Celtic Tale - The Man in the Tree

 

The Peaked Red One or The Man in the Tree 

"Finn was was walking through a wood one day and happened to spy a man sitting at the top of a tree. A blackbird on his right shoulder, and in his left hand a bronze vessel filled with water, in which swam a skittish trout, and a stag at the bottom of the tree. The man would crack a nut, half of which he ate himself the other half he gave to the blackbird. Then he would take an apple out of the bronze vessel, half of which he ate himself the other half he threw to the stag below. Then he would take a sip of the water in the vessel, as did the stag and the blackbird - they would all drink together.  And then his followers asked Finn who he in the tree was for they did not recognise him on account of the hood of disguise which he wore."

The followers of Finn asked who this disguised hooded man was. Ann Ross in her book 'Pagan Celtic Britain'  speculates that this 'nurturer of animals' could be attributed to Cernunnos  or the Romano-Celtic god Vosegus,  who had some of the attributes of the man in the tree.

The stag headed god called Cernunnos.  Surrounded by animals.  In one hand a serpent in the other a torc.

Trees were also very important in the Celtic mythology.  Men were given the name of trees such as Mac Iba - son of Yew.  There is a story of Saint Martin of  Tour, who  died in 397.  Given the job of converting the pagan people to Christianity he razed temples to the ground and also cut down sacred trees....

"When in a certain village he had demolished a very ancient temple, and had set about cutting down a pine-tree, which stood close to the temple, the chief priest of that place, and a crowd of other heathens began to oppose him; and these people, though, under the influence of the Lord, they had been quiet while the temple was being overthrown, could not patiently allow the tree to be cut down"

The story goes on of course in typical Christian manner, by stating that Martin stood in front of the tree as it was cut down, and by some miracle the tree missed him!

There is also on the Gundestrup Cauldron another depiction of a tree in the inner plate, it is called the giant general/priest and cauldron.  The cauldron I believe is supposed to renew life.  You can see it on the following video.

Tidying up

 Tidying Up:  I have decided to draw out the little tales of Celtic telling.  It is to do with the old saints, the Celtic ones, that wandered round our land and others of course, preaching but there is a whole swathe of opinion that the term 'Celtic' is a descriptive term that has come in through over-romanticism, starting in the 18th century, of past people.

A lot of the stories come from the Irish tradition of storytelling and old books still exist with the dates of battles and kings and ancestral lineage.  So imagination may have run riot but there is still a small truth hidden somewhere in all the myths.

This thought came to me when on listening to a talk on Saturday.  The speaker had written a book on tales from Lindisfarne, but the thing missing was hardly any reference to Lindisfarne??  

I did enjoy the talk, though there was a thread of the modern day through it which was gender identity, she identified herself as she/they.  Now my family will tell you I get completely confused by the use of they, but that is my age obviously.  Also obviously trying to work out whether people from the Celtic Age were LGBTQ, was a stretch too far ;)

Lindsfarne Island like Iona Island on the West side of England was the place where the first early monasteries congregated and were the place where many important Celtic saints came from, they accrued their stories and preached far and wide.  They took some of the practice of imitating the Eastern monks, finding lonely places to live like hermits but also preached.  I also love the idea of them walking around with a bell, a bangu to summon the congregation in the open air.

So I start with probably my favourite female saint, Melangell, she saved a hare from a local  hunting prince and was rewarded some land which forever became a sanctuary from the kill of the hunt.  The first environmental person to stand up for the rights of animals maybe.

Celtic Tales

 

The Story of Melangell

The story of Saint Melangell and her little hare. She was the daughter of King Cufwlch and Ethni of Ireland and she fled to Wales to escape a forced marriage. She settled in Pennant at the head of a valley, and whilst one day sitting in a clearing she heard the sound of a hunt, dogs and horses galloping up the valley. This was Prince Brochwael of Powys hunting hares. As she sat a hare came into the clearing and Melangell hid it in the sleeve of her dress to protect it. When it peeped out the dogs fled, and so the Prince gave her the land on which he hunted, and she lived at Pennant for another 37 years and no animal was killed in her sanctuary.   Hares were known as wyn bach Melangell or Melangell's little lambs, and to kill a hare was an act of sacrilege.

