she drove us into the Surrey countryside, I found myself wondering which National Trust House, had an event on.

I hadn’t noticed what was in the boot of the car.

On Jessica drove, into Sussex. I began to smell some sort of a rat when I spotted the airplane symbols on the road signs. Was there any attraction near Gatwick? Not that I could think of.

When we arrived at the airport, I turned to a smiling Jessica, and asked what we were doing there. I didn’t have a passport. ‘Oh yes you have’, she cried, brandishing the updated one I had carelessly allowed to lapse.

A weekend in Paris ensued.

It was Becky who provided the photograph, taken, I think that December, on another invasion of my sanctuary.

This evening Jackie and I dined on her superb chicken jalfrezi, with pilau rice and egg paratha. She drank Hoegaarden, whilst my choice was Doom Bar,

Stalking The Starling

Queuing to get on the blog this morning were:

This pink rambler that has come through the recent rains somewhat scathed;

the clematis Marie Boisselot;

more alliums, one with a sentinel spider, less than usually reluctant to be noticed. Click to spot it.

By popular request I have returned to the Streets of London Series. I scanned another dozen from April 2004, of which I offer:

Firstly Church Path, NW10, in the London Borough of Brent. St Mary’s Church, dating from 938, has featured in a number of posts, such as that of 15th February 2013, when I found its grounds ‘Surprisingly Picturesque’.

A younger, rather more splendid, church is Saint Pancras Parish Church on Euston Road, NW1. Its website describes what I have photographed, thus:

‘The church is a prominent landmark. Built by public subscription in 1818-22, it replaced the derelict Old St Pancras as Parish Church. Old St Pancras was rebuilt in Victorian times as one of the 17 subdivisions of the Ancient Parish of St Pancras. St Pancras Euston Road is Grade 1listed as a fine example of the Greek Revival style. Its external features, based on temples in ancient Athens, include an octagonal spire and an impressive front portico with 6 huge columns. On either side at the rear are our famous caryatids – statues of Greek women supporting the porches over the two entrances to the crypt. Traditional iron railings enclose the churchyard, where the annual parish picnic and other celebrations are held on the lawns.’

Midland Road NW1, was still closed at the time of the London bombings of 7th July 2005, my 63rd birthday. The whole of Euston Road, and many of the side streets around were cordoned off, and people were pouring out of the underground system, as I took my normal walk from Beauchamp Lodge in Little Venice to North Road, a mile or so behind Kings Cross station. Midland Road is now incorporated into the development area around that station. On the morning of the bombs, oblivious of what was happening, on a forced pedestrian diversion, I came across an assembled swarm of many hundreds of men in the yellow hard hats shown in this picture.

The building against which the construction workers are leaning is the British Library, at 96 Euston Road. Opened in June 1998, its Brutalist architecture, designed by Colin St John Wilson, can be seen to better effect from Ossulston Street, NW1.

The proprietors of M.S.Tyres on the corner of Roundwood Road NW10 find it necessary to batten down the hatches against the ubiquitous graffiti that decorates this area of North London. At least the windows are protected.

It doesn’t matter where you are in our capital city, it is very risky to leave your bicycle unattended. Virtually outside Baker Street tube station leans an example of the skeletal remains that litter many of our streets.

Either from familiarity with my presence, or from a desperation to feed its brood, I was able this afternoon successfully to stalk the parent starling squatting behind our kitchen facia board.. The bird, carrying sustenance, now lands on our roof, a speculative distance from the hidden nest; gingerly makes its way along the eaves; stands on the corner fidgeting and uttering sharp cries, either of warning or encouragement; then drops down and makes a dash for safety.

Watching the poor creature dithering, popping its head down, lifting it up for a quick shufti, and eventually taking the plunge, was fascinating.

The skies were overcast today, but, it seeming to be the season for awards, the sun popped into my e-mails. I have now been nominated for:

Thank you very much, rameshwarir at https://rameshwarir.wordpress.com/page/2/ for nominating me.

You have asked me these rather profound questions, which I answer as follows:

Do you believe that there is someone watching over you, someone you can just feel & not see? I do
What is the purpose of life? As best I can to make other people as happy as I would hope to be
What is the one thing that you would go to or do to relieve your heartaches? I have found it and have no more
What makes you happy? Refer to my answer at 2 above
What do dreams mean to you? Those we experience through sleep are a way of working through timeless issues. In another sense, dreams are what we wish for
What about Nature do you adore? Its constant variety
What is the one element, off the 5, that you would associate yourself with and why? Earth because I like to think I am pretty well grounded
What is your take on birth & death? Birth is an opportunity to begin a good life. Death is a time of reckoning
What have you learnt from Nature? That it is there to be admired; and that we can control none of it
What part of the tree would you associate yourself with? The trunk

In no particular order, my nominees for the award are:

Fox And Finch Antiques

The Contented Crafter

MaxReynolds: Sunrise, Sunset And Other Visions

I will not set you specific questions, but simply invite you to tell us something about yourself as you wish.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s scrumptious chicken jalfrezi with pilau rice topped off by an omelette. Kingfisher was our chosen beverage.

