Invocation to Iona

                                                                      Great Bustards
 

 

Dear Reader,

Two weeks ago I shared the story of Mr.Arif and a crane he had fallen in love with, almost to the exclusion of everyone else including his family.  Now here is another story about a large bird which goes like this:

It is about a Great Bustard called Gertrude.  The Great Bustard Group, whose patron is King Charles, started a 10-year reintroduction plan on Salisbury Plain in 2004.  Gertrude was hatched in 2011, one of 29 birds to be released on the plain that year.  The group used feeding puppets which look like birds and are intended to replicate a mother feeding her young,  They wore baggy suits to disguise their human features while feeding the infant birds.

But things didn't go to plan for Gertrude.  She is thought to have sexually imprinted on people who raise her instead of her own species, which led to her trying to mate with humans instead of other birds. To no avail.

So poor lonely Gertrude.  I suppose some well intentioned people didn't foresee this problem when they interfered with nature.

                                                                                       *

Chimp News.  The chimp, the one who lives in my head, is very fed up with this grim and gloomy weather. However he is hoping that the King will be lucky and that the sun will shine down on him and the Queen next Saturday, Coronation Day. So do I.

                                                                                        *

  From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1802 April 29th, in Westmorland

'A beautiful morning - the sun shone and all was pleasant.....William lay, and I lay, in the trench under the fence - he with his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds.  There was no one waterfall above another - it was a sound of waters in the air - the voice of the air.  William heard me breathing and rustling now and then, but we both lay still, and unseen by one another; he thought that it would be as sweet thus to lie so in the grave, to hear the peaceful sounds of the earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near.'

                                                                                           *

Invocation to Iona

 

“Iona, sacred island, mother, 

I honour you,

who cradle the bones

of Scottish kings,

Who birthed coloured gemstones

to enchant bleached beaches,

who shelter puffins on your rocks.

 

I wrap myself in your history,

and knot the garment with

machair rope-grass.

 

In the Port of Coracle

your southern bay,

I hear the wind-blown cormorants’s cry

and draw a breath.

 

I see Columba’s footsteps

in the sand, and weep.

Tears overflow,

I am spirit-engulfed.

 

“I ask you, Iona,

is this then, or now,

what is, or what has been?

Does the rolling salt sea-mist

cover the uncounted time between?”

 

                                                                         *

My novel : Victoria Scott's Dilemma is available here. It is rather a charming romantic tale with lots of laughter.

 

 

                                                   VICTORIA SCOTT'S DILEMMA

                                                               PATRICIA HUTH   

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

The Nursery

 Dear Reader,

The poem this week is about the nursery I remember in my young childhood.  The thing I remember best is the vast amount of yellow lino on the floor and of course the curtains. And of course too the spooky noises in the night.  I am sure the house was haunted but Nanny who looked after me assured me it wasn't.  She used to go down to the kitchen and talk to our cook, Mrs Mason, after she had settled me for bed, and I think they got through several bottle of Guiness. So she wouldn't have known a ghost if it had addressed her.

Isn't memory strange?  I can remember things I did and even said seventy odd years ago but can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday or even today. It is all a bit disconcerting but old age is a new country and we have to accept its different ways. I have a nap in the afternoon otherwise I couldn't stay up after 9 o'clock. and feeling tired seems to be a part of the package.  

                                                                                  *

Are you fed up with this weather?  I am thoroughly p....... off with it.  It has been cold, wet and gloomy for months now.   I keep thinking of a treat.  Going to a pretty pub, sitting on the lawn under an umbrella (for the sun) having a large cool glass of white wine, laughing with Francis about anything and everything.  But no such luck.  Unless we sat in the rain.  Surely spring will arrive one day soon.

                                                                                    *

From  Gilbert White, April 24th, 1779 in Hampshire

'Hail, stormy, strong wind.  The wind broke off the great elm in the churchyard short in two; the head of which injured the yew tree.... Many tulips and other flowers are injured by the hail.'

