Sunday Scribblings - Thief

The phone rang as she was staring out of the window, coffee cup in hand, looking out at her garden. She smiled gently, put the cup down and turned to the small table picking up the phone.
'Ellen,'
'Prue, hello, I'm just about ready to leave.'
'Just thought I would check. It is our carpet bags we are taking with us isn't it?'
'Oh yes, I think that's what we'll need today. I've got the other things ready.'
'Ok, see you soon bye.'
'Bye, Prue'.
Ellen put down the receiver, and checking the sunny day outside, picked up her large straw hat and firmly placed it on her head, inserting a rather dashing hatpin. She picked up a largish carpet bag and a walking stick. Closing the front door behind her, she walked slowly down the garden path admiring her garden in this early morning sunlight and walked through the gate shutting it firmly behind her.

The coach was parked outside the village hall and Prue was there waiting for her, carrying a similar bag and her walking stick. They greeted each other and turned to board the coach.
'Think we're going on a weekend trip and not a daytrip?' joked the organiser, looking at their substantial bags as he ticked their names off the list.
'We like to be prepared for all things.' Ellen replied, as behind her Prue giggled. They settled themselves into their seats placing the bags in the luggage holder above their heads, and prepared for the journey. The coach departed, the countryside certainly looked stunning this summer's day and there was a buzz of conversation around the coach about the delights they expected to see at their destination in ninety minutes time.

Finally, ahead of the coach they could see a two wide gateposts, 'Meadowacres House' straight ahead' the organiser said, and the coach drove through and up the drive. Once in the coach park, Ellen and Prue disembarked, and listened to their choices.
'You can have a guided tour of the house, followed by a guided tour of the garden, or if you like just spend time in the gardens yourselves. There will be a break for lunch between the house tour and garden tour. If you are going off by yourselves, please be at the cafe for 1.00p.m. Now can we find out who is doing what please?'
'The house and garden tour will be too much for our old legs.' Ellen said. 'I think we will just meander through the gardens at our own pace, meet up with the group for lunch and then have a pleasant sit down in the gardens in the afternoon.'

The group dispersed, Ellen and Pruce watched them go. 'Right,' said Ellen, 'Off we go. Let's see if there are any greenhouses open to the public and then round the gardens.' They scurried along through a door in a wall until they saw the greenhouses in the distance. The doors of two of them stood open, and there seemed to be no staff in sight. They crept in shivering with excitement. 'Now don't forget said Ellen,' just one of each potted on seedlings, so we don't weigh the bags down, we can split them when they are matured. Nothing too common or garden mind.' So they progressed through the greenhouse placing small pots in plastic bags and then into their capacious bags. After that they progressed through the gardens, with small secateurs in hand, taking leaf cuttings and stem cuttings, and even discreetly digging up tiny parts of plants. Soon it was time for lunch, and afterwards they rested in the gardens, two suddenly surprisingly doddery old ladies. They had a snooze on the bench and then it was time for the return journey.

'Well that was a very successful day' Ellen remarked to her cat, when she entered her house. She felt a thrill of excitement rush through her as she unpacked her bag and placed cuttings in water and put seedling pots in lines on the kitchen table. Tomorrow she would work in her beautiful garden. 'Oh Poppy,' she said to the cat. No wonder I always do well in the village garden competition. I am such a successful plant thief,' and she laughed to herself as she put the kettle on.

Over the past eighteen months, I have been researching my family history and after visiting one of my blogging friends, who had posted about her family, I thought I would relate just a little about some things I have learnt so far. Thank you to my blogging friend for this idea. This photograph opposite is of my great-grandfather, Alfred, who came from an army family, I have got back as far as my three-greats grandfather and upto and including Alfred they were all army men. My great great grandfather, Charles, was actually in the Indian Mutiny and is mentioned in dispatches. It is very strange, but interesting, to realise your connection to events in history. Both Charles and Alfred had much gentler occupations in later life. Charles was a musician and piano teacher [although he was a bandsmaster when in the army] and Alfred became a gardener and always had a deep love of flowers. I often wonder if their hard lives in the army turned them towards gentler occupations in civilian life. Charles went all over the world with the army and his children were born in India, Canada, Malta and even on the high seas.


This is Alfred in later life, I always think he looks a dashing figure of a man. I will post a photograph of his wife Mary sometime. They seem to have been a lot of fun and a pair of gadabouts. They met because Mary worked at the large house at the top of the road where Alfred's family lived. They then both turn up in London, some 360 miles away, to get married, although Alfred was still in the army at this time. Later they are in married quarters in the town they met, and when he came out of the army they settled up here in the north. There are only two reasons they could have married so far away in Southwark, London. One was because the family, Mary worked for had a large London residence, or two because Alfred was in quarters down there, or perhaps it was a combination of the two. There is no one left who can tell me, my mother does not know anything about it, but these little mysteries can sometimes be solved. Why though, do we just seem to find an interest in things like this when older generations, who might have known are no longer with us. These photos are from my Mother's side of the family.