1795 drawing of the hunt on rood screen

This story is taken from "The Book of Welsh Saints" T.D. Breverton, and there are other versions of the tale. But at Llanfihangel-y-Pennant near Llangynog is probably the site of her foundation, because on the church's medieval rood-screen are little hares.

Church of Melangell, Pennant

15th March 2025

 Not much to write about.  My back has suddenly given up, think it was spinning some yellow wool yesterday, the different way of sitting. I sit in a three sided cocoon, to the right is the sewing machine on its table, in front of me is my larger table with computer screen and to the left my spinning wheel.  

This afternoon I go to a talk on 'Legends from Lindisfarne' which should be interesting.  These talks at the Folklore Centre get plenty of people.   Also I have been deserted (once more) as daughter and Andrew off to Germany this morning to visit Andrew's relatives in Munich for a few days.

Andrew who is the most affable person you are likely to meet, spends some of his evenings on the computer to the young children in Munich teaching them how to programme.

What else, I have just read the most comprehensive blow by blow, or at least date by date of the horrendous would be takeover of Canada by Trump.  I cannot say America because I believe if American people were to read the document they would be horrified.  Carney seems the man for the job, his ex job as the chair of the Bank of England should give him some leeway in the fight against the loathsome three.

Things I miss:  Lazy spaniels who can't be arsed to open their Xmas presents.

Roses in their state of supreme loveliness

The bantams who wandered the garden with freedom

Also miss the grandchildren as children.  As the first marriage of the oldest takes place this summer.  Got my dress but can't find shoes.  Cottage is booked for the whole family to come down to a civil wedding.  I am blessed.

It seems I look backwards more than forward but that is as it should be I have grown into old age unwittingly ;}

12th March 2025

Each year I write of cherry trees in March.  Early to flower their blossom attracts the bees and the butterflies.  The white clouds of blossom against a blue sky, a revelation after winter.

But Paul also had another ceremony when the blossom came out, it was the drinking of hot Saki  wine out in the garden to welcome the two cherry tree's he had planted as they blossomed.  We would choose our small Japanese cups and then pour the wine for each other.  I can also remember eating soya beans.  They came in their pods and were hot and salty, you sort of sucked the beans out of the pod, it always reminded me of childhood when we podded peas and chewed the inner sweet layer of the pod. A good greeting for Spring. 

Paul's friend who lived in Hawaii, was a Saki wine merchant, and every so often would come to London to sell his wines to restaurants there.  An American, he was also at Kyoto at the temple the same time as Paul, so it was a long friendship. He also edited an air magazine in Hawaii, presumably for reading on the plane. 

Here they are at Rievaulx Abbey, tucked deep in its valley away from the troubles of the world.  I think Chris was more of a friend of Gary Snyder than Paul.  But Gary Snyder who was also at the Ryozen-an temple helping with the translation of a book.

There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is. It is the sadness of understanding that life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments, that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion, that happiness is not a permanent state, but a rare, fleeting glimpse of something we can never hold onto. And in that understanding, there is a profound loneliness, a sense of being cut off from the world, from other people, from oneself.

— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

Virginia Woold wrote well but in the end she gave way to unhappiness and committed suicide but she also left behind a legacy of words that are often beautiful and strong. Pat (Weaver of Grass) was not keen on her neither was Pat keen on the Japanese people because of the treatment her first husband had received at the hands of the Japanese soldiers building the notorious railway, that took so many lives.

All water under the bridge now as we turn and face another blip in history. America colluding with Russia, our fate in the hands of shallow business men who only do good for themselves.

But then look at the fate of Rievaulx Abbey and the rest of the abbeys in Britain, as a greedy king in 1538 bent only on his own will brought them down because they had become too wealthy.

stream of?

