rug – derrickjknight

A Tryst

Today I scanned Charles Keeping’s next seven illustrations to ‘The Old Curiosity Shop’ by Charles Dickens.

‘ ‘Go, sir,’ returned Dick, leaning against a post and waving his hand’. He is quite clearly drunk.

‘The boy threw his wasted arms around the schoolmaster’s neck’ is a typically tender scene.

‘They drew up there for the night, near to another caravan’

‘The game commenced’ leaves us in no doubt that these are three rogues and the un-pictured gentleman facing them will lose his money.

‘One young lady sprung forward and put the handkerchief in her hand’ pictures a rare act of kindness.

‘Miss Brass went scratching on, working like a steam engine’

‘ ‘Hallo there! Hallo, hallo!’ ‘ faithfully depicts the author’s description of a scene in which two characters are now clearly recognisable.

This afternoon we drove to Everton Garden Centre the where we purchased a garden water feature which we hope to set up tomorrow, and continued with a short trip to the east of Lymington.

We stopped at Saint John the Baptist Boldre Parish Church, in order to photograph

the clusters of daffodils on the bank and around the grounds. The first two of these images are mine; the rest Jackie’s.

While I was wandering around the side my Assistant Photographer featured in her third picture,

a horse, protected against our currently cold nights by a rug, trotted over to the fence between the field and the church. I thought perhaps it was interested in me.

No such luck. I had noticed a gentleman take up a seat in the churchyard. His equine friend had found a way to get to the church fence where her gentleman friend was waiting to continue the conversation that ensued. It was clearly a regular occurrence.

I comforted myself over the rejection by communing with a bay pony on the verge further along the road.

My next conversation was with a family of donkeys;

then alpacas at East End where stands

one of the three mimosa trees was saw blooming today, and numerous gnarled oaks awaiting their own plumage;

a lone thatcher exercised his craft.

Variously coloured crocuses are bursting through the soil before the war memorial on South Baddersley Road.

Jackie’s final offering is a rook she photographed from Hightown Lane yesterday.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s savoury egg fried rice; tempura prawns; and a rack of pork ribs in barbecue sauce with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2020. This was followed by Bakewell tart and New Forest Rhubarb and Ginger ice cream.

A Spectral Steed

Jackie has a penchant for before and after photographs.

When I visited Sears Barbers in Milford on Sea for my first haircut since they reopened after the coronavirus lockdown it was inevitable that she would record

before,

during,

and after Peter’s administration.

On our way home at lunchtime we had noticed windsurfers over Barton on Sea, and returned later in the afternoon to watch them. They had gone, so we made do with

socially distanced walkers on the clifftop against the background of clouds over distant hills and the Isle of Wight.

We continued with a brief foray into the forest where, at the Pilley end of Bull Hill, the Little and Large of the equine world grazed in a field.

The much smaller pony left off its feeding and trotted over to visit me. It was able to ignore the fly crawling towards its eye.

Perhaps the larger companion, giving every impression of posing as a spectral steed, was more vulnerable to the insect pests, as it sported full PPE in the form of masks designed to prevent entry to eyes and ears with the addition of a summer rug, light enough in colour to reflect the sun’s rays.

As always any clicked image gives access to its gallery – each picture can be viewed full size by clicking the box beneath it, and further enlarged with additional clicks.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s sautéed potato topped shepherd’s pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, broccoli; tender green beans, and tasty, meaty, gravy, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.

Wetter Than Expected

My plan this morning was to walk along Bisterne Close for half an hour after which Jackie, having dropped me at one end, would follow and pick me up. In gloomy morning light and light drizzle we set off.

The War Memorial in Everton Road, Hordle, had been prepared for tomorrow’s Armistice Day.

The commemorative bench bears stylised pale red poppies and pure white doves of peace.

More poppies grace fences and

freshly mown grass.

By the time we reached Holmsley Passage the drizzle had increased to light rain which

gave ponies a somewhat more than bedraggled look.