This photograph, the quality of which is dreadful, shows my great grandmother on my Father's side, Mina. She is in the middle surrounded by eleven of her thirteen surviving children. She had a baby nearly every year, well at roughly fifteen month intervals. Can you imagine that? Obviously, by the time the last one was born the older ones would have moved out to live lives of their own. I often sit and think about the sort of life she had, one baby after another, and the sorrow of one or two dead children, how did she manage, or was it a case of knowing no other life and women just got on with it? Both Mina and her husband John, were born in Co Wicklow in Ireland. She was married at fourteen years of age, marriage at that time was permitted that young. There is a family tale that she didn't want to get married, and cried and wanted to out and play with her friends instead, so what the circumstances were who can now tell. By the time she was sixteen, she had emigrated to England with her husband, her baby and her husband's cousin. The first census record of them is very confusing. You can imagine the scene, they probably could not read or write and spoke with broad Irish accents, the census man seemed to have great difficulty understanding them and each one's surname is spelt with a slight variation on what it really was. The census record does not seem to have a clear idea of their exact ages, even the child's, but her husband was obviously working in an iron ore mine.



This photograph, better quality, shows Mina and her husband John, the woman at the back is their second eldest child, Kate, who would be about twenty six and the little girl between them is their youngest child, my grandmother, Lily, who is about three years old at the time. Lily was their last child. What shocks me is the fact that Mina would just have been forty five when this photograph was taken, and John would have been forty eight. When I first saw that photograph I thought it was of grandparents, daughter and granddaughter, but no it is children and parents. This is a woman younger than I am. Thank goodness times have changed, although I have nothing but admiration for the women of that time, who managed to bring up very large families in what was to us very basic conditions.

Another day I will show you some more old photographs and tell their stories. I do have two wonderful large group wedding photographs, one from Edwardian times and one from the 1920's. They are delightful and I have both framed and hung on my dining room wall.

Simple things hold the secret - Carl Jung

I am living in a heatwave, the temperature has steadily risen since last week, today, Tuesday, its 90 degrees and heading upwards, and in this area we don't usually get much over the low 80's. There is no breeze at all, just hot air enveloping you like an eiderdown. Household chores have ground to a halt, craft projects are at a standstill and at times it is too much trouble even to read for long. I am typing this in the slightly cooler evening with all windows around thrown open as wide as possible. Please excuse any typos or odd ramblings as I think my brain may be melting. I am not really complaining about the weather, it wonderful to have these really sunny hot days, but I fear it will end in a giant storm at some point, I can't see it just cooling down naturally.

The photograph, above, is of the Abbey Gate, part of the grounds of the cathedral in my nearest town. I thought I would publish it as part my doors, gates and windows collection. This gate was built in the 1500's, and you are looking out of the cathedral grounds towards the street.


I must just show you this photograph opposite, of the clematis that is flowering in my friend's garden. It is so beautiful, that deep pink, and the flowers are quite large. I have a lovely lavender clematis, which is just beginning to bloom now, I only planted it last year and it has done really well. My other clematis is a cutting I took from a neighbour's last year, it covered their arbour in lovely pale pink flowers in summer. My first buds are on it and one has opened out, but on my cutting the flowers have changed colour and are all going to be dark purple, how strange.

I noticed today that my calendulas have buds on them and if this sunshine continues they should be opening late tomorrow, I have been giving them copious amounts of water, in fact, a lot of my early morning and late evening time has been spent drowning the plants with water from my watering can. All my phlox are in full bloom now, the last one to flower was my favourite the two tone purple one. I love the honeyed fragrance of phlox. I have just sent two rolls of film off for developing so should have some more updated photographs of my garden to show you. That is if I have taken them properly, as I explained in previous post, I have been learning to use my husband's fancy camera.

My computer does not seem to like this heat and is misbehaving, and now I am trying to upload some photographs, only to find there is a scheduled outage on for one hour, so think I shall go round the blogs and come back in an hour. Speaking of blogs, one I visit, Living as Rosa, is being very temperamental to me, I have been trying since last week to reply to comment, but Rosa's blog keeps showing up as just her patternend background, and then my computer goes off line. Is this just me it is happening to or what I wonder? If you read this Rosa, thats why I have been strangely silent.



Just thought I would publish this fairy picture, as I haven't had one on my blog for a while, and I like to keep them happy. I think I have been thinking about them as I have been out in the garden so much this past week. It will be time to harvest my lavender bush soon, I love doing that, sitting at the garden table making bunches to dry or just preparing the flowers to dry. There is nothing like being surrounded by the fragrance of lavender, smelling the straw of my hat in the hot sun and hearing the buzz of the bees. All these sounds and smells, seem to get incorperated into the lavender bunches I am drying and in the middle of winter, when I sniff the lavender I can be transported briefly back to a summer afternoon.

