Early this morning I optimistically joined Martin in the garden where he enjoyed rather more success than I did.
Despite Jackie’s popping out to replenish my diminishing supplies of firelighters I was unable to breathe life into the damp garden refuse which could not recover from several days of soaking.
Even the bench on which I rested collapsed beneath me.
Eventually I gave up trying and returned inside to nursing knees repeatedly bent in a lost cause, smelling pointless smoke, and ruing the tiny brown-rimmed hole in my shirt that one of the myriad of otherwise useless flaking sparks had managed to penetrate.
Martin, on the other hand, successfully continued his careful clearance of beds and surrounding paths;
and recycled some of the old patio paving as supplementary stepping stones through the Weeping Birch Bed.
My failure was compounded by being unable to access my site to draft this post until 5.30 p.m.
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tangy piri-piri lemon chicken and colourful savoury rice with which she drank Hoegarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra red wine.
The bare copper beach brings clear signs of autumn to the garden, as
Jackie continues her clearance of the Palm Bed and, in particular,
the Dead End Bed. This New Zealand hebe has received heavy pruning.
The thick limb to the right of the chimney planter, and supporting the remaining branches, has been rooted from the original shrub that had been planted further back some years ago.
Here is another view from Margery’s Bed.
Jackie has removed some plants, repositioned others like the potted hydrangea ready for planting, set a profusion of spring bulbs,
and stepping stones for access during next spring’s burgeoning.
Clearance and replanting has also been carried out on the opposite side of the path.
The same treatment has been applied to other bed’s such as Margery’s which can hopefully expect a profusion of richly hued Black Beauty Dutch irises.
Here, the Head Gardener contemplates the remains of a crocosmia collection. She did most of her own compost accumulation, but left me a little.
Anticipated winds in excess of 50 m.p.h. prompted the usual emergency grounding of the wooden patio chairs.
This evening, with additional starters of tempura prawns and vegetable wantons, we dined on our second helpings of Hordle Chinese Take Away, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2018.
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Most of the beds in the garden are threaded with stepping stones placed for access. They have become rather overgrown. This morning I began opening them out, starting with
this one leading off the Dead End Path. You should be able to distinguish between the before and after photographs. There is, incidentally, no view of the garden that doesn’t include the smelly white alliums. They bring early delight to the beds, but need an enormous amount of thinning out. Not only does each plant grow on a bulb, but each single bell on the flowers contains another bulb which it drops onto the soil. Each of these grows a new allium the following year.
Regular readers will know that The Head Gardener can never resist an owl. This morning she excelled herself by buying this one with an owlet in a jumble sale.
Elizabeth came to lunch and stayed on for dinner.
Jackie drove us to Milford on Sea where Peter, at Sears Barbers gave me an excellent haircut which is visibly reflected here.
Wikipedia has this to say about the traditional red and white striped barber’s pole: ‘The red and white pole outside barber shops references a time when barbers were expected to perform bloodletting and other medical procedures to heal the sick; red represented blood and white represented bandages. “Barber surgeons” in Rome also performed teeth extraction, cupping, leeching, bloodletting, surgery and enemas. However, today’s barber poles represent little more than being a barber shop that cuts hair and does shaves.[10] Barber poles have actually become a topic of controversy in the hairstyling business. In some states, such as Michigan in March 2012, legislation has emerged proposing that barber poles should only be permitted outside barbershops, but not traditional beauty salons. Barbers and cosmetologists have engaged in several legal battles claiming the right to use the barber pole symbol to indicate to potential customers that the business offers haircutting services. Barbers claim that they are entitled to exclusive rights to use the barber pole because of the tradition tied to the craft, whereas cosmetologists argue that they are equally capable of cutting men’s hair too (though many cosmetologists are not permitted to use razors, depending on their state’s laws).’
A couple of doors away from the barber’s is situated Polly’s Pantry Tea Rooms, first featured in ‘Portrait of a Village’ a couple of years ago.
