Just before I spent the week in Eymet with Maggie and Mike in September 2008, culminating in agreeing to buy their house in Sigoules, I enjoyed various locations with Mike and Heidi, Emily, Oliver, and Alice. One of these was at
Onesse in Les Landes. Oliver doesn’t seem to be in this family shot from the selection I scanned today from the recently recovered colour slides.
I am not sure where this beach was, but I remember picnicking on the bank in the foreground.
We took a number of walks in the sun-dappled forest with its tall pines, red-brown streams, and sandy banks of bright purple heather.
The farmhouse and its field; the nodding sunflowers; and the village perching above it are all outside Eymet, while the colourful garden and the church spire behind the rooftops are probably inside it. Without notes I am a little hazy after twelve years.
I really regret not being sure where this wonderfully sensitive sculpture of an unknown soldier adorns a war memorial. Maybe someone will enlighten me.
Having read another four chapters of ‘Little Dorrit’ I now present four more of Charles Keeping’s skilful illustrations.
Here we have a ruined uncle well portrayed by the artist;
‘My eldest daughter and my son Mr Clennham.’ The essences of one weak and one haughty captured by the artist’s pen;
‘Oh, Maggy, What a clumsy child you are!’ Drawn to perfection is Dickens’s portrait of this simple soul, including her clothing’s ‘general resemblance to seaweed’;
‘He seemed to have been sitting for his portrait all the days of his life’. Keeping has caught Dickens’s vivid description of the aptly named Tite Barnacle, down to his very clothing.
This evening we dined on a second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Recital.
I spent most of the afternoon scanning and labelling another selection of colour slides from the recently rediscovered boxes. Apart from the two of Michael and Heidi, which I now think were taken twelve months later, these were all made in August 2008. During that summer I spent three weeks at various French bookings with my son and his family, saw them on their way to Spain, and stayed another week with my friends Maggie and Mike at Eymet in Aquitaine. As told in https://derrickjknight.com/2012/06/04/the-gite-from-hell/ this set of circumstances was instrumental in prompting me to buy
No 6 rue St Jacques, Sigoules. Mike is seen here opening the door for my viewing.
On this trip I took a few of the many walks around the town and its streets over the next few years. There were hardly any hillside slopes lacking prolific vineyards; vigorous sunflowers flourished in flatter fields; rustic stone buildings provided age-old charm,
My friends had moved from No 6 to be nearer the amenities of Eymet, a veritable English enclave.
Although I had to help Maggie with a pronunciation confusion when she was buying from a fruit seller, there seemed to be more English than French voices heard in Eymet’s popular market. In later years I found it easier to root out second-hand English books on the stalls than French ones.
This was also the occasion of the first of my ramblings around Eymet’s streets and lanes (rouelles). Most French towns and villages have splendid war memorials of which this is a fine example.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s perfect paprika pork; scrumptious savoury rice; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.
This has been a day of varied activities. This morning involved various administrative phone calls; a trip to Lymington to confirm the order and pay for Jackie’s new laptop; and a drive among the lanes around Sway.
Other road users somewhat impeding our leisurely progress included a horse and rider;
a group of cyclists consisting of a gentleman and young girl lagging behind two boys pausing on the brow of a hill;
and a truck bearing a precarious looking wide load of hay.
Coombe Lane, in particular, is home to Long Cottage, the garden of which contains a row of sunflowers fronting a rather wizened little oak tree bearing large clusters of cupped acorns.
Further along this road a group of inquisitive young Friesians thronged to their gateway in order to enquire what we were doing there.
Hordle has its own Scarecrow Trail, but since we followed the Bisterne one thoroughly, and parking is quite dangerous alongside the exhibits in the more populous village, I will simply photograph those we come across in our wanderings. The first of these are outside Hordle Parish Church of All Saints. They have been created by the children of the nearby Nursery School.
Early this afternoon Jackie dug the first hole for the roses that will ascend the now unclad Gothic Arch seen at the far end of this section of the Brick Path, alongside which stands the Nottingham Castle bench with its attendant sweet peas.
The rear of the bench can be seen in this shot of the Star of India clematis in Margery’s Bed.
