Although still breezy and somewhat nippy, our morning’s weather was much brighter.
Accompanied by chirruping small birds, the screeching of the greenfinch, the cooing of doves, the repeated mating plea of a wood pigeon, and the gentle buzzing of the bees,
Jackie continued her various plantings such as those in tubs, stone urns, box containers and hanging baskets;
I picked up fallen debris then went round the bend, almost completing the task of clearing the Heligan Path of weeds.
My next task will be recovering the overgrown footpath leading to the chair in the Weeping Birch Bed. I assure you there is one there.
At one point the Head Gardener popped out to Ferndene Farm Shop and returned with more compost. This enabled her to replace some older material
and use it, to the consternation of a few owls – one of which was given a dry shampoo – to refresh the soil-leaking stumpery.
After lunch we took a trip to the north of the forest.
We stopped on Cadnam Lane to admire the group of Shetland ponies with their big grey companion. By the time I had changed my lens and emerged from the car, they were all setting off into the distance. They were not going to play ball today.
The soft toys attached to a gate and railings are looking pretty soggy now.
Further along we encountered a trio of what Jackie termed “deliciously disgusting” sows.
Wherever we drive in the New Forest at the moment it increasingly bears the look of an arboreal charnel house.
On the approach to Bramshaw I disembarked and made some images that could have been found almost anywhere in our National Park, committed as its management is to maintaining the natural ecology.
The most recently sawn trunk and branches had clearly fallen across the road, for its trunk and branches have been cut up on opposite sides.
A sturdy oak supports another tree that has been ripped asunder.
One decaying trunk has taken on the persona of an almost toothless old man of the woods.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome sausage casserole; boiled potatoes; firm carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.
This morning we visited Lidl for a big shop. The Caterer in Chief donned a mask, entered the supermarket, and returned with a trolley load of goods while I sat in the car and read until it was time for me to assist with loading the purchases into the boot. When we arrived home I unloaded the Modus. Jackie was meant to have a rest at this point, but she started unpacking the bags before preparing lunch which I helped her eat.
After lunch we took a forest drive.
As we entered the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive, piles of sawn body parts of a huge shallow-rooted oak tree that had succumbed to the recent storm prompted me to ask my Chauffeuse to park on the verge so I could create pictures. As we will see, the rich red tones of freshly sawn living wood will soon adopt more subdued hues. In fact I suspect that some of this material will be sold to craftspeople for the creation of furniture or ornaments such as the the mushrooms made for Jackie by Matthew Chalk of https://www.blackstone-chalk.co.uk
The rest may be left in situ to return in time to the soil from which it sprang. The woodland along the Drive is littered with trees in various stages of decomposition; the forest floor demonstrates how fallen timber is eventually overcome by moss as it sinks into the ground creating a bas-relief of its living form, blending with fallen leaves. The last image in this gallery clearly shows the process. Numerous insects are nurtured by the generated matter.
The droppings deposited by the ponies foraging nearby make their own plentiful contributions.
We encountered similar scenes on the road to Linwood. One of the ponies bore battle scars. I was somewhat surprised, when photographing the white-maned creature, to turn and find a bay right behind me breathing down my neck. Much to Jackie’s amusement, I backed off rapidly.
Although dry, the day had not been bright and was increasingly overcast by the time we reached Appleslade, where ponies,
a couple necking in the open, stood out on the hillside.
This evening we dined on a rack of ribs in barbecue sauce; Jackie’s savoury rice topped with a fluffy omelette; and fresh salad, with which I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.
First published in 1936, just three years before the outbreak of World War 2, “Eyeless in Gaza” is possibly Aldous Huxley’s most acclaimed work. His familiar themes of the tension between emotional and intellectual lives of his privileged hedonistic characters are explored in depth with his usual insightful knowledge of these self-centred human beings. He also deals with the conflict between warfare and pacifism in a far-sighted way which resonates uncannily with our modern conflict between self-seeking hate and generous love. Sexuality in this work is seldom generous, sometimes manipulative, and often short-lived.
The language and the dialogue is always fluent with much easy, poetic, description, and occasional adventurous episodes.
I finished reading my somewhat careworn first edition today.
The remnants of the green shield logo of Boots Book-lovers’ Library and what looks like a peel-resistant borrowers record inside the back one suggest that my copy began life as an item on those shelves.
The lending libraries were established within branches of Boots across the country, employing dedicated library staff whose training included examinations on both librarianship and literature.[2] Boots’ libraries displayed books for browsing on open shelves[3] at a time when many public libraries had closed access. A catalogue of the books available was first published in 1904.
