wedding – derrickjknight

Controlled Burning 2

I carried out a little picture culling this morning.

These images from Les Landes in August 2008 were featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2012/06/04/the-gite-from-hell/

This picture from May 2009 is the header for https://derrickjknight.com/2012/06/21/raincoat-or-umbrella/

These are from John and Stephanie’s wedding: https://derrickjknight.com/2013/10/06/a-wedding/

This afternoon we took a forest drive.

Controlled burning of gorse was underway along Forest Road.

“The Forestry Commission undertakes this activity now, which aims to regenerate the heather and gorse whilst hindering invading scrub, by setting fire to the heathland. Using fire to improve the heathland may sound counter-intuitive but the burning actually encourages new growth, which is beneficial to a variety of flora and fauna, as well as providing food for the commonable livestock. It also plays an important role in reducing the risk of wildfires in the summer months that can burn out of control and have a devastating effect on vegetation and wildlife. Heathland wildfires are particularly dangerous because they can burn below ground causing long-lasting damage to the peat and the mineral soil underneath.

“Practice of controlled burning
The law permits controlled burning each year from the first working day in November until the last working day of March. However, in practice it generally starts in early February because the worst of the winter weather is over, there are no birds nesting or animals producing young, the vegetation is still quite dry and the damp ground offers protection to the peaty soil. The process is strictly controlled and only a small percentage of the heathland is burned each year (on average 400 hectares) and only then in rotation, which traditionally is once every generation (about 25 years). A firebreak is first established around the area to be burned, which is made by using a cutting machine. Visitors to the Forest often have mistaken these safety margins in the heath for tracks or footpaths. The firebreaks are used to prevent the spread of flames to other parts of the heathland. Only skilled and experienced staff are permitted to undertake controlled burning of the heathland. In times past however, the commoners often operated their own unofficial controlled burning effort because they felt that the Forestry Commission programme was ineffective or did not cover the areas of heathland they wanted rejuvenated for their animals. Happily today the programme is better coordinated and many of the Forest organisations, including the Verderers, are consulted prior to any burning programme to ensure their cooperation.

“Benefits of controlled burning
But not everyone is in favour of the controlled burning and some argue that it actually has a detrimental effect on the heathland by reducing the nutrients in the soil. Nevertheless it is a practice that is still widely used, particularly on grouse moors in northern England, to encourage new growth. It also has one additional benefit that no other type of heathland management, including cutting or swiping, can provide and that is the reduction of ticks and the risk of Lymes Disease. A traditional benefit of controlled burning, but one not practised today, was the harvesting by the commoners of the ‘blackjacks’, the burnt holly and gorse stems, to sell as firewood. What you might see today however, during the periods of controlled burning, are ponies sporting blackened criss-cross markings over their flanks and hindquarters. This is a sure sign that they have been picking their way through the blackjacks and have become striped by the charcoal stalks of the holly and gorse stems as they pass by them. These haphazard markings can give them the appearance of very odd-looking zebras.” (newforestcommoner.co.uk)

Ponies cropped the verges outside Burley.

While I unsuccessfully struggled to photograph a herd of deer in a field off Crow Lane with the low sun blinding me, a string of stags took off, crossed the side road, and leapt the fence beside us. I still couldn’t see much because my eyes remained dazzled, but I managed these two shots.

Around North Gorley we enjoyed some autumn colour, a horse drawn cart and a solitary Gloucester Old Spot sow, sensibly sticking to the

verge as, much to the amusement of oncoming car passengers, donkeys dominated the road.

This evening we dined on chicken Kiev, Southern fried chicken, and Jackie’s savoury rice with which I drank Reserva Privada Chilean Merlot 2022.

A Vow

Yesterday was a glorious one for a wedding. The sun shone throughout, and it was cool enough in the shade. This was the occasion of the wedding of Mr and Mrs Andrew and Danielle Milwain, and most delightful it was.

When Jackie and I lived in Minstead I had often, en route to Lyndhurst and back, walked past the Strictly Private sign to a rough road leading to the New Forest Outdoor Centre. Yesterday, we were entitled to make our way along the track. I decided to walk, but

by the time I had reached a splendid rhododendron, realised it was probably quite a long way, especially as other cars were clearly going much further on. One of these was Frances’s, being driven by her son-in-law Paul, who hooted, grinned, and gave me a two-fingered salute. This seemed somewhat less than respectful of the young man.