Here are some of the home-made cakes on display.
Jackie and Elizabeth enjoyed cakes, tea, and coffee served by the delightfully friendly Julie, while they waited in this establishment for my shorn appearance. I joined them with a pot of tea. As I sat facing the window I observed a number of passing visitors examining the cakes. It seemed to me that this would make a good photograph. However I had no wish to deter prospective customers by shoving a camera in their faces. Yet I did have a couple of available models.
I sent them outside to pose.
Earlier, two little boys, noses pinned to the cabinet, had come in to choose ice creams.
As my two ladies came back inside the shop, they reprised the youngsters’ pose.
After this Jackie drove us on to Keyhaven, where the wreck has developed a lurch.
As I watched a mallard fishing, a gull homed in on it.
The duck sped off. Fortunately the gull gave up the chase.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s scrumptious cottage pie, runner beans, and carrots and Brussels sprouts cooked to such perfection that all the flavour was retained. Chocolate eclairs, cream slices and Madagascan vanilla cheesecake were the desserts from which to make a selection. Elizabeth and I drank Vacqeyras Côtes du Rhône 2015.
After a session of reminiscences Elizabeth returned home to West End.
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Well, I did cut the grass, and wander round the garden, but that was along time ago. The rest of the day was spent preparing my finances for my very efficient accountant. Had I done even a modicum of filing any time during the last seven months, the task may have been a little more exciting. But I didn’t. So it wasn’t.
Jackie, however, may have found her own awesome effort, rather more satisfying.
She spent the whole day resuscitating a small section of the Dragon Bed. This involved the usual method of improving the soil with compost; finger-fishing for thousands of tiny allium bulbs; prising out buried lumps of stone which now form the access path you see here; and planting new residents.
We have also been clearing the Palm Bed; enough to allow a glimpse of a hidden peony.
The inherited clematis on the Shady Path is doing well,
as is the rose Special Anniversary, in the Rose Garden where
Festive Jewel begins a bid to compete with the fluorescent heucheras.
I swear that wherever there is a breeze we can hear the jingling of Spanish doubloons.
The red mimuluses in the hanging basket slung here, not only survived the mild winter, but also self-seeded in the camouflaged blue painted Butler sink below.
The viburnum plicatum becomes daily more glorious.
This is a view from the Shady Bed towards the Waterboy;
and another across the Phantom Path, leading to the revived yellow-leaved tree, on which, when we arrived, only the bottom right hand branch bore foliage.
As we sat in the Rose Garden with our pre-dinner drinks I reflected from my chair on what it would look like when all these plants were in full bloom.
Now, boring as my day mostly was, it did have one major benefit. Jackie has painstakingly written her plant labels in black permanent marker. Unfortunately this is not proof against the wind and the rain. My files are all labelled with a Dymo Marker, which I thought would be longer lasting. So I showed her how to work it, and she was away.
Mister Chatty Man, proprietor of Hordle Chinese Take Away, provided our dinner this evening. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserve des Tuguets madiran 2012.
This morning we continued planting up the Cryptomeria Bed. Once again, this proved more difficult than anticipated. Jackie came across more vinca roots growing between the border rocks, and had to get down on her kneeler to dig them out. My task was to bore holes for the shrubs that needed deeper soil. I invariably came across more slabs of constituted rock. With a view to her stepping stones, The Head Gardener’s eyes glinted when she spotted ‘a good one’.
This one had to be prised from under a tree root.
Jackie completed the job this afternoon while I watched the Rugby World Cup on TV.
I also spent quite a time researching earlier photographs for the before and after collection.
This view from Fiveways shows the full bed on 23rd July 2014. It equates roughly to the first bed image above, featuring Jackie and a watering can.
That of the house, from a similar point to the fourth, demonstrates the overgrown nature of the area on 14th August the same year. We do trust, however, that, next spring, there will be more to peer through.
The afternoon matches I watched were between Scotland and Samoa, and between Wales and Australia. Both were superb; the first the more entertaining, the second admirably fought out.
We then dined on Jackie’s superb chicken in black bean sauce; sweet and sour chicken; and special rice with chopped pork. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the pinotage.
I then watched England’s rugby match against Uruguay, which was somewhat painful to witness.
This morning we both tidied up after yesterday’s work on the Cryptomeria Bed. Jackie also did some planting, and completed her access stepping stones in the front garden with stones dug up yesterday.
My iMac was upgraded yesterday to the latest operating system, rejoicing in the name of El Capitain. One of the improvements was said to be to Photos. Since all my pre-May this year pictures were automatically put into that on the last upgrade, yet I have stubbornly persisted in using iPhoto, I thought perhaps it was time for me to get my head round it. This especially because, rather than search for them in Photos, I took yesterday’s 2014 photos directly from WordPress. This meant that clicking on those images did not increase their size. I trust that this problem will not apply to today’s efforts.
Passing the New Bed on the way to the compost heap with barrow loads of cuttings and leaves, I noticed a minute shield bug sharing a Bishop of Llandaff dahlia with a bumble bee. By the time I fetched my camera both the bee and a Small White butterfly had moved on, leaving the field to the little creature.
A close-up gave me an insight into what had inspired Disney’s Illustrators of Jiminy Cricket.
The New Bed did not exist when we came to Downton. Its development forms the next section of the Garden Album.
On 31st July 2014, Jackie began transporting concrete slabs I had dug out of the projected rose garden, to form a retaining wall for the one compost heap.
By 9th March 2015, we had decided to move the compost and convert the heap, which had been left by our predecessors, into The New Bed. The earth you see in this picture is the result of hours of sifting out all kinds of non-biodegradable rubbish. In the right background lies the back of the log pile
seen to greater effect in this photograph taken the next day,
and that of The Heligan Path two days later. (An Opened Garden12.3.15)
Today The New Bed basks in the autumn sunshine.
A tiny bed lies to the left of the small gravel path leading to the dead tree. The stepping stones in the background offer access to more plants. All this once held the logs.
This evening we dined on cheese-centred fish cakes, Jackie’ s piquant cauliflower cheese (recipe), and her melange of onions, peppers, and tomatoes. We both drank Kumala pinotage rose 2015.
The Unidentified Fir Bed is now a Cryptomeria Bed.
It seemed a simple, straightforward, task today to dig over the bed cleared yesterday, in preparation for planting. Not so. Beneath the top layer of soil; itself riddled with spun skeins of fine vinca roots; more rock, concrete, tiles, and snakes of perished rubber hose were buried. I got no further than digging this lot out and raking over the plot.
Jackie then added access stepping stones dug out from the Weeping Birch Bed.
A number of my more recent readers have asked for before and after pictures of the work we have done in the garden. This has coincided with Margery having floated the idea of a feature on ‘The Making of the Downton Garden’ at The First Gallery. The Head Gardener would also like an album telling the story. I therefore made a start on one today. The subject is The Rose Garden, which is entirely our own creation.
The earlier pictures have appeared on previous posts, But I have decided to repeat them here. Links to those previous posts are given in brackets, should anyone wish to read the text that goes with them.
We begin with a view looking towards the south eastern corner of what was then the derelict kitchen garden. The left hand fence is covered with ancient clematis Montanas and thick-stemmed brambles. To our left, another particularly unhappy clematis struggles against the odds. Various box hedges struggle in very thin soil. A frame of some sort lies in the centre. (Not Fit For Purpose 26.6.14)
The Montanas on the left hand fence were held in place by a thick wire mesh nailed into our neighbour’s fence. Removing the mess was a lengthy and difficult process. (Escape From Alcatraz 5.7.14)
Not very far below the surface of the soil were the remains of concrete paths that I chose to unearth. That was the very least of that particular problem. Throughout the area large concrete blocks were interred underground. Many of these were placed vertically and were very difficult to extract. (Jack Russell 23.8.14)
By the time Aaron came on the scene, I had removed most of the greenery. He levelled the soil (Communing With Ponies 8.2.15) in preparation for the
garden we see today. Water butt and brick pile have been removed. Aaron has laid the paving. Various items of furniture have been added. And, of course, a few plants.
