Tanner’s Lane – derrickjknight

A Deserted Beach

I have been struggling against a heavy cold for three days. It was not until after lunch today that my coughing, spluttering, sneezing, and leaking nose had dried, and my dull head cleared adequately for me to accept the offered forest drive from Jackie. Yesterday I had declined.

It was therefore a shock to step out just after lunch into a gloomy day with a temperature just two degrees above freezing. Winter had crept up.

Although it is Sunday, there was very little sign of life.

The seasonal roadside pools, reflecting overhead branches, like these at East Boldre, are all now replenished; autumn leaves floating on their surfaces and scattered over the sward.

The narrow, winding, Tanners Lane with its ancient hedgerows exposing banked roots is, in warmer weather, popular enough for us to avoid the difficulty of finding a safe parking spot without slipping into a ditch.

The owners of this field have ensured, by blocking the entrance, that it will not be used as such.

This was therefore the perfect day for us to enjoy unhindered access to the beach with its views of the Isle of Wight.

A line of shore birds searched for food along the shallows of the tidal Lymington River.

This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s spicy chilli con carne and rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I started another bottle of the Gran Selone before settling down to watch the World Cup football match between England and Senegal.

Whose Carrots?

On this third dull afternoon as winter attempts a resurgence tomorrow Jackie and I took a forest drive after collecting repeat prescriptions from Milford Pharmacy.

Alongside Angel Lane, where we spotted our first clump of bluebells, a pair of forest horses lunched on hay heaps.

Silent crows perched beside Milford Road.

Jackie photographed me photographing oyster catchers and gulls against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight from Tanners Lane where she also pictured

blackthorn in a hedge, and I focussed on a friendly guide leading a young rider.

A couple of donkeys crossed from one side of the lane to the other in order to squabble over a row of chopped carrots. The loser didn’t get much of a look in.

When I disembarked in Sowley Lane to photograph a ploughed field. one pheasant nipped into a hedge and anther enhanced to field landscape. The fourth of this set of pictures is Jackie’s.

A pair of thirsty ponies enjoyed a meal of cold soup in the pool at the corner of St Leonard’s and Norley Wood Roads.

On the roof of the shed of a house opposite we noticed a boat weather vane, and while waiting for a tractor further along I photographed more blackthorn.

As we swung round Lymington River a cormorant stretched its wings atop a red buoy.

For dinner this evening the Culinary Queen produced her wholesome beef and onion pie; boiled potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and tender cabbage with which she and Ian drank Hoegaarden and I drank Azinhaga de Ouro Reserva 2019.

Mirrors And Shadows

Today’s weather forecast was that the clear, bright, early morning skies would cloud over at 11 a.m., which is exactly what happened. We were pleased, therefore, that we took advantage of the prediction.

The Lymington River mirror, with its reflections of moored boats; sun-kissed buildings; stately swans; and mudlarking waders, was the first that drew our attention. (See John Knifton’s comment below for correct identification of the waders. Since they were not dashing around like maniacs they must be dunlins)

Equally still was the glass surface separating Tanners Lane beach from the hazy layers of the Isle of Wight.

Jackie photographed me making the shots above.

Sun-tipped donkeys cast their shadows across the verges of the lane itself,

while a pair of ponies mounted theirs on the verdant slopes on the approach to St Leonard’s Grange. The last of this group of images is Jackie’s.

A basking pony at East Boldre was also outlined in sunlight.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, and cornichons with chillis. I finished the Rioja and Jackie chose not to imbibe.

Misty Morning Mizzle

Late yesterday afternoon Jackie had photographed the porcine weather vane on Bull Hill. Gloomy as it was there was no mist.

We began the day by visiting the Royal Mail Delivery Office very early. Jackie parked outside on Lymington High Street while I entered the office to do battle about the non-delivery card featured yesterday. This related to a package which had not born sufficient postage. I plonked the card on the counter, simply stating that I had followed directions and posted the card to them only to receive it back in our own letter box the next day. Saying nothing, the gentleman I had spoken to walked away and returned with the ‘package’ which bore no postage at all.

When I expressed surprise at what this was I did receive an apology and was not asked to prove my identity. Returning to the car I handed Jackie the item and made my sister Jacqueline’s morning by, through gritted teeth, thanking her kindly for her Christmas card which undoubtedly cost us more to collect than it had cost her to buy.

While waiting for me Jackie had photographed a foggy High Street.

She pulled over at Undershore Road while I continued my conversation with my sister and

photographed some boats on Lymington River.

A pack of cyclists emerged from the mist on South Baddersley Road.

We diverted to Tanner’s Lane

where I stepped out to photograph the beach and its environs, including a flotilla of geese and solitary silent gulls. The honking of the larger birds drew my attention to how quiet the morning was. The only other sounds we heard on the whole trip were the mournful notes of foghorns and the plops of mizzle moisture dripping onto soggy leaves.