 "Why did Joseph say that no one would read what he wrote?  Why did the villagers tie tin cans to the tail of his dog? Why did the peacocks shriek and the bells ring?  Why was there no mercy shown to him and no respect and no love?  With agonising repetition the diary asks these questions; but there was no answer. At last, one morning in December 1839, the Rector took his gun, walked into the beech wood near his home, and shot himself dead."

Virginia Woolf's essay on the Reverend Skinner and the world which so plagued him.  Picking out sentences to allow the thoughts to roam ;) You can find the whole story here. I actually felt sorry for him, he had a parish of unruly villagers, miners in the village of Camerton, near Bath.  Children who laughed at him and then of course his children died because it was Victorian times and disease stalked the land.  But through all this he traced the prehistory of the area around him and occasionally following in his footsteps I also have felt the 'pull' of the unknown.  The sense of excitement as you look across an empty field and imagine the life that once lived there.

Probably Diane and her hound

I think it was brought home sharply when I picked up a book yesterday, Wedlake's excavation of the Roman Temple at Nettleton Shrub.  I occasionally took  Moss for a walk along this little sanctuary of a valley with its chalk meadow of wild plants preserved by dictate of the wild life trust.  What had struck me was the depth the archaeologists had dug down to, revealing the walling of the Roman temple.  It was an early dig, somewhere in the 1970s.  Therefore no trace of the excavation existed except for the line of the old 'canal'  I should study it more.....

So what else caught my eye?  It was one of those walks on a lovely August day from the Avebury stones to Silbury Hill to witness the gathering of the neo-pagans.  Sometimes life is not about religion for some people but about a belief system and the need to dress up.  So as I have observed the neopagans, sometimes full of anger over the fact that Stonehenge is not their temple of druidical worship (as dictated by the laws that be) Or singing and drumming to welcome spring or farewell to summer.

So an old 2008 blog mooching along on a walk, with all my senses alert to the world around me, and this time I walk towards humans not away from them!

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Nettleton Shrub

August 2008 - Silbury Reflections

Yesterday I walked all round Silbury on a warm sunny day, that by happenstance turned out to be Lammas so I was rewarded by the event of a Druid ceremony on top of the hill, though in truth I was supposed to be recording what was happening with the contractor's work to restore the mound to its original state.

Moss and I commenced our walk from the carpark, over the road, and there is the river beautiful as ever, long green fronds moving under the water, always invoking Rossetti's Ophelia drowning. Though rotten Rossetti made his wife lie submerged in a bath of cold water to get the effect, and probably gave her pneumonia. 

But the river is sparkling clear, making those soft chuckling, rilling noises as it flows under the silver leaved willows. There is a green verdancy about after all that rain, an exuberant green energy, broken by patches of flowers and the field of ripening yellow wheat. As we walk along the path I spy a partridge ahead, suddenly little chicks appear from out the undergrowth, maybe eight,I hold on to Moss's collar as they awkwardly take to the air, the mother continues along the path with a little one following furiously and they escape under the bar. Continuing to the bridge, and over the stile, where I see a hare sitting as bold as brass in the grass, his ears are a much darker colour than his body and so enormous, I sit on the stile and he sits in his field, Moss investigates the hedgerow, a perfect moment, magical of course a hare on Lammas day.

Photographing Silbury now, I notice the monorail running like a zip up her side, the rail is aligned with the straight ditch that leads to the river, and I wonder if they are draining the water from Silbury this way. Though later I am told there was no need to drain water. Up Waden Hill to take in the view, West Kennet long barrow in the distance, crowning its ridge amongst the vast space that is the Wiltshire downs. Sweeping round now to Silbury, the neat square of the archaeological/contractors compound under the hill, on top men in bright orange move around the great necklace of its silver fence which sits ungainly on top.

Moss is on his back rolling happily in the grass and we descend to follow the path once more. More photos, there is a crane hiding neatly in the hedgerow away from the compound, and as we come up to the road, a crew of two, camera and interviewer, one of the men rushes over the road to me, had I seen the druid procession along the path. I hadn't, no one had followed me, and I am glad that the partridge and hare are now in hiding and can watch the humans play their games.

Walking along the road to the visitors centre, I meet two women with pushchairs, plump and slightly panting from their exertions they are definitely druidical in their colourful clothes, we greet each other. Further on I pass three people coming out of the compound, the two girls are in shorts, archaeologist team, but the man is dressed in a formal brown suit, it looks like Professor Ronald Hutton is here to witness the pagan ceremony, coincidentally I am reading his books at the moment, a sceptic like me, he is honest in his appraisal of this 'otherworld' and records, like all good historian should, the passing of this particular history.

I stop and take photos of the entrance to Silbury, a solitary helmeted Skanska man stands guard just below, waiting for Terry the Druid to make his climb to the top of the mound. People are gathering, but I go on, first to stop at the visitors centre to gather information. During my conversation with the girl there, we got to talking about the platform on top, and maybe its levelling during the Saxon period, when it seems to been made into a stockade, evidence of postholes in a trench have been found, but as only one trench was opened I suppose this can't be confirmed.

Walking now down to the little bridge, here along the path I can watch Terry the Druid conduct his ceremony, Hail and Farewell rings down from the top of the hill, part of the ceremony is to go to the four quarters of the hill and call on Lightening, but sadly (or happily) it does not appear, he kneels down and seems to dig the earth, is he taking or giving I wonder?

Musing at the bridge, watching the clear water make its way down the river, one realises nothing really matters in the world, the moment is captured, Moss will at the end of the walk take one last cold drink from the river, sating his thirst and resigning himself to the end of a happy ramble looking for elusive mice and voles.

Thought for the morning

Beaumaris Castle

Somehow, in that abstract way of my thinking, castles seem to be a popular line of defense in the present climate.  Doesn't it look good in the sunshine, a place where battles were fought and sieges occurred though.  The water reflects a placid and beautiful world.  But those dark clouds??

What to worry about this morning? Well the 'Wandering Turnip' has come back to make another video, I will put it down below.  And as we know my geographical expertise is not of the highest but I do know the shape of our country - long and narrow.  I know the Romans built Hadrian's wall across it to keep the Picts out.  Before that the Antonine Wall which was not a success

.

But here on the East coast of Yorkshire, England is slowly slipping into the sea.  No strong rock cliffs to keep the sea at bay just soft crumbly geological material.  Slightly scaring.   Roads end up mid air, houses teeter on the edge, gardens falling to the sands below.  Could it be in centuries hence that we will be split from the Northern territories such as Northumberland and Scotland.

London drifting even further away?  The sea taking our narrowest point the Hadrian Wall, which is 73 modern miles across, and driving a wedge of sea, just like Doggerland when the glacial ice age of only about 7000 years ago, covered the land between us and Europe and made that narrow sea called the North Sea.

Celtic Spoons

Well I am not sure that I have bought this 2014 blog forward properly but at one stage these ritual spoons fascinated me and I see from this link on Bensozia' blog that another one has been found.  Iron Age Divination spoon on Isle of Man.  One of the reasons these spoons interested me was a pair of spoons that had been found by the Loxbrook/Locksbrook stream that ran into the River Avon in Bath, it was not very far from where we lived.  Christianity, or indeed the Romans, had not made their appearance in Iron Age Britain, so how were these spoons used?

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Gathering theories

So where am I going with these Celtic spoons, not sure, but this pair of spoons below were found not far from my old house in Bath, down the lane following the fierce little brook (Locksbrook) that would eventually join up with the River Avon. I remember chasing the literature at the time, a friend had given me an old article on the subject and at the end, it was just one of those mysterious Celtic puzzles.  My mind had become locked into the silver baptismal spoon my daughter had had as a baby, no answer.

"Celtic spoons found at Loxbrook; One other interesting fact is that near the end of the brook before it joins the River Avon a pair of “Celtic” spoons were found. To quote (taken from Rev.Preb.Scarth 1870). “they were found while clearing the ground for quarrying stone to form a new road, and lay near the stream, at the depth of about 7 feet”. These spoons, of which other pairs have been found in England, Wales and Ireland, are considered by Scarth to be early christian spoons, probably dating from the 3rd or 4th century. Its interesting that they should be found just outside Bath, and near to a local stream. This leads one to believe that they were used for a baptismal rite, one spoon normally has a small hole in its bowl, also they are often incised with a faint cross in the bowl. The other characteristic is distinctive celtic curvilinear patterns that are found at the top of the spoons."

