This coming weekend is Solstice. Midsummer. You could have fooled me. We got grey skies, north wind and intermittent rain. 'Er's just put 'er winter sweaters away, and had to go and get 'em all out again. We ain't seen any 'edge'ogs this year, and I reckon they've all gone back for another week or two of 'ibernating. And if the weather's in a foul mood, 'er's no better. Going about with a face like Grumpy Cat. 'Er wants to get away to somewhere down south where it's warm.
Stone'enge is down south, a long blooming way down south, and this weekend it'll be full of 'appy 'ippies celebrating the solstice. It were built about 4,500 year ago, and the mystery is that some of them stones don't come from round about there at all, they come from Wales. Archyolologists have been scratching their 'eads for centuries trying to work out how you get a five ton lump of stone from Wales to Wiltshire when you ain't got all your modern technerlogies. They're asking the wrong questions. They ask 'ow, when the question is 'oo?
Gnomes may be small but we're tougher than we look and we know about stone, seeing as it's what we're made of. Gnomes in the old days 'ad muscles like boat ropes. There's gnome lore from way back in time, but 'umans fon;t know it. You may hear stories of King Arthur and the Round Table, but nobody ever told you about King Arthur and the Fishing Rod Gnomes of 'is Garden Pond, did they? Merlin the Magician, where did 'e get the idea for 'is pointy 'at?
It were gnomes that got the contract for building Stone'enge, and they 'appened to know where to lay their 'ands on a nice bit of blue stone. It were epic, that were, two thousand gnomes moving them stones, log-rolling 'em, snail-dragging 'em, picking 'em up and carrying 'em, all that way. They say you couldn't see the gnomes, just a stone with 'undreds of little legs marching across the landscape. And when they got there, what did the Druids say? Oh, they said, we don't want them stones. We've already started building with the local sarsen, we don't want your blue ones, they won't match.
Well, we aint taking 'em all the way back, said the gnomes. They dumped them stones, got on their snails and rode off with trails of smoke be'ind them, because snails could set a cracking pace in them days, especially with an angry Druid be'ind them. And them stones is still there where they left 'em.
Friday, 19 June 2015
Sunday, 14 June 2015
Repeat
There's still quite a bit of interest in the First World War - and so there should be. It's no longer the centenary of the outbreak of war, but a hundred years ago those poor young chaps were dying in the trenches.
Recently we watched a very good subtitled series called 1864, about a war between Denmark and Prussia that we'd never heard of before. It was excellent. The battle scenes were unsettling, but battle scenes should be. I had a bad dream after the last one.
And last Friday, my friend Claire and I met for a sunny day in beautiful York, had lunch in a secluded convent garden, wandered through the medieval streets, drank Pimms, and walked around the city walls. In one of the towers on York city walls is an exhibition about King Richard III (remember him? Wars of the Roses, curvature of the spine, car park in Leicester?). York has always been loyal to KR3. Claire is definitely a Ricardian, I give him the benefit of the doubt, and we both love history, so we were up for a KR3 exhibition. Part of it was about the Battle of Towton.
Towton was one of the bloodiest, bitterest battles ever fought in Britain, and the one that brought Richard's older brother Edward to the throne. A rout turned to a massacre.
ssentially, all of these - WW1, 1864, The Wars of the Roses - were the same. One or two people got a big idea. They were people of power and influence, so they were able to promote this idea and raise armies.
A lot of young men were killed. Farm boys, many of them. Children lost fathers, money was squandered, land was wasted, people got poorer, maimed soldiers lived out their days. There was a mess.
Most wars are the same. it's a repeating pattern and societies should have learned to recognise it by now, and do something different. Aren't we clever enough? We can invent ever-new ways of killing each other, can't we find a way of not wanting to?
AND YET -
AND YET - last Friday, Claire and I met for a sunny day in York... lunch... garden... Pimms...
so despite all the conflicts of the twentieth century and before, and despite that fact that, come to think of it, our ancestors might have tried to kill each other at the Battle of Culloden, Claire and I have grown up in a free world and so have our children, and there is joy. Lots of it, popping up like daisies. War bellows and screams, but at the end it does not have the last word.
