Chapel

                                                                                      The Celtic Cross

Dear Reader,

We have been watching Kenneth Clark's television series 'Civilization' on DVDs. It is a wonderful stroll through thousands of years of what it means to be civilized and I have very much enjoyed it.  Unfortunately I left school when I was fifteen and so had a very patchy, short education.  Most of the things I have knowledge of and understand I have acquired through reading voraciously.

But what has dawned on me watching this series is what has been, and probably still is, important to intellectuals, academics, painters, artists, authors, the elite, is wealth and what to spend it on. Incredible jewels, fantastic ornate churches and cathedrals, castles and museums, art with life-size people in various states of undress and enormous statues in stone, inhabit the landscape.  Apparently this is what civilization is made of but for me it is all too much.

I want and have a very simple life.  The Celtic people got is right I think, their creed is my creed. This is one of their prayers:              
                                                      May you have
                                                      walls for the wind
                                                      And a roof for the rain
                                                      And drinks beside the fire
                                                      Laughter to cheer you
                                                      And those you love near you
                                                      And all that your heart may desire

                                                                            *



Chapel

Away with the cherubs
the angels, the painted ceilings
the high arches
the high ceilings
nudes male and female
the artifacts
the gold crosses
and ornate statues of the
Virgin Mary.

Give me a chapel with
whitewashed bricks
wooden pews
oak door with studs
daisies on the altar
in a china jug
a bust of St. Columba
and quiet peace
in God's house.


                                                                             *

With very best wishes, Patricia

The Mind cupboard

                                                                                        Swallows welcome return

Dear Reader,

On Monday I think we start the fourth week in lockdown.  For Francis and I it really hasn't been boring or bad at all, but I certainly don't want to sound smug about this.  Obviously for those of us lucky enough to have a garden to sit in, or work in,  a house to live in and wonderful neighbours who do our shopping for us we are much blessed.  If on the other hand you live in a high rise block and have small children to care for and amuse, lockdown must be terrible and I salute and honour you for your fortitude.

One of my daughters works for the NHS and one is a carer.  I do worry about both of them as obviously the coronavirus is lurking where they work.  But someone has to do it they both say and I do feel very proud of them.

I am not sleeping at all well at the moment because I have anxiety dreams every night.  I get up and make myself a cup of tea and sometimes listen to the radio.  World service is good and interesting.
 But I do hope the government doesn't decide to relax the rules that we now all know about distancing and shopping for essentials.  We must be certain that the virus has petered out properly before we can go back to normal.

                                                                                   *                                                                                                  

I am putting 'The Mind Cupboard' poem back on the blog this week.  It seems to be one that touches the heart at this moment of our lives, so I thought I would give it another run.  I am sorry if this is not the case for you.

*  

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 the of their stings. 

I will refill this cupboard

with love, and learnt, brighter things.

 *

Very best wishes, Patricia

The Mind Cupboard

Dear Reader,

     As someone who has had mental problems over my life, in particular, problems with anxiety  I have put my poem 'The Mind cupboard' on the blog today.  I think in this very strange time of Corona virus many of us will be feeling slightly unstable.

Perhaps we don't have a garden and there are no suitable places to walk, our homes are small and we are having to share them with a large family.  This is not the case for me, but I can visualize this scene.  It is not a good one.  But, from what I have read in the newspapers, things will get better and normality will be resumed by the end of the summer if not before.  Cheer up.

Next week the weather is going to be sunny, the birds are having a lovely time so open the windows and listen to their joyful songs. And here is a tip I feel I can give you if you have Netflix.  Watch 'Anne with an E' before you go to bed and you will probably sleep well.

* 

April 12th, Dorothy Wordsworth writing in Somerset, 1798

'Walked in the morning in the wood.  In the evening up the Coombe, fine walk.  The Spring advances

rapidly, multitudes of primroses, dog-violets, periwinkles, stitchwort.'

April 12th, Nathaniel Hawthorne writing in York, 1857

'(Easter Sunday)  This morning was bleak and most uncongenial; a chilly sunshine, a piercing wind, a prevalenc of watery cloud, - April weather, without the tenderness that ought to be half revealed in it.'

*

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.

*

Very best wishes, Patricia

Invocation to Iona

Dear Reader,

The excitement this week was photographing this woodpecker who came to feed on our seed tray for at least ten minutes.  My adult children always say I exaggerate but, on my word, it was ten minutes that he was there.  The bird on the feeder above is a goldfinch, sometimes there are five at a time eating and pecking away.

This is the third week of isolation, and how are you all doing?  In the first week we did go to the Co-op and to a local shop for food and milk but decided it was too risky.  So now we rely on our wonderful neighbours who have started a messenger help round for local neighbours. Lots of them very kindly fetch things for us so we see and speak to no one.  In particular I would like to thank Nikki and Pete Moran who have organized this, and who bring us milk three times a week.  They are the neighbours everyone would like to have.

On the advice of The Telegraph newspaper I was reminded, in a piece on things to watch, of Kenneth Clark's series called  'Civilization".  We started watching it last night and it is indeed wonderous.  Marvelous pictures of ancient buildings and of a small island in the north of Scotland where the first Christians built stone houses.  These they lived in to get away from the Barbarian hordes and other marauding tribes. There are lots of discs so we are in for a fascinating sofa travel to all parts of the world.  I thoroughly recommend it, do get it if this sort of thing appeals to you.

                                                                               *

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 garments with
machair rope-grass.
In the Port of Coracle
your southern bay,
I hear the wind-blown cormorant'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?"

                                                                               *

With very good wishes, Patricia

England Dear to Me

                                                          Afternoon tea with scones and strawberry jam



Dear Reader,


It is a very strange time we are living in, isn't it?  So I have put my poem 'England Dear to Me" on the blog today to remind us all of some of the things that make England so precious.  I expect you can think of lots of other things to add to my list, which could make us, perhaps, nostalgic for the many things we took for granted.  As you probably know, if you often read this blog, that I absolutely love being by the sea.  We had booked a holiday in glorious Lyme Regis in May but of course that is now cancelled.  So I will look at the evocative and wonderful photographs of the sea taken by Kaye Leggett and buy some DVDs depicting sea views of lonely places and deserted beaches especially of the Northern Isles of Scotland.

On the bird table at lunch today I saw: three goldfinches, two green finches, two wagtails, one chaffinch, and lots of blue tits and coal tits.  In the week I saw a woodpecker on the bird tray feasting himself for several minutes.  He was black and white with a red cap on his head.  This was the first time I saw him and I haven't seen him since.

*

March 21st, l762, Richard Hayes wrote from Kent:

'This day I saw a yellow butterfly.....My rooks, by the cold weather and snows, did not begin building till last Sunday(14th).'

March 21st, 1798, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote from Somerset:

'We drank tea at Coleridge's.  A quiet shower of snow was in the air during more than half of our walk.'

*

England Dear to Me

It is the robins, blackbirds, blue tits,

hopping and grubbing in the garden

that lurch my heart

make England dear to me.

It is the velvet of green moss,

oak trees, old with history,

the first cowslips,

hedgerows filled with dog rose, foxgloves

and shy sweetpeas in china bowls.

It is finding tea rooms in small market towns,

enticing with homemade scones and strawberry jam,

or suddenly glimpsing church spires

inching their way to heaven.

It is finding a Norman church,

full with a thousand years of prayer,

and a quiet churchyard mothering its dead.

It is small country lanes, high hedged,

views of mauve hills stretching skywards,

sheep and lambs dotting the green,

and bleached Norfolk beaches,

silence only broken with a seagull's cry.

It is the people,

their sense of humour,

their way of saying 'sorry' when you bump into them,

their fairness, and once or twice a year

their 'letting go',

singing "Jerusalem' with tears and passion.

It is these things

that lurch my heart

make England dear to me.

*

 Good luck this week in all you do, and are

Very best wishes, Patricia

Quickening

                                                                                           Primroses

Dear Reader,

I wrote the poem 'Quickening' on a very gloomy day in February 2016.   I think I was feeling the need for some light relief from a dank winter, and it is probably what we all need to feel today in  March, 2020.  What with the floods and corona virus to contend with there is not much to laugh at, but I think we must look on the positive side of things.  As I am eighty now and have only got a lung and a half.   I am one of the most vulnerable the media talks about.  So Francis and I are going to self-isolate and see no one until the virus has run its course.

We are going to read some books we have been meaning to read, try to do The Telegraph crossword, not only do the exercises we do already, but invent some new ones, walk when it is not raining and the cold east wind is not blowing, in the fields nearby. We are going to watch our favourite DVDs, perhaps even watch 'Anne with an E' again although I think that might be a step too far for Francis.
We are going to cook some interesting meals from Susan Campbell's cook books from the 60s and bake some fruit tarts.   We are going to listen to beautiful Mozart music and find some jazz to dance to after supper.  So all that should keep us going and we will be fine.  And I will sort out lots of cupboards.

Good luck with finding new things to do, it might even be fun.

                                                                                 *

Quickening

I want the pulse of life that has been asleep

to wake, embrace me, put on the light.

To hear the thrush, song-repeat, to keep

my trust in God to hurry icy winter's flight.

I want to glimpse, under sodden leaves, green shoots

to announce life's circle, its beginnings, have begun.

I want to run barefoot, abandon boots,

to walk through primrose paths, savour the sun.

I want to take off winter's dress, change its season,

to see the coloured petticoats of spring, bloom

and show us mortals nature's reason

to start afresh, admire the peacock's plume.

Cellar the coal, brush the ashes from the fire,

I want to intertwine, my love, quicken, feel desire.  

                                                                                  *

Blessings and Good wishes, Patricia                                                

                                                                        

Second Childhood

Dear reader,

Two exciting things happened to me this week.   The first one was a letter from Her Majesty's Inland Revenue to tell me that with my up coming birthday I am now going to receive 25p more per week in my pension. Naturally I am thrilled but what can one buy for 25p I wonder? Ah yes, probably one loo roll if there are any left after the bulk buying that seems to be going on.

And the other excitement was flooding the lawn with grass seed.  There is one large muddy patch in the middle of the lawn where the sun never shone because of a beech tree taking all the light.  The tree is no longer there and although I was very sad to have it cut down it was 'a lovely tree in the wrong place' as the tree surgeon said.   I am convinced the seed will grow at a great pace and we shall have a beautiful lawn by May.

Although professionals say this will not happen. Ah well we shall see....

*

Richard Hayes, 1766 in Kent.  March 9th,

'Very pleasant sunny warm day.  My rooks for the week past have been very busy a building.  And the butterflies have turned out. Crocuses and spring flowers appear.  I now look upon this to be the pleasantest time of the year.'

D.H. Lawrence, 1916 in Cornwall.  March 9th

'This morning the world was white with snow.  the evening the sunset is yellow, the birds are whistling, the gorse bushes are bristling with little winged suns.......   The new incoming days seem most wonderful, uncreated.'

*

Second Childhood

I don't want to read anymore

books about war, violence,

sex, murder or broken relationships.

They depress me.

I want to re-read

Moorland Mousie, the Exmoor pony,

Anne of Green Gables,

The Wind in the Willows.

I want to get lost in fairy land,

to sing and laugh

with Ratty and Mole,

join them on their adventures.

I want the innocence

lost years ago, when

compassion and wonder

were in my heart.

I want to be a child again.

*

With very best wishes, Patricia