Then on checking the Westmoreland spoons, to be found at the British Museum, I found this written about them..... appertaining to the Druidical nature of the spoons....

"The spoons were found by a farmer digging in a bog near a natural spring. They were buried under 30-50 cm of peat and were about 200-250 cm apart. Objects were offered as sacrifices in bogs, lakes and rivers in the Iron Age and the spoons' location suggests that they might have been used in rituals. Spoons like these are usually found in pairs and one spoon always has a small hole on the right side. The other spoon does not have a hole, but is always decorated with a cross which divides the bowl into four quarters. Why? It has been suggested that something, perhaps water, blood or beer, might have been allowed to drip through the hole in one spoon onto the other spoon during attempts see into the future."

There is no sense to making the cross in the centre of the right hand spoon for measurement as  liquid dripping through would on the whole take the pathway of the lower r/h quarter.  Always I see the spoon as an anointing spoon, but this is because of a strong Catholic upbringing when I was young and the association of baptism and water, the 'ritual' though whatever it was has a more symbolic nature to it.

There are quite a few pairs found, as one can see from the above illustration

Romilly Allen - Celtic Art in Pagan and Christian times 1904

The Welsh spoons and those from the south of England are of the best workmanship, with embossed concentric or curvilinear designs on the handles, the reverses of which are in some cases engraved with curvilinear designs. In one Welsh pair (1 and 2) and in one English spoon (5) the junction of the bowl with the circular handle is strengthened

by wide lateral wings. That this junction was a weak part is shown by a small ornamented plate riveted on the back of a spoon found in London (8); the only other evidence of repair is a small gold plug inserted in one of the Cardigan pair (2). The spoons from the north of England, Scotland, and Ireland have engraved designs on the handles and are not embossed; the bowls are less circular than those from the south, the Irish spoons being specially elongated. In the Irish and Westmorland spoons the cross radiates from a small engraved circle; this might suggest an origin from a spoon with a central perforation similar to the French spoon, but the design is probably purely decorative....

4th March 2025

The Ides of March

"A warming trend" in the weather that is good to hear.  Isn't it funny how things creep into the weather language but I shall welcome a warming trend and try to prise Mollie the cat off the electric radiator which she demands to be put on every day so that she can sleep snugly and warmly under it.

yesterday Andrew cooked tea, a delicious vodka pasta, the vodka seems to disappear by the way.  We listened to a Leonard Cohen playlist and it reminded me of the records of his.  Cohen could not sing, that gruff voice was made for poetry and that of course what his songs are about.  It reminded of another couple of records I had, again not sure if Melanie could sing but she was original.

What do I do during the day?  Well I sew patchwork, small squares into larger ones matching the colours, or even jarring the colours, it is simple and does not require enormous amounts of concentration.  

Am I worrying about the evolving situation, the answer is no only that talk of appeasement is wrong.  I do not want Europe to be handed on a plate to Russia as they creep over Ukraine .  But neither do I want another war, so I would play the game softly, softly.  

There are so many things buzzing around at the moment and America is making one great whirlpool in the life of the world.  Will there be change? Yes of course, what we see now is the cut and thrust of business.  Growth as always is the call to duty.  But luckily old values still hold strong in Europe and Starmer is playing the game quietly.  As I read the other day, there are seven billion people in the world, we can easily stop buying cars, clothes and eating foul McDonald's stuff, there is swift punishment out there for those who overstep the line (as Musk has done).

So I am going to grow older gracefully, watch my grandchildren evolve into good citizens and not panic about things I cannot change.

Another eleven days and it will be 'The Ides of March' interesting!

Dear old Lucy which I came across this morning

1st March 2025 - White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit!