Subscriptions were available in Classes A and B, the latter being restricted to borrowing books at least one year old, as well as a premium ‘On Demand’ subscription.[4]Boots Booklovers Library edition of The Saint in Europe
Books carried the ‘green shield’ logo on the front and an eyelet at the top of the spine.[5] Membership tokens were rectangles of ivorine[6]with a string similar to a Treasury tag; the string could be secured through the eyelet so that the token acted as a bookmark.[7]
Boots also briefly reprinted classic books at the start of the 20th century under the imprint ‘Pelham Library’,[8] named after the flagship Boots shop on Pelham Street in Nottingham,[9] and later sold books as ‘Boots the Booksellers’.’
My mother was regularly taking my brother and me to Wimbledon Public Library from the late 1940s, (https://derrickjknight.com/2012/05/25/miss-downs/) so the 1964 Act mentioned above obviously had no effect on our town.
Like dogs marking their territory, previous readers had left deposits throughout the pages. The burn marks on page 17 we assumed had been left by a pipe smoker – they singed through three pages; other small greasy spots, about which it was best not to speculate too much, filtered through an equal number of pages; I wondered whether any of the numerous finger prints of varying hues had been held on any national data bases.
Nick began to make headway on the coloured walls in the sitting room, whilst adding coats to the white and to the ceiling.
We left him to it this afternoon and shopped at Ferndene Farm Shop where there was no queue, then took a short drive into the vicinity of Burley.
I wandered among the woodland on the outskirts. The tree fungus sprouts from the fallen tree. Roughly in the bottom centre of the last picture can be discerned
a bouncing squirrel on its way to climb a small holly carrying a chestnut which looked rather more than it could chew.
The spreading oak tree on the way down the hill into the village now wears a golden cape. The Queen’s Head is Covid-closed.
The pool on Forest Road has completely filled up now, and was reflecting nicely in the late afternoon sun.
Autumn leaves rested beneath the water.
On Bisterne Close a young foal was undertaking an apprenticeship in hedge clipping.
We have become Elizabeth’s bubble; she joined us for dinner which consisted of Jackie’s cheese-topped shepherd’s pie; crunchy cauliflower and carrots; firm green beans; and meaty gravy. Cherry pie and cream was to follow. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank more of the Faugeres, which involved opening another bottle.
Yesterday’s rain had desisted and sun was permitted the occasional appearance when we took a drive into the forest this afternoon.
A pony and foal had peeled off a group on Wootton Common alongside Holmsley Road. They held up the traffic on the opposite verge, until the mare abandoned the youngster who took some time to realise it had been left alone. Meanwhile the others were making their way through the shrubbery. Junior then trotted delicately back across the road and trailed after the others.
More ponies grazed among the forest trees along Rhinefield Road;
others set up barriers along the Linwood Road which is so narrow that it has designated passing places cut into the moorland.
We passed through Appleslade where walkers could be seen atop a hillside.
It was four and a half years ago, as featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2016/01/14/rockford-common/ that Becky had led me up the side of Rockford Sandpit.
The dead tree I had photographed on that occasion was still standing.
Today a group of children were engaged in what one is expected to do in a sandpit.
A small family were making the descent.
I determined to take the more sensible route up a winding, more gently sloping, solid path. It was easy enough to steer clear of the other climbers.
I photographed just one of the ponies at the top of Rockford Common, the distant landscape, the purple heather, and the browning bracken, before returning by the same route. This had been the toughest test of my new knees yet.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots and broccoli; and tender runner and green beans. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Pinot Noir.
On another hot and humid sunny day we took an early drive into the forest.
Ponies and their foals clustered together in the lowest dip of Holmsley Passage, perhaps in hopes of evading the gathering flies.
I disembarked along Bisterne Close and wandered into the dappled woodland, now devoid of ponies which could normally be expected to enhance these views; it then occurred to me that the animals on these Sultry Days are mostly seen to be gathering near possible sources of water.
This was confirmed at the corner of Forest Road where these fly-pestered ponies sheltered from the heat beside
the shallow dregs of a normally fast flowing stream.
We turned off Beechwood Lane into Church Road,
where Jackie experienced the acute pangs of owl envy when she had to bear the sight of a large carved example on someone else’s dead tree. Briefly she speculated about whether Aaron could be asked to wield his chainsaw to emulate this artwork on our recently lopped cypress.
A rowan tree here was just one of many producing very early berries.
Further verification of my horses to water theory was provided on our way back through Holmsley Passage. The first group of ponies had been within whinnying distance of the stream in which another, apparently knackered, string were slaking their thirst. This shot had to be taken through the windscreen because we had a car behind us.
With or without bigification readers will see no pony pictures lacking flies today.
This evening we dined on a second sitting of Mr Chan’s excellent Chinese Take Away dishes, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
James Peacock of Peacock Computers spent most of the morning with me on the phone and at my desk resolving the banking/computer problems. Naturally this has been a great relief.
While James and I clicked on icons and stuff outside the kitchen door our nostrils were treated to the delicious aromas of Jackie’s lamb curry bubbling and steaming on the hob.
This afternoon, continuing what Jackie had begun this morning,
I watered a few pots and hanging baskets while she
chopped the ingredients for mushroom rice.
