stained glass – derrickjknight

A Square Font

Early this morning I completed the paperwork, including lots of sums, in preparation for a visit to Garry Price, our financial adviser, at his home in Pagham, near Bognor Regis.

Jackie drove us over there where we lunched at The Lamb. Jackie enjoyed her Reuben sandwich, French fries and salad; I was equally pleased with my ham, egg, and chips. My Chauffeuse drank Diet Coke while I drank Doom Bar.

We took Garry’s advice on a mortgage switch then drove to the equally excellent Woodmancote in Woodmancote Lane, Woodmancote, where we met and dined with Becky and Ian before returning home. My meal was a tasty, well-filled, steak pie; new potatoes; green beans, orange carrots, and creamy white cauliflower. I drank an enjoyable tangy local bitter. I hereby invite the others, should they so desire, to report on their own meals in the comments below. (See Becky’s comment)

As we left Pagham we noticed a pair pf swans at home in someone’s front garden.

Taking a slight diversion on our way to Woodmancote, we came across the Church of St Giles, Merston.

Jackie photographed the laminated information sheet about this church dating from the time of King William the Conqueror. Accessing the gallery with a click on either image will facilitate necessary enlargement to read the fascinating history.

Climbing the pulpit for one shot, she also pictured me in the interior.

Her other pictures involved light from windows illuminating the altar area and that of the

square baptismal font dating from the late 12th or early 13th century.

I concentrated on the, mostly memorial, stained glass windows.

Cleaning Up Windows

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Yesterday’s church quiz was a very pleasant occasion, enhanced by a splendid array of buffet delicacies; and the fact that our team won.

This morning Aaron of A.P. Maintenance cleaned our windows. As usual, I made him a set of prints. The two pieces of stained glass visible in the fourth and fifth images were made by our friend, Giles; and the pendant artwork in the seventh by the daughter of a client quite a while ago.

This afternoon I watched the televised Six Nations rugby international between England and Italy, after which we just had time to catch

the sunset at Milford on Sea, where a couple sat silhouetted;

and a man cavorted on the beach attempting to enliven a stationary little girl.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid pasta arrabbiata with which I finished the Syrah.

Friday The Thirteenth

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Why would I go out to photograph a churchyard on such a dull day as was this one?

All will become clear later in the post.

Here are some of the gravestones in the churchyard of St Mary the Virgin, Bransgore;

many ivy clad, like this one bearing an anchor chain,

or this already sporting its Christmas holly.

A few are upright,

some less so,

and others had given up the battle with gravity.

The stump of a fallen tree was in good company.

This roller hid round the back of the church.

As in most of our churches today, the front door was locked.

Fortunately for me, Jenny was working in the small office accessed by an open side door.

This very friendly person showed me into the church, currently set out for the various community activities offered, that can be found on https://bransgore.org.

She put on the lights so that I could photograph the stained glass, much of the original of which has been lost.

In particular, climbing on a chair to do so, Jenny was keen to show me the preserved panel from July 3rd, 1822, bearing the etched date in the bottom left hand corner. To the left of the bottom of the orange cross the name of R. Carter, glazier, Priory Glassworks can be discerned when the image is enlarged.

Wikipedia tells us that ‘the church of Saint Mary the Virgin was erected in 1822 as a chapel of ease.^[10]^[11] The church is of brick with stone dressings,^[11] with a tower and originally a spire.^[12] However, the spire was removed in 1967. The early 16th-century font, which is said to have come from Christchurch, is octagonal, with a monogram J D, perhaps for “John Draper,” the last Prior of Christchurch Priory.^[11] The ecclesiastical parish of Bransgore was formed in 1875 from parts of Christchurch and Sopley.^[11]^[13] Henry William Wilberforce, son of William Wilberforce (known for his campaign against slavery), was once the vicar of Saint Mary’s church.’

When we visited MacPenny’s Garden Centre two days ago we were given this brochure:

We would always welcome an opportunity to try out a new curry restaurant. When the proprietor had the courage to open the venture on Friday 13th, this proved irresistible. Jenny explained that the church had the facilities and was there to help local activities.

The evening in the church hall was most convivial, and the food served by the Bartlett family quite superb. Jack was a splendid sommelier who assisted his sister Sophie with the waiting tasks.

From the moment of entry our nostrils were enticed by the authentic aromas emanating from the kitchen on full view of diners. Everything was cooked to order.

Dave’ s cooking was a marvel. We began with superb crisp popadoms with a variety of chutneys. The prawn puris that followed were as good as any we have ever tasted.

