RE-NEIGHSSANCE

‘News of my demise is a little premature’ – or words to that effect – were famously pronounced when someone saw his own Obituary in the Times.

These words sprang to mind immediately when yesterday, looking up from washing the dishes I saw dear old Butch, ‘our’ late-lamented ageing horse meander into view in the paddock below. ‘Oh Wow!’ I screamed - being by myself there was no one to hear, or watch as I dashed outside to take a closer look. I couldn’t believe my eyes, as Butch hasn’t made an appearance since the beginning of the year, and we had mourned his passing. I ran back indoors exultant, singing unaccountably at the top of my voice – ‘Horsey, Horsey, don’t you stop’. But when I looked back out of the window Butch was gone.

He didn’t appear again all morning, nor whilst we were having lunch. Even as I described to John my huge delight at having seen the missing nag once more, I began to wonder if it had all been a dream, or a mirage? It had been one of those hazy sunlit mornings, when everything takes on a sort of ethereal appearance, and though I looked over the hedge into his field several times there was no sign of him anywhere.

Easter might still be a couple of weeks’ away, but we have already had a Second-Coming here in our little bit of this green and pleasant land. As we sat enjoying an after-lunch coffee in the warm sunshine on our balcony, Butch hove into view. He sauntered about looking full of vigor and very spruce - in fact his fettle was very fine indeed - whilst we two, with silly smiles on our faces, were contentedly aware what pleasure is to be found in life’s unexpected little happenings.

DELIVERING THE MINUTES

The other morning I did my regular walk around and beyond the village delivering the Minutes of our Memorial Hall Management Committee of which I am Secretary. This is always a particular pleasure, as it gives me the opportunity of seeing how the changing seasons leave their mark on the set path I always follow.

The lanes I walk have no pavements, so I cross and re-cross the road, trying to keep clear of oncoming traffic. The few vehicles I encounter always give me a wide berth, and there’s nearly always a cheery wave from the driver and passengers.

This particular morning it was dry and cloudy, but everywhere I went there were daffodils in abundance, which could not fail to brighten my spirits. I passed a field of damp stubble which did look very melancholy, till I spotted a couple of clumps of old fashioned large-trumpeted daffodils shimmering down by the perimeter fence, and somehow these gave me more pleasure than all the others growing in beautifully tended front gardens. Just like life, I suppose, we need to experience the bad before we can really appreciate the good.





Someone has planted a sprinkling of daffodils in the grass alongside the old Victorian letter box set in an old stone wall. In the summer red poppies spiced up the roadside there, colour co-ordinating with the cheerful red paint.

Iwas surprised at how much was in bloom so soon after such a bad winter. Mauvey-purple aubretia festooned low stone garden walls, delicious buttery masses of primroses nestled under old bare trees, some tulips were just beginning to reveal their pinkness in a couple of garden tubs, and tiny tete-a-tete daffodils were everywhere – especially effective planted between clumps of low-growing purple heathers.

The hills which rise steeply behind the little groups of cottages along the way, and slope upwards beyond the fields on one side of the lane, took on a very contemplative appearance that morning. A few days earlier, when I had trodden the same path delivering the Agendas, the sun had been shining, and the hillsides were a patchwork of light and shade, ever changing.

But where were the six Jacob’s sheep which I always stop to admire? One time when I was passing, their owners were busy cutting their ‘toenails’, so I stopped for a chat and learnt that these beautiful creatures are kept as pets, and are sometimes taken back to their home to be petted and enjoyed by the family. These six all have names, and have scrumptious brown and white fleeces, with lovely gentle faces topped off by the most artistic curly horns. In winter when they come to watch me pass by, I have wanted to take one back home with me so that I could lie in front of the fire, nestling my head in its soft warm coat.

As I neared my home once more, a little car sped past carrying the logo of a Personal Fitness Trainer, no doubt having left some early morning exercise enthusiast to a much-needed shower and diet-breakfast. Back to civilisation again ......