FRom D.H. Lawrence, April 30th, 1915 in Sussex

'There is a wagtail sitting on the gate-post.  I see how sweet and swift heaven is.  But hell is slow and creeping and viscous and insect-teeming; as is this Europe now, this England.'

 

The Nursery

 

I remember the nursery.

It was large with yellow Lino

covering the floor.

It had two beds in it

and a small white table.

 

I remember the curtains

had giraffes and zebras

pictured on them.

There was a large cupboard

in the corner for all my toys,

an African mat orange and blue

tacked on the door.

 

I remember Nanny put me to bed,

we would say our prayers.

Later she would go downstairs

to talk to our cook, Mrs Mason.

 

I remember being very scared

it was a big house which creaked.

When it was windy the windows rattled
and I heard strange noises.

 

I remember lying very still

my heart thumping until Nanny

came up to bed.

I told her I was frightened the

next morning, but she said "nonsense,

no ghosts here, not in this house."

 

I remember Nanny's smell, a mixture

of face powder and lavender water,

she smelt so special and comforting.

 

She was my safety from horrible noisy grown-ups.

My mother, when she was there

had beastly friends who teased me

until I cried, ran out of the drawing room,

back to Nanny's sanctuary.

 

                                                                         *

My novel : Victoria Scott's Dilemma is available here. It is rather a charming romantic tale with lots of laughter.

   

 

With best wishes, Patricia

 

The Mind Cupboard

                                                         Mr. Arif and the Crane

 

 

Dear Reader,

You probably read this story but for those of you who missed it, here it is.  A farmer, Muhammad Arif, from Uttar Pradesh, found a rare sarus crane in a field last year, with a broken leg. He nursed it back to health. But wildlife authorities confiscated the bird and forestry officials took the crane to a zoo more than 150 miles away and charged Mr. Arif for keeping an endangered bird.

But Mr Arif said that he and the bird are in love and had removed himself from his family and friends to live with it.  They would share food from the same plate and the bird would stand guard outside Mr. Arif's door whilst he slept.  "I am in deep pain after they separated my friend from me.  It is like a member of my family has been caged.  I troubles me.  It was the first time I had ever felt so strongly for anyone, he said.

Mr Arif was recently allowed to see the crane for a short time at Kanpur's Allen Forest Zoo, where it is being held.  The bird recognised him when he reached the cage, flapping its wings and dancing as he approached.  Mr. Tarum Kumar Roy, an expert on Asian Water birds, called on the zoo to release the bird.  "It is not eating properly and if not set free it will die because it is feeling loneliness.  You could see him turning mad after seeing Arif," he said.

A petition to free the bird was launched earlier this month and has gathered almost 10,000 signatures.

It is such an unusual story, isn't it? Watching Sir David Attenborough's  "Wild Isles" I have learnt that birds do seem to be monogamous, find a mate and keep it for life. So this crane, having lost its mate I presume, paired up with Mr Arif. I hope it all has a happy ending and that the crane and Mr.Arif are allowed to stay together, somewhere, sometime.

                                                                                       *

From Francis Kilvert, April 15th, 1874 in Wiltshire

'A bright shot sun and cold east wind, the sky a deep and wonderful blue and the roads dry....The sun glared blinding upon the white flint rod and the white chalkland, and the great yellow dandelions by the roadside stared at the sun.'

                                                                                      *

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.

 

                                                                     *

 

 My novel : Victoria Scott's Dilemma is available here. It is rather a charming romantic tale with lots of laughs.

   

With best wishes, Patricia

 

Katie's Angels

                                                                             White Doves

 

Dear Reader,

White doves are symbolic of new beginnings, peace, fidelity, love, luck and prosperity.  Their release is a tradition that has been making ceremonies, rituals and celebrations more powerful and meaningful for thousands of years.  White doves are extremely docile creatures that are often seen as bringers of celestial freedom moving souls of departed loved ones to their final resting place.

