waves – Page 8 – derrickjknight

A Blustery Day

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On a day of winds fit to threaten lingering autumn leaves like those on our crab apples, Jackie drove us to our GP surgery at Milford on Sea for our flu jabs (influenza vaccines).

Down at the coast, vociferous waves crashed onto breakwaters and rolled onto the shore and over the sea wall.

Even the gulls found huddling on the car park tarmac preferable to facing the buffeting elements.

Dramatic skies, seas, and lighting effects gave yet another perspective to the Isle of Wight and The Needles.

When I had my fill of being coated in salt water in the interests of my art, I rejoined Jackie in the car, and did my best to clean the camera lenses.

We then continued on to Friars Cliff beach where we brunched at the cafe.

Here the breakwaters also took a pounding,

but four walkers and a couple of romping dogs ventured onto the beach.

The smaller of the two dogs had a debate with its owner about whether it was possible to take refuge in the cafe. This somewhat obstructed my entrance.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s chicken marinaded in piri-piri and lemon; roasted vegetables, steamed cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, with mashed potato, I finished the madiran.

The Stone Face

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This afternoon Jackie drove me to Hengistbury Head, where she drank coffee and I explored the scene.

En route to the beach, I passed the top of the hill, where walkers could be seen, to my left,

and observed silhouetted figures against the sea and skyline.

There was a new angle on the Isle of Wight and The Needles.

Walkers accompanied their dogs along the beach,

where a group did their best to dodge the advancing tide.

A gentleman contemplated the scene, and walked down the shingle to join them.

Eventually I did the same, and watched the sea slap the flanks of the rocks,

receding, sliding, slipping over the glistening, tinkling, shingle, and sucking at the seeping sand.

Soon the rolling waves came roaring in

and I walked back up to the footpath, passing a stone face, mouth open, ready to drink from the spume that would hopefully reach it.

I watched walkers ascending the hill which had once been home to Stone Age people (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hengistbury_Head)

Below, others were returning along the beach where

a pair of swans I had seen earlier still floated on the water.

We continued on to Boscombe where the pier was set against the sunbeams lighting the sea,

before returning home to a meal of fish cakes in lemon and parsley sauce, with boiled potatoes, carrots, cauliflower and broccoli, followed by bread and butter pudding. We finished the sauvignon blanc.

On The Beach (1)

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Today was largely overcast with the occasional glimpse of the sun. Jackie drove us to Mudeford and back.

We began with Avon Beach , which this couple walked along.

Maybe they reached as far as Friar’s Cliff Beach to the left.

The spray from the waves whooshing onto the shore reflected the red-brown tints of the seaweed they brought with them.

Gulls picked their way among the vegetation and the myriads of flies rising from it.

Dogs periodically dashed after the birds.

They would probably be astounded if they ever caught one.

Bobbing up and down amidst the choppy surface, the gulls showed how surfing should be done.

Especially the synchronised version.

A family stepped out on a stone breakwater,

then one member photographed the others as I focussed on the Lifeguards Hut.

Periodically the sunlight slashed the horizon,

or pierced the clouds with gentler Jesus beams.

We moved on to Mudeford Quay, where the above photograph was taken.

A series of motor dinghies braved the choppy waters.

They battled through conflicting currents before turning to starboard and slaloming a series of buoys on their way to the open sea.

We think this is another Lifeguards Hut on a spit opposite the quay.

This evening we dined at Royal China in Lymington, where we enjoyed the usual excellent food and friendly service. We both drank Tsingtao beer.

Going For A Paddle

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On another summery September day Jackie and I nursed colds indoors whilst Aaron and Sean virtually completed removing the grizelinia hedge. I scanned another couple of dozen colour slides from September 1982. These were from a holiday in Brittany enjoyed with our friends Ann and Don. Here is a selection:

The group nearest the centre of this underpopulated beach include Jessica, Ann, and Sam.

A gentleman emerged from the sea clutching a cluster of seaweed;

a string of gleeful children danced their way to the ocean;

a lone woman passing them traversed the beach.