The elegant forms of white gladioli take centre stage on this view of the Dragon Bed,
while, to the right of them, the colours of Japanese anemones, fuchsia, and lobelia form a similar sinuous shape.
Later, we visited Otter Nurseries where we bought two roses for the bare arch. We have examples of these elsewhere in the garden. Penny Lane wanders over the potting shed in the Rose Garden, and the bright red Super Elfin has taken off like a rocket in the herbaceous border.
Here Jackie, having planted Penny Lane, starts on a hole for the heavily pruned Super Elfin. I helped out a bit with that one, but the Head Gardener refused to photograph me on the grounds that my minor effort didn’t warrant a presence on the blog. Frankly that seemed a little harsh to me.
In a short while we can expect to see a difference.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s brilliant beef pie, with meaty gravy, boiled potatoes, spring greens, and bright carrots. The Culinary Queen finished the sauvignon blanc, and I finished the Fleurie.
It is now 9.30 p.m. I f I finish this post this evening it will be a miracle, because, so far, much of it has been spent having useless and frustrating conversations with someone in India about lack of BT Broadband connection.
This morning Jackie drove us to Helen’s home in Poulner where we decanted into Helen’s car, in which she drove us to Lavender Farm at Landford, just inside Wiltshire. Taking in lunch we spent the best part of the day enjoying another splendid late summer’s day, before reversing the process.
The farm is an outlet for many wonderful plants, seen at their best on such a beautiful day.
There was, of course, a plentiful supply of lavender, but also very much more.
From the moment we entered, it was clear that the displays for sale were all as attractive as this one for cacti.
The three of us wandered around the gardens. I photographed the two ladies.
Sometimes just the beds;
or other people, like these two admiring the vegetables;
and these taking tea.
A couple I noticed sitting among the flowers were Brian and Sandra. Having taken the first picture from some distance away, as is my wont when I have not asked for permission, I walked along the narrow path to their bench, and sought it in retrospect. A very pleasant conversation ensued and they happily posed for a second picture. Brian turned out to have a collection of some 3,000 colour slides, mostly of historic Southampton, and was wondering how to digitise them. I described my scanner and advised them how to go about the task.
The garden was clearly troubled by wasps in July.
There is no charge for enjoying this haven, but charitable donations are encouraged.
Of course we bought some plants. Apart from smaller ones like heucheras and salvias, three roses on Jackie’s collection list just had to be acquired.
The first was Gertrude Jekyll, named after the famous gardener.
This is from the website in her honour: Gertrude Jekyll (1843-1932), created some 400 gardens in the UK, Europe and America; her influence on garden design has been pervasive to this day. She spent most of her life in Surrey, England, latterly at Munstead Wood, Godalming. She ran a garden centre there and bred many new plants. Some of her gardens have been faithfully restored, wholly or partly, and can be visited. Godalming Museum has many of her notebooks and copies of all her garden drawings, (compiled and sorted by members of the Surrey Gardens Trust); the original drawings are in the University of California, Berkeley.
Her own books about gardening are widely read in modern editions; much has been written about her by others. She contributed over 1,000 articles to Country Life, The Garden and other magazines. A complete list of every book and article written by her is in the Bookshop section of this site. A talented painter, photographer, designer and craftswoman; she was much influenced by Arts & Crafts principles.
(c) Elizabeth Banks; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
William Nicholson painted this portrait of her in October 1920.
Next came Lady Emma Hamilton.
Wikipedia tells us that:
Emma, Lady Hamilton (26 April 1765; baptised 12 May 1765 – 15 January 1815) is best remembered as the mistressof Lord Nelson and as the muse of George Romney. She was born Amy Lyon in Ness near Neston, Cheshire, England, the daughter of Henry Lyon, a blacksmith who died when she was two months old. She was raised by her mother, the former Mary Kidd, at Hawarden, and received no formal education. She later changed her name to Emma Hart.
Finally, has the rose Mamma Mia anything to do with Abba?