Recently we watched a very good subtitled series called 1864, about a war between Denmark and Prussia that we'd never heard of before. It was excellent. The battle scenes were unsettling, but battle scenes should be. I had a bad dream after the last one.
And last Friday, my friend Claire and I met for a sunny day in beautiful York, had lunch in a secluded convent garden, wandered through the medieval streets, drank Pimms, and walked around the city walls. In one of the towers on York city walls is an exhibition about King Richard III (remember him? Wars of the Roses, curvature of the spine, car park in Leicester?). York has always been loyal to KR3. Claire is definitely a Ricardian, I give him the benefit of the doubt, and we both love history, so we were up for a KR3 exhibition. Part of it was about the Battle of Towton.
Towton was one of the bloodiest, bitterest battles ever fought in Britain, and the one that brought Richard's older brother Edward to the throne. A rout turned to a massacre.
ssentially, all of these - WW1, 1864, The Wars of the Roses - were the same. One or two people got a big idea. They were people of power and influence, so they were able to promote this idea and raise armies.
A lot of young men were killed. Farm boys, many of them. Children lost fathers, money was squandered, land was wasted, people got poorer, maimed soldiers lived out their days. There was a mess.
Most wars are the same. it's a repeating pattern and societies should have learned to recognise it by now, and do something different. Aren't we clever enough? We can invent ever-new ways of killing each other, can't we find a way of not wanting to?
AND YET -
AND YET - last Friday, Claire and I met for a sunny day in York... lunch... garden... Pimms...
so despite all the conflicts of the twentieth century and before, and despite that fact that, come to think of it, our ancestors might have tried to kill each other at the Battle of Culloden, Claire and I have grown up in a free world and so have our children, and there is joy. Lots of it, popping up like daisies. War bellows and screams, but at the end it does not have the last word.
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
Colmcille
I've just remembered that today is St Columba's Day - also known as Colmcille, 'dove of the church'.
Columba was a sixth century Irish nobleman. Christianity had been established in Ireland by St Patrick, and Columba became a monk, a scholar, and a thoroughly resourceful chap - but we are all flawed and damaged creatures, and Columba had an unfortunate tendency to get seriously annoyed if anyone crossed him. He borrowed a book from the abbot of another monastery. In those days books were rare and precious things. Now, they're only precious. Columba made a copy of the book before returning it. The other abbot wasn't pleased. He was so not pleased that he went to court over it, claiming that Columba had no right to reproduce the work and should hand over his copy. The court found against Columba and laid the foundation of international rules on copyright.
Columba protested. He protested so much that there was a pitched battle, with severe loss of life, not at all the sort of thing monks should be into. He had a falling out with a local ruler about sanctuary, too. Finally, repentant and acknowledging that he had been responsible for a lot of bloodshed, he went into exile with a few companions. Loving his homeland as he did, he committed himself to settling in a place where he could no longer see the coast of Ireland. It's said that he first arrived at a place called Southend, but went on to a tiny island. Iona.
Iona became one of the holiest sites in Christendom. From the tiny island with its clear green waters, white sand and rough weather, the Christian faith spread throughout Scotland. Young noblemen were nurtured there, and after Oswald Whiteblade of Northumbria regained his kingdom, he sent for monks from Iona to spread the faith. They, too, settled on an island, Lindisfarne. To this day, Iona and Lindisfarne are holy islands, the ongoing harvest of a transformed life.
Apparently, in Southend it has always been said that Thursday is an auspicious day because the major events in Columba's life happened on Thursdays. It's supposed to be a great blessing to be a Thursday's Child. This is probably the stuff of legend, but as a Thursday's Child I happily go along with it.