Hand in hand, Jessica and Ann led Sam into the water

and swung him to meet the wavelets.

Ann continued the gymnastics

while Jessica went for a paddle.

Sam, dried off, and ready for bed, told his sister all about it.

Attached to our rented gite was a shed with a corrugated iron roof

that blended quite well with the ageing hydrangeas.

This evening we dined on pizza and I drank Doom Bar.

‘You Don’t Know Me…..’

This morning Jackie and I joined Helen and Bill, Shelly and Ron on a visit to the exhibition at The First Gallery. We had an enjoyable time together with Paul and Margery.

On the road from Brockenhurst to Beaulieu, a herd of cattle, complete with a number of calves, streamed out of the forest to our right, crossed the road with their customary insouciance, and came bearing down upon our little Modus.

The car ahead of us edged forward. But, having enlarged the image by clicking on it, keep an eye on the two white calves towards the rear of the file on our left.

They brought the optimistic driver to a halt by, oblivious of the cumbersome gait they would soon grow into, frolicking across the front of his vehicle like a pair of spring lambs. As can be seen we were already at a standstill.

The animals had free access to the road from our right, but the forest was fenced on our left so, wherever they were going, they travelled, at what seemed an increasing rate the nearer they approached, along the tarmac.

As I have mentioned before, they are inquisitive beasts,

and are convinced that they own the road.

I really think they imagined

that, if they kept on coming,

the obstruction that was our little car

would simply move aside.

On our way home, having a hankering for an awesome Needles Eye Cafe breakfast, we took a diversion to Milford on Sea where

the waves were becoming choppy,

a yacht skimmed past The Needles lighthouse,

gulls glided on the wing,

and family groups promenaded.

In the cafe, as we sat with our drinks awaiting our fry-ups, I was approached by an attractive woman who opened with ‘You don’t know me, but I know you. You’re Derrick, aren’t you?’ Naturally I was keen to learn more. ‘I own this place, and I read your blog’. This was Simone. Not only had she remembered the photograph I had put on a post practically two years ago, but she recollected that on that day my toast had been forgotten. I did remind her that I would not have been able to eat it anyway.

At least one couple were hardy enough to use the tables outside, and families enjoyed the children’s playground that was provided for customers.

This evening Jackie dined on her excellent lamb jafrezi and savoury rice, with a paratha. Well she had not had the maxed up breakfast and chips for lunch.

The Battle Of The Atlantic

This afternoon, I finished reading Jonathan Dimbleby’s excellent history, ‘The Battle of The Atlantic’, the story of a series of ocean conflicts that occupied the best part of the Second World War. Having been born in 1942, I unwittingly, along with the rest of us at home, bore the consequences of the shortages of basic living requirements for a good decade after Victory in Europe Day three years later. But I kept my life. Unlike those many thousands of sailors of the Royal Navy and the Merchant Marine; not forgetting the German crewmen, who died such terrible deaths in the struggles to supply the Allies.

Dimbleby has written a thoroughly engaging book detailing not only the political and strategic decisions of the combatants, but also the horrors of the battles, and the effects on the lives of civilians ashore.

The author’s concentration on the conditions endured by both the merchant seamen and the enlisted crew-members brings home to the reader the horrific nature of those years at sea. His description of the consequences of the severe weather on navigation and the impossibility of prolonged survival in the water makes the scenes in and around the lifeboats in the film ‘Titanic’ seem like coping with a capsized pleasure craft in a municipal boating lake. It had, for example, never occurred to me that the vessels on the Arctic convoys could become so iced up that the weight of the frozen water on deck would be capable of sinking a ship.

Sam, after his solo Atlantic row, told us how the waves could toss his little boat considerable distances through the air. Dimbleby describes much larger vessels being given similar treatment.

Since the last few negatives of our March 2004 visit to Barbados are of the Atlantic’s multicoloured waves, albeit in the shelter of the Barbados shore, it seemed appropriate for me to scan them for today’s illustrations.

Tonight we dined on Jackie’s excellent chilli con carne and savoury rice, followed by treacle and apple tarts with thick cream.