Readers may be amused to learn the reason that my first attempts at photographing these last two roses produced very bleary images. This is because a very small insect had become ensnared in Helen’s chutney. Not being able to identify it with the naked eye, I thought that if I photographed it with the macro facility it would be possible to do so. The creature turned out to be a small wasp. But I had poked the lens into the chutney, with the obvious results. My handkerchief was not adequate for the task of cleaning the glass, so I had to use a lens cloth when we got home, and photograph the roses here.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice, with chicken samosas. I finished the cabernet sauvignon.
IMAGES MAY BE ENLARGED BY CLICKING ON THEM, TWICE IF NECESSARY
This morning we all joined the other customers in the cafe. Poppy did actually eat most of what was on her plate.
An hour or so later, Jackie and I set off back home, reaching there early in the afternoon.
Aaron had moved a clump of ornamental grass further back in the Palm Bed,
and removed rust from most of the furniture in the rose garden and painted it with Hammerite. Here we have a reclaimed armchair seated under the arch with a church candlestick behind it.
Pansies are flourishing;
the Snake’s Head fritillaries proliferate;
our numerous heucheras now have flowers;
and cowslips,
geranium Phaeums,
and grape hyacinths are new arrivals.
This evening we dined on a Chinese takeaway from Happy Days in Pennington, and, between us, finished the Broadwood’s Folly English white wine.
Backlit by the morning sun, the turning leaves of our weeping birch blended well with Frances’s Duchy of Cornwall sunflowers, and contrasted with the red prunus foliage. A road traffic mirror fixed to a post on the corner of the road into the Country Park reflected the scene in Shorfield Road.
This, although a bit breezy, was a bright T-shirt morning. I varied my Milford on Sea walk, in reverse, a little, by taking a footpath along the back of the static caravans in Sea Breeze Way. There I met Len and his West Highland terriers Hamish and Angus. I told their owner the story of Billy, my maternal grandmother’s Westie. This little terrier was quite happy to allow visitors into the room, but turned savage when they attempted to leave. Len then described the breed aa ‘a large dog in a small body’ known as having ‘the face of a chrysanthemum and the tail of a carrot’. Turning right into Blackbush Road at the end of the path led me to the gate of Fox Hat, the home of Giles, our friend of forty four years. One of his stained glass pieces of artwork enhances the entrance. I knocked at his door and we had a brief conversation before he had to leave for an appointment. From there, I soon picked up the path through the nature reserve. A couple of crows picking at the grass on the cliff top, unusually ignored two passers by. Maybe at least one of them was distracted by me. Further on another of these birds took off, like Peter Pan, leaving its shadow behind.
This afternoon I made two A3+ size prints of the feature portrait from the post of 17th, one each for Frances and Mum. Later, Jackie drove us to Hobby Craft at Hedge End where we bought picture frames, and to Elizabeth’s where we mounted the photographs. We took Mum hers, stayed with her for a while, then returned to my sister’s and thence to The Farmer’s Home at Durley where we dined on the usual good fare. My choice was gammon, whilst the two ladies enjoyed pork loin steak. We all then had the lightest sticky toffee pudding. Jackie drank peroni, and my sister and I shared a carafe of Merlot. Afterwards we delivered Elizabeth to The Firs and Jackie drove us home.
The sunflower seeds that Frances sent us as part of a house-warming present have now produced fine blooming plants. I photographed these this morning in order to show them to our sister in law when we visited her and Chris at their home in Wroughton, near Swindon, this afternoon. Then I forgot, but when you read this post Frances, I hope you like them as much as we do.
Jackie, as usual, drove us there and back, most of the way along the A338. This is not the quickest route, but the prettiest. We stopped for lunch at the excellent Plough Inn at Chiseldon. The fact that it was very busy on a Monday out of the holiday season was no doubt due to the superb food and Arkell ales. I drank 3BB and Jackie drank diet coke with our meals. Mine was a tasty and succulent home made steak and ale pie with crusty pastry, delicious gravy, and crisp chips and vegetables. Jackie’s was a plentiful mushroom stroganoff with a fresh salad. This establishment is to be highly recommended.
It was good to see our nephew Peter who had spent the weekend with his parents and was about to return to his home in Cheam, driven by his father in law, also Peter. Reminiscing with the young man included the time of the discovery in the 1990s at Newark that we shared an appreciation of the ‘timeless’ (his description) Nina Simone. Peter would appreciate the photograph on the wall of Tess’s Village Shop in Upper Dicker.
Before we left, Frances’s friend Steph, who had once spent a holiday with us in Sigoules, arrived for a short stay, and we chatted with her, with Chris and with Frances for a while. Back home in Downton I walked down to the Shorefield post box as a crescent moon hung above indigo clouds turning pink in the West.
Yesterday the loft insulation was carried out. A damp beam betrays the broken tiles which need replacing on the roof. The back hall was prepared for specialised papering.
Maggie and Mike collected me in the evening and drove me to their home at Eymet where we enjoyed a meal focussing on a Russian fish pie, followed by cheese and melon; with some red wine and an evening’s convivial conversation.
Once the morning mist had cleared, a fine autumn day revealed the poet’s ‘mellow fruitfulness’. I walked the loop centring on the Thenac road, up along the main route through Sigoules and down the narrow winding track to the Cuneges road. Although it dulled over before I had returned the day began bright and sunny, and continued to be so after I had returned.
High on the vine-covered slopes a proliferation of butterflies flitted here and there. Bright yellow ones in particular chased each other around, reminding me of yesterday night’s courting couple. Up and down, round and round they yo-yoed, never settling for the camera.
Some grapes seem to be allowed to fester on the stems. I gather this is a necessary process of viniculture.
The sunflowers also looked rather past their best, until one remembers that it is their oil that is harvested.
What must have been a seasonal bonfire sent up spirals of smoke in the far distance.
Max’s lunchtime offerings in Le Code Bar began with noodles and a variety of vegetables soup; then a soft, dressed, avocado at its peak, served with salami, coarse pate, a green salad and a cornichon; next the usual daunting, perfectly cooked succulent steak plentifully garnished with garlic, pepper and onions, accompanied by crisp, glistening, freshly fried chips; and finally a pear tart with chocolate sauce. And it bears repeating that all this comes at a price of 13 euros.
Jackie was thrilled this morning to see that the third of her sunflowers donated by the birds has bloomed. She tried very hard to coach one bee simultaneously into each of her trio. Two out of three can’t be bad.
For as long as I can remember Louisa has been disgusted at me for ‘wasting paper’ when I use A4 paper to print smaller photographs. She has always said it is very easy either to use smaller paper or place two or more alongside each other, and I have always been reluctant to attempt to get my head round it. When Elizabeth suggested I produced a series of greetings cards for sale at the Open Studio I knew the time had come to grasp the nettle. By sending me a link on ‘how to print multiple images on a single page’ Chris ensured that I didn’t cop out of it. I had a little trouble working out how to print the resultant document so that I could have it in front of me when I tackled my phobia. I was doing this on my small Epson printer which chose that moment to require head cleaning.
Eventually I was as ready as I was ever going to be to try multiple prints. I couldn’t produce more than one picture, although I thought I was following the directions reasonably well. That meant I needed to ring my brother Chris for further elucidation. He realised that I couldn’t do it because I had only highlighted one picture on the screen. I explained that I wanted multiple copies of one picture; not one copy each of multiple pictures.
Ah. That was different. By this time I couldn’t be doing with exploring this any further. As I needed more than one copy of each picture I thought I’d settle for placing two different images side by side. I did, of course, have to be instructed in the art of holding down the command key in order to keep more than one picture highlighted for the purpose. Well, it worked.
I suspect the final paragraph in the aforementioned article does explain how to do exactly what I want, but I think I’ll just rest on my laurels for the moment. I’m a fairly old dog after all, and one new trick is enough for one day.
This afternoon Jackie drove me to Hobbycraft in Hedge End where we bought enough blank cards with envelopes and Pritt stick to produce a decent stock for the studio.
The main event of the day was the eagerly awaited second open day of Aviemore in Bartley. Today I will let the photographs utter their thousand words, for I wrote at some length about this marvellous village garden when we first visited on 2nd. June.
Sandy and Alex Robinson welcomed us most warmly, demonstrating their appreciation of my post of that day.