' OLD BUTCH '

‘Have you seen Butch ?’ I ask John almost as soon as I get back indoors after being out more than an hour or so. He nods his head glumly and says he reckons Bruce is no more.. I keep hoping, but we haven't seen him at all this year, and after several warm days have passed without a sign of that dear old horse in the paddock, I have to admit that perhaps he really has kicked the final bucket.

Butch has been part of our life ever since we came to live here five years ago. When we first saw him chewing happily away at hummocks of grass not far from my studio window, we did a bit of a double take. Not only was his back really deeply curved, but he only had one eye. We realised he must have had a somewhat chequered past, but was obviously now receiving loving care, for in really bad weather we didn’t see him at all, and then on chilly dull days he would always be wearing a nice waterproof overcoat.

One day when working in the front garden we looked up to see Butch walking past, being sedately led along the road by a young woman. She explained that Butch was 27 years old !! – and that he had been ill-treated in the past, and ‘rescued’, and was now their much-loved pet, never ridden, but taken for a quiet walk from time to time which he seemed to much enjoy.

For the past two summers Butch has been joined in his paddock by half a dozen young calves. When they first arrived we wondered how he would cope with his new youthful companions, but they seemed to settle down very happily together. In fact he often seemed to be just enjoying their company, and keeping a fatherly eye on their antics.

Butch wasn’t averse to a few antics of his own. He had a particular post, along the fence beside the rhyne, on which he loved to have a good scratch. He would stand parallel with the fence and move backwards and forwards looking just like a child’s rocking horse. It obviously gave him a lot of pleasure as we once timed this exercise to find that he kept up the gentle rhythmic movements for a full quarter of an hour. We were worried that he might have made himself sore, and sure enough when he turned round to saunter back down the paddock, we could see a small area where his coat had been damaged, but that never seemed to stop him returning for another satisfying rub when the mood took him.

Butch might have been very old, but he still seemed to feel the call of spring in the air, and would be surprisingly spritely, and far more interested in everything about him. I once saw him suddenly look up from the pasture, cock his ears, then turn round at speed and dash off almost at a canter. I guessed he had seen Mistress at the entrance of his paddock, way out of our sight.

So now it looks as if we shalln’t see him again. He has been such a comforting presence, often standing outside my window for long periods of time, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back. I don’t know how well he could see with his one remaining eye, but his obvious delight in his peaceful old age in spite of his handicap has provided a thoughtful example to the two of us here on the other side of the hedge.

He is sadly missed.

Bring Me Sunshine .....

The sun has come out again – in all respects!

Suddenly the weather got milder, and then the skies cleared, and we have had a few warm sunny days, which have been so very welcome after this miserably cold winter.

And sunshine has returned to our lives in other ways too after a somewhat cheerless year so far.

We have had the real pleasure of having our daughter Kerry come over from her home in Wales, to spend a few days’ holiday here with us. She brought her friend, and they much enjoyed relaxing on our balcony, taking in the view and the antics of the birds on our feeders, as well as seeing a little of the surrounding area.

Then at the weekend we were lucky enough to be part of a large family party at the Theatre Royal in Winchester to see our granddaughter Vicki play Ruth in a youth production of G & S’s ‘Pirates of Penzance’. She sang, she danced, was witty, dazzling and totally beguiling. The cast were breathtakingly energetic and enthusiastic, and to see 15 year old Vicki strutting her stuff so confidently out in front was such a joy. I had been saying how much I needed a good laugh during the past few gloomy weeks, and my Goodness this was a real tonic!