The Biggest Aspidistra In The World?

(THE TITLE IS THE RESULT OF AN ERROR ON MY PART. AS SEVERAL COMMENTERS HAVE POINTED OUT, MY ASPIDISTRA IS A PLUMBAGO. AH, WELL, IT GAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO INTRODUCE GRACIE FIELDS. I WON’T CORRECT MY TEXT, BECAUSE THE JOKE IS NOW ON ME, BUT THANKS ARE DUE TO ALL MY EDITORS 🙂

Even though today was Easter Sunday, and the weather was blustery and showery with occasional sunshine, Aaron and Robin finished weeding the gravel paths in the garden.

This afternoon I scanned the penultimate batch of Barbados negatives from March 2004.

These were the last few from the Bridgetown walk and the first from around the Sugar Cane Club hotel to which we transferred when realised that our initial choice, at the southernmost tip of the island, was so far from Port St Charles where Sam would be ending his epic row.

I would be grateful if anyone could identify this rather magnificent tree with its root tentacles.

Here are some more roadside dwellings, both fixed and chattel examples, all with beautifully rusting corrugated iron roofs;

and, naturally, bougainvillea,

hibiscus,

and frangipani.

I couldn’t identify these flowers.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XROMw3Z4e0&w=420&h=315]

I also learned that Gracie Fields’s claim for her brother Joe was probably rather dubious.

Their aspidistra couldn’t have been as big as this one.

Our new hotel, near the shores of the Atlantic, was well equipped with sun loungers.

The Ocean itself bore out Homer’s description of the ‘wine-dark sea’.

This evening we dined on roast duck; roast potatoes; colourful and crunchy carrots, broccoli and Brussels sprouts; and gravy so full of goodies as to accommodate a standing spoon. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished one bottle of the madiran and poured a glass from the next, with which I will continue now.

A Precocious Hellebore

We are still enjoying temperatures in double figures, and the rain was easier today.

This morning we left a large photographic print for mounting with 4Most Framing in Old Milton. We returned home via Barton on Sea where

the waves were choppy and a layer of spray around the dimly visible Isle of Wight gave it the appearance of a Hovercraft skimming over the surface of the water.

The weather was still mild enough for walkers to venture onto the shore down below the crumbling cliff.

This afternoon we brought our Christmas decorations downstairs and prepared a space for the tree which still occupies the boot of the car.

Jackie picked a precocious hellebore bloom and placed it in a little brown Victorian cream jug gathered by Matthew during our mudlarking days.

Later, she trailed a string of coloured lights along the front garden trellis.

The Christmas lights at Lymington, where we dined at Lal Quilla, were inviting, but I forgot my camera. Although it is several months since we last visited the restaurant we received our usual warm welcome and excellent meals with Kingfisher beer.

A French Holiday, A Porridge Bath, A Wedding, And A Mystery Woman

Once again this month we had not put the bottles out for recycling. Jackie therefore drove us to the bottle bank in Milford on Sea where I enjoyed the sound of smashing glass as I lobbed our assorted bottles and jars into the large green bins. Jackie then left me by The Beach House and I struggled home by the usual route.

Why struggled? This was because I began battling against powerful winds, coming off the sea to my left and straight ahead.I was somewhat buffeted.

When I took this photograph of the solitary speedboat venturing onto the water, I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and had to hope for the best.

The turbulent Solent took on various colours of slate, as usual reflecting the skies above. I was at first able to descend to the level of the beach huts on the outskirts of the village and watch the oncoming waves.

Soon, sharp needles assailing my cheeks, made me aware that the spray ascending the cliff sides had been superseded by almost horizontal rods of rain. I was being pricked, drenched, and blinded.

In order to open my eyes for a few minutes, I took refuge in one of shelters along the path. I had, until then, been alone on the cliff top. I blinked, dragged my wet raincoat sleeves across my brow, and, as the Isle of Wight rapidly disappeared, saw a couple with the wind behind them, being swept along past me. The blemishes on the photograph are caused by raindrops on the camera lens.