Must just mention what I am reading at the moment. I am reading 'Precious Bane' by Mary Webb, it was published in the 1920's but is set in the early 1800's in the Shropshire country side. The descriptions of the countryside told in the girl's rolling Shropshire accent are wonderful, you can hear and smell what she is describing. They are poor farmers, and the lore and customs that are part of the story are amazing. Any lover of Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles will love this book.

Sunday Scribblings - With baggage

As she returned from the bar with another carafe of wine, she couldn't help overhearing, what Tina said about her,'Suzie's problem is that she comes with baggage, it can put people off.' Is that what her friend really thought? She stuck a smile on her face and managed to drift through the rest of the evening.

Later, at home, lying in bed she thought more about it, 'with baggage', but surely everyone had what they called 'baggage', it was life's experiences, part of her character, part of what made her Suzie. Without it she would be a tabula rasa ready for the first mark to be made. She was not going to deny what life had thrown at her, she thought it made her interesting, she was not afraid to talk of past happenings and current beliefs. How could Tina have said that, she was always the first to say to her, 'Go on Suzie, tell me another tale' or she would remark when with acquaintances, 'Suzie, has led a very interesting life, tell them Suz'.

She fell asleep looking back at the past and her so called 'baggage'. As a child she had always stuck up for the underdog in the classroom, always sure of herself she would berate anyone who thought they could poke fun at a less fortunate child. She was always the one rescuing fledglings from their nests and trying to keep them alive, to no avail, and every time they died she would burst into floods of tears. Teenage years were awash with causes 'make love not war', 'hell no we won't go' agreeing with the draft burners in the Vietnam war, even though she lived in a small seaside town in the South of England. Protest marches and student takeovers of the campus, Suzie always had to be part of it. By the time she got to San Francisco it was not the place she thought it would be, but no matter she would become an eco-warrior instead. Until her late thirties, she roamed the world, helping one cause and then jumping on to the next. Eventually, she met, in foreign lands an overseas journalist from London, fell deeply in love and without, it seemed to her, being able to catch her breath, was married and living in London.

Three children followed, they brought more causes into her life, suspected closure of a local nursery, merging of two comprehensive schools, wherever she turned as they grew up she seemed to be needed on one committee or another. All her experience with so many different causes made her the person people would look to for help.
As time moved on, the children left for university and after that on to lives of their own. Her husband was based most of the time in London now, and they spent many late evenings talking about him going freelance, selling their home in London and moving to a quieter life in the country. She agreed, laughingly, saying that she was sure there would be village committees that she could join and the W.I., but perhaps it was time to start enjoying life, get a dog, plan a garden, do all the things she had always been too busy to do because of her causes. Her husband wanted one last overseas trip, his paper wanted an experienced reporter to go to Baghdad. Suzie spent her time sorting out belongings, to make a move easier, and thought of the trips they planned, cottage hunting, when he came back.

It was not to be, her husband never came back from Iran, a missile exploded in their hotel. What was Suzie to do? She didn't want to move to the country alone. There was only one route out. The family house was sold and she moved into a small flat in the centre of London, surrounded by bustle and life. What else was left for her but to turn back to causes, with an even bigger determination to change the world. It was what kept her living from one day to another and if that was living 'with baggage' and putting people off, she didn't care, she did good and it helped her survive.

I wanted to show you the other set of three cards that I made for an ATC swap, but when I checked 'my pictures', cd downloads etc, I can only find two of the three cards, the third one, that I am sure I kept a record of, seems to have disappeared into cyber space. However, the basic idea was sort of, sow seeds, wish for them to grow and lastly have beautiful blooming plants. I have not been doing much art and craft work in the past two weeks, first of all I had my daughter Sweetpea staying and then the weather is wonderful again and I am spending a lot of time out in the garden.

My husband often takes photographs for me in the garden with his highly technical camera, and I always notice his photographs look better than mine on the blog. Yesterday he instructed me in use of the camera and I whizzed round the garden like a whirling dervish snapping here, there and everywhere. He went to the post office and back, a walk of about ten minutes and in that time I had madly used up thirty shots of a thirty six roll film. I was like a child with a new toy, and I imagine most of these photographs will be blurred and off centre. I can't wait to take them in to get developed. I love the satisfying 'whirr' and click it makes when I am photographing. It makes me feel very professional, and my mind is overactive thinking of all the different photographs I can take and show on the blog.



I am now, at this stage of the summer, looking at my garden and seeing what I think has been successful and what I am not happy with, so I can plan what I want to do this coming year. My children bought me some lovely perennials for Mother's Day and the majority of those have been very successful and flowered. They should do even better next year. One of these plants was a penstemon, hidcote pink, I have never grown these plants before. How did I miss these wonderful plants? It has been flowering since late May and apparently should keep going until the end of September. They come in more colours, so I am really going to be filling different parts of my garden with them next year. I am also going to have my first experiment in growing roses, which for some unknown reason, I have always avoided, possibly, as some people talk about growing roses as though it is a very complicated process, but a blogger has encouraged me to go ahead and have a go. I also will be looking out over the Winter for more interesting objects to plant in, interesting quirky items that appeal to me.