 

What happened yesterday in the Oval office of the White House was a disgusting theatre show of two bullies in the school yard.  Zelensky was set upon without mercy by two arrogant men who are scheming and maneuvering for their own benefit.  Forget about all those young men killed in war between the Russians and the Ukrainians - they are dispensable, disposable? against the need to grab mineral wealth that lies in Ukrainian territory.

So I also will keep the Ukrainian flag at the side of my blog as a sign of my support and I hope Britain and Europe will keep to their promises of support for the country.

Things may change but right and wrong does not.  The moral code of the three men - The Orange One, Muskrat and Vile Vance has been bleached out of their souls!

And now to something gentler, the River Ter in Essex.  Small gentle river winding between willows, often clogged by fallen trees and over exuberant water plants and very occasionally had fish in it.

I am deserted once again this weekend, Andrew up to Devon to visit his grandchildren, my daughter to London to visit the two girls.

No I did not go down the stairs backwards this morning saying 'White Rabbit' the March Hare is not going to get me yet...

If you do click on the River Ter, remember to click the photo so that they have a black frame.  When I go back to old blogs, there is a sense of sadness, not only for Paul but for Pat who often commented on my blog but there again with Paul we pottered along in our retirement experiencing a new life with each other and the magic of the natural world gives much joy.

Brief Interlude

Artist - Anne Cotterill

So what did I see yesterday when I went and posted a letter but the first signs of spring.

Crinkled leaves, pale lemon buds = wild primroses.  They arrive tucked into woods amongst the trees, the old leaves of last year still strewn untidily around. I am wearing a jumper I knitted in the same soft yellow colour and it always brightens my day.  Always loved primroses, they come in various shapes and sizes, from the Alpines to our own cold weather loving wild primrose.  Gertrude Jekyll described them thus,

 "the Primrose garden in season a river of gold and silver flowering through a copse of silver stemmed young birch for a hundred yards or more" 
and to read on.... the primroses were the celebrated Munstead Strain developed by crossing the variety Golden Plover with a very pale, almost white polyanthus found in a cottage garden" .

25th February 2025

 Before I launch myself into a jigsaw, wordle, spelling bee and codewords  I will put down some of the references that have passed by in the last couple of days.

Firstly, Jolly's down Milsom Street in Bath.  This departmental store so noticeable as you walked down Milsom Street, owned by 'The House of Fraser' and very classy to boot, hardly went in there myself, is to close and manifest itself in another version. It is one of the oldest department stores in Europe.

Temple Mill Works

Secondly,  the redundant flax mill Temple Works in Leeds has had a grant of ten million pounds for conversion into the British Library northern outpost.  It has an Egyptian Revival frontage and one wonders at these Victorian owners of old why they spent so much money on grandiose schemes.  But it is good that it is being saved.  One of these Northern mills traits are enormous spaces which housed the looms.  Drafty old halls are probably quite amenable to shelves of books.

Todmorden town hall

Lastly, whilst contemplating the fate of Northern Victorian buildings my mind went back to the town hall in Todmorden.  A very classic 'Roman' facade this building has.  To my eye it sits rather sadly at a roundabout of roads, though central, it has no gathering open space for the people of Todmorden but has a very fine assembly room.

Then of course the politics that flow at the moment.  I had subscribed to Robert Reich on Substack, but then other things started coming through, such as an article by 'Old Goats'.  Most of what I read tends to flow away from me but I did find one name mentioned that always fills me with crossness.

Bradenstoke Abbey

Yes, William Randolph Hurst, one of the 'great' names of America.  Well he nicked parts of our buildings, mainly Bradenstoke Abbey in Wiltshire and then left all the stones to rot in a barn.  I think he took them to build a hotel, doesn't he remind you of someone?  Well he also dabbled in films such as this....de ja vue??

The essay it came in though was from the 'Old Goats' on Substack.....

23rd February 2024 - Lina Ghotmeh

 

Lina Ghotmeh with Nicholas Cullinan in the Western Range of the British Museum 

Lina Ghotmeh Lebanese born architect has won the contract to alter/renew the British Museum.  I learnt that this morning when in my emails Mike Pitt's latest blog came through.  Mike Pitt is the editor of 'British Archaeology' and a writer of  good archaeological books.  Many years ago when he ran the cafe at Avebury with his partner he was also a friend of Pauls.  There were parties apparently in the big old house, next to the loos, I believe, where before Avebury became Avebury to the neo-pagans, people gathered.