Soon after this, I was relieved to see Jackie’s Modus hove into view. She had correctly assessed that I probably needed to be driven myself.

The venue was quite idyllic. The main building was of wooden construction suitable for the purposes of outdoor activities and was licensed for weddings. The lawn was inviting, and those who were planning to stay overnight had begun to pitch their tents or take occupation of their named huts.

Those gathering for the event

included Louisa with Jessica and Imogen, seen here conversing with their great grandmother.

Eventually it was time for us to take our seats inside and wait, with Andy, the handsome groom, for Rob, his soon-to-be father-in-law, to lead Danni, the beautiful bride, into the Registrar’s temporary domain.

Perhaps the highlight of the ceremony was the abduction of the rings. All had gone swimmingly until my nephew Adam was called upon to present the two gold bands. At precisely that moment, his son, Jasper did a runner. He made it out of the front door before Thea, the little boy’s mother caught up with him. It was then she realised that she held the box containing the rings which she had been just about to hand to her husband. Universal hilarity ensued, the rings were recovered, and the unfazed Registrar continued conducting the proceedings.

I had been given the honour of performing a reading. This was my choice:

A VOW by WENDY COPE

It earned me a kiss from the bride.

After the ceremony we all milled about, snacking on garlic bread and enjoying drinks from the bar, until a splendid salad and cold meats lunch with red and white wine was served in the refectory.

Hundreds of photographs were taken by the guests, and probably 1000+ by the official photographer, who kept set pieces to the absolute minimum.

Here he is shooting Danni with her brother Adam and her parents Elizabeth and Rob.

At lunch in the marquee, the father of the bride gave a tender and entertaining speech, which was followed by one from the groom who omitted no-one in his eloquent thanks, and another from Danni’s friend Laura who claimed to be getting in on the act in the same way as Danni had done at hers.

This morning Aaron presented me with an apt footnote to the great day. I accompanied him to Mole Country Supplies where we purchased materials for a fence he is building for us. This involved two trips with his van. He knew about the wedding and I described the venue. He told me he had spent two days picking stones out of the lawn a year or so ago. I trust anyone reading this who spent last night in a tent will appreciate our friend’s efforts.

Hordle Chinese Take Away provided our dinner this evening. It was as good as usual. We both drank Kingfisher, which doesn’t vary much either.

What Would You Save?

Using mostly out-of-focus prints ranging from 12cm x 7cm to 8cm x 10cm in size, I aimed today to produce the rest of the A4 prints of the wedding of the parents of Ron and his sister Jackie, in Highcliffe on 15th September 1945. The originals could not be removed from the septuagenarian album, so I had to scan them in situ, balancing one side of the volume on the handle of a conveniently placed hole punch. Scanning a page at a time meant that there were two or three to be copied at once. I then had to duplicate the pages and crop one photo at a time. The resultant images vary somewhat in quality, but I am reasonably pleased with them.

Here are the final half dozen:

An unknown photographer did well to make this image of the ceremony using the available light inside St Mark’s Church, Highcliffe. I left this one alone, feeling that the creases accompanied the shafts of sunlight in a rather charming manner.

I imagine Captain Raymond Salinger is here accompanied by his best man. The photographer had clearly developed a list. I straightened to picture as much as I could without shaving the gentleman on our right. Daphne’s parents were the licensees of The Walkford which was closed to the public for the reception.

As the bride and groom leave the church, a Wren unwittingly steals the picture, which I would have been pleased to have taken.

Group photos in the garden of The Walkford perhaps caused one gentleman to be impatient

for Daphne and Ray to lead the way into the reception.

A conversation piece is often the question: ‘what would you save if your house was burning down’. Very often the answer is ‘photographs’.

Had Mr and Mrs Salinger not saved their wedding album when, some twenty years later, their house burnt to the ground with most of its contents, this post would not have been possible. Not that that would have entered their heads. Or mine.

After this continuation of a task begun yesterday, I all but completed another. This was incinerating branches and clippings. Heaps of leaves remain for another session.

Having spent the day on garden maintenance, Jackie produced her famous chicken jalfrezi (recipe) with mushroom rice for this evening’s dinner. She drank Hoegaarden and I quaffed more of the cabernet sauvignon.