Allow me a proud family moment. From this cute little lady to this sophisticated London girl. Have a wonderful birthday on the 15th July, Sweetpea. I know you read my blog. We'll be thinking of you, and giving you a 'phone call before you start you celebrations. Your Dad and I will have our own little tea party for you in the garden if its a nice day. It could, of course, end up very much like the Mad Hatter's! Hope your brother remembers to buy you a birthday cake, I know you think you are never too old for a delicious cake and candles, and I quite agree with you. Twenty three years old today, my hasn't time flown. You've settled in the capital and I have a feeling that this coming year is YOUR YEAR, go out and grab it with both hands.



I'll just say it once again HAPPY TWENTY THIRD BIRTHDAY SWEETPEA

Onto a different subject, I am reading a wonderful book at the moment, it was recommended to me by Naturegirl, and is called 'Night Gardening' by E.L.Swann. It is not a very thick book, but it's its essence that counts. Its all about a garden and a beautiful bittersweet kind of love. I am sitting in the garden to read it because it seems to make it even more meaningful, reading it whilst the birds are singing and the bees are buzzing in my lavender. Search this book out if you like reading. Well I really must finish writing this blog as I am going out into the garden to sit in the sun and finish the book I have just been talking about.

The World is but a canvas to the imagination - Henry David Thoreau


To the right of this sandstone cliff stands the castle with the waterfall. A blogger friend has asked if I know any tales about castles, so here is a slightly scary one from the castle that was in the photographs last week.

You retire to your bedroom, after a convivial evening, you have had a pleasant dinner, a musical interlude and the night rounded off with stimulating conversation. It has been a long day, an early start from home in the carriage arriving here, at your destination, in the late afternoon as the sun was setting. The maid has built up the fire and you hurry to bed whilst the fire is at its best. A wind has arisen and is howling around the castle, from the bed you can see the storm clouds hurrying across the night sky through the open curtains. You pull the covers tightly around you and drift off into sleep.

You stir in your sleep, the sound of the wind wakes you, and the room is icy cold now, you can see a glow in the room, surely the fire has died down by now. You sit up slightly in bed. Yes the fire has burnt down, but what is the golden glow, it seems to be growing brighter by the minute, slowly but steadily it enlarges and begins to glide slowly towards you. Your hands clutch your bedcovers, you can not move, you cannot make yourself jump out the other side of the bed or hide under the covers. You are mesmerised. The glow is right at the side of your bed. A misty form seems to be materialising within the glow, second by second this forms into a human shape. A young boy with long golden curls and a white shift appears in the glow, he stares at you for a long time with a benign expression on his face. Then slowly he turns away, the glow still surrounding him, and disappears into the wall beside the fireplace. You realise that you can move again and your heart is beating rapidly. A strange calmness overcomes you and surprisingly are able to fall asleep again. You awake to a bright new morning and the maid bustling in with firewood for the fire.

The above is my retelling of a ghost story connected to the castle. The ghost is of a radiant boy, similar to my description. It is said that those the radiant boy appeared to would make their mark on life but eventually die a tragic death. The ghost was first written about in the early 1800's when a clergyman declared he had seen it. As far as can be ascertained only one person who saw the apparition did die a tragic death, many others died peacefully in their beds in old age.



Complete change of subject now, do you remember that I said I was involved in my first two ATC swaps a couple of weeks ago? Well I was very excited about this and got two lovely packs of swaps in return, but I could not post the ATC's I had made as I wanted to be sure they had got to my friends first, so that their first view of them was not on my blog. The series for one of the swaps consists of three cards, on the theme of gardens. This first card is Night Garden, showing the moon helping the plants to grow.



The second in the series in called Poppy Garden. The poppy fairy is is on this one surrounded by the poppies she guards and looks after. The poppy fairy makes her dresses out of the fallen petals of poppies. At first when I started making these ATC cards I found it difficult to say all I wanted to say in images on such a small area. The cards only measure 2.5inches by 3.5inches. The size is a challenge in itself.



The third of the series is just called Fairy Garden. It took me a long time to be able to fit into the card size the image I had in my mind. Another time I will upload the other set of three cards that I had in the swap. I managed to find a packet of brown luggage labels in the Post Office the other day and a packet of white plain postcards. My next experiment is to try some postcard size altered art and make some altered labels.

Just before I go I must tell you there was a beautiful moon shining through my bedroom window when I went to bed in the early hours of the morning. Large and yellow with threads of indigo clouds running across it, just like a painting. When I was lying in bed it was shining on my pillow. I love going to sleep in moonshine.

I think today the time is right for me to take you on that magical journey, that I promised on the opposite side of the river bank to the castle. Here it is then. You walk down to the river and turn and take the woodland path, the river is to your left, and below you as you climb the path. You can hear it joyfully burbling over the rocks and see slats of weak sunlight through the trees as you walk along the narrow woodland track. All you can hear is the rustling of the leaves and the sound of the early morning birds singing in the trees. Whats that sound, 'knock, knock, knock', ah that's Mr Woodpecker working away at a tree. If you are very quiet you will see squirrels scurrying through the branches of the trees. A glint of red flashes through the trees up towards the fields on the right, don't worry its only Mr Fox on his way home after an evening's hunting. It is so early in the morning you could be the only person living in this wood. Suddenly, you come upon a flight of stone steps cut tightly into the side of the rocks.



Before you is a narrow path with a sheer drop on the left hand side, you tentatively walk along it and before you looms up a doorway cut into the rock. You have arrived, all you can hear is the sound of chanting. You approach clutching the gift you have brought, the chanting stops and a deep voice booms, 'Who approaches, make yourself known.' You have no option but to walk into the dank cave where a large man in a monk's habit and swirling cloak is tending the fire, on top of which is a tripod from which hangs a cooking pot. His hair and beard are white and grizzled and his clothes are dusty and tattered. You hold out your gift of newly baked bread and a flagon of home brewed ale, which he takes from you with wrinkled calloused hands. There are herbs hanging from the cave walls, feathers, a snake skin and other things you cannot quite identify, you can see that there are further caves behind him. You manage to stammer out the herbs you need for the restorative you are making. The hermit disappears into the interior cave.



Two dark eyes are watching you from inside the cave, you jump, and almost turn and run, then your eyes begin to make out an owl blinking at you from a ledge in a corner. You look at the view of the river from the window, that is cut out of the stone, to calm yourself and help you remember there is an everyday world out there. The window ledge has rolls of manuscripts lying on it and a beautiful piece of quartz, a spider scuttles from its web in the corner. After a while, your heart still pounding, the hermit returns with what you have asked for. You thank him most kindly and back out of his presence the herbs clutched to your chest. You feel the need to run, but you are brave and slowly walk back over the ledge and back up onto the woodland track. As you get nearer to the end of the track you feel much happier as you hear the sound of cows going back to the fields after being milked and hear chatter coming from the nearby cottages.



I hope you enjoyed that magical interlude. These caves or cells do exist at the end of the track, there are three caves. The legend is that many, many centuries ago, around the tenth century actually, when England and Scotland were constantly at war with each other. The King of Scotland was defeated by the King of England, and he resigned his crown and became a monk in Scotland. He then travelled down to England to a priory that was built near this river. He eventually left the priory and went to live a solitary life as a hermit in the caves by the river. The cells were used centuries later to hide the monks when the Scottish Reivers invaded the area, and later still they were used as store rooms for the priory. Obviously the tale I like best in the tale of the Hermit.

Sunday Scribblings - Hotel Stories

I have stayed in hotels under many different circumstances. I have been part of a family unit, just with my husband,or just my daughter and I on a girlie trip or sometimes just by myself. I must admit to getting a quiet thrill of excitement when I am staying alone in a hotel, I just adore registering and picking up my room key and establishing myself in my room. Its probably the novelty of being alone without any other family member, a sort of time out from what is normal. I have to put my own stamp on the room, even if I am only there for a night. I have to place my books and magazines on the bedside table along with my journal and favourite traveling objects, usually my crystals, my little mascot and sometimes a small scented candle. I have a small lavender sleep cushion I like to travel with and if the stay is for more than one night I have a favourite extra soft throw, not too large a one, that I like to put on top of the bed. I then empty my bag and then check out the television and radio and what has been left with the tea and coffee making facilities.

When I return to the hotel at the end of my day I love to to kick off my shoes, make a cup of coffee and switch on the radio, find some quiet music and then relax on the bed reading my book. I also love breakfast in a hotel and would never dream of having it brought to my room, oh no, part of the joy is going down to the breakfast room, helping my self at the breakfast buffet and sitting eating a leisurely breakfast, whilst either watching the goings on outside in the street, if I am near a window or watching the coming and goings of other guests.

I can become absorbed by what is going on outside of my hotel depending on the views from my window and what floor I am on. I remember one London hotel where my window looked down upon the entrance to a railway station and I spent many minutes watching the entrance and exit of people and the mini dramas that occurred. Another hotel overlooked a block of flats, and I was constantly amazed that when night fell people would happily switch on their lamps never closing the curtains and people from the hotel rooms could see right into their living rooms. It does turn you into a sort of voyeur and you desperately try not to watch people living out their lives across the street, but you can't resist a sneaky peep every now and again, after all I'm only human. A hotel in Bloomsbury I stayed in as part of a family break in London was opposite a very busy public house which we could see from our window, and every evening a very old man in a wheelchair would turn up and visit each of the outside tables, people always seemed to buy him a drink and the more drinks he had the more elaborate became his manoeuvres of his wheelchair, he would zigzag and turn tight circles and start singing and shouting very loudly, he always seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. My children were fascinated with him.

I think my worst hotel experience happened in a hotel in Liverpool right at the pier head beside the River Mersey. I had just returned to my hotel after dining out at a lovely Spanish restaurant, I had had a nightcap and was lying in bed reading a book that was just about to fall out of my hand as I fell asleep, when suddenly the fire alarm went off, I was totally confused but did not panic, I even took time to get dressed again, grabbed my handbag and made for the door. I was so glad I had taken time to change out of my nightdress, when I saw the various states of dress in which people came out of their rooms. The lifts had been stopped and we had all to make our way down many sets of stairs and out of the hotel into the cold November Liverpool night with the wind blowing in icy blasts from the River Mersey. We all milled across the street, no one seemed to know exactly what was happening, but the staff didn't look too concerned. Once the hotel was empty, we were told we could all go back, it had just been a fire drill. I was furious, I know they have to have them, but I felt so sorry for some of the older people, and there was a family with two very young children who were being carried in their parents arms wrapped up in blankets, looking totally confused. The explanation was that a Saturday night was the best night to have a drill because as the hotel was usually used by business people, it was always at its emptiest on a weekend evening. That was not one of my most restful nights in a hotel.

I think that every stay in a hotel is an experience and mini adventure, the things that happen, the things people do and say and the sense of living in a little bubble that is apart from your normal home life.

I think I will follow on and post some more photographs of my area and tell you about them. I thought about posting today about the other magical place I promised, but I think I will tease you a bit longer and show it and tell its tale next week. Too many magical places all at once is like living on chocolate and chocolate cake for a few days, something you think might be wonderful to do but too rich a diet in reality. For now these local photographs will have to suffice. This is all making me feel like a mischevious fairy.

If you remember a few posts back, last month, I showed you the calendar house with its many chimnies and windows, well on the other side of the river. almost across from that house is this large house or hall. This like the calendar house is no longer one family's home but has been split up into units, apartments and holiday cottages. The family that owned the hall were involved in the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion, and when Bonnie Prince Charlie marched into England from Scotland, they had him to stay in the Hall whilst his troops camped just past the edge of our village.



This photograph is of a church which is on the same side of the river as the previous photograph, although this is at the top of a hill. Parts of this church, are very old and date back to the 12th century. It is the apse which is very old, that is the rounded wall at the furtherest right hand side of the photo. It must be the oldest structure near our village.



This is actually the lodge and the entrance to the calendar house. The lodge occupants keep a large number of fine hens which roam around their garden and sometimes escape onto the road, also they own geese and ducks, and they sell the eggs. You just knock on the door if you want to buy some.

Since I began my Local History Group I am constantly amazed at what my research is turning up about my village and its surrounding area. I am pleased to say, fingers crossed, that my group seems to be taking off now, I was thrilled to see that after two unofficial taster meetings and one official meeting my membership has swelled to nine, after having only one person at my first meeting and feeling that no one could be interested. It is so exciting discovering things that have happened in the village, and the reasons why certain buildings are where they are, and what they were originally used for.



I just had to show you this photograph, it is not my village but one of the vilages next to me. This is the entrance to the village church and churchyard. Isn't that gateway, so romantic and oldeworldy? That kind of gate is called a lynch gate, and I can just imagine characters out of books such as 'Pride and Prejudice' leaving the church after a service on a sunday and either strolling to their houses in the village or awaiting their carriages. I sometimes think I could have been quiet happy if I had been born in that era. Gorgeous clothes to wear, delightful dances to go to at the assembly rooms in the nearest town, and my town actually did have an assembly room. I could spend my days, visiting friends, leaving my card first, naturally, or I could play the piano or trill a few songs, sit with my needlework or reading matter, or even try out my art by painting a pretty picture. With a modest income and maybe a servant, [ because remember the downside is no washing machines or running hot water] as I do not care to rush around with ewers of water to fill a bath in my chamber every time I required one. I would call my husband Mr. Lupin and he would call me Mrs. Lupin. I must stop now I could muse on this daydream for ages. Well my dears, I think I need to take a stroll round my garden, would you care to accompany me? Don't forget your parasol.

This is my Green Man, he watches over and protects my garden. I bought him the first summer I lived in this cottage. He is looking slightly weatherbeaten now, and is situated on the back wall of my garden. This photograph was taken last autumn and as you can see dead leaves like to cling to him. I think his aging gives him a venerable air and he is looking over at my moon gazing hare, who ignores him as she is so intent on studying the moon.

We have finally finished off laying the bark chippings and the paths, I think it makes my garden look beautiful. I can already see possibilities for more plants in pots around the table and chair area of the chippings. Too late to fill those spaces this year, but if I see any interesting pots or containers, I will buy them and save them for next year. Photographs have just been taken today of the finished project.


My lavender is blooming and attracting the butterflies and bees, here's an early morning visitor to it. The weather is still very hot and humid. We went to our local town to our favourite Italian restaurant for a meal tonight and were lucky enough to have the window table. We had just ordered our meal when there was a down pour of rain and thunder and lightning. I have a love/hate relationship with thunderstorms, a part of me is thrilled by them, but another part of me is absolutely terrified. I must admit I enjoyed this short storm as we were cosily installed in the restaurant drinking our wine, and smelling the lovely garlicky smells of the cooking. The rain saved me from having to water the garden when we all returned home late this evening.


At the beginning of June I posted some photographs of the river that is near to me. I showed the banks with the sand and the flowers growing and the little cottage on the bank of the river, that is called Ferry Cottage because there used to be a ferry there that crossed the river. These photographs show the other side of the river, where there is an old stately home. This home is in private hands and is not open to the public, but some of the terraced gardens are visible from the other river bank. This first photograph shows the back of the house which stands high above the river and is plainer than the front of the building, there are paths that lead down to the river, and gardens and a water feature. There are large sandstone cliffs on the side of the river where the house is. Can you imagine looking out of one of those top floor windows at the view below?



To the left of this photograph you can see one of those sandstone cliffs exposed. The area in which I live is on the edge of what is known as the Eden Valley, it is renowned for its red sandstone rocks, and most of our old houses are built of it. Our barn is made of red sandstone. The problem with sandstone is that it is a very soft rock and erodes very easily.


This photograph shows the tiered water feature that tumbles down from the heights to rush into the river. Doesn't it look magical? It must be lovely to own a waterfall like that, but surely the best view of it is from the opposite bank of the river where the woods are. Another day I will take you back to the other side of the river and show you what you will find if you walk through the woods on this side. Believe me, I am going to show you another magical place and and maybe I will tell you another story of wonder and enchantment. There are magical places all around where I live, some that everyone knows and are easy to find and some that you have to search for. The trick is to manage to be there when they are free of people.

To finish off I just want to show you this photograph which I found when looking through our stack of prints. Remember my last posting where I talked about the Cumberland Long House, that you could see part of in the photograph. Well I found this better image of it that I have shown below.

The quieter you become, the more you can hear. - Baba Ram Dass


Here we are another month, another week, time really seems to be flying by this summer. The temperature has done an about turn here, and it is flying upwards, not hot by some of your standards but hot by mine. I've got a busy week as well, so household chores will be moved to the cool of the early morning and the early evening. My daughter arrives, to stay for four days, on Wednesday, and I have just found out that my son will be paying a short flying visit too. What fun!

Time to show another postcard of my windows collection, this one is 'Open Window' by Matisse. A lovely summer scene of the South of France with lovely pots of flowers on the veranda and a view of yachts bobbing in the water. Before I go any further, I must mention the 'GODDESS SWAP' that ms* robyn is organising if any of you are interested, I think there is still just time to sign up for it, check out her blog 'simply~ being in this life'.

I had my husband out yesterday taking photographs, in the garden, as there is a lot happening there and I want some photos I can upload now a lot more plants are maturing and blooming. I have the next meeting of my Local History Group, on Thursday evening, and I am busy putting an agenda together for that. The taster sessions are over and it is now on an official footing and I have signed to hire the hall once a month for it. I want to keep it pretty fluid, but after chatting with various people realise I am going to have to put some rules of the group together. That sounds draconian, it won't be, thats not my style, but having run groups for different subjects in the past, I've found its always useful having some basic ground rules.


Speaking of my Local History Group, this is an ideal opportunity to show you some photographs of my village. The photograph to the left is of the allotments in front of the old mill cottages. At the top end of my village if you go down a lonning, you come to a millstream and an old mill [now broken up into small business units]it was in the early 1800's a large cotton mill, and the family that ran it, had the calendar house built, that I showed you in a previous posting. The mill did well for the family until the American Civil War, when they could not get cotton over from America and consequently, that led to eventual bankruptcy. They did manage to acquire some Egyptian cotton at that time but unfortunately, it brought cholera with it, and the owner of the mill, who actually caught cholera himself, declared that any mill workers with cholera had to be cast out of their homes and the village, harsh times indeed for the poor workers. The owner went to the South of France to recouperate. The local bishop, apparently gave a blistering sermon against his behaviour on the lines of 'it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to get into heaven'. The owner of the mill appeased the local clergy by building them a parish church. An interesting piece of history isn't it? The photo below is also of the mill cottages.



The next set of photographs show the main road through the village, sorry that some seem a little dark. Two of them were taken quite late in the evening.



If you can see the white cottage at the left hand side of the photograph, it has black railing around it. It is a style of architecture called a Cumbrian Long House, which basically means that all the rooms run into one another. It used to have a thatched roof, which you can tell from the height of the chimnies, but now has a conventional roof. This is a very interesting house, the actual long house has been added to at the back, but there is a secret cupboard hiding place inside one room and there is a small beck that runs through the cellar. There is also a room which was used as a chapel, where in banned times catholic priests would come secretly to say a mass. It belonged to a local family that owned a castle and bears their arms on the end gable.



Another view of the main road, showing some more of the houses and cottages. The last photograph, below is of the old corn mill which is opposite my house, it is unused now but still has all its workings inside. The millstream runs along side it.



I'll leave the photographs and their stories for now, but I'll post some more another time, and tell you more about my village.

Sunday Scribblings - Two Peas in the Pod

A short dark tale I have written set in the not too distant future.

She lay back wearily against the pillows watching the young woman who was looking out of the window. As she clattered the plastic blind shut and turned away from the window flicking her glossy brown hair over her shoulders, the old lady in the bed quickly closed her eyes. The girl walked over and gently kissed her sunken cheek and walked out the hospital room quietly closing the door behind her. The old lady's eyes snapped open. Her body was deteriorating, but so far her mind was still razor sharp, in fact, sharper than she ever let on, you found out more that way. Play it slightly dim and people soon forgot about discretion when they discussed your case at your bedside. Often when she was left in peace and quiet, as she was now, the words that kept running through her mind like a mantra were ' just like two peas in a pod, just like two peas in a pod'.

Her earliest memory, a visit from some overseas friends of her parents, if she remembered rightly. Sophia and her standing together, holding hands in identical pink frilly dresses, the adults seemed to be walking around them and discussing them, then smiling down at them as if trying to make them feel at ease. One of them said soemthing like 'It's incredible, exactly identical, two peas in pod'. The phrase that followed Sophia and her throughout their lives. Those were the happy years, before they went to school. Their parents, professionals, were scientists, human biologists. Calm but busy people who dealt with them capably and calmly, but expected them to behave themselves all the time. Their work impeded on their home lives, other scientists constantly visiting, as they passed through the country, always being introduced to the girls. As school age approached, they realised that they would be going to a boarding school, a very select one, apparently, as their parents were involved in important work for the government. They accepted it with equilibrium, they were well behaved children.

School had been an old stately home in the country surrounded by acres of park. The children were aged from five to eighteen. There did seem to be an above average number of twins there, which amused both of them. Life was regulated, not a minute of the day was not preplanned, a high academic standard was expected, and was achieved. The strict regime was interspersed with visits by various professionals and observers, as they grew older these visitors would send for some of the children, individually or in pairs and ask them numerous questions, as in an oral examination. They got used to the school where the staff were always fair and reasoned, but never emotional or loving. Most holidays they stayed on at school, if their parents were involved in projects and too busy to deal with them. She learned not to mind, she had Sophia and Sophia had her, they were complete together, and faced life that way.

Her mind returned to the one holiday in particular that she remembered. They were at home with their parents for once. She was looking through a pile of photographs she had found in a box. She had queried her mother about one of the photos, an image of her mother leaving a large modern building with one small baby in her arms. She asked if it was Sophia or her and her mother said it had been Sophia. She then asked where she was and was told that she had followed later. If only she thought to ask more questions during her childhood, but that was not the way she had been brought up and she would not have been told the truth.

Life continued, they became teenagers and remained at the same school. There was a smaller number of children in the senior school and the academic side was even more difficult and the rules and regulations were more stringent. Sometimes one of the pupils would silently leave, even sometimes one of a set of twins. She had never seen them actually leave with their cases packed, but they would be missing from class and their room would be empty. They progressed and were in their final year at the school, Sophia had a sharp analytical mind and was going to an institute of science in Europe to study. Her leanings were more towards the arts, especially painting but in that last year she did not feel so inspired and found it harder and harder to make herself paint. Then it happened, she had been standing in the bedroom combing her long brown hair, when she realised she couldn 't hear the radio very well and her image was blurred in the mirror, the last thing she remembered was falling towards the ground.

The door opened the pretty young woman returned this time accompanied by two doctors in white coats, a middle aged man and woman also entered the room. She quickly shut her eyes. One of the doctors began to speak, 'It happens every time they life a normal life and suddenly at a certain point premature aging rapidly sets in. We hope with our next generation, who are babies now, we will have the means to overcome this defect, I am hoping that Sophia,' and he turned to smile at the pretty young woman, 'will be helping in the research with this in the future.' 'You should be proud of your daughter,' he added smiling at the middle age couple,'she is obviously, following in your footsteps.'

Later, long after they had left a tear crept down the cheek of the old lady, she knew she had the final proof, this conversation together with snatches of many others and the photograph of the baby in her mother's arms leaving a building. Sophia, was the child born to the parents, she was just a scientifically grown child, a clone of her sister.