sweet chestnuts – derrickjknight

A More Pleasantly Changeable Day

This silence-still, sun-bright, blue-sky, scudding-cloud, dappled-forest, dripping-leaved, clattering-chestnuts, wet-roads, reflecting-gutters, swimming-sward, morning had turned overcast by the time we emerged, brunch-sated, from Lakeview Café on our return home.

Sun-flecked tarmac and tree trunks along wet-bracken-flanked Holmsley Passage heard whispering, dripping, earthbound leaves carpeting the forest floor alongside emerging mushrooms and bouncing sweet chestnut shells bursting with fruit.

With golfing apparently rained off, a group of ponies tended the lush greens of Burley golf course.

On the opposite side of the road a solitary pony worked over the outfield beside a cluster of further mushrooms.

Leaves slowly drifted into the reflecting verges of Forest Road;

on the sunny side of which a curly haired grazing foal cast its shadow;

further along a trio of darker equines suddenly decided to cross to the other side.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp with fresh crusty baguettes followed by orange trifle, with which she drank more of the Zesty and I drank more of the Côtes du Rhône.

The Last Rays Of Summer

After their meal last night everyone came back here and we enjoyed a pleasant continuation of the birthday celebration, including Flo’s firm and moist mango flavoured cake.

While the others slept in this morning Jackie and I took a trip into the forest. As it was another warm and sunny day beneath a clear cerulean sky featuring clustered cotton cloud we experienced an influx of visitors enjoying the last rays of summer.

This meant a gentler pace gained along our lanes and thoroughfares:

we followed cyclists along Undershore, so sinuous as to make passing dangerous;

horse riders ambling oblivious along Furzey Lane;

and slow moving traffic, their progress halted by ponies on various roads – all part of New Forest retirement life.

The clipped tails of some of the ponies betrayed their recent attendance at Drift annual roundups and health checks.

Dozing donkeys basked in shade on the verges of Pilley Street

alongside the former telephone box book exchange attached to the village shop that has now moved to the new Community Hall.

The aforementioned horse riders on Furzey Lane travelled beneath

horse chestnuts soon to bounce on the tarmac

and maple seeds preparing to execute rocking helicopter descents.

This afternoon I watched the rugby World Cup matches between Portugal and Georgia, and between England and Chile.

Becky and Ian returned home before dinner this evening, which consisted of Red Chilli takeaway fare. My choice was prawn pathia, enjoyed with Becky’s doggy bag prawns and coconut rice from yesterday’s Thai meal. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Montepulciano D’Abruzzo 2020.

A Change Of Diet

The morning was dry with bouts of sunshine when

Jackie wandered around the garden with her camera. She went out to photograph the Amistad salvia but got carried away and also pictured agapanthus seeds, dahlias, rudbeckias, roses, clerodendrum trichotomum, begonias, fuchsias, sedum, phlox; and a fly, wasps, and a shield bug perched on ivy flowers. As usual individual titles appear in the gallery which can be enlarged by clicking on any image.

On our afternoon drive we witnessed dramatic skies releasing a number of heavy showers as seen descending from the louring clouds in two of these images and producing at least one rainbow. The last three of these pictures were taken from Beaulieu Road on our way home. The first two from Coombe Lane, Sway where

sunlight picked out the autumn colours in the trees as a lone horse walked down its sloping field.

The first shower sent a group of ponies alongside the Brockenhurst road to shelter as close to the trees as possible.

Pannage pigs munching on sweet chestnuts brought a number of visitors’ cars to a halt in order to disgorge their drivers and passengers to watch and photograph the animals delighting in their change of diet from the more available acorns.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious sausage, liver, and bacon casserole; creamy mashed potato; firm and flavoursome Brussels sprouts; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cotes du Rhone.

Derelict

Anyone who has followed my last two posts will know that I have been having a great deal of trouble gaining satisfaction from my bank. This morning I received another e-mail informing me that the “smart” form could not be actioned because there were some discrepancies in my answers. Back to the phone I returned. The first person I spoke to passed me to another department, telling me that they would be able to fill the form in for me. The second man either had a hangover, had had a bad night, or hadn’t got out of bed yet. He was patently disinterested and ultimately downright rude. I was remarkably contained and firmly polite. Jackie would call this quietly terrifying. He told me he could see what was wrong and said that I would need to fill in two more forms. I informed him that I wasn’t going to and that the previous person had told me he would be able to do it for me. With a curt “I’ll do it for you. Thank you. Bye.” he hung up.

I opened my account at what was then the Westminster Bank in 1960. Sometime in the next six decades a merger changed the company to NatWest. As technology has taken us over customer service has been put out to grass.

My two nearest branches have been closed. Jackie drove me to Lymington so I could see a real person. After a 30 minute wait I only had time to explain what had happened before we were due to leave for a lunch date with Helen, Bill, and Shelly. I was promised a phone call between 4.30 and 7.00 p.m. and given the card of the helpful ‘Personal Banker/Techxpert’ who gave me the undertaking.

Our lunch was taken at Tyrrell’s Ford Country Inn, a well maintained very comfortable example of what Jackie calls “faded grandeur”.

My mains choice was well cooked fish, chips, and mushy peas; Jackie’s was a plentiful ploughman’s lunch. I couldn’t resist a most toothsome blackberry and apple crumble and custard for dessert. Jackie chose salted caramel ice cream. I drank a Ringwood beer; Jackie drank coffee. No further sustenance was required this evening.

The spacious lawns were well mowed; rhododendrons were in full bloom; the ample fruit of heavily laden sweet chestnuts swept the grass beneath them.

On our return along Derritt Lane we passed a field containing a derelict farm vehicle. Ivor’s comment below reveals that this equipment is Canadian. While I was photographing it Jackie pictured

a weather vane and a dandelion clock.

I didn’t receive the phone call, but I did earlier receive a standardised e-mail containing this wonderful sentence: “We would be looking to issue you a temporary credit by 6pm the next working day, pending investigation.” I have no idea who actually initiated it.

The Correct Number Of Toes

Jackie spent much of the day creating a new bower, called Gardener’s Rest, by the head gardener’s path, thus offering a new view across the garden. This meant some paving material was required. I therefore transported some concrete and bricks from the pile in the former kitchen garden. In an effort to select only bricks that may suit my lady’s aesthetic sense, I leant on the lid of the plastic water butt behind the heap. The lid caved in and two bricks descended into the murky depths. They are still there.
After that I decided I was best employed on a photographic project, and continued with my 1982 negatives. The last set had presented Sam preparing for his new sister. The group scanned this morning were taken not long after Louisa’s birth on 24th May. Her brother seems pretty happy with her arrival, unless he was simply enjoying his Smarties. Seriously, his genuine enjoyment had nothing to do with the sweets.
Michael was also present in St George’s Hospital on this day, and held his sister. Most parents count the toes on their newborn infants, just to make sure. This picture ensures that there can be no doubt that Louisa had the correct number on at least one foot.
Twelve years earlier Matthew had welcomed Becky, eight days after her birth on 19th August 1970. It is probably a sign of the attitudinal changes in that time that Mat had to wait until Becky came home, whereas Sam could be happily ensconced on his mother’s bed. The two sisters don’t look at all dissimilar.
After finishing this project I walked up Hordle Lane and found the elusive footpath across the fields and into that through the woods, where sweet chestnuts are falling from the trees. The sign leading from the lane had, as I thought, been obscured by foliage.The next one, almost worn out, pointed diagonally across the ploughed field. A man patrolling this area on a quad bike scowled at me and declined to return my wave. On the path to Peter’s Farm, I was stopped by a gentleman who politely informed me that he rented the farm and I was trespassing. A lengthy discussion ensued during which I learned that this was all private land. One public footpath sign had completely disappeared, and there were no signs indicating privacy. He told me where I could pick up a footpath that would lead me onto Christchurch Road. I didn’t fancy that, so I retraced my steps back to Hordle Lane. Oh to be in Aquitaine where, in my experience, wide footpaths are clearly marked, well maintained, and ramblers are welcome. I didn’t think it politic to ask if I could photograph either farmer.
Later this afternoon Jackie drove us to Emsworth for a birthday meal with Ian, Becky, and Flo at the Spice Cottage Bangladeshi restaurant in Westbourne. Ian and I walked to the restaurant where the others joined us by car. The curry house was very good indeed. Food, service, and atmosphere were excellent on this packed out Saturday evening. There was no piped music, but muted Bollywood films were shown on a television mounted on the wall. I slept most of the way on our journey home.