This evening Jackie produced impressive sweet and sour chicken, chicken in black bean sauce and savoury rice with pork for our dinner. Chocolate ice cream was to follow. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Pedro Jimenez
As is now customary, I began the day with a meander round the garden.
This is how Jackie has refurbished the knackered decking;
and here is her sign for Elizabeth’s bed.
She has positioned stepping stones between Aaron’s paving, and added phlox to the rose garden.
In the former compost bed the dahlia Bishop of Llandaff and a yellow hollyhock now rise among foxgloves and poppies, now adopting their sculptural quality as they begin to seed.
Red hollyhocks bloom elsewhere in the garden. The seeds of this one were a gift from Margery.
Bees were busy on the Phantom Path hebe. You may need to search for this one.
Since it was men’s semi-final day at Wimbledon, I spent the afternoon on the sofa watching tennis balls travel back and forth across the TV screen. Two splendid matches were in progress. In each, one player who performed extremely well was beaten in straight sets by another who played even better. Djokovic was probably expected to beat Gasquet, but the Frenchman put up a great fight, probably playing his best tennis.
Tension was the norm in the match between Murray and the phenomenal Federer. More or less from the start, Andy Murray had his work cut out, but fought back time and again to make us think that perhaps he had a chance. Roger Federer had other ideas.
We learned that Novak Djokovic, a great slider on the tennis court, has engaged Boris Becker as his coach. Between the two matches, we were treated to highlights of the seventeen year old Becker’s first Wimbledon competition, in which he dived and slid all over the place, to become the first unseeded winner of the tournament. I can believe it was thirty years ago I watched that amazing final.
I am not sure who took this amazing photograph, but it appears on Turnstile and Fashion website, advertising the player’s shoes.
After the second match, I helped Jackie plant yesterday’s purchases. This morning she bought a white lace-cap hydrangea for the shady corner by the orange shed. When I hit more concrete and rubble whilst digging the whole, I put the job off for another day, and Jackie stood the plant in a bucket of water.
This evening we dined on succulent roast pork with crisp crackling, boiled potatoes, and cabbage, carrots, and runner beans, followed by profiteroles. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I opened a bottle of Louis de Camponac cabernet sauvignon 2014.
This, the hottest day of the year so far, was so humid and overcast as to be energy-sapping and mood lowering.
Even the overnight rain couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to slide from the weeping roses, doing their best to brighten the day.
The head gardener, yesterday, had expressed pleasure that the photograph of Elizabeth’s rose had not sported any insects. I was unable to persuade these to leave this crisp yellow one. Perhaps they were taking a refreshing drink.
The unidentified delicate iris I featured a few days ago is in fact an iris foetidissima. They are now cropping up everywhere, in a multitude of colours. Named because they are supposed to stink, if ours do, the pong has not yet reached my nostrils.
Maybe all the plants were simply sweating, as was I when I laid a small set of the stepping stones that Jackie has been placing in the beds in order to provide access. This one was needed to save a trek round to what we call the Dead End Path that comes to a halt at the patio wall.
This afternoon I began reading Truman Capote’s ‘In Cold Blood’, which I am already finding difficult to put down, although I had to do so later, for we lit a bonfire.
Mr Pink provided our crispy cod and chips dinner. We supplied our own Garners pickled onions. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I quaffed more of the cabernet sauvignon.
One of the benefits of writing a daily blog over a period of more than two years is that it can be used to jog one’s own memory. Quite often we have checked something by using the search facility. Struggling to remember the name of the architectural salvage outlet where we had bought a door knocker on 9th April, we looked up ‘The Knocker’, and there it was – Ace Reclaim. Actually, I had remembered the Ace bit, which I thought rather impressive. Unfortunately they were not open today so we couldn’t visit them for something to contain a rose that is straying across the main brick path.