Our First Christmas In Downton

This Christmas morning began with a phone call from Sam, Holly, Malachi, and Orlaith in Australia. Despite the fact that they were in their car en route to their third party of the day, we had a reasonable enough reception for me to learn what presents the children had received. Such is the miracle of today’s technology.
Scooby then took Ian and me for a walk alongside the waterlogged track through Roger’s fields, alongside the wood with its naked, wind-bent, gnarled trees, across the muddy field and eventually back up Downton Lane, with its own arboreal arbour.
Dandelions were still seeding, and another, peach coloured, rose has bloomed in the garden. We didn’t quite have enough of that particular flower for me to repeat the 1974 Christmas Day bouquet, but it was a close run thing.
Before lunch we opened our stocking presents. One of mine was socks. The said lunch, laid on by Jackie, was such a plentiful array that, knowing what was coming later, I forced myself to be as abstemious as possible.
The next stage in the proceedings was the main present opening, which was effected with the aid of a shared bottle of Asti. Whilst filling up the herk bag, I thought of Helen’s observation that she had been unsuccessful in having this coinage of her father’s accepted as a neologism. As I understand it, the scouts for the Oxford English Dictionary will submit new words once they have been published. Scouts please take note that I have now published this word twice on WordPress.
Scooby’s favourite gift was his hedgehog, which he rapidly eviscerated.
Later this evening we dined on baked beans on toast. Here is a photograph of it:
Mine and Becky’s was accompanied by Les Galets de Saint Louis Chateauneuf-du-Pape 2012; Jackie’s drink was Dino pinot grigio 2013, and Ian’s Peroni.

A Tradition Upheld

Ever since she was a small child, Flo has helped her Grannie put up flamboyant Christmas decorations. Festive trees, having priced themselves out of the market last year, are now half the cost they were then. We all got up early to buy one from Ferndene Farm Shop.
It has also become tradition that Grandpa has to be ‘put’ somewhere whilst the ladies create their masterpieces. I was therefore dumped in Vaggs Lane to walk home. As you will know, this was no hardship. I walked the length of this thoroughfare, along Everton Road, and right into Hordle Lane to home.
Burnished beech leaves brightened the sunlit hedgerows along the verges in Vaggs Lane, where a herd of alpacas were outlined by the sunshine.
A Great War memorial stands in Everton Road. The incised names of the Hordle fallen are accompanied by those of the relevant battlefields, some more infamous than others. This morning red roses and cyclamens, and yellow tulips bloomed alongside the wreaths.

The now rather soggy unclaimed bear in Hordle Lane still sits on the wall opposite the children’s nursery, and another tot has dropped the case from her Peppa Pig mobile phone. Further on, an upturned mushroom revealed a pattern of purplish striations.

When I returned home, the front door was furnished with a more joyful wreath than those I had seen earlier. Apart from the dressing, this had been made from foliage from our garden and branches trimmed from the Christmas tree.

By the time darkness had arrived, we had a string of coloured lights in the front garden, and somewhat later the indoor Christmas tree was embellished to Flo’s satisfaction.

We had to dine on a takeaway this evening because the kitchen was full of boxes of decorations. It fell to the Ashley Chinese, The Happy Wok, to provide it. Jackie chose Stella, Flo sparkling water, and I the last of the cabernet sauvignon, to accompany it.

Helen’s comments on yesterday’s post have enabled me to add details of others present in our wedding photograph.

Annie

The garden still freshly dripped this morning after a night’s deluge of rain. I was reminded of ‘A few of [Julie Andrews’s] favourite things’, from ‘The Sound of Music’.
After a wander round the estate, Jackie drove me to New Milton for me to catch the London train. I visited the money bank first, but was still rather early for the train and sat outside the station for a while. Plum-like fruit had dropped from their branches and tumbled down a grassy bank opposite, into the wet gutter. Because I didn’t know what they were, especially as they were a yellow/orange colour, I asked a passing woman who seemed vaguely familiar. She identified them as greengages and walked on into the ticket office. Soon afterwards she, having had the same sense of partial recognition, returned, having realised I was Chris’s brother.
Annie, which is her name, was at school with my sister in law Frances and a joint friend of theirs called Stephanie. Chris, Frances, Stephanie and her husband,John, had once shared a holiday with Jackie and me in Sigoules. We had first met at my niece Fiona’s wedding to Paul in August 2007, at which I had, fortunately for this post’s illustrations, taken the photographs. Jackie and I had both then met them at Chris and Frances’s Ruby Wedding celebration.

Here is Fiona on her big day:

She and Paul here stand with their respective mothers, Frances, of course, next to her daughter:

Finally, Stephanie and Annie, on the right, arrive in the garden:

Otherwise, my journey was uneventful until I arrived at Waterloo. At the Gents on the station the change machine let fall into the tray 3 x 20p in exchange for my 50p piece. Either because the dispenser didn’t appear to have any 10p coins or because the barriers themselves were faulty they were left open and we were all invited to walk through at no charge. Soon afterwards, I picked up £5 on the concourse. Normally, in order to use the conveniences, one is relieved of 30 pee. Instead of this, I emerged from the terminal station £5.10p better off. I’d call that a result.

I took my usual route to Norman’s where he fed us on roast pork, roasted vegetables, croquette potatoes, and broad beans, followed by mixed fruit latticed tart. We shared a fine bottle of Douro.

After this, I travelled by my customary method to Carol’s, and from there back to New Milton where Jackie was waiting and drove me home.

Kenneth Clark learned his trade as an art historian long before the subject was taught in British universities like Nottingham, where my granddaughter Emily is currently studying. Clark was an extremely accomplished member of the profession, as is amply evidenced by ‘The Nude’, which I finished reading on the train. He has a sensitive and insightful approach to his material which covers drawings, paintings, and sculpture from antiquity to the early twentieth century. First published in 1956, before the advent of the internet, his encyclopaedic knowledge is impressive, and eloquently and entertainingly expressed. My Folio Society edition, the beautiful cover of which is featured in my post of 24th July, is lavishly illustrated.