Soon the rain had developed deluge dimensions. My readers will know by now that I don’t know when to give up, so we continued to

Bisterne Close.

Listening to the increasingly tympanic pattering of raindrops drumming onto the trees, dripping off the leaves, and thudding onto the shoulders of my porous allegedly damp-proof raincoat; peering through specs lacking windscreen wipers, through which I couldn’t clearly see my viewfinder I captured what woodland scenes I could.

Autumn leaves, above

or below, glistened with precipitation.

I resisted the temptation to ask a horse chomping hay for the loan of its cheerful rug.

Here, as on much of the forest terrain, pools were appearing.

Autumn leaves submerged beneath the water where raindrops floated on muddy surfaces until bursting into spiralling increasing circles. I stuffed my specs into my pocket and attempted to employ my dampened eyelashes to provide clear vision.

Fallen trees and their branches, both recent

and longer-lying, settled into their task of maintaining the ancient forest ecology.

while others, now dead, did their bit while still standing.

Some trees sent tentacles in search of rooting soil.

Such bracken as had not yet gathered a fully autumnal appearance was turning nicely.

Well fed birds have not yet been tempted to strip the hollies of their berries.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pork paprika, savoury vegetable rice, and tender runner beans with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cotes du Rhone.

Across The Border

This morning Jackie drove me to New Hall hospital for a physiotherapy session with Claire. This was most encouraging.

We returned across the forest during a pleasantly overcast preprandial period.

For several miles along the Wiltshire verges in the vicinity of Hamptworth regular clumps of snowdrops have been planted for the delight of travellers.

Donkeys near the village of Newbridge tended to stray across the road;

ponies, for a change, had more sense, and kept to the undergrowth, except when they made a beeline for my open window.

The soggy turf at Penn Marsh was shared by grazing ponies and cattle.

Nearby, field horses were treated to hay for which they had no need to forage. One wears a rug.

Across the border into Hampshire and along Cadnam Lane a flock of sheep, one large, and several miniature ponies shared the pasturage.

Another group of pampered equines enjoyed a heap of hay on the road to Bramshaw.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie, crisp cauliflower, and tender runner beans.

Hoopla

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE; THOSE IN SMALLER GROUPS GIVE ACCESS TO LARGER GALLERIES.

Today was a wet one. Jackie drove us to Tesco for a shop, and to my bank in New Milton where we discovered it was closed all over the weekend. Progress, I suppose.

This afternoon I scanned more colour negatives from Christmas 1985 at my parents’ home in Rougemont Avenue, Morden.

Considering that she had served up one of her trademark dinners, my mother looked remarkably relaxed.

The occasion was the last time the three older siblings were to spend time together.

In the popular antiques programme, ‘Bargain Hunt’, Tim Wonnacott, the presenter, always says “great name” to any contestant who shares his first name. None of them could compete with my Uncle Norman Knight, who, with my Auntie Peggie and cousin Gale, emigrated to Adelaide immediately after WW2.

This was his final visit back to England where he stayed with Mum and Dad. Louisa and Sam, in turn, digitally explored his face. When little ones do this, it can be unnerving at the best of times. It must be rather more so when you are wearing a rug.

My godmother, Auntie Gwen, was the eldest of the eleven children born to Grandma and Grandpa Knight. Gwen has appeared several times in this blog. The story of how she ensured that I survived my infancy, and therefore came to make these photographs, is told in an eponymous post.

I suspect that this photograph of Jessica and Louisa features a debate about whether our daughter was ready for a rest. Louisa’s expression glazes over as she avoids her mother’s knowing look.

Although Dad had only two more years to live. He was fit enough to get down on his knees to play an exciting game of hoopla with Sam.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s golden poached smoked haddock; creamy mashed potatoes; bright orange carrot batons; and glistening dark green spinach fit to swell Popeye’s forearms; followed by lemon meringue cheesecake. We shared a bottle of Marlborough Wairau Cove sauvignon blanc 2015

Her Very Own Seaside

Molly’s Den is the name of a company that runs vast Vintage Antiques emporia in Hampshire and Dorset. We chose to visit the one in New Milton this morning. It offers several hours entertainment and the opportunity to pick up interesting bargains. There is a tea room, a very large play area, including an old bus, for children to amuse themselves for hours. The refreshments and the children’s facility provide welcome respite from wandering up and down the aisles examining the fascinating wares on display in units varying in size from a cabinet to a twelve foot square room-sized cubicle.
Elizabeth pointed out a ‘monstrosity‘, the family term for which is explained in my post of that title. In fact the Molly’s Den one is far more tasteful than the telephone table described in that story.
An unexpected embellishment to a desk caused me to look up to the ceiling in search of an open skylight. There wasn’t one.
As always, exploring outlets for items which for some are history and for me reminiscent of my own lifetime, I was taken back to childhood by some exhibits. The several copies of the Dandy and Beano on offer dated mostly from the 1990s. We enjoyed them at home in the 1940s and ’50s, but we had to wait for Mum to read them first. In my photograph can be seen two painter’s footprints and Elizabeth and my sandalled toes. That seemed quite a happy coincidence.
I have already featured the practical use Mum made of dressmaking patterns. Today I noticed a rack of possible covers which were guaranteed to be contemporary with the tissue paper we sat and contemplated in our early years.
There was plenty of opportunity for Elizabeth and me to appear in a reflective mood. I even managed a selfie.
I bought an apparently unused 6 foot by 4 foot pure wool rug with hand-knotted fringes for the incredible price of £18. Jackie capped it with nine Victorian etched glasses for half that price.
For some reason Jackie and Elizabeth were amused at my efforts at photographing the glasses. I was oblivious of this as I concentrated on the subjects and got my lady to hold up a towel in an effort to reduce glare from the window. That particular device was soon abandoned because it produced a coloration that suggested that the receptacles already contained wine.
Reminiscing about our respective childhoods over lunch led to discussion of those rare trips to the seaside. Jackie’s grandfather, a motor factor, always had a car; but when Elizabeth was very small our Dad didn’t, and we relied on those of uncles. I have entirely forgotten one of our outings, but my younger sister has not. She was too young to remember the venue, but the story, from about 1959, has stood the test of time. Apparently Dad, Chris and I had sneaked a small suitcase onto the beach, unbeknown to our little sister. When we got home she was presented with the container. When she opened it, there before her very eyes was a heap of sand and shells enclosed in a secure space. She had her very own ‘seaside’ with which to play in her London garden.
This afternoon Jackie drove us to Woodgreen near Fordingbridge where nineteen artists feature in Hampshire Open Studios. First stop for us was to Pete and Nicky Gilbert’s idyllically sited beautifully restored home where Pete showed his paintings along with work by Hugh Lohan, Frances Barker, and Yukari. All the paintings, pastel portraits, photographs, jewellery, and woodwork were impressive. Pete’s landscapes and his life’s journey were truly inspirational. Further information can be found on his website at www.pgilbert.me.uk
Elizabeth bought a print of one of Pete’s pieces, more of which are seen behind him in my photograph. She then dashed back for a chopping board.
We proceeded to Coach House Studio to see the work of Andrea Finn, Dawn Gear, Sarah Orchard, Sarah Waters and Wendy de Salis. These included jewellery, ceramics, sculpture, textiles, and paintings.I had a long conversation with Sarah Waters who is developing the creation of fabrics using the combination of yeast and bacteria in a glucose solution. This produces a mat of cellulose fibres which form a vegetable ‘leather’. One table displayed Kombucha, the process; and another the product, more of which was suspended against the light. Sarah’s website is www.sarahwaterstextiles.com
We bought three of Wendy de Salis’s ceramic birds to hang in our trees. The sun, playing in the smokebush tree in Wendy’s garden, seemed to know it was part of the group of artists.
Hordle Chinese Take Away provided their usual splendid meal for our dinner. Elizabeth and I drank more of the Cuvee St Jaine. Drank open, and enjoyed, the dry white version.