There was, therefore, no excuse to go for a car ride instead of gardening. When I had cut down the last of an invasive privet, I had finally reached the corner of the boundary under siege from next door. (My computer, or maybe WordPress itself, delights in deciding it knows better than I which words I wish to use. It changed the ‘finally’ in the last sentence to ‘fatally’. I do hope the machine is not prescient.) The foliage on the right of the photograph is to be repelled when necessary. The two edges of IKEA wardrobe sections roughly central to the picture mark my assessment of the boundary line, based on metal stakes stuck in the ground. The facing metal poles with worm-eaten wooden struts wired and ragged to them continue along the South side of the back drive. Once I round the compost heap and enter that stretch there are metres and metres of similar bits of wood, metal, and wire marking out territory, between a number of mature trunks of felled trees. Decisions will have to be made about a number of shrubs that line this drive, among which are blackberries coming through from the deserted garden, that are so scrumptious looking and such thick stemmed as to make me think they are cultivated. If anyone does move into the empty house we will need someone like the cartographic decision-makers of nineteenth century Europe, who drew lines across uncharted territory around the globe, to do the same for us. During recent weeks Jackie has been removing unnecessary composite paving stones from the mess that is the system of paths in the kitchen garden, and transferring them to her work area to use as stepping stones from there to the new shrubbery, rather like, but longer than, the system I had inserted at The Firs. I helped a little with that today.
It was possibly when prising one of these slabs from its original position that Jackie extracted her dandelion trophy. This had such a magnificent root that she was minded to nail it to one of the pillars of the wisteria arbour where she sometimes takes her rests. She pointed it out to me today. We were both under the erroneous impression that the countryside tradition of nailing moles, regarded as vermin, to fences was in order to keep others away. She thought her action might deter other dandelions. However, that is not the reason rows of moles are lined up like the heads of unpopular members of opposing factions in mediaeval England. They are there to demonstrate to the farmer that his freelance professional mole catcher has done his job. Maybe crows hung in trees could serve as a deterrent to others. There does not seem, however, any consensus on the reason for this practice. This afternoon I ambled down to Shorefield, and, after spending some time leaning on the railings of the bridge over the sun-dappled stream that runs alongside the holiday chalets, returned home. Damselflies flickered iridescent blue over the water seeming to reflect their hue, and coots, keeping well out of fleeting sight paddled in the ochre shadows. So quick were the insects that only when they took a rest in the sunlight was I able to focus on them. I couldn’t actually see this one when I pressed the shutter, but I had seen it land and hoped for the best. Later, I picked some of the blackberries. As they were mostly emerging from the top of the jungle, I had to teeter on top of the stepladder to reach them. A bird has already started on one of our three Braeburn apples, but we will probably need to buy some cookers anyway for blackberry and apple crumble.
Jackie worked all day on further clearing the patch she had begun yesterday. The exposed root in the picture is a euphorbia about to be clipped and discarded. These are attractive plants, but they self-seed and tend to crop up in the wrong places. Those in our garden have been given a free rein for a number of years, so they must be culled in order to free up what they have choked.
Seeking somewhere different for our dinner tonight, we tried the Rivaaz Indian restaurant in Milton Station Road. The initial disappointment at being informed that they do not serve alcohol, but that we could bring our own, was somewhat assuaged when I remembered we had parked opposite an Off-Licence. It was completely quashed when we noticed that both naga and phal were on the menu. The food was marvelous, and the service friendly, efficient, and unobtrusive. The lamb in my nagin was lean and tender, and Jackie thoroughly enjoyed her chicken jabajaba. Both meals were flavoursome. The rices were cooked to perfection, as was the parata and the mushroom and spinach side dish. We both drank Kingfisher, and neither of us could quite finish our meals.