Columba was a sixth century Irish nobleman. Christianity had been established in Ireland by St Patrick, and Columba became a monk, a scholar, and a thoroughly resourceful chap - but we are all flawed and damaged creatures, and Columba had an unfortunate tendency to get seriously annoyed if anyone crossed him. He borrowed a book from the abbot of another monastery. In those days books were rare and precious things. Now, they're only precious. Columba made a copy of the book before returning it. The other abbot wasn't pleased. He was so not pleased that he went to court over it, claiming that Columba had no right to reproduce the work and should hand over his copy. The court found against Columba and laid the foundation of international rules on copyright.
Columba protested. He protested so much that there was a pitched battle, with severe loss of life, not at all the sort of thing monks should be into. He had a falling out with a local ruler about sanctuary, too. Finally, repentant and acknowledging that he had been responsible for a lot of bloodshed, he went into exile with a few companions. Loving his homeland as he did, he committed himself to settling in a place where he could no longer see the coast of Ireland. It's said that he first arrived at a place called Southend, but went on to a tiny island. Iona.
Iona became one of the holiest sites in Christendom. From the tiny island with its clear green waters, white sand and rough weather, the Christian faith spread throughout Scotland. Young noblemen were nurtured there, and after Oswald Whiteblade of Northumbria regained his kingdom, he sent for monks from Iona to spread the faith. They, too, settled on an island, Lindisfarne. To this day, Iona and Lindisfarne are holy islands, the ongoing harvest of a transformed life.
Apparently, in Southend it has always been said that Thursday is an auspicious day because the major events in Columba's life happened on Thursdays. It's supposed to be a great blessing to be a Thursday's Child. This is probably the stuff of legend, but as a Thursday's Child I happily go along with it.
Friday, 5 June 2015
Fingal and Padra
This conversation between Padra and Fingal is not recorded in The Chronicles of Mistmantle. It took place before the first book starts and I'm glad to say it was not overheard.
Fingal, exactly what did you say to Mistress Tay?
Er - good morning, Mistress Tay?
Fingal...
I said it was a lovely day for laying down the law. Which it is. And I asked her to let me know if she wanted anyone arrested.
She's very angry.
I only...
Yes, I know what you only said. I know you only love get an only rise out of her, but you have to stop it.
But it's such fun! Anyway, you do it.
A lot more subtly, and with the authority of a captain. What I'm trying to tell you is, this island has changed lately. I don't like everything the king's doing, but in time he'll see sense. In the meantime, it doesn't do for a young otter to annoy animals like Tay.
There aren't any... all right, sorry.
This is what I suggest. There are colonies in the north west of the island where the young otters frankly don't have enough fun. They need someone who'll lead them, inspire them, befriend them, splash about in the water with them. I'd like you to go there for a while.
But my friends are here!
You'll make friends anywhere. Anyway, I'm not sending you into exile, I just think it's time you saw a bit more of the island, not just around the Tower and Anemone Wood. I patrol that way myself a lot, I'll still be around.
What about Crispin?
So will he.
Fine, when shall I go?
By the way, if Tay did ask you to arrest anyone, what would you do?
Tell them to scarper.
I thought so.
Fingal, exactly what did you say to Mistress Tay?
Er - good morning, Mistress Tay?
Fingal...
I said it was a lovely day for laying down the law. Which it is. And I asked her to let me know if she wanted anyone arrested.
She's very angry.
I only...
Yes, I know what you only said. I know you only love get an only rise out of her, but you have to stop it.
But it's such fun! Anyway, you do it.
A lot more subtly, and with the authority of a captain. What I'm trying to tell you is, this island has changed lately. I don't like everything the king's doing, but in time he'll see sense. In the meantime, it doesn't do for a young otter to annoy animals like Tay.
There aren't any... all right, sorry.
This is what I suggest. There are colonies in the north west of the island where the young otters frankly don't have enough fun. They need someone who'll lead them, inspire them, befriend them, splash about in the water with them. I'd like you to go there for a while.
But my friends are here!
You'll make friends anywhere. Anyway, I'm not sending you into exile, I just think it's time you saw a bit more of the island, not just around the Tower and Anemone Wood. I patrol that way myself a lot, I'll still be around.
What about Crispin?
So will he.
Fine, when shall I go?
By the way, if Tay did ask you to arrest anyone, what would you do?
Tell them to scarper.
I thought so.
Sunday, 31 May 2015
Oz
We had company last week - Oz and his Mummy came to stay. Oz is a delightful, sociable and very well-behaved little seven year old. His mum and I are old friends. I've known Oz since he was tiny, and he seems to remember me though I haven't seen him for a while - certainly he came running to meet me and brought me his toys to play with. We explored the countryside together. He ate whatever was put in front of him. He even sang me little songs while his mum was in the bathroom.
Oz is half Yorkshire terrier, half Bichon Frisee, total sweetie and utterly devoted to his mum. He reminded me of all the reasons why I like having a dog around as well as the all the reasons why I'd never have another one. (The commitment, the 'what do we do about the dog when we're not here/going to No Dogs Allowed places', the constant disposing of plastic bags, the cost of food and vet bills.) But it was lovely having him, and his mum too. I see my garden principally through my eyes - Oz saw it through his nose and found it fascinating. (Should I be worried?) He made friends with everyone and everything, even the ones who didn't particularly want to make friends with him. He scampered joyfully along the river bank finding new sniffs and went for a paddle to cool his paws. Oz is one of the happiest and most affectionate people I know. He may be small, but he's fast and I was impressed at his ability to catch a ball in mid-air even though I'd tricked him about the direction I'd throw it in. As soon as I've knitted him a black and white sweater he's going to try out for Newcastle goalie. Given the state of the defence he'll have lots to do.
Anthony de Mello pointed out that dogs are natural contemplatives. A dog watching a bird in a tree is totally absorbed in the bird in the tree. He isn't thinking about sleep, or games, or even food. When he has his dinner he'll be totally and absolutely focused on that. When his owner comes home, nothing else matters but that moment. There's nothing new about 'mindfulness'. Dogs have been showing us how to do it for years.
Oz is half Yorkshire terrier, half Bichon Frisee, total sweetie and utterly devoted to his mum. He reminded me of all the reasons why I like having a dog around as well as the all the reasons why I'd never have another one. (The commitment, the 'what do we do about the dog when we're not here/going to No Dogs Allowed places', the constant disposing of plastic bags, the cost of food and vet bills.) But it was lovely having him, and his mum too. I see my garden principally through my eyes - Oz saw it through his nose and found it fascinating. (Should I be worried?) He made friends with everyone and everything, even the ones who didn't particularly want to make friends with him. He scampered joyfully along the river bank finding new sniffs and went for a paddle to cool his paws. Oz is one of the happiest and most affectionate people I know. He may be small, but he's fast and I was impressed at his ability to catch a ball in mid-air even though I'd tricked him about the direction I'd throw it in. As soon as I've knitted him a black and white sweater he's going to try out for Newcastle goalie. Given the state of the defence he'll have lots to do.
Anthony de Mello pointed out that dogs are natural contemplatives. A dog watching a bird in a tree is totally absorbed in the bird in the tree. He isn't thinking about sleep, or games, or even food. When he has his dinner he'll be totally and absolutely focused on that. When his owner comes home, nothing else matters but that moment. There's nothing new about 'mindfulness'. Dogs have been showing us how to do it for years.
Friday, 29 May 2015
Fingal
A certain person just said that she hadn't heard any news from Mistmantle lately, but there isn't much to tell just now. Everything's ticking over peacefully, all the usual things are happening - Spring Festival, small animals larking about in the water, Apple brewing up cordials that would dissolve a rock if it didn't run away fast enough, all ordinary stuff. Urchin and Sepia now have rooms in one of the turrets. Squirrels like living in turrets, it's a bit like being up a tree.
Tay now walks with a stick and I keep well out of her way in case she whacks me with it. Tipp and Todd came up with something quite wonderful - a chair with wheels for Gleaner! She's still grumpy, but now, with somebody to push her, she can be grumpy all over the island. Nobody enjoys being grumpy like Gleaner.
The sea has been calm, wonderful weather for swimming, fishing, sailing, or just splashing about. Corr has stopped travelling for a while, but he's doing some improvements on his boat and before long he'll be off again. On that subject, there's - well there's a bit of a whisper going round.
Queen Larch of Whitewings has never married and it seems that she never will, and she has no close family. She's under pressure now to choose an heir and bring him or her up to rule the island next. Everyone's concerned that if she chooses a Whitewings animal there'll be some ill-feeling about who it is. But what about a Mistmantle animal? The Queen comes from Whitewings. Prince Oakleaf would make an excellent king, but it would break his heart to leave Mistmantle, and Catkin needs him. Urchin has links with the island too, but he can't leave any more. So should she adopt an heir? From Whitewings or Mistmantle? And if so, who? But don't look at me. There are no otters on Whitewings and I'm not going to be the first. I'm having too much fun here.
Oh, before I go for a swim, I hear that some of you don't have a king or a queen, you have a pressydent. Can you recommend that?
Tay now walks with a stick and I keep well out of her way in case she whacks me with it. Tipp and Todd came up with something quite wonderful - a chair with wheels for Gleaner! She's still grumpy, but now, with somebody to push her, she can be grumpy all over the island. Nobody enjoys being grumpy like Gleaner.
The sea has been calm, wonderful weather for swimming, fishing, sailing, or just splashing about. Corr has stopped travelling for a while, but he's doing some improvements on his boat and before long he'll be off again. On that subject, there's - well there's a bit of a whisper going round.
Queen Larch of Whitewings has never married and it seems that she never will, and she has no close family. She's under pressure now to choose an heir and bring him or her up to rule the island next. Everyone's concerned that if she chooses a Whitewings animal there'll be some ill-feeling about who it is. But what about a Mistmantle animal? The Queen comes from Whitewings. Prince Oakleaf would make an excellent king, but it would break his heart to leave Mistmantle, and Catkin needs him. Urchin has links with the island too, but he can't leave any more. So should she adopt an heir? From Whitewings or Mistmantle? And if so, who? But don't look at me. There are no otters on Whitewings and I'm not going to be the first. I'm having too much fun here.
Oh, before I go for a swim, I hear that some of you don't have a king or a queen, you have a pressydent. Can you recommend that?
Monday, 25 May 2015
Chelsea
What a lovely day that was! On Friday evening The Lassie (that's LYS'S wife, half of The Cahooties) and I went to a lovely London hotel and had a relaxing girly evening. The next day, off we went to the Chelsea Flower show which was glorious. When I first went to Chelsea Show, many years ago, everything was green and white and very formal. Now it has colour, natural planting, lots of blue and yellow/gold, and gardens which are gaspingly lovely but still look as if they made themselves. The stand with twenty kinds of many-coloured irises took my breath away.
Now, I have to be careful about saying this because SOMEBODY might take offence, but gnomes are banned at Chelsea. An exception was made a few years ago, as a charity thing, but the default at Chelsea is gnomelessness. There are reports of them climbing up the walls with grappling hooks or parachuting themselves in, but a parachute is not very practical if you're made of stone.
Or is it? I heard a story this year about Jekka McVicar, who for decades has been the queen of herb gardening and always had a garden at Chelsea. Apparently she has a favourite gnome who always comes with her to Chelsea and she hides him so cleverly in her garden that nobody sees him. If ever he wants a year off, I know somebody who might be willing to stand in. Well, sit in.
Now, I have to be careful about saying this because SOMEBODY might take offence, but gnomes are banned at Chelsea. An exception was made a few years ago, as a charity thing, but the default at Chelsea is gnomelessness. There are reports of them climbing up the walls with grappling hooks or parachuting themselves in, but a parachute is not very practical if you're made of stone.
Or is it? I heard a story this year about Jekka McVicar, who for decades has been the queen of herb gardening and always had a garden at Chelsea. Apparently she has a favourite gnome who always comes with her to Chelsea and she hides him so cleverly in her garden that nobody sees him. If ever he wants a year off, I know somebody who might be willing to stand in. Well, sit in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)