Majid, the manager of the Akash in Edgware Road that I regularly frequented for more than 35 years, would remove from the table any onion bhajis that his eyes told him were not up to scratch. He, and I, would have given Dave’s full marks, for their perfect crisp texture and exquisite taste.

My main course was prawn jalfrezi, and Jackie’s prawn bhuna. Both were succulent, and superbly flavoured. We shared delicate pilau rice and soft chapatis. Encouraged to bring our own bottles, we brought an Argentinian white wine that I can’t remember. Jack kept it in the fridge for us and kept our glasses replenished. That’s probably why I can’t remember what it was.

Ancient And Modern

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We spent most of the day with Becky and Ian at Emsworth.

Following a wander about the town, we lunched at The Greenhouse Café, then walked down South Street to the harbour, returning to Becky and Ian’s flat in North Street.

Opposite the flat a new tattoo studio has recently opened. Its slogan perhaps reflects its targeted clientele. During the last decade or so this test of endurance has become all the rage.

edibleemsworth.co.uk describes M. R. Starr in the High Street as a high class butchers/fishmongers serving both the general public and local restaurants. The rear rider on this passing tandem seemed content with her apple. Note the bull woven into the bead curtain screening the front door.

Further along the street stands another butcher’s whose website tells us that ‘H. H. Treagust & Sons is a family run butchers that has been trading for 90 years. It was founded by Harry Hurst Treagust in 1924 and is now owned by Richard (Great-grandson). Richard together with son Benjamin, wife Suzanne , cousin Raymond Treagust and John Pugh continue to maintain Treagust’s reputation of providing top quality goods and service.

To mark this 90th year on the High Street, son Benjamin has expanded the range of sausages available – HARRY’S Posh Pork Sausages “Flavours For All Seasons.” So check out the blackboards for this weeks special!’

Becky is often used as a consultant for charitable organisations setting up events material on line. One of her useful messages is the advice not to mix fonts. Perhaps those responsible for the recently new image of Mungo Brooks Emporium could have used her services.

In this second picture Jackie has joined Ian and me in the reflections.

Those readers capable of deciphering mirror writing will know that the public library is situated in Nile Street.

A Victorian Chapel to St Peter,

a cinema, and a theatre are all previous incarnations of the excellent Greenhouse Café where we enjoyed our lunch. It will come as no surprise that my choice was the all day big breakfast.

Becky had asked a gentleman leading a rather large animal what it was. ‘It’s a dog’ he replied. This caused great hilarity. He wasn’t sure of the breed because it belonged to his sister. Becky identifies it as an American bulldog. A little later we observed it being stuffed in a boot.

We walked past The Coal Exchange pub on the way down South Street to the harbour.

The tiles outside provided a tasteful backdrop to the brightly coloured bell attached to the bicycle leaning against the wall.

At the bottom of the Flintstones Tea Rooms was doing very well;

a small sailing vessel was being laid to rest against the harbour wall.

We spent a short time in the Victorian St James’s church, with its splendid brass eagle lectern,

its typical stained glass of the period,

and its modern communion table.

Back at home this evening Jackie and I dined on pizza and salad.

An English Country Churchyard

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After dinner yesterday evening we popped down to Barton on Sea to view the sunset.

This morning we drove around the forest.

The thatcher I spoke to at East End, where the albeit somnolent donkeys were having fun with the traffic,

replied that the project was “beginning to take shape”.

Our next stop was at St Mary’s Church at South Baddesley, outside which Jackie sat on a seat cut into a very large tree stump.

Alongside the church stretches a patch of uncultivated land accessed from an open gateway dedicated to Ken Allen 1918 – 2005.

From here a path leads down

to a playground beyond a locked five-barred gate. I was unable to gain any information about Mr Allen or the leisure area that I speculated must be related to him.

It was quite refreshing to discover that the Victorian church itself was unlocked and welcoming. I found the stained glass windows particularly attractive.

Hanging on the edge of a pew was a gentleman’s cloth cap. If it is yours it awaits your collection.

Primroses, English bluebells, and other wild flowers wandered, as did I, among the gravestones in this English country churchyard.

Most of the stones were quite simple, but there was one angel and child,

and the amazing resting place of Admiral of the Fleet George Rose Sartorius, GCB, Count de Penhafirme who died on 13th April 1885 in his 95th year. This was 70 years after he had served with Nelson at the battle of Trafalgar.

What is particularly astonishing is the knowledge that the credible articulated linked anchor chain winding around the cross was carved from stone.

After lunch Jackie continued working her magic in the garden where I did a bit of clearing up and repelled some invading brambles along the back drive.

This evening we enjoyed our second serving of Mr Chatty Man Chan’s Chinese Take Away with which I finished the madiran. Jackie didn’t imbibe because she had drunk her Hoegaarden in the Rose Garden where we had a drink first.

P.S. Bruce Goodman, in his comment below, has provided a link to Ken Allen, which, incidentally explains that the playground I noticed is attached to a school. This is no doubt why the entrance would be locked during the Easter holidays.

From Dawn To Dusk

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The pale pastel pink and blue skies that Dawn ushered in this morning showed a certain amount of promise. But she was only kidding. Within half an hour or so, she slid a slate canopy over our heads, and steady rain set in.

We paid a visit to Gordleton Barn where we found a new idea for our fireplace. we will ask Baz to vet it tomorrow.

Obviously I made a few more photographs of the artefacts on display.

A tributary of the River Avon runs under Silver Street, the home of the barn.

On one side of the winding road lies Gordleton Mill, the race of which speedily rushed along.

On the other, a couple of woolly sheep snuffled among the sodden leaves.

By late afternoon, the canopy had, albeit temporarily, been retracted, enabling a fine sunset,

tingeing houses on the Isle of Wight, to put in an appearance over Milton on Sea.

A small group enjoyed the shoreline,

others preferred the clifftop.

It is not unusual for Jackie to spot a potential view and sit in the car willing me to turn and see it. This was the case with this boat on the horizon. She yelled at me from her Modus. Naturally, I grabbed the opportunity. Neither of us realised that the vessel was visible approaching the sunbeams in my earlier shots.

For our dinner this evening, Jackie supplemented a second sitting of yesterday’s Chinese takeaway with shredded duck, cucumber, spring onions, and pancakes, with which I drank more of the Chilean Shiraz first opened a couple of days ago.

A Wildlife Garden

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DID I MENTION THE CRICKET?

It is two years since we were last assisting our friend Giles in opening his garden in Milford on Sea. Once more, today, we took the first stint in his rota.

Overnight rain had only recently desisted at 11 a.m., so Jackie, on the door, had plenty of opportunity to work on her puzzles,

while Giles and I chatted until the first visitors arrived.

Blu-tacked onto the entrance window is a well-deserved certificate.

Beneath this is one of the gardener’s creative sculptures, made from found objects. The upright stone was once part of a window in Southwell Minster.

Here is another from the bottom of the garden.

This one contains examples of his stained glass work,

as does this view from the sitting room, showing the artefact on which stands his tree encircled by butterflies.

A further creation on the decking is seen through the French windows.

Pebbles and granite sets creating paths and other features were all collected over a number of years from on and around the nearby beaches.

Seventeen years ago, this rambling haven was almost completely grassed over. It is now packed with trees, shrubs, and other features attractive to wildlife.

Raindrops still pilled on the fibres of smoke tree;

foxgloves;

clematis;

and osteospermum – even on the little cricket’s antennae.

A notice visible in the second clematis picture indicates and lists the uses of the wildlife hotel;

another extols the value of viper’s bugloss to bees.

I expect these latter enjoy delphiniums, too, although blue is Giles’s favourite flower colour.

Had the rain persisted, no doubt this hut, with its natural seat, would have filled up with visitors;

certainly the pond would have topped up with water.

This evening we dined on the rest of the Chinese Takeaway, and both drank Kingfisher.

There’s Some Corner Of An English Churchyard

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Over breakfast this morning, I photographed two more angles of view through the kitchen window;

and afterwards, The Rose Garden.

We have many banks of aquilegias.

Compassion blooms on the Dead End Path arch,

And we have our first bottle brush flower.

A Painted Lady butterfly availed itself of the gravel camouflage.

This afternoon we visited St Nicholas’s church in Brockenhurst. Jackie and Sheila led the way into the exhibition inside;

Jackie pausing to inspect the eighteenth century gravestones.

I wandered around the beautiful landscaped graveyard, where light glinted through trees and the ground fell away allowing the monuments to ramble down the hillside.

After my following exploration, I joined the ladies inside where a couple of volunteers within were giving them an explanatory history of the World War One burials in the churchyard.

They told Jackie that this yew tree dated from the twelfth century.

This sculptured stump must also have been a substantial giant.

Past the tree I came to a set of steps and a path leading down to level ground.

Flashes of red against clean, cream background suggested I was approaching the memorial symbolised by the sculpture at the entrance to the church. This was a brilliant fern cut out from weathered metal, familiar to anyone familiar with an All Blacks rugby jersey. The brilliance lay in the figures silhouetted in the work. I crouched a bit to ensure that the background grass made this clear.

Indeed, I had. Ninety three members of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force soldiers from World War One lie buried in the Commonwealth War Graves Commission Cemetery attached to this church.

The farming village of Brockenhurst soon became a World War 1 hospital village, from 1914 caring for wounded and sick Indian troops, and from 1916 the No. 1 HQ New Zealand hospital. Those who died therein were buried in this churchyard.

Of the 93 New Zealanders, 12 were Maoris, only one of whom died from wounds. This was Private Kiri Rapona. Clare Church’s book, which I bought, gives this young man five more years of life than does this gravestone. One other drowned and the rest succumbed to illness.

One Indian is Sukha.

There are also three unknown Belgian civilians who share a plot.

These plots are very well tended and maintained by New Zealanders in UK.

Of the three hospitals from those years, the only one still standing is now the Balmer Lawn Hotel, which keeps its own living lawnmowers.

The very friendly couple who were very informative about the church and this particular section of its history, pointed out the Victorian stained glass in the twelfth century stonework of the windows.

This evening Jackie produced succulent chicken Kiev, creamy mashed potato, and crisp carrots and runner beans for our dinner. Sheila’s dessert was rice pudding, and Jackie’s profiteroles. As I had consumed two pieces of chicken I passed on this. But I did drink more of the Fleurie. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and Sheila, sparkling water.

It was Rupert Brooke, an Englishman who did die in 1915, who is immortalised by his own verse: ‘And if I should die, think only this of me, that there is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England’. I have adapted his words for today’s title.

The Beach House

Late on this crystal crisp clear blue sky morning Ian drove Scooby and me to Marine Drive, East, Barton on Sea, whence we walked along the clifftop.

The Isle of Wight was again sporting a pastel palette,

as we joined other dog walkers, many of whom are now familiar to Ian and Scooby,

whose stance and cocked ears at one fresh encounter betrayed the slight concern that possibly brought about his first bowel-emptying session.

He exhibited no such nervousness in dashing along the steadily eroding edge.

A few other pedestrians strode down below.

There, waterborne sunlight dazzled,

as did the windows of the Beachcomber Cafe where we stopped for coffee.

This afternoon we paid another visit to The Beach House in order to introduce Ian to its exquisite ambience. Clicking on these images will reveal some of the stained glass that adorns this oak panelled building.

More of this can be seen in the Sun Room where we took our tea, coffee, and cakes, at no further cost than Costa’s.

The sunset could be enjoyed from the lounge,

the dining room,

the back room,

and the Sun Room,

where we enjoyed our refreshments whilst, through a protective glass screen we observed

The Isle of Wight,

the garden,

and silhouetted pigeons (this photograph is Becky’s).

The foyer, photographed from the first floor gallery, shows the aforementioned oak panelling that also lines all the corridors to the bedrooms.

Although the personnel were different, the service was as efficient and friendly as we had found yesterday.

For our dinner this evening, Jackie produced a superb beef casserole; cauliflower and broccoli cheese; perfect boiled new potatoes; and crisp carrots and green beans. I finished the El Sotillo, Ian drank Peroni, and Becky drank zinfandel rose.

The Independent

On a bright and sunny morning Jackie drove me to Giles’s Fox Hat home, where I delivered the Chesterton material he had lent me. She returned home and came back later to pick me up from the village of Milford on Sea. I had reached there by walking down Sharvills Road, up New Valley Drive and down Barnes Lane. The left knee managed the job quite well, but the calf bleated a bit. Giles had not been at home, but I wandered round his garden that had featured in Milford Open Gardens last June. Here is one of his stunning stained glass creations:

and a shot of maples and poppies enlivening his front plot.

Milford’s shoppers were enjoying the sunshine.

I sat on a bench on the green watching them all go by as I awaited my transport. In the process I engaged in conversation with others on the benches, including a gentleman reading The Independent. When I explained my previous link with the newspaper he said he didn’t solve crosswords, but his wife did. Maybe she had grappled with Mordred.

He was happy to be photographed,

but thought it far more appropriate to return the favour.

Back in our garden

shade-loving thalictrum is now blooming,

as are white sweet Williams.

Yesterday, I wrongly identified the geranium that was attracting bees as a palmatum. This is the correct one.

This afternoon I cut the grass and Jackie continued creative planting.

Our evening meal was collected by Jackie from Hordle Chinese Takeaway. It was as plentiful and as delicately or spicily flavoured as usual. My lady drank Hoegaarden and her Knight drank Via di Cavallo chianti 2014.