Back home in the garden spring is definitely in the air, with birdsong greeting us whenever whenever we venture outside. We have been thrilled to see a couple of tits come to look over the birdbox on the fence where we can keep watch on it from the garden room. I’m not sure which of the couple, male or female, actually did the viewing, but it was very thorough – popping inside for moments on end whilst its partner sat twitchingly impatient on a budding forsythia twig just outside. They both did a very thorough inspection of their possible new home and its surroundings – sitting up on the fence, then flying down to the roof of the box, going inside again and again – before finally flying off together. They obviously decided it wasn’t their idea of a des.res., but we are intrigued to know how they conveyed their decision to one another. We also wonder what is wrong with our birdbox? Perhaps they feel it isn’t safely enough protected by leaves and branches – though very soon the whole fence will be covered with the flowers, then leaves, of the forsythia, as well as a rambling rose which is already bursting with buds.

However, a robin has decided that the box hedge along the opposite side of the garden is JUST the place to set up home. We have been able to observe him with bits of dead leaves in his beak frantically flapping his wings and gliding along the side of the hedge like a helicopter, then suddenly diving into the foliage. Soon he emerges again and scrabbles about the rockery before repeating the process all over again. We haven’t dared to take a look for fear of disturbing him, but if ‘location, location..’ is relevant, then the various birdfeeders hanging in the nearby apple tree provide a very useful local ‘takeaway’.

This warmer, drier weather has made it possible for me to make three forays into the garden in recent days, in order to try to clear up the detritus left after the wealth of flowers we enjoyed all last year. Having heard that my 92 year old mother had got a back problem following an overly long first session digging in her garden recently (yes …. she WAS digging ….. she’s an amazing woman who still enjoys looking after her own garden)…. I decided to tackle the work ‘little and often’. I have now cleared the front garden, and have just one large bed under the garden room window to sort out. John gave the lawns their first mow this year a couple of days ago, so for the now everywhere looks very ‘kempt’ and we are able to enjoy the snowdrops, primroses, and daffodils now they have been rescued from under the dried up remains of last year’s glory.

At last – the First Day of Spring officially on 1st March (Jenny informs me it’s the first day of autumn Down Under ….. as she left these shores in the middle of summer last year, she must be more than ready for a change of season!) After this unusually long cold winter, everything in the garden is very late appearing – but then, much more appreciated when it does eventually materialise.

Whatever Happened to My Good Intentions?

Outside our home in the snow.

Here it is, the 12th February, and only my third entry to this blog-diary. To say this has been an eventful year so far would be putting it mildly, but sadly the events have not been happy ones. The unexpected deaths of two friends (followed by truly inspirational funerals) and the illnesses of family and friends, together with the whole gloomy financial situation which seems to be affecting so many people we know, has not got this year off to a good start.

Our biggest concerns, of course, have been about Kim, and John and I went down there end January/beginning February to help out whilst she was back in hospital again for more tests. It was such a trying time for her, poor soul, but eventually they did come up with a diagnosis, and she has returned home with the problems with her eye gradually improving.

Whilst down in Hampshire there was the heaviest snowfall for years, and the glorious scenery in the countryside along the Test Valley was transformed overnight to a real winter wonderland. The schools were closed, so the four kids were able to enjoy the rough and tumble of snowfights and toboggan rides, whilst we two oldies took a long sedate walk along the almost traffic-free local roads, just marvelling at the beauty all around, and trying to capture it on camera. The many and varied thatched cottages in the area looked so cosy wrapped in their snowy blankets, and families of ducks paddled happily in the icy streams, sometimes venturing out on to the banks, where their webbed feet didn’t always stop them sinking (amusingly) into the snow.

It was great to spend time with four teenage grandchildren, and to take a peek into their world. So much has changed since our own five were that age, not least the huge amount of technology which they seem to handle with such casual dexterity, and the sometimes incomprehensible language that they speak Still, it is reassuring to see that not everything has changed , and that teenage concerns and angst remain the same as ever. I could half close my eyes and see our 17 year old grandson, with his fashionably untidy hair and droopy denims morph into our own boys at that age….. who have now become such worthy pillars of the establishment, of whom we are rightly proud. That particular grandson delighted us by cooking a splendid breakfast for us all when the snow closed college, and on another occasion he serenaded us with a Bach Prelude on his guitar. Just some of the many pleasures that as grandparents we are privileged to enjoy.

So now we are back home in Somerset. We missed the heavy snowfalls here, but there has been more snow since our return, which though giving us the pleasure of seeing the surrounding countryside and our garden covered like white icing on a wedding cake, soon melted away. (…’there’s one thing about snow – it makes your lawn look as good as your neighbour’s!’) The fields beyond the stream had huge puddles everywhere, which froze overnight and glinted in the early morning sunshine before gradually soaking away into the ground. Much of Somerset has been flooded as a result of all the melting snow, but apart from great pools of water along the sides of local lanes, which our cars merrily splash into causing great crashing sprays over the nearby hedges, we have not had too much trouble here.

Whilst having lunch in the garden room earlier this week we were distracted from our TV viewing by the sight of two little egrets landing beside the stream beyond the paddock. Little egrets seems a strange name for these birds – they are pure white, about the size of ducks, but much more aerodynamically proportioned. They were clearly enjoying a little courtship routine – who told them it was Valentine’s Day on Saturday? Actually we have seen, and heard, lots of birds all a-twitter on the rare dry days recently, so surely spring can’t be too far away.

Having this cosy studio away from everything at the end of the garden, with a view from the window across miles of countryside beyond, allows me an unexpectedly close up view of the local wildlife as they go about their business. They seem totally oblivious to my prying eyes, so that the studio acts as a sort of ‘hide’. The other day, as I was working at my computer, I looked up to see a fox nosing around in the snowy grass just a few feet away. He seemed hot on the trail of something tasty, his nose twitching and head down as he searched the area in vain, finally heading off to pastures new. Perhaps he had caught a whiff of the cat, which earlier in the day I had been fascinated to watch sniffing about in the snow for some considerable time. I always thought cats didn’t like getting wet, but this one even had his underbelly drooping into the snowy wetness, but carried on intent on his purpose, till he did seem to find something to his liking, for I saw him high-step off with something wriggling in his mouth.

Another visitor we have been really delighted to see back again has been ‘our ‘ heron, who has appeared several times since our return. His ungainly flight and descent, like a heavy old transport aircraft, always catches our attention. He lands at the same place on the bank of the stream every time – as do the little egrets. We can’t see the stream itself from here, but there must be some particular feature at that spot which attracts these ‘fishing’ birds. In fact, one day last year we caught sight of our heron struggling back up the bank with a large fish struggling furiously in its beak. The fish put up a frantic fight, but of course the heron got his dinner in the end. We were so surprised that the little stream should support such a large fish but sometimes after a lot of rain, we can actually see the water from our windows - it is so high, so I suppose it is little wonder that fish, and perhaps other river creatures, are to be found there.

Whilst typing this, the tabby cat has been perched on the fence beside the paddock, gazing down into the rhyne below. In warmer weather TC, as we call him, is often to be seen picking his way carefully along the top of the fence, like a performer on a high wire, but in winter we don’t see him so often. Today it is relatively mild, so he has probably been lured from his fireside retreat, and although well fed by his kindly owner, has decided to look for a tasty snack to keep him going until his next proper meal. He spends simply ages sitting atop a fence post, peering down below, his head occasionally turning to one side, and now and again takes a leap down on to the bank. We are puzzled to know what he is looking for – surely not fish – but he must get lucky from time to time, or he wouldn’t keep returning to that same spot.

It must sound from all of this that we spend our whole time just watching the world beyond our windows ….. but for OAP’s of 74 and 70 we lead very full and busy lives. During the past few days, for instance, I have given a Talk to an audience of 80, have entertained people to supper, and been given a superb Valentine’s Evening supper by our lovely Irish neighbour and her husband, have attended an orchestra rehearsal for a Concert a couple of days later in Bristol (for which I had to find time for much needed cello practise), and have played 18 holes of golf with John out on the windswept coastal course at Clevedon. Together with all the usual housewifely pursuits( how delightfully retro that sounds), there is less time to stand and stare than I would sometimes wish. The day will arrive no doubt, but till then both of us are so much enjoying the energetic life we are so lucky to have.

Looking Back on January

This has not been a good week/month/year so far what with thevery worrying health problems of two of our daughters, both in hospital at the same time (hopefully now both seem on the mend) - the unexpected deaths of two friends, and the illnesses and worries of credit-crunched chums. I had strong feelings of impending gloom as midnight struck on 31st December, and was much disquieted, as I can usually trust my instincts. Only now that our eldest daughter in particular, has emerged with an almost clean bill of health from an utterly miserable time having endless tests with potentially dire outcomes , can we her parents begin to think clearly again.

Meanwhile life goes on here in our little corner of Somerset – and how precious even the most mundane things seem now that our girls are happily back in their own homes once more. I can sit here at my desk, looking out over the landscape beyond, and revel in the small everyday occurences

A dear little robin, Christmas-card perfect, is perched on the freshly shooting honeysuckle tangled around the wire fence between my studio window and the paddock beyond. He has been watching me intently with his head cocked to one side. When I smile back at him I can almost see his eyes light up.
I have bird feeders hanging from the old, now winter-leafless apple tree in the studio garden – a paved and gravelled area along the lowest level of the garden, separated from the lawn by deeply sloping rockery beds and stone steps which are almost over-run with winter-withered erigeron . These provide endless distractions for us as we sit by the garden room window at mealtimes. A grey and blue pottery bell has a hook where the clapper would be, so that a fat ball can be hung from it. Rather over-enthusiastically I fixed two netted fatballs to this, and when both had just small nuggets of food left in them, we were greatly amused to see a starling balancing precariously on the edge of the bell, frantically pulling at the green netting till he successfully lifted it off its hook. As it fell to the ground he dived triumphantly down to demolish its contents, before flying back up to try for a second helping! This proved far more difficult, and in spite of repeated frenzied pecking at the hooked end of the netting, and highly agitated wing-flapping, he had to give up in the end, and sat frustratedly watching from a nearby bough, whilst smaller birds finished off the feast.

Unlike the preceding three to four weeks, when it was VERY cold and frosty but with blue skies and sunshine, the past week has been very wet and mild. The field beyond the paddock must now be very soggy indeed, as we keep seeing puddles in the grass which take some time to disappear. Maybe this is the reason we haven’t seen ‘our sheep’ for over a week now. During the summer months from May to October, the field is home to a herd of cows, who provide fascinating ‘moving scenery’, and we do miss them so much during the winter when the field lies empty. However last year the cows having only just departed , presumably to provide succulent steaks, puddings and pies, we were thrilled one morning to see that a small flock of sheep were now excitedly investigating their new surroundings. Though delighted to see them, we thought they were probably just staying for b.& b., as this has happened before ….. but they have remained here, causing me frequently to be heard singing ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ , or ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’ depending on my mood. As I have absolutely no idea at all of how to hold a tune, this doesn’t endear me to my long suffering husband…. but I can’t help myself.

Anyway, for this past week the cumbrous but cuddly-looking creatures are nowhere to be seen. We hope they have just been moved to dry land higher up the nearby hills, but fear they may now be lying in shrink-wrapped portions on supermarket shelves. So the landscape beyond the garden seems somewhat bereft, and we miss their daily diversions ….. but at least the singing has stopped!

In the gardens, back and front, all is damp and drear, and looks particularly messy as somehow I never got round to cutting back the dead plants at the end of last season (I left them for the birds, is my excuse). Still, we have noticed the green shoots of spring bulbs peeping up through the lawn, so it shouldn’t be too long before we see blessed colour in the garden again – I simply must get out there with the shears and secateurs. I was really uplifted to see daffodils beginning to bloom on the roundabout just outside a village close by …… but even these are very late as last winter they were already blooming by the end of December. No doubt the extremely low temperatures we have been ‘enjoying’ in recent weeks are to blame. It’s all down to Global Warming I suppose.