Jackie photographed a corner of the beach, and me on the silently sliding shingle.

The drips rippling the eponymous Lake made no sound as we made our way along Sowley Lane.

We drove along St Leonard’s Road to the relics of the Grange. Cattle peered through the gloom, and pigeons perched on the roof of the barn.

Our familiar group of ponies with their Shetland acolyte trotted briskly past, close enough to become more visible.

Those at East Boldre remained obscured.

At East End the thatcher’s fox still kept its quarry in sight.

It was not yet 11 a.m. as we returned home along Southampton Road.

For dinner this evening we enjoyed another helping of Jackie’s delicious beef pie served with similar, fresh, vegetables to yesterday, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Tempranillo.

Photographing Windsurfers

After lunch I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2021/09/26/a-knights-tale-40-not-a-book-illustrator/

Later, partly in order to preserve petrol, we took a short drive to Tanners Lane and back. The garage that had been the cause of severe hold-ups two days running as panic buyers queued for petrol, had only a couple of pumps working, so we were able to pass it unimpeded.

Within sight of the Isle of Wight windsurfers were out in force at the end of the lane.

Jackie photographed me photographing them, and also distant passing yachts.

This evening we dined on tasty baked gammon; crisp fried potatoes; moist ratatouille; firm carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; and tender runner beans. Jackie drank Sud de France Rosé 2020 and I drank Prestige de Calvet Cotes du Rhone 2020.

In Their Element

Although steady rain returned this afternoon, this morning’s weather was bright and sunny, so we, wisely as it turned out, paid attention to the forecast and took a forest drive.

Tanners Lane, down which, as so often, we encountered ponies on our way to the beach has been impossible to negotiate during the tourist season. What with that and Covid we have not visited this for six months or so.

This barrier log is one means residents employ of deterring parking across their entrances or on their verges.

A solitary trio of walkers enjoyed the beach, so close to the Isle of Wight.

The incoming tide whisked foam bubbles which, like outsize frogspawn clusters, clung to floating seaweed binding the moistened rocks.

After having been dry for several months the pool outside St Leonards Grange, thanks to three days of almost continual rain, is now full again, and most of the members of the local equine tribe are back in their element enjoying weed soup, while one

favoured drier fodder on a bank beneath a spreading oak.

This evening we dined at The Lamb Inn at Nomansland, approaching which Jackie photographed me; also her main course of an excellent beef burger and mine of an equally good steak and ale pie with roasted carrots and parsnips. Each was served with a bucket of chips. Our respective desserts were perfect moist chocolate fudge cake and Bakewell tart of similar quality, each with ice cream. My wife drank Carlsberg and I drank Doom Bar.

Avian Pairs

Today was bright and sunny, if a little chilly.

Because this was the weekend, there was a little more humanity on the forest roads, mainly in the form of

family groups of walkers like these on St Leonards Road,

and cyclists in pairs or singly, like this one on Sowley Lane.

We had planned to visit the beach at the end of Tanners Lane, but thought better of it when we met a row of parked cars near the entrance. Clearly the shingle would be crowded. Jackie backed up a long way before reaching a turning space.

The narrow track leading solely to the beach beside the Solent is one of our ancient thoroughfares that is bordered by

high banks and deep ditches, centuries of erosion having exposed gnarled roots. This verge is on the side edged by fields;

the opposite side flanks gardens, like this one, the top of which is fenced against the road above, from which we can look down on the cottage below.

Blackthorn blossom blooms beneath the bank.

Donkeys dined in ditches,

along the verges,

and up the banks.

Sometimes, like the man with the red flag during the early years of motor traffic, they kept the speed down by leading from the front. The passenger in this car was doing what I do, and photographing the donkey.

Sowley Lane is flanked by fields, one of which bears the first coat of bright yellow pigment that will develop into oil seed rape.

A pheasant courtship was taking place in the next field.

I turned my attention to ponies on the verges, one of which animals bore uncomfortable looking red eyes.

A pair of mallards waddled past as I approached another along the dappled road.

A cyclist approached as the two ducks neared the original pony now being joined by another.

The drake and his mate crossed the road as I attempted to come a bit closer.

They slipped into the water-filled ditch. As I pointed my lens they took flight. I just about managed to catch one of them.

One pony crossed back across the road and left its companion to

have an energetic scratch.

We returned home via Lisle Court Road which featured a sun-spotted thatched cottage,

with a neighbouring iconic red telephone box having undergone a makeover.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chicken jalfrezi; savoury rice, palak paneer, onion bahjis, and plain paratha, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the El Zumbido Garnacha, Syrah.

“Alice’s Last Day”

On this bright and chilly morning, Nugget was torn away from his perch on the lip of

Jackie’s tulip planting pot

by Muggle’s war cries, which, proudly puffed up, he was required to reciprocate from a higher viewpoint.

“Where’s Nugget?” (49).

Later, we drove into the forest, taking School Lane out of Milford on Sea.

Tanners Lane was to produce two very enjoyable conversations.

The first was with Ed and Alice who were enjoying “Alice’s last day” in Lymington before travelling up to London for an interview for a job in Marylebone which, of course, I knew very well. I wished her luck and gave them a blog card.

The second was with a painter working on number 7.

Jackie and I must have been watching the renovation work in progress for a good two years now.

First there was the roofing of master thatcher A. D. Smith, with renovations by New Forest Oak Buildings

The painter confirmed my observation that the different materials in the walls are being matched and preserved.

Soon work will commence inside. Maybe I will have further opportunities to enter the historic building.

My informant told me that he had been delayed coming to work yesterday because the Beaulieu River had burst its banks. We therefore headed off in that direction.

Cattle basked on the moorland at East End

and grazed on the hillside above

St Leonards Road, for much of the length of which we were required to track a string of veteran cyclists.

For variety in the game of “Where’s Nugget”, I can offer “Where’s the pheasant”, camouflaged in the verge side bracken.

Beaulieu Lake, presumably at high tide

was certainly fuller than usual,

providing a splendidly smooth cygnet paddling pool.

Rowing boats left on the soggy bank of the

now still river must have been put into service during the spate.

Today, another group of cyclists were able to gather round a wooden seat for relaxation, refreshment, and reflection.

I am not quite sure how this post has been published early, that is before we have dined on Mr. Pink’s Fish and chips, drunk Hoegaarden, and finished the Cabernet Franc.

Nesting Teapots

Before visiting Otter Nurseries for compost this morning we took a drive into the forest.

We met two different large vans on Undershore. This was the widest, straightest, end of this narrow sinuous lane.

A solitary pony made its way past a row of old thatched cottages facing the green at Pilley.

On the outskirts of the village, a group of ponies on the road revealed the freshly cut tails clearly received during a recent Drift.

I don’t think any of them would have tossed this can onto the verge.

Overlooked by a pigeon atop a dying tree

fine islands of water lilies float on a section of Hatchet Pond,

where an eager moorhen went blackberrying.

A slender barefoot woman walked over the shingle at low tide on Tanners Lane beach; rolled up her jeans; and joined her frisky dog splashing and paddling.

I spent the afternoon listening to the second day of the fourth Ashes Test match.

Jackie presented two teapots for Nugget’s consideration.

One is hidden on the trunk of the copper beech;

another in the ivy against the south fence of the Rose Garden.

“Where’s Nugget?” (15)

The Head Gardener also photographed these views.

This evening we dined on a splendid meal at Faros in Milford on Sea. Jackie chose Zucchini fritters followed by lamb giouvetsi with plentiful fresh salad; my selection was baked meatballs and beef stilfado with chips. Mrs Knight drank half of a Toast while I drank Xinomavro.

“Where’s It Gone?”

We took an early drive to the east of the forest this morning.

Having left Lymington we traversed Snooks Lane. The nature of this narrow, winding, road suggests that it is madness to reach the 40 m.p.h. limit marked on these lanes.

Despite the idyllic location and the recently completed cleaning of the Burrard Monument someone has tossed a coke can over the low wooden rail bordering the grounds.

The tide was out at Tanners Lane where a black headed gull foraged among the silt.

The Isle of Wight, The Needles, Hurst Castle, and the two lighthouses could be viewed through a certain amount of haze.

Our next stop was at Sowley Lane, where a pony grazed, a friendly gentleman trotted with his dog, a cyclist approached; and alongside which oilseed rape blazed through a field.

It was a sleeping baby on the opposite side of the road from his mother that had caused me to disembark. After a while he woke, awkwardly found his feet and wobbled across to the pony mare who, continuing to fuel herself, offered no assistance to her offspring who eventually, unaided, latched on to his source of nutriment.

Just as we were about to continue on our way, the Modus experienced a thudding sound and a gentle rocking. The foal was using it as a scratching post. While Jackie made these portraits our little friend even allowed her to stroke his nose.

We felt a bit stuck in place while the pony seemed stuck on us.

After a last lingering caress, he turned his head and bent it in the direction of his mother. This enabled us to take off, albeit slowly. Turning back in our direction he looked somewhat nonplussed as his image in my wing mirror gradually diminished. I swear he was thinking “where’s it gone?”.

For dinner this evening Jackie produced tandoori chicken; savoury and pilau rice; and fresh salad, with which I drank The Long Way Round reserve Carmenere 2018, another excellent selection from Ian’s Christmas case.