Sunday 28 June 2020

Viking Footsteps





                                                             Viking Fire Festival, Flamborough Head




Dear Reader

I think it is a mistake for me to read about  loved authors personal life, it seems to spoil the books that I have so enjoyed.  Over the years I have read most of Charles Dickens's novels and loved them, but knew next to nothing about his life.  Now I have just finished a book about him and feel very disillusioned.  He married Catherine Hogarth, a pretty blue eyed girl of nineteen when he was twenty three.  Subsequently they had ten children in sixteen years, none of whom Charles seemed to care for very much, and then he decided that he and Catherine had never had anything in common. And he said she was fat.  He separated from her and had a love affair with his mistress, Ellen Ternan, an actress. 

I was in love with Thomas Hardy all through my teenage years.  I read all his books many times over and I absolutely loved his poetry.  But when I read about his life I was severely disappointed in him as a person,
and it slightly coloured my view of his work.

                                                                                           *

From James Woodforde, June 19th, 1799 in Norfolk

'Very cold indeed again today, so cold that Mrs Custance came walking in her spencer with a bosom -friend.'

Mrs. Custance, as a lady of fashion, would have worn her gowns low cut, in the bosomy manner so often drawn by Rowlandson: in cold weather she would have needed the fashionable item of clothing known as the 'bosom-friend'.


                                                                                           *

Viking Footsteps

There it is: a windswept empty beach,
great fields of white sand dressed
in driftwood, seaweed, plastic bottles,
flotsam, pebbles, shells, stones, and kelp skeins.
It stretches away to the horizon.

Seagulls, gannets, terns, twist and fly,
make their repetitive cries, peck the ground.
Small pools of seawater form
as the tide goes out, sea creatures swimming
there.

But is that a long boat, red sails fluttering, I see?
And are those uncovered Viking footsteps in the sand?
And do I smell spitted meat, mead and honey
drifting past me on the sea-scented air?

The sand dunes hug their silent secrets,
letting the quiet southerly wind
rustle through marram grasses.
I ask them, do Viking voices whisper
on that wind,
sometimes, on an icy night under a starlit sky?

                                                                                             *


With very best wishes, Patricia

Photograph of Viking Fire festival by Kaye Leggett

Sunday 21 June 2020

For You, Everyman

                                                                                   
                                                                    







Dear Reader,

A delightful piece today from Francis Kilvert's diary.  It also makes a change from the world news which is so depressing.   Whilst we were in lockdown people seemed to appreciate the silence and the empty spaces, started really hearing the birds song, and enjoyed crosswords and jigsaw puzzles.  But no more. People are on the move again, and angry.  Angry about everything including our history which they would like to obliterate, or change.  I have no idea whether they are right, or partially right, but it is the violence that goes with all these protest marches that upsets me. Surely there is a more peaceful way to negotiate.

Sunday, 15th June, from Francis Kilvert's diary 1872.

'A beautiful peaceful summer morn such as Robert Burns would have loved.  Perfect peace and rest.  The sun and the golden buttercup meadows had it almost all to themselves.  A few soft fleecy clouds were rising out to the west but the gentle warm air scarcely stirred even the leaves on the lofty tops of the great poplars.   One or two people were crossing the Common early by several paths through the sea of golden buttercups which will soon be the silver sea of ox-eyes.  The birds were singing quietly.  The cuckoo's notes tolled clear and sweet as a silver bell and a dove was pleading in the elm and 'making intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered'.


                                                                              *

For You,  Everyman

My smile is for you.
Yes, you, the man on the omnibus,
You, the woman in the crowd,
You, the small child playing in the dust,
You, the homeless, the tramp unbowed,
You, in business suit, in kaftan,
You, the tall, you, the short.

Yes. You, Everyman.

The exchanged smile
acknowledges shared humanity
in this fleeting recognition.
No words are needed.

                                                                                 *

With best wishes, Patricia.

Sunday 14 June 2020

The Mind Cupboard


                                                          
                                                      Butterflies seen on a walk in the Cotswolds this week.


Dear Reader,

We had excitement this week because we had an engagement party for my daughter Tiffany and her fiancee Duncan.  We had it in the garden in the pouring rain, and toasted the happy couple in Prosecco
from plastic mugs.  But, strangely, it was one of the best parties I have ever been to.  Emma, my granddaughter, who has a lovely voice sang a jolly song, and also did  small sketch of a hungry dog watching his master eating something delicious from the fridge, but not having any himself, which she had seen on YouTube. Francis and I did a short rendering of the song from the film 'Goodness Gracious Me'  with Sophia Lauren and Peter Sellers. 

When they all left and I went inside I was soaking wet and worried that I would get a chest cold (which I do at the drop of a hat) but decided it had been a great fun occasion and how I loved my family.  I am so glad Duncan has come to join us. Funny I didn't ever think a party in the rain would be entertaining, but it certainly was.  If you are still in lockdown and can only see your family in the garden, don't be put off by the rain.

                                                                                       *

From Horace Walpole, 1791 in Middlesex

'It froze hard last night:  I went out for a moment to look at my haymakers, and was starved.  The contents of an English June are hay and ice, orange-flowers and rheumatism.  I am now cowering over the fire.'

                                                                                          *


The Mind Cupboard

          
My mind cupboard overflows
with unwanted debris.
It needs a spring clean.

I will brush away the cobwebs
of cheerless thoughts.
Scrub out the stains of childhood.

I will replace the brass hooks
corroded with salt tears,
empty all the screams
hoarded through the years.

I will replace the accumulated ashes
from the worn shelf-paper.
with virgin tissue.

I will chase and catch the wasps,
relieve them of their stings.
I will refill this cupboard
with love, and learnt, brighter things.


                                                                                              *

With very best wishes, Patricia

The butterfly photographs were taken by Nikki Moran.

Sunday 7 June 2020

Bus Stop Princess

Dear Reader,

Over this lockdown period I understand that everyone has been eating more than they usually do. Well I don't suppose they could have eaten as much as King Edward VII did in his life.  He ate and drank copiously of the rich food which was served at grand Edwardian dinner tables.  At a typical dinner given for his male friends. even though he was in failing health, included: turtle soup, salmon, grilled chicken, saddle of mutton, snipe stuffed with foie gras, asparagus, fruit, a large iced concoction and a savoury.  And by his bedside when he was staying away, the hostesses knew that they had to provide a cold chicken in case he felt hungry in the night. Queen Victoria, his mother,  also had a large appetite and sometimes had 18 courses for dinner.  No wonder Queen Victoria, in her photographs, looks so glum

What I can't imagine is how they could eat so much and not get indigestion or something worse.  God knows what they felt like the following morning after so much food and drink. 

                                                                                      *

The poem today "Bus Stop Princess" is one of my favourites.  It is a true story.  I saw her.

                                                                                      *

Bus Stop Princess

She waited, unnoticed, invisible.
Her fluffy green jersey egg-stained,
uninteresting trousers and sensible shoes
inviting no attention.
She was a brown paper parcel,
loosely string-tied.

But she smiled at me
with such sweetness,
such a smile of goodness,
I saw her sensible shoes,
become sparkling slippers,
her shabby clothes
turn into a ball dress
fashioned from sunlight,
stitched up with love.

Not then a story-book princess,
but a real princess
glimpsed at a bus stop.


                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia