23/11/2023 - Celtic saints

 Well I am taking a leaf out of Sue in Suffolk's book on an alphabet of things.  My alphabet will be of Celtic saints, those that cover the first 1000 years.  Of course my reference for these saints will be from the Welsh, and the book T.D.Breverton - Book of Welsh Saints.  Not forgetting Gildas, Bede and Geoffrey of Monmouth all early writers who wrote down the stories they had heard.

Well the alphabet begins with 'A' and there are a goodly few in this chapter.  I was going to begin with Aaron, (died after 287 but before 304). Aaron with Julian were executed at Caerlon for their Christian beliefs.  They were romanised Silure, it was under an edict by a Roman emperor.

Martyrdom claims great advantage for the church and it is believed that the two saints were buried at Goldcliff.  In digging out the foundations for a new house in 1785 in the 'Field of the Graveyard', stone coffins were found by a Yew tree.  But unlike the Glastonbury use of  bones for relics, the bones of our presumably two saints were left undisturbed. Here for a fuller wiki

But there is a more interesting saint to think about, and of course Elvis Presley.  Look at that name. Were his parents Welsh? well according to Breverton it seems strange that Elvis had Welsh names - Presley could refer to the Preseli range of hills and Elvis to the saint Ailbe (d 527 to 531).

Breverton evidence for this is that Elvis parents were called Vernon and Gladys, and his still-born twin brother was Jesse Garon (St.Caron?).  Now whether this just a nice story or perhaps there was a thin vein of Welshness running through the veins of Elvis I don't know.

But the church, now no longer there, its remains  can be found outside Solva in Pembrokeshire near to a double cromlech.  This cromlech was blown up by an irate farmer in the 18th century I think but still impressive today.  The early Celtic saints often settled near to the pagan element.

Baring-Gould, another profuse writer born in the 19th century, wrote the following that Ailbe is known in Wales as Ailfyw or Elfyw, who founded a church, now a ruin, called St.Elvis, in Welsh Llanailfyw, or Elfwy near Sain David's consequently near where lived his aunt, St.Non.

It is said of this saint that he remained in Menevia till David was born.  He baptised the child and fostered him, before going to Ireland.

Always wandering these monks bringing the word to the people.  Cannot you just see them? with their bell which called the people to listen to their service, often as we see from the above photo by the side of a cromlech.

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Rebecca Solnit on the rich

22/11/2023

 When I was small and attending Sunday school, about seven years old, I looked down at the picture in my prayer book.  All the people were white, and the thing that struck me, where, and what God did all the other people in the world worship.

My history as an adopted child was kept hidden from me but I was adopted by a Jewish person called Maurice.  I cannot tell you much about my would be Belgian stepmother for she died when I was very young.  She was called Catherine.

The tale told by my grandfather, for that is all I remember him as, was that they had fled the German soldiers whilst living in Belgium.  They had taken the new car and with a mattress tied on top of the car made their way to a ship and escaped to England.  Catherine had a small dog snuggled in her fur coat.

At no point in my childhood was I ever introduced to Judaism, it was as if it did not exist.  My schooling was Catholic all the way.  I remember the nuns at nursery school, moping up after a child had peed on the floor.  The kind nuns at Brewood nursing me back from illness for months when the family broke down once more into divorce.

I despise religion for what happens in its name, a belief system that makes people do terrible things, as we are witnessing today.  Whichever branch is called upon, there is an arrogance of belief that dictates terms,

Like the child I was then I would say with absolute conviction that that funny man with a beard up in the sky does not exist.  That good comes from a moral code, not of righteousness, but because instinct knows how to behave.

Somehow along the way we have been - the human race - corrupted by greed and power.  It doesn't happen to everyone, thank goodness, but its simplistic sway on the human race is most manifest in the arena of war.

While our hearts break because of the killing of people both in Israel and Palestine, it doesn't mean we support one side or the other, rather we want the evil that is war to stop and for those in power to see sense.

Dyeing - not that one, the other one!

Memories: F/B is good at finding your photos on its site.  This one came up this morning.  My dyeing of wools, the act of finding dye material, the mordant and then the final appearance of the wool.  Natural dyes have a softer appeal than the chemical dyes.  Looking at the photo, I think the brown is the only chemical dye.  One of the 'magic' moments of  dyeing with indigo is when you pull the wool from the dye bath as the material hits the air the oxygen turns the wool blue from the green.  A sort of oh moment. You can see a full explanation here.  

It is thought that in the Iron Age, the woad plant (Isatis Tinctoria) a species of the indigo family was used to colour the skin but of course none of that can be proved.

There is a chemical indigo now, growing the indigo woad plant, takes a full two years when the leaves are ready, and a steeping in urine was the preferred option in the olden days.   Though wood ash can be used in the mordanting moment.

Thistles 2008:  Even Moss lifts his leg with great delicacy against this thistle;)

 

Indigo: Then there is this from 2011, when I tried the artificial indigo

But perhaps, rather sadly, but I am really glad that I found this particular blog, is the Japanese collection of materials collected by Paul, all in indigo.  

2009 blog here

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And just to finish off a video of the process. Liziqi, the person who makes these videos of a farm idyll in China has somewhat disappeared off the radar but appears in other social media.  She has/had millions of viewers to her videos, but obviously is doing something wrong the Chinese authorities think.

So another video here will show you how she dyes, firstly with the plants and secondly the application of wax on the material to create pattern.

What is interesting about this, is the similarity to the 'lost wax' techniques found in the making of metal objects.  Wikipedia will fill you out here.

18th November 2023

All alone:  Quite happily of course because it means I won't have to worry who is coming home at what time and I can eat when I want.  Lillie is going up to London to visit her preferred uni.  She is going first class, paid by the uni, apparently they pay first class if your disabled.  Lillie is not but it was a late request.

My daughter will go tomorrow morning to see her two other children and Andrew to see his child (all grown up of course).  What magic does London offer our young I wonder.  I did think of having a flutter on the Omaze charity site, there is a London home being given away as a prize but I doubt it would have fallen my way, so saved my £10, which I think is rather exorbitant.

I am actually donating to the Folklore group round the corner, which I think is a brave attempt to make a venue to entertain  people and also gather knowledge through books, it can't all happen on the internet after all.

There was a painting I saw today, the Clapper bridge in Dartmoor which was taken from a book and was painted by an artist called E.W. Hazelhurst (12th November 1866 to 3rd July 1949) for a series of books on 'Beautiful Britain' brought out by Blackies.

It reminded me of another painter who also lived about the same time Heywood Sumner (1853 to 1940) you can find him here.  There is a certain similarity in colouring.  Bucolic Britain romantised.

John of Stargoose and Hanglands has once again taken some beautiful shots of the landscape of his latest outing  and  immediately my mind goes back to the Brecklands of John Seymour and self sufficiency and the sandy soil.

The mind is a curious thing, it works non-stop, flashing thoughts and images, your own world is encompassed in this physical, is it an organ? lump of matter, as you get older does it cluster your memories closer together, or is it like the computer I am typing on, almost similar?

16th November 2023

Most people contribute to society, often through voluntary work. This little town seems to be run by voluntary work, ideas, and downright ingenuity.

The Hippodrome down the road is looking for cash to alter its venue somewhat, the new cafe in the old Co-op shop is being transformed by volunteers as is the town's green appearance.  We have a Climate college, (don't groan back there, climate is really on the change) with rooms for making stuff, and repairing.  Society can sometimes do a much better job than government.  We even have social housing taking place on an old site with the Town money granted by the government.  Money of course that comes from the taxes we pay.

So the other day, a thought popped into my head, who else makes financial donations to good works.  Well we all know the many, many charities that ask for money and to which we donate.  It is a bit like finding the right one pinned down on a great spreadsheet. 

Apparently Andy Burnham, the mayor of Manchester, donates 15% of his salary to the homeless charity set up in his town.  You can read about it here, also it gives an interesting take on charity giving.  The other person I came across was Sir Christopher Hohn, he made his fortune in the city on hedge funds (milking money from what?) but now he is an advocate for the green movement, which by the way has many organisations under its umbrella.

Can't resist

We have come quite a way in green politics, unfortunately not in seats in Parliament.  It will be interesting to see who will replace Caroline Lucas in Brighton.  Will the Greens still hang on I wonder? 

How to open a loo ceremony.....

Todmorden Mayor

Part Two - PHP article

I shall skip some sections, as they ramble on.

"Several letters were exchanged with the Kyoto National Museum.  Finally, he was interviewed by Naoyuki Usami, a recognized authority on conservation, whose ancestors for the past eight generations have been restoring art treasures to pristine condition.  (The Usami workshop is one of two private groups attached to the museum.  The workshop originally worked exclusively on Buddhist Sutra scrolls and paintings, stored in a temple opposite the family home.  Only in the early 1950s were they invited to work inside the museum.  The other group deals exclusively with sculpture.

For the first six months the Englishman was an unpaid observer who  hovered in the background absorbing the atmosphere of the workshop.  He watched Mr.Usami and his staff  work laboriously piece together tattered manuscripts and scrolls, mend holes, remount paintings and painted door panels, and even reweave elaborate brocade ceremonial robes with suitably aged threads.

A sense of historical continuity pervades the cloister like calm of the museum workshop with the irreplaceable national cultural treasures spread out on the worktables.  The visitor tends to be on edge picking his way across the tatami, on which are spread the delicate slips of paper, which are the delicate remains of a 900-year-old hanging scroll being lovingly preserved from total disintegration.  There is always the fear of accidentally sticking a hand through a painted silk screen from the former imperial palace that awaits a delicate touching-up of tiny holes.

Some conservation projects take several years to complete.  Treasured paintings have to be laid face down on moistened special paper; numerous layers of backing are then stripped off until all that is left are isolated islands of the original paint or silk.  One false move that disturbs the fragments would destroy a priceless historical object,  With nerve-wracking painstaking the conservator fills in the gaps with colour matched paper or silk before finally remounting.  The same applies to ancient manuscripts which may be in such tattered condition that they are virtually little more than solidified ink, with a few strands of paper clinging to the letters.  It takes year of study to be able to appreciate these kind of challenge.

After six months Paul was accepted as an apprenticeship to Mr. Usami. But his apprenticeship was unusual in many ways.  At first, there was the problem of being a foreigner.  Although he had picked up a certain amount of conversational Japanese, daily conversation was completely useless when it comes to understanding the special vocabulary of the ancient craft of conservation.  So in the beginning, certain allowances had to be made..............

Finally there was the problem of understanding the concept of conservation.  Conservation in Japan proved to be nothing like Paul imagined.  He had been raised on images of Western laboratories and Western attitudes to restoration.  And Japanese conservation was completely different.

He began his apprenticeship with the most basic job of all; making the special paste that hyogu-shi (traditional art conservators) have longed used in their work.  The process begins with ordinary wheat flour, but the protein is extracted  because protein makes paste-adhesive hard and brittle.  The pure starch that remains is a paste that looks like milk.  The young apprentice stirs this until it becomes extremely stiff.  However, the paste has to be stirred for at least an hour, a back and arm breaking task that is repeated every day or two.  Gradually, however, the novice begins to realise the vital role this paste will play in his future work.

Some of the paste is stored in ceramic jars topped with water and left for ten years.  The aged product is a weak, special kind of paste that can be applied very thinly (this quality is especially important for old scrolls where suppleness and ease of rolling are prime considerations."

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The above writing by Geoffrey Murray is slightly over the top in my reckoning but he was a journalist of longstanding.  see here

We had two 'ali baba' pots at home, one lived in the garden. And  the other heavy green paste bowl became Lucy's water bowl.  She had a delightful habit of picking up her lightweight bowls and flinging them across the floor, this one was too heavy for her.  You can see them on my blog  'Aged paste' which goes into more detail.

14th November 2023 - Intro

The last post is but a short intro into a large article which I shall type out each day.  I know that one of my grandchildren with his partner will be going to Japan next year, so perhaps I should introduce this article as a history of what Paul achieved in his lifetime. 

I answer Lillie's need to know in which societal bracket we live, or at least how our 'non' wealth is arrived at.  Basically wealth is a fool's paradise in which you just can't own everything and can only drive one car at a time. Aspiration either to do good or follow a career  was the pattern of the time I lived in.  

Paul's background was fairly poor when he got to Japan, for one year he became a monk not mentioned in the article.  Here he starved, mostly living on peanut butter and apples.  The hut in the temple gardens was cold and he had large insects to contend with.  But he persevered, something that you can hardly say of myself. 

I suppose my blog is jottings from what I think about.  During the last few weeks, thoughts have been somewhat distracted from the terrible things which goes on in the world.  I have a view but  shall refrain from saying it.  And like the magpie I have often referred to will still record things that catch the day.  Sadly my sense of the absurd will always be on show, take it that I see the world with a pinch of salt.

As in..... the government choice of new Secretary of State, how does the EDL (English Defence League) far right view a string of government ministers who come from other countries.  This to me, enrolling different ethnicities is perfect justice towards a better world, when we can understand each other there maybe peace.  

PHP - A Forum for a Better World; article on Paul Wills - An Artistic Heritage

 The artistic record of Japan's ancient history 

is endangered by many foes.  Fortunately, however,

in the timeless battle to protect works of art,

traditional conservators have passed on their

secrets to handpicked apprentices willing to

undergo a demanding ten-year apprenticeship.

After an apprenticeship that was just as

demanding with a master conservator, Paul Wills has

learned these secrets and will soon be sharing them

with the West and carrying on a tradition with

a unique approach to protecting art treasures.

 An article written by Geoffrey Murray 1980

"The story of Paul Wills is a classic tale of the starving artist struggling amid privation to achieve a perfection that remains eternally elusive.  He is not, however, the archetypical eccentric genius in a drafty garret striving to produce a masterpiece of painting or sculpture.  But he is as important to the art world as the artist, for he is seeking to protect the works of past masters from the ravages of time, the elements, and neglect, and save them for future generations.

He came to Japan in 1966 as an aspiring student of Oriental art.  For the next few years, in order to survive, he taught English at night to be able to continue his day time studies - first as a general art student and later as an apprentice of art conservation (a word he prefers to restoration).

His workplace for the past eleven years has been a small, cramped room cluttered with irreplaceable art treasures in a quiet, secluded basement of Kyoto National Museum.  The temples, castles and palaces that are visible evidence of the past glories of the old imperial,  making Kyoto a Mecca for the student of Japanese art, history, and religion, are close at hand.  Squatting on a tatami mat (straw mat) floor, and working at long cumbersome wooden tables, the young Englishman had laboriously learnt the secrets accumulated over almost 2000 years of repairing and preserving religious and secular treasures, which are written, painted, carved, or woven records of Japan's rich and ancient cultural heritage.

In September 1980, however, Paul Wills will be finally returning to England after fourteen years in Japan.  At the British Museum in London, in a replica of the Kyoto museum workshop, he will be in charge of a department charged with preserving the museum's collection of Oriental art.  This department will be the first of its type in Europe, and it will differ from the three already established at American museums be being headed by a non-Japanese.  Will's new appointment is, to him, an encouraging sign that the Western world is now ready to acknowledge that it has much to learn from Japan about the preservation of historical art treasures.

The Englishman finds it very difficult to say how he acquired his interest in art conservation.  His mother encouraged him to paint, while his father tried to direct his attention towards some knowledge of engineering techniques.  And then there was his grandfather, somewhat of a shadowy figure, whose keen interest in history, religion, linguistics, archaeology, and just about everything else, influenced him.  When Paul Wills was about five or six asked him, his grandfather asked him: "what do you want to be when you grow up" without knowing why, the youngster replied "An archaeologist".  His grandfather immediately gave him two large, dusty old volumes on archaeology.  (Wills later brought them to Japan where they have been lovingly rebound.

In his teens, Paul Wills studied for three years at the School of Art in Swindon, a town in Western England rich in ancient tombs and the legends of Stonehenge.

"My major was Impressionist painting; it had nothing to do with Oriental art or restoration" he recalls, "I'm not really sure when I decided to come to Japan.  The books in the school library on Chinese and Japanese art aroused my interest in the Orient, and that interest grew until I wanted to go to China.  At that time, it was of course impossible, so the next logical choice was Japan.  I applied to the Kyoto School of Art and spent three years studying Japanese painting  and sculpture there.  But at that stage had no idea where my studies would lead me"

13th November 2023 - Mildenhall, Norfolk

Both members of the family arrived back within half an hour of each other soaking wet. As my daughter said, it rained in Geneva, Manchester and then Tod.

Lillie had walked up to the moor with a small group of scouts carrying an American flag, to the American bomber that had crashed up there and they had a little ceremony there.  You can see details of the crash site here.  The plane had come from Norfolk and it had failed to rise above the moor, I suspect similar to the one on Prescili Hills.

It reminded me of a visit to Mildenhall in Suffolk where another famous American air base is.  We had gone to see the Silver Mildenhall Roman treasure, that had recently been opened in the small museum in the town. The usual damp cold day made the town miserable but the replica treasure was absolutely beautiful and I wrote about it here.  Feeling sad for a dead 1500 year old Saxon horse, seems ridiculous now, but......

Also I was to learn later how the treasure had been found.  I presume as the Roman Empire fell into disarray, the wealthy family who owned the silver must have buried it and fled, hoping to retrieve it later.  So one cold miserable day in the 20th century  a farm labourer ploughing the field upended one of the silver plates.  He went to the farmer who owned the land and they dug up what was there.  But the farmer did not report it to the authorities and just like Smaug the dragon sat on his treasure for quite a time.  But one day an archaeologist called at the farm and noticed a piece of silver on the mantlepiece.  The game was up and the treasure slowly came into public ownership.

Now in the arcane rules this country so loves, all treasure belongs to the crown, and the finder has the reward, in many instances it would be the farmer but at this time it was the farm labourer.  He got nowt, the farmer pocketed the lot.  Roald Dahl came to hear of this and was so angry about it that he wrote a book, meaning to give the proceeds to the labourer.  The book was illustrated by Ralph Steadman, scary to say the least, I bought a copy for Paul, but the illustrations jump at you, a gash across the page.  

Anyway you can find part of the story in the following blog.

Mildenhall Treasures

The geese have just flown over, the world still flows into the future.  And I have decided to copy out that article about Paul, written so long ago.

Life goes on

 Well my first private blog.  It is Sunday a day of quietness for me, when the world becomes less noisy.  Not this Sunday of course elsewhere the drums of war are biting into human flesh.

Lillie comes down whilst I am making my breakfast, her first remark, granny you've gone private. She had been baking yesterday evening, chocolate cakes for the scouts today. As she fitted the cakes into boxes we talked of conscription, I somehow equate the scouts with the National Service conscription of long ago.  Was it a good thing?  

The scouts today will march through town, they start at 10.30 for the 11'00 silence.  After that it is a walk to the site of a crashed WW1 plane.

It reminds me of coming across a similar site somewhere remote on the Presceli Hills, I have photos somewhere.  A few bits of metal, a small memorial of the men who had died and a red poppy.

Karen has just said via F/B that she is waiting at  Geneva airport to come home.  She went on a very short visit to see her Aunt Sylvia, Hob and Jeannot. Sylvia is married to Hob, an American. ................................

........................................

So this is the first record written to myself, and one or two others it seems when I have learnt how to manipulate the back plate of my blog.

Through all this Mollie the cat has been ranging back and forward giving full vent to her vocals about life, one of her expressions sounds like 'what the hell'. She has just zoomed in and out (19 years old) which means she has just had a 'c**p in the litter box.

And here they are in this blog; taken from this blog

Lillie has just waltzed in showing off her nekka, (it goes round the neck) wound tightly in a spiral way, and I ask what about the blouse.  Ironed she says 'I am perfect' wisely that girl has too much confidence in herself.

Gone fishing

Whether temporarily or permanent I don't know.  But for a time I would like to write privately.   xxx

  

10th November 2023

 So what to write today? World news is horrifying. I have just listened to a podcast about Suella Braverman's article in The Times.  We all know she is pushing and shoving for leadership in the coming election, or maybe even before.  But it is a brave person who takes on the body of the police institution, what has Britain fallen to???  

Will there be trouble at  Remembrance  Day on Sunday, who knows but the ceremony will go ahead.  Will the protest march affect it, it doesn't seem likely as it will be taking a different route to the one held at The Cenotaph (an empty tomb of someone who has died elsewhere). 

There is a small vigil group in Tod that stand outside the Town Hall on Sunday at 3.0.clock but not this Sunday.  There are many Muslims up in the Northern towns, Bradford probably being the most well known.  But they are integrated into the communities. We have an Indian prime minister (although probably not for long) and a Home Secretary (racist sadly) with a similar background.  One day I will not have to write as I have just written we will be a homogenous family of cultures and colours that are not important.  But for now we struggle through perceived truths about race. 

Wide blue skies and upland - Preselli
 

Something gentler maybe? I have been in the land of stones.  Well not actually, more in my head of course.  Thinking about the Preseli Hills, and all the tombs dotted around this area.  Watching by the way two delightful Welsh men argue the toss about the history of Wales. The Dragon has Two Tongues  And wishing just for a moment that Moss and I could go to Carn Llidi at St. David and once more visit this implacable headland and its tombs such as The Coetan Arthur cromlech below.

Or maybe the two hidden cromlechs against the flanks of Carn Llidi, I think they are Neolithic

These are hidden cromlechs but just look in front of the cromlechs, a concrete stand for a gun during the second World War. 

Sacred landscape

7th November 2023

 Yesterday's post was short and really was a light look at someone happily doing her craft.  Yet if the truth be told what we have is bleak miserable news to contend with every day. Simon Jenkins puts it well - We cannot turn away from suffering. As he so rightly says news by  television and most commentators is a voyeuristic journey of pain and horror.  Of course I am not denying this but could we not have a much broader discussion about solutions.  One day there is not enough relief medicine, water and food getting through the next few days suddenly it goes silent on this.

Well good news peeps out occasionally, the Great Fen project in Cambridgeshire is suddenly coming to fruition.  Land given over to growing food is now being turned into a watery wildness.  Though, yes there is an extra thought, what with all the rain we are having isn't the rest of Britain turning into a wet marshland?

I made a silly mistake last night, got my am and pm mixed up, the meditation session on a meeting was in the morning not in the evening, my granddaughter pointed it out to me when I couldn't get on to the Zoom meeting. I find Zoom a bit clumsy but will work on it.  I even managed to set up a Zoom meeting myself yesterday evening, but sadly there was only myself to talk to!

This photo seems rather appropriate - A rainy day in London - which I came across the other day.

6th November 2023

For those who like patchwork I came across The Last Homely House. It is extraordinary how many people choose to make a small living out of You tube. It is a soft very feminine approach in this video.  The cottage just that, no elaborate modernising.  When I looked through the interior decoration on the site of the photographer the other day.  Classic but oh so boring design, swept surfaces that just had one or two highlight notes, everything perfectly matched but not a damn thing to do on any surface.  Books are also uncomfortable, unless of course they are arranged in ruler state precision as coffee books on the table.

Anyway the video will cheer people up with its gentle patter on quilting.

 

4th November 2023

 Yesterday I watched the new 'Shetland' drama with Ashley Jensen taking over Douglas Henshall's role.  Well it is the same old format, bad gangsters from the mainland of Scotland, dead bodies everywhere, scattered over the islands.  I expect the new female star will blend in quite easily with the old background of the show.  A Shetland islander had written a letter though saying how untrue it was to the actual truth of living there.  When ferries and planes were delayed for days because of bad weather.

Article

The wild remote Scottish islands are changing now, heaven forbid there are now second homes and large liners pulling up at the quayside.  And to change the subject slightly I could weep when I see Arctic pleasure liners photographed as a backdrop against beautiful icebergs.

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"I am unable to speak over the phone due to a serious throat pain caused by laryngitis"

A spam arrived in my email box a couple of days ago, I recognised it instantly, knowing full well this friend who was asking would never ask for money.  The email address had been cleverly doctored by just placing one letter in front of the real address. When I asked what was the favour needed, a second email arrived asking for a gift Apple voucher for £200.  Short shrift answer!

Ciaran at Whitby

 There are only two words to use, one not really suitable.  But why are people so stupid?  Three cheers for the Coastguard Rescue.

Edit: Andrew's dad is appearing again tomorrow for a short piece on Gardener's World....

Things that cheer me up

 Slowly a feeble sun starts to appear and my mood changes as I walk to Lidl and look up at the trees, they also are colouring slightly.  Tod is getting to be the second 'Hebden Bridge'.  What I mean by that is that HB has a reputation for being sophisticated (yes they do sophistication down North).  Tod on the other hand is a town bisected by three main roads and has no centre to talk off.  But that is changing, the ponytail grey haired male is appearing in this town, 'yummy-mummies' as well.  Though don't ask what they are about, I pick up jargon willy-nilly.

I was going to talk about chicken.  Every fortnight or so we have a chicken, roasted of course, but with half of it remaining for another meal, everyone's fingers are kept off it.  Then it is my job to strip the carcass, which takes ages.  As I do this wretched job, the song that comes into my mind is Pickin a Chicken with me* sung by Eva Boswell in the 1950s and sung by us as children.  The chicken dish made  has tarragon, mustard, cream and cheese - very rich, but is a great favourite of the family.  I do not eat chicken by the way, a vegetarian compromise you would think but I  cook whatever other people want.

Have just been through my email, and find Andrew has sent me a set of photos of his father's garden.  Andrew's father made a garden from an old quarry, so that it has the right ecosystem for the plants he grows in it. It is called 'Jack's Jungle' and has appeared on Monty Don's gardening programme.  It was sad last week when one of Monty's dogs died, I think it was Jen, but as always dog owners always have younger dogs to replace the old as and when they go.

But to return to the garden, it is alive with exotica and native plants and you can see why his dad is so proud of it.  There is a photo of him amongst the pictures and you can see that Andrew will grow into the spitting image of him as he ages.

*Listening to the music once again all I can say that as children we had crap taste in music!

31st October 2023 - All Soul's Night

A Blessing

The following poem for All Hallows.  I found this recently, Louise Gluck had just died and it seemed appropriate for this day.  Looking at what I have written over the years and I find that the mind is too occupied with the tragedy of today between Israel and Palestine.  Annwyn may be riding the skies tonight, his horses looking for souls, but surely it is the Four Horses of the  Apocalypses that has taken centre stage as the world waits for whatever the latest tragedy has to offer.

All Hallows 

BY LOUISE GLÜCK

Even now this landscape is assembling.

The hills darken. The oxen

sleep in their blue yoke,

the fields having been

picked clean, the sheaves

bound evenly and piled at the roadside

among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:

This is the barrenness

of harvest or pestilence.

And the wife leaning out the window

with her hand extended, as in payment,

and the seeds

distinct, gold, calling

Come here

Come here, little one

And the soul creeps out of the tree.

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Other blogs I have written for Halloween;

 North Stoke: Halloween

North Stoke: The Wild Hunt at Halloween

Travel - It gets comical

I'm so glad I did not travel to Macclesfield with them yesterday.  A nightmarish journey that started with a coach trip to Rochdale, no trains from Tod.  They waited, it turned up eventually.  Everyone seated, the driver turned the wrong way to go to Rochdale.  He reversed as everyone shouted at him and with a lady sitting near him was told where to stop to pick up people along the way.  When you get to Manchester you have to cross from one station to another, and the three had to wait for an hour having missed the train. Two hours later they arrived in Macclesfield.  Tom who had to sit alone and read his book had a variety of companions on the journey.  The worst being a rather large man, who nipped off the coach and bought himself some beers, which he consumed through the rest of the journey.

My daughter bought 'it's for you mum, hmmm' a large vintage orange salad shaker, I took a horrified look at it and asked where we were going to keep it in the already overflowing cupboards.  Apparently there is a vintage cooler bought as well but she is hiding that from me.

The rest of the family did not fare so well either.  Matilda stuck in York station for a couple of hours, something went wrong with the line, and Andrew stuck in London again for almost 3 hours.

The journey back was almost as bad, again taking a couple of hours, this time the trams in Manchester were all dilly-dallying.

Don't travel on a Sunday! But apparently Macclesfield is considered  a fashionable place to live out of Manchester which they had to see and of course the new little house rented by Tom and Ellie.

Also looking fashionable doesn't pay.  Matilda dressed in her best black leather jacket and a vintage sweater borrowed from a friend.  She got soaked from the rain, and black from the jacket leaked on to the expensive jumper ;

This, funnily enough is not a criticism of the trains, stuff happens, strikes at the moment unfortunately. But truthfully, come Sunday, and it is a day for mending the tracks in England.  So would HS2 have made it any better? Probably a better train service, interlocking the great Northern cities and towns might be a much better answer.

29th October 2023 - Joseph

Yesterday was a sort of wait for a parcel day.  This time a large Dimplex electric radiator for my room.  It sits in its box waiting for its arrival into the world, I hate undoing well packed boxes!

As we live in the centre of the entertainment hub of Tod, it means I missed going to the Folklore group yesterday afternoon.

But I did go to 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Coat' put on by the youth part of the Hippodrome Theatre in the evening.  Wow, that is all I can say, danced, sung and acted with great panache (and happiness) and the music was great.  

Packed house all week it has been on, the show was great, Lillie's last appearance in a show there.  The audience was so enthusiastic, clapping, whistling, standing up, it must have felt worthwhile for all the children and young adults to hear the enthusiasm from the audience 

The rest of the family will be off to Macclesfield today to look at Ellie and Tom's house which they are renting. I have decided not to go, seen Tom here, he carried the box upstairs for me, we have just learnt he is 29 not 30 as is his mother thought, but he had come down to see his sister in the show.  Apparently it is a long journey, not helped by the fact they have to catch a coach to Rochdale back this morning.

Photos taken from Todmorden Hippodrome F/B

Don't Forget

Childish I know. 

27th October 2023

Alstroemeria

A sort of stream of consciousness:  I had meant to write about Alstroemeria, a delicate Peruvian lily, I bought a bunch last week, and it is a long lasting flower.  Delicate, softly coloured, it likes its roots to be dry in a sandy soil.  But suddenly it reminded me of harebells, their gentle heads, pale and trembling in the grass.  I have seen them on the downs round Bath and up on the moors in Yorkshire, so despite their appearance they are pretty tough.

"I shall copy verbatim what Grigson tells us of the harebell-Campanula rotundifolia, for what he writes belies its gentle innocence.

Bluebell of Scotland or no, it was also the Old Man's bell, the devil's bell, which was not to be picked, the Witch Bell, the Witch Thimble,  and in Gaelic the Cuckoo's Shoe bròg na cubhaig. In Ireland this dangerous and fine etched plant is sometimes called mearacan puca, thimble of the puca or goblin; and it was a fairy plant in the South West of England, however much it has now been airyfairy'd.  The hare, too, of Harebell is a witch animal"  Geoffrey Grigson - The Englishman's Flora.

A Puca by the way can be some sort of animal creature who can either bring you good or bad fortune.  There was a Puca stream up on the Lansdown, I wonder if it was good or bad water.

But Grigson goes on to say there was the cleansing effect of 'Our Lady's Thimble added at a later date.  Who knew that wild flowers had such history!

So where did my thoughts go next, well  to hares and funnily enough Colin Blanchard, artist and printer, and you can see below a video of him working. I bought a couple of his prints a few years back, hares of course, with wording round the edges.  When you print by printing machine you have to write backward, no mean feat.

All inspired by a jug of Alstroemeria.  I found these two photos along the way. 

Toadflax

Dyers Weld

   

26th October 2023

 Writing today, what to say. Listened to a zoom meeting, a meditation on Samhain.  Georgie is good at storytelling, she told of the Cailleach or Hag that somehow represents the dark days coming up to winter. Remember I talked of the Mother Goddess on the Isle of Lewis the other day.  Female goddesses  were represented in the Roman line-up of gods as well  The matres (mother goddesses) often carrying a cornucopia of food, maybe with a little dog at heel.  Life through the ages is very similar to life today.

The Hag though was dark and frightening, someone you pulled up to frighten your children as we get to All-Saints night.  She is more of a Scottish/Northern figure, useful in naming mountains.  In fact she also belongs to a trio of females, the maiden, the mother, and then the old hag.

There are three old Celtic goddesses of Ireland.  The Morrigon are again a triple deity, this time symbolising one force, sovereign rights.  Macha, Badb and Ananna are their names, and they can shape-shift turning from old woman to beautiful maiden - but beware they can be cruel.

These tales sit at the bottom of so many sci-fi fantasy stories, beings from afar sent to plague us, but there is always someone to confront the evil monster!

Well it was a quiet meditation and I enjoyed it and so did the audience.

Then I have finished listening to Robert Galbraith's book 'The Running Grave'.  A long rambling story of a cult and all its evils.  Perhaps there was too many characters to always grasp who was who, but evil done on a different basis. Rowlings is a good storyteller, The Harry Potter books attest to that, but perhaps she fills up spaces of her writing with 'fluff' of the main protagonists, Strike and Robin.

Finished the baby blanket and it is now folded away in the drawer.  Tom is coming down at the weekend to see Lillie at the Hippodrome.  Matilda is off to Whitby, I think it is Goth week, and she is doing some sort of writing on it.