But that is but tittle-tattle, what do you notice first of all?  she is female and it still surprises me that a woman can be an architect - it should not of course.  In fact 31% is the figure, almost a third so not really bad.  Her mother who was also an architect had four children therefore was more occupied with her family than her work.  But Lina did not start out in architecture, she was interested in many things, biology and archaeology to name but two.  Studying in Paris though she got a degree in architecture and Paris is where she operates from.  Her work, like so many architects reflects designs of the world around her, whether it be geology or the natural.  Stone Garden in Beirut is extraordinary and she has also done some work in this country in the construction of 'The Serpentine Pavilion' in 2023.  Which seems to be renewed every so often.

Serpentine Pavilion

So here is Mike Pitt's Digging Deeper link  I hope she achieves her goal along with her team.

And just a thought. "A museum of the world, for the world" Neil Macgregor.

There is always trouble brewing at museums about how they acquired their artefacts, and shouldn't they give back some of them to the countries they came from.  But a central gathering of history is just as important for knowledge.

My favourite museum happens to be Wells Museum, a miscellany of stuff;)

British Museum Western Range Competition - Lina Ghotmeh Architecture on Vimeo

22nd February 2025

 

Ubud Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary in Bali

These creatures are probably wiser than those who are governing us at the moment, the photo appeared as I switched on this morning.  I have been bereft of words lately but slowly I recover from this virus cold thing and when I can stop falling asleep during the day I shall be up and away.......

Yesterday I sorted my room so that I can fit another small table in to house my sewing machine.  I like patchworking but with only one table to work on which contains a large computer, it is difficult to cut and arrange the pieces with the sewing machine there.

It has also been a week of getting used to another person around the place, Andrew.  He fits in quite well!  Though I think ordering pizzas on his night to cook is a cool way of getting out of cooking but there again he does work.

A couple of memes to follow and a video of Ian Hislop turning his wicked tongue to pulling down the clowns, and here I mean Musk and Trump, over the years.  We will survive such wretched characters mark my words ;)

 

20th February 2025

Idly thumbing through a small book by Virginia Woolf, it is a chapter from 'A Room of One's Own', the chapter is called 'Liberty'.  Woolf writes on how women through the ages belonged, I can think of no better word, to men.  The middle class woman was earmarked, often from a baby, to marry into her equivalence.  No matter that she may have wanted different her life was set in stone by men.  Woolf muses on the fact that what would have happened if Shakespeare had had a sister, what would have happened to her? She imagines her going up to London and presenting herself at a theatre because she wanted to be an actress.  Being laughed out of the circle of men who only looked upon her as a 'piece of flesh'. She is rescued by a theatre manager, but hey babe, she gets pregnant by him and has a child.  So what does she do?  Yes, she kills herself, because she loses respect in the eyes of the people around her.

Enough of that.  I have been musing on what to wear to the wedding of my first grandchild to get married.  This marriage will take place in August of this year and the two young people are already preparing for it.  What present shall I buy for them, or perhaps money.  I remember the wedding list we prepared in my first marriage to Tom's grandfather.  There was a teamaker.  It produced after a lot of grumbling percolating noises a hideous cup of stewed tea, and you had to go and get the milk out of the fridge anyway.  There was a china dinner set, ivy leafed round the edges, towels and a silver tea service, which meant I had to clean it, till eventually it went to the back of the cupboard.

So I went to 'Seasalt' for a dress, there is a simple pretty blue one that took my fancy, but I shall need to shorten the hem - is it too early?  No hat, small people look silly in hats.  A cardigan rather than a jacket, I hate the idea of dressing up just for the day.  But...............did I ever expect to see my grandchildren married?? especially in this day when we live with our partners without the legal code of marriage.  So it is a good time still to be alive and experiencing the life events we all go through.