It was far too hot for any further gardening this afternoon, so we took a short drive into the forest.
A group of Highland Cattle were slaking their thirst in the cattle trough on Wootton Heath. The comments on https://derrickjknight.com/2013/02/27/why-did-the-chicken-cross-the-road/ give intriguing additions providing an explanation of how this London icon found its way into the New Forest.
Most other animals kept out of sight of the scorching sun, as we discovered when traversing
Bisterne Close, where sun dappled woodland scenes were all that was on offer for a photographer.
From Lyndhurst Road we could look down onto field horses, two of which wore masks protecting eyes and ears from irritating flies. As usual the galleries can be accessed by clicking on any image and viewing full size by clicking the box beneath each picture which may then be further amplified.
Photographic clues earlier in the post will make our dinner no surprise when I tell you we enjoyed
Jackie’s excellent spicy lamb jalfrezi with mushroom rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Carinena.
It was the Assistant Photographer who, dinners in our dishes, dashed out to photograph what she could see from the kitchen table. I would never have got away with it. The landscape format shows bronze fennel in the Pond Bed; the portrait, fuchsia Chequerboard.
I spent the whole morning foiling a suspected banking scam. This involved several phone calls, listening to long stretches of Muzak, and struggling with a Scots accent on a bad line.
Don’t ask. I couldn’t bear to go through it again.
This afternoon I reeled up the Gazebo Path to join Jackie who had spent the day so far eliminating fungus from the heuchera border in the Rose Garden.
The first picture shows the infested stems which I helped to bag up – the trug beside these contains the tiny rescued root stumps; the second shows Jackie applying liquid fungicide to the soil from which the plants have been removed; the third shows the rest of the border which will need to be similarly treated; and the last the planted stubs which should regenerate quite quickly.
It was truly the best part of a day for repelling pests.
While I sat by my desk with my mobile phone attached to my ear I had plenty of time to gaze at clematis Mrs N. Thompson through the window. The first of these pictures focusses on her. The other two are of what she looks like outside.
Later in the afternoon, when I was feeling less shell-shocked, we visited Otter Nurseries for some more fungicide and continued on a drive into the forest.
Just outside Brockenhurst a pair of foals trotted across the road and, ignoring another youngster, scampered across the heath. Where there are ponies you will usually find attendant crows.
We stopped at Puttles Bridge where Jackie parked the car and I wandered about around Ober Water with the camera.
As will be seen by the peaty water and the shallow bed this stream, albeit a bit fuller now, must have been quite dry during our absence. Reflections of trees and skies merged with the colours of the pebbles beneath. Dog roses abounded. The conversation with the very friendly young couple really cheered me up.
We were promised further heavy winds today. They were postponed until tonight, which may explain why we saw no free roaming animals on our trip to the forest.
On our way to the Milford pharmacy we stopped to watch
the waves surging with spray and crashing on rocks as they practised for the races they would be engaged in later.
Although shifting the lens just a few degrees to the right gave streaks of sunlight on the horizon,
the Isle of Wight remained invisible to the eye, despite a glimmer of blue sky, and enough light to catch the
lifebelt on a post.
Afterwards we progressed to Boldrewood via Lymington. Traffic lights on Southampton Road facilitated my photographing this pink magnolia set against the blue wash and fine Georgian window of an elegant terraced house of the period.
On the approach to Boldre Lane a couple of field horses showed eagerness to see what was occurring over their hedge.
The woodland itself presented
scenes of devastation such as are in evidence throughout the forest.
This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, pickled onions and gherkins with which we both drank Wairau Cove Sauvignon Blanc 2019.
Jackie’s photo story from this afternoon warrants a separate post which forms a sequel to this one.
The light today was bright; the skies clear; and the temperature cold. This morning we drove into the forest via
Holmsley Passage,
with its splendid autumn colour burnishing both woodland trees
and bracken-carpeted moorland.
The moon, not yet having retired, nestled in the crook between two sunlit tree.
Golfers in their retirement putted balls on the Burley course. Biggification of the second above image will reveal three of the little white orbs, one of which has just been struck by the gentleman assuming the position. His shot didn’t quite have the legs.
Alongside Forest Road I left the car to photograph more flaming trees,
and wandered among trees opposite.
Fallen leaves whispered softly as I
gingerly swept the sun-streaked forest floor,
with its moss-coated roots and trunks,
broken branches,
and prehistoric skulls.
Lingering leaves traced companionable shadows;
while backlit ponies cast longer ones even in the late morning.
Pools, dry for many a month, like this one on the Burley Road, are filling up and reflecting the season.
Miniature Highland cattle made use of the landscape’s camouflage outside The Rising Sun at Bashley.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s most flavoursome mixed grill casserole; bright green broccoli, traffic light orange carrots, and creamy mashed potato with which I drank Saint-Chinian 2016 and the Culinary Queen abstained.