Make Love, Not War

Now that our garden possesses better flooring than that inside the house, we cannot light bonfires in overflowing, legless, rusty, wheelbarrows any more. On another gloriously sunny morning we therefore went on a galvanised garden incinerator search. Beginning with Otter nurseries we performed a local tour, ending up where we had started. The bin we had been shown earlier had just been sold. The only alternative one was being used to display other goods because it had no lid. The assistant had obviously forgiven us for spurning her earlier offer, because she went hunting and found a lid. This evening, we tried out the pyre, which produced an intense, contained, heat.

Furry bees are stocking up for winter.

Behind Jackie’s new owl they scour the sedums,

as the sun casts its light across the garden.

Weeding of the paths has to be done with a certain amount of circumspection if one wishes to preserve self-seeded violas.

On 15th September 1945, one month after VJ day, the date that signalled the final conclusion of the Second World War, escorts of uniformed Wrens and soldiers lined up at the wedding of Miss Daphne V. Mitchell, Wren, with Captain Raymond J. Salinger, R.E.M.E. This took place at St Mark’s Church, Highcliffe, after which guests were invited to a reception at The Walkford Hotel. Throughout the globe, brides and grooms at that time must truly have felt they had been given a licence to make love, not war.

Seventy years on, Daphne and Ray, who still live in Walkford, are about to celebrate their platinum anniversary.

This was the event celebrated in the album from which their son Ron has asked me to produce a selection of 10″ x 8″ prints. Because most of the photographs are small, and all need quite a lot of retouching in the scanning, I began with just two today.

This evening we dined on chicken Kiev, boiled new potatoes and cauliflower, and a melange of peppers, mushrooms, onions, and sun-dried tomatoes fried in olive oil. Custard tarts were to follow. I drank Louis de Companac cabernet sauvignon 2014.

Annie

The garden still freshly dripped this morning after a night’s deluge of rain. I was reminded of ‘A few of [Julie Andrews’s] favourite things’, from ‘The Sound of Music’.
After a wander round the estate, Jackie drove me to New Milton for me to catch the London train. I visited the money bank first, but was still rather early for the train and sat outside the station for a while. Plum-like fruit had dropped from their branches and tumbled down a grassy bank opposite, into the wet gutter. Because I didn’t know what they were, especially as they were a yellow/orange colour, I asked a passing woman who seemed vaguely familiar. She identified them as greengages and walked on into the ticket office. Soon afterwards she, having had the same sense of partial recognition, returned, having realised I was Chris’s brother.
Annie, which is her name, was at school with my sister in law Frances and a joint friend of theirs called Stephanie. Chris, Frances, Stephanie and her husband,John, had once shared a holiday with Jackie and me in Sigoules. We had first met at my niece Fiona’s wedding to Paul in August 2007, at which I had, fortunately for this post’s illustrations, taken the photographs. Jackie and I had both then met them at Chris and Frances’s Ruby Wedding celebration.

Here is Fiona on her big day:

She and Paul here stand with their respective mothers, Frances, of course, next to her daughter:

Finally, Stephanie and Annie, on the right, arrive in the garden:

Otherwise, my journey was uneventful until I arrived at Waterloo. At the Gents on the station the change machine let fall into the tray 3 x 20p in exchange for my 50p piece. Either because the dispenser didn’t appear to have any 10p coins or because the barriers themselves were faulty they were left open and we were all invited to walk through at no charge. Soon afterwards, I picked up £5 on the concourse. Normally, in order to use the conveniences, one is relieved of 30 pee. Instead of this, I emerged from the terminal station £5.10p better off. I’d call that a result.

I took my usual route to Norman’s where he fed us on roast pork, roasted vegetables, croquette potatoes, and broad beans, followed by mixed fruit latticed tart. We shared a fine bottle of Douro.

After this, I travelled by my customary method to Carol’s, and from there back to New Milton where Jackie was waiting and drove me home.

Kenneth Clark learned his trade as an art historian long before the subject was taught in British universities like Nottingham, where my granddaughter Emily is currently studying. Clark was an extremely accomplished member of the profession, as is amply evidenced by ‘The Nude’, which I finished reading on the train. He has a sensitive and insightful approach to his material which covers drawings, paintings, and sculpture from antiquity to the early twentieth century. First published in 1956, before the advent of the internet, his encyclopaedic knowledge is impressive, and eloquently and entertainingly expressed. My Folio Society edition, the beautiful cover of which is featured in my post of 24th July, is lavishly illustrated.