Indeed, a printout of the relevant pages was on display on the tables in the tea room, as well as an article from a gardening magazine. I was very pleased, as they had been with my piece.
Jackie thought that Mata Hari, reported lurking in the bushes last time, was probably being played by Theda Bara.
The garden attracted a range of butterflies, including Meadow Brown and Cabbage White, bees busying themselves replenishing the hives, and other smaller insects such as flies, to which the eyes of my camera were more alert than those in my head.
The ‘meaty, stewy, veggy thing’ that Jackie served up this evening was deliciously tasty. Among those ingredients that were identifiable were slices of pigs’ hearts, pork sausages, various vegetables and herbs. Various different well-reduced stocks formed the base. I am told that it is like ‘the lost chord’ and therefore cannot be repeated, which is a shame. I drank Roc des Chevaliers Bordeaux superieur with mine.
The sunflowers seeded in Jackie’s pots by birds, no doubt as a reward for her feeding them, have came into bloom today. They are rather like cuckoos in that they are planted in someone else’s nest. I don’t think, however, that they have pushed out any other flowers.
Just before we left for Mat and Tess’s, I heard a neighing coming, I thought, from a pony that must have found its way over one of the cattle grids. ‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Jackie when she saw the source of the sound. A child, accompanied by a woman with a very long lensed camera, was riding a largish foal around our lawn. We could only assume these were visitors to other residents. We didn’t have time to investigate.
On 12th May and 20th October last year I described how Tess Flower, our daughter-in-law, proprietor of The Village Shop in East Sussex’s Upper Dicker, has transformed the establishment and consequently the lives of her customers. Her numerous innovations have fostered social relationships and made ‘Care in the Community’ mean something real. This has not been without considerable opposition from killjoys.
The shop lies at the end of the small village green. A few objectors to almost every event she has introduced spread fears of rowdiness and late night noise, none of which ever takes place. The cafe area of the shop closes in good time for people to sleep. The only sounds are from the muted music and gentle hubbub of civilised conversation within the confines of her building.
Some years ago, to the delight of the long established residents, Tess reinstated the defunct annual Dicker Day. Those few incomers who have no idea of what a village green is all about, made their usual objections. The event has fortunately been revived by the new owners of The Plough Inn, who are hosting it this year. Tess is generous in her support of this.
The fact that today’s event was beset by, at times, torrential rain did not deter the crowds that had come to The Dicker from the surrounding areas. It had a slightly different flavour from earlier times, but doubtless benefitted from the shelter provided by the pub. The numerous garden tables all had generously proportioned umbrellas attached. Unfortunately the one I sat under dripped steadily onto my jacket. Tess told me that the new publicans have thought of everything. There is even a basket of blankets for those feeling the evening chill.
The banner announcing the event got a bit soggy, but at least the colour didn’t run.
There was a bouncy castle; a raffle; face painting; and a lively young female singer. A hog roast and burgers were obtainable during the day and the meals we enjoyed in the evening lived up to Tess’s billing. As I said to Peter, the new proprietor, any food Tess praises is bound to be excellent. He certainly values her judgement as much as we do.
We didn’t arrive home in time for me to post this on the day, so I am doing it the next morning. As far as I can remember starters were a spicy carrot soup for me; pate for Mat; some kind of pancake roll for Tess; and halloumi for Jackie. Our main courses were haddock and chips for Tess and me; burger for Mat; and salmon and cod fish cakes for Jackie. Summer and sticky toffee puddings and a cheeseboard followed. Becky and Ian, somewhat tardy, joined us while we were on our desserts. It was a good thing they brought their dog Scooby along, because he did a good job of dislodging and disposing of the piece of Tess’s cheese that had found its way into my sandal. It saved me from the difficulty of getting down under the table. Peter made up a small portion melange for Becky. Ian enjoyed his asparagus and peas risotto. I can’t be sure who drank what, but there were a couple of bottles of New Zealand Marlborough pinot noir; some white wine; and various beers dispensed.
Somehow Jackie was able heroically to stay awake for her two hour drive back to Minstead, which is more that I did, although I did manage, intermittently, to keep her company.