Fully understanding why the America’s Cup yacht race had been cancelled yesterday, I resumed my trek into the wind, and was eventually relieved by the comparative calm of the more sheltered Shorefield Country Park. When I arrived home I needed to peel off my garments, and dry myself.

This was clearly going to be a day for scanning old photographs. As I pondered which ones to embark upon, the post arrived. A welcome bundle from Frances was delivered. This contained items from Chris’s postcard collection, some of his photographic prints, and a tiny Kodak transparency measuring one by one and a half centimetres.

The postcards were from my maternal grandparents, and from my great uncle Chris, addressed to my parents and the family in September 1951. All bearing French stamps and clear postmarks there was

one from Cannes,

one from Peira-Cava,

and one from Nice.

In ‘Fundraising’ I wrote about a charitable stunt I was engaged in on 2nd July 1987. Chris took all the photographs at that event. Here are a couple more of them:

I entered the porridge bath as Jane Reynolds, Westminster Mencap’s Director, was leaving.

I then had it to myself for a while.

My brother’s second photo shoot was at Michael and Heidi’s wedding.

Here are the bride and groom, with Michael’s Best Man, Mark Banks.

Parents and bridesmaids now join the couple. Reading from left to right, we have Heidi’s sister, Cath, me, Jessica, Louisa, Michael, Heidi, Heidi’s parents Werner and Joan, and two more bridesmaids.

Next it was the turn of gents in top hats. The two fathers flank their offspring. Matthew stands next me, then comes Heidi’s brother Chris, and Mark. Two more ushers are to Werner’s right. The comes Sam.

Finally, we have the mystery woman framed, with perhaps her son, by the minuscule transparency. I managed to scan it and e-mail it to Frances. Neither of us know who this is. Kodak had kindly embossed the date, 1976, on the plastic holder. Can anyone solve the puzzle?

I drank Doom Bar beer with Mr Pink’s fish and chips this evening. Jackie abstained. We added supermarket-bought pickled onions and gherkins.

The Caribbean Sea

Today was another rainswept blustery day, so I returned to my photographic archives and scanned a dozen slides from May 2004. This was the month in which Sam completed his Atlantic Row, which I have featured from time to time. During the few days waiting for him to arrive in Port St Charles, Barbados, and afterwards, I took the opportunity to roam the Island with my camera. There are many more in this set.

Jessica, Louisa, and I began our stay in an hotel some miles from the finishing point, but soon transferred to join Chris, Frances, and Fiona in one in the luxurious developing holiday playground.

This area presented a stark contrast to how the rest of the inhabitants of Barbados lived. Our hotel was surrounded by a compound patrolled by armed guards to keep out people like a coconut seller seated on the wall outside. His produce looked unappetising and he charged fairly optimistic prices.

Some distance away, a young woman, seated on a rugged outcrop gazing out to sea, was persuaded to rise to her feet.

Port St Charles (Speightstown on the map) lies on the Caribbean Sea to the north west of the Island. To the east storms the Atlantic ocean. The two bodies of water meet at the northern tip of the Island. Rowers need to navigate this point with precision. Too wide and the current would would carry them to Cuba, too near and they would be smashed on these rocks. The competitors rowed in pairs or solo. One of the pairs hit the rocks, and had to be rescued.

These seascapes are of the more gentle Caribbean.

Much less inviting was the dark, violent, Atlantic that, on the last couple of days, swept my son so fast towards his final destination that he dropped his anchor to slow himself down in order to arrive in daylight. Not for him, Cuba or the rocks.

Late this afternoon the rain desisted and the sun put in a brief appearance.

The red hot pokers were not extinguished,

and raindrops glistened on day lilies,

dahlias,

the clematis Duchess of Albany,

Priscilla, the gladiolus,

the Absolutely Fabulous rose,

and any others you care to imagine.

This evening we dined on a rack of pork ribs in barbecue sauce, and Jackie’s chicken in black bean sauce, stir fry vegetable noodles, and rice noodles, followed by rice pudding. I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon, and Jackie abstained.