Some doves will mate for life while others will only pair up for the season.  In some cases if their pair passes away it is believed that these doves are aware of their loss and mourn the death of the pair.

                                                                             *

Thinking about docile creatures I certainly wasn't one of those this week.  I had acquired a large and very painful ulcer in my mouth and it was making me very miserable and, I have to admit, bad tempered.  We don't generally talk much about pain to one another, do we?  But pain is so difficult to bear peacefully and it can change a personality from quiet and calm to angry and inconsolable.  I was one of those.

                                                                              *

From D.H.Lawrence, 1918, April 18th in Berkshire

'Yesterday there was deep snow, though the trees are in bloom.  Plum trees and cherry trees full of blossom look so queer in a snow landscape, their lovely foamy fullness goes a sort of pinky drab, and the snow looks fiendish in its cold incandescence.  I hated it violently.'

From Samuel Pepys, 1664, April 22nd in Kent

'I was called up this morning before four o'clock.   It was full light to dress myself: and so by water against tide, it being a little cool, to Greenwich; and thence, only that it was somewhat foggy till the sun got to some height, walked with great pleasure to Woolwich, in my way staying several times to listen to the nightingale.'

                                                                           *

Katie's Angels

At dawn, driving eastwards,
mist still covering the fields,
trees ribboned in cobwebs,
sky blue and white,

she saw a rabbit, a pigeon,
and two hen pheasants,
but no cherubs, no bright light.

Much later, lost, tired
rounding a corner she saw
gathered in the road
twenty white, white doves.

They flew up,
a breath of sunshine tipping their wings.
Ecstatic, she recognised the sign;
recognised her angels.

                                                                              *

If you enjoyed my memoir 'Half a Pair of People' you might enjoy my novel: 

VICTORIA SCOTT'S DILEMMA
 

It is now out on Amazon under my name: Patricia Huth, in the book section. Although I say this myself it is a charming love story that also makes one laugh. 

                                                                               *

With very best wishes, Patricia

Silent, Their Men Stand By

 Dear Reader,

The most astonishing thing I learnt this week was the fact that plants cry when they need watering but that humans can't hear them.  TheTelegraph Newspaper says: "plants were generally thought to be an uncomplaining bunch silently enduring the ravages of neglect, drought or disease with stoical forbearance".  Apparently there have been recordings of tomato, tobacco, wheat, corn and cactus showing that they make occasional ultrasonic popping noises - similar to bubble wrap- which ramps up under stress.  The sounds are comparable in volume to normal human conversations but are too high for human ears to detect.

I rushed downstairs to look at my cyclamen which has been looking a bit down in the mouth lately.  But the trouble is with plants, or anyway my plants,  that I never know how much water to give them,  Either I give them too much and they die or I don't give them enough and equally they die.  False flower arrangements are much easier to manage but to my mind not nearly as nice as fresh ones.  Each unto his own, I suppose.

                                                                                       *

From John Ruskin, April 2nd, 1885 in Lancashire

'.......Quite lovely spring day.   All the working time in wood without greatcoat.  Fullest gush of streams with the night's rain I ever saw.  Now.....lovely sleet showers with melting sunshine.'

From Gilbert White, April 5th, 1793 in Hampshire

'The air smells very sweet, and salubrious.  Men dig their hop-gardens, and sow spring corn .....Dug some of the quarters in the garden, and sowed onions, parsnips, radishes and lettuces.  Planted more beans in the meadow.  Many flies are out basking in the sun.'

                                                                           *

Silent, Their Men Stand By

                                        

 

as universal woman talks

with women

who are not friends,

or neighbours,

or women they know or love,

just women.

 

Their bonding thread

is laughter, touch, glance, cry,

instant understanding.

 

While silent, mystified, their men stand by.

 

 

                                                         *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia