Blue Gingham Dress

                                                                                              Elvis and I

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                  Elvis
 

 

Dear Reader,

Francis gave me a surprise last week.  He made an Elvis lookalike and brought him into the sitting room after supper. He knows that I love Elvis dearly, and always have, and I was wondering why he is, and always has been, so very popular with the public.  I read that somewhere a woman has a record of Elvis that she plays every day and has done so for over forty years.  

Neil McCormick in the Daily Telegraph writing about Adele's latest single says that 'the song and singer deliver a deeply emotional truth from the heart'. And, he argues, isn't that the very essence of what music is, and why it means so much to us?  So why do some voices touch us, our hearts and souls, that no other singer does?  It is certainly a mystery but I am sure it is a gift of some sort from God, or who ever your idea of a Higher Being is. Songs need a voice that can carry emotion and demand attention.  This Elvis did in spades for me and probably for you too.

 

                                                              *

From Gilbert White, October 25th, 1784 in Wiltshire

'Hard Frost, thick ice.  In my way to Newton I was covered with snow! Snow covers the ground, and trees!!'

From Francis Kilvert, October 25th, 1874 in Wiltshire

'A damp warm morning steaming with heat, the outer air like a hothouse, the inner air colder, and in consequence the old thick panelled walls of the front rooms streaming with warm air condensed on the cold walls....The afternoon was so gloomy that I was obliged for the first time to have lights in the pulpit.'

                                                                *

Blue Gingham Dress

She was wearing
a blue gingham dress
long-sleeved, with lace collar
one summer evening in July.

A sweet smell from lilies
lavender bushes
roses and orange blossom
drifted on the air,

the sea sapphire
played its own repetitive tune
soft and enticing
and a southerly wind blew.

Suddenly he took her hand
drew her near
kissed her gently
then came a call,

they separated
ran back to the house
her heart racing
knees weak, on fire.

The gingham dress
worn and faded now,
hangs at the back of the cupboard,
but the kiss is still as fresh
as it was on that one
summer evening in July.

With best wishes, Patricia

Camel

                                                                                          Petra Rose
 

 

Dear Reader,

The poem today was written after I had visited a wild life park near where I live. Of course it is lovely to go and spend the day looking at the animals especially if you have small children with you, but I do wonder about the rights of these animals.  Do lions and tigers, pandas, merekats, camels, and so on really enjoy being caged up all day with no wild places to hunt or go?  I suspect not and, if offered the choice, would love to be back in their natural habitats.  As circuses are now closing, especially if they had performing animals, perhaps in a few years time these wild life parks will be no more.  I would be glad if this were the case.

                                                                                       *

From Dorothy Wordsworth, October 12th, 1800 in Westmorland

'We pulled apples after dinner, a large basket full. We walked before tea by Bainriggs to observe the many-coloured foliage.  The oaks dark green with some yellow leaves, the birches generally still green, some near the water yellowish, the sycamore crimson-tufted, the mountain ash a deep orange, the common ash lemon colour, but many ashes still fresh in their summer green.'

From Gilbert White, October 13th, 1787 in Hampshire

'We saw several redwings among the bushes on the north side of the common. There were swallows about the village at the same time: so that summer and winter birds of  passage were seen on the same day.'

                                                                                        *

Camel

The woman stares at me
into my rheumy eyes, my sad face
sees a dusty, dirty animal,
mud sticking to my coat
my miserable tail hanging loose
my hooves cracked, hump matted.

But I want her to know that this is not me.
I come from a land of warmth
of sun, of sand,
my Arab owner loved me
understood me
he stroked my coat.
He rode on my back
Kelim rugs hugging my haunches
water in large panniers
strung to my side.

We rode to oases, To Petra Rose,
he was my friend.
I weep for the want of him.

The woman walks away
but something glistens on her cheek.

With best wishes, Patricia

Sideburns 2014

                                                                                  Thomas Hardy

                                                                            Thomas Hardy's cottage
 

Will you, dear reader, please excuse a bit of a rant this week.  I bought a book to read called 'Beautiful World, Where are you' by an Irish writer called Sally Rooney.  She seems to be the top author of the times, and this book was well reviewed by almost everyone.  But I found it so completely disappointing.  I have always thought that a novel needs to have a good story, one that you can't wait to get back to whilst washing the dishes. But this book didn't seem to have a good story, in fact almost no story at all.  Just four odd people meandering through the pages talking about themselves and their rather boring lives. But if graphic sex is your thing, then this would be the book for you.  Give me some of Thomas Hardy's work, his clever novels with such interesting characters and wonderful plots, and I won't bother with modern works in future. I know this makes me sound old and boring, not up with the times, but so be it.....

                                                                                        *

From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1800, October 2nd in Westmorland

A very rainy morning.   We walked after dinner to observe the torrents....the lichens are now coming out afresh, I carried home a collection in the afternoon.   We had a pleasant conservation about the manners of the rich - avarice, inordinate desires, and effeminacy, unnaturalness, and the unworthy objects of education ... a showery evening.  The moon light lay upon the hills like snow.

                                                                                          *

Sideburns

Astonished, I see the sideburns
the slicked up hair,
the ill-fitting suit,
large red hands
jolting it back on the shoulders
with awkward gesture
at a young man's funeral
in the village church.
White lilies fill the air
with their sweet scent
while soft music plays.
I see tears on every cheek,
sad young women, and men too -
there to seek some comfort
from the vicar's words.

I blink and thought
I saw Thomas Hardy standing
in a nearby pew,
back in time from his day.
The ancient poet seemed to be
embodied in the blood and lives
of this congregation
among whom nothing has change over the
years,
not the people, nor the service,
and death is still great sorrow.

But there is tea and beer
at the Bull Inn,
gossip and laughter
tears and memories, as
life's cycle keeps turning,
our beginnings and our endings
the only certainties.

                                                                                      *

With best wishes, Patricia

 

Resolution

                                                                                            Brighton
 

 

Dear Reader,

This week I really did have an adventure.  I went to Brighton for four days with my daughter Jessica.  We went to help look after my sister who has dementia and lives in Brighton.  But we had the time of our lives or I did anyway.  We were staying in a 'functional hotel' near the station.  And it was fine, had everything we wanted but it wasn't pretty or delightful in any way.  But I got quite fond of it and looked forward to my rest in the afternoon in a comfortable bed. Jessica got up early and ran down to the sea where she bathed at eight in the morning.  

I absolutely loved Brighton.  It is so alive and vibrant. The streets have houses in multiple colours and the people I gazed at were wonderfully different from the folk on the staid Cotswold streets that I know.  Everyone in the shops, particularly in the Lanes were very funny and friendly. Apparently the Lanes are very famous, they are small roads full of fantastic goods, silver jewellery, second hand and vintage clothes, cafes and antique shops.  In fact I would like to live in Brighton and if I wasn't so old that moving is unthinkable, that is where I would go. 

                                                                                      *

From John Clare, September 26th, in Northants, 1824

'Took a walk in the fields, heard the harvest cricket and shrew-mouse uttering their little chickering songs among the crackling stubble.'

From Gilbert White, September 25h, Hampshire, 1772

'Vast tempest in the night that broke boughs from the trees, and blowed down much of the apples and pears.'

                                                                                        *

Resolution

I need to breathe salt sea air,
run down to the shell-strewn beach,
let the sharp east wind blow through my hair,
run for the horizon away out of reach.

I need the sound of the seagull's cry,
the music of waves rolling on sand
to help with questions of whether and why
I should change my direction, and stand

up for what I believe in.
I need the strength I know I will find
on that quiet sunfilled beach,
to be resolute, make up my mind.

Enveloped in peace, silence and sea
I will whisper to the listening wind,
"I have made the decision, watch over me,
I'm taking the path I have chosen."

                                                                                *

With very best wishes, Patricia

Emma Alpha Plus

                                                                                     Grand daughter Emma

 Dear Reader,  

       Having grand children is one of life's great joys and brings such happiness.  I have loved and cherished and looked after mine since they were born and it has always been such a treat.  Grand children are not the same at all as your own children.  Somehow the gap  between us and them is just right, not too near and not too far, but grand parents are family and allowed to praise when necessary or punish if necessary too. And in my fifty's when they were little I really enjoyed playing with them, going to the swings, getting up at six in the morning so as not to wake Geoffrey, and going to the playground where we ate crisps and chocolate bars. I loved the afternoons when they were with me.  We liked watching ' Maisy the Mouse', and in particular watching 'The Sound of Music.' I couldn't possibly remember how many times we watched it, singing the songs along with Maria and the children.  My granddaughter Emma has got a beautiful voice and I still ask her to sing to me when she visits.

                                                                                 *

From Jane Austen in Kent 1796   September 18th

'What dreadful hot weather we have! - It keeps one in a continual state of inelegance'.

From Richard Hayes, 1766 in Hampshire   September 21st

'A robin sang all his note during Divine Service in the body of the church'.

                                                                                   *

Emma Alpha Plus 

Emma
the little one
frightened to be left
at night
shared my bed
snuggled up with me
listened to nursery rhymes
on an old tape recorder

we went to the swings
sat on a bench
ate crisps

she grew and we went to
the Wildlife Park
stared at the monkeys

we watched Maisy Mouse
over and over again
and in her teens
The Sound of Music

she worked hard at school
had problems with her
heart over beating and never
complained

she went to college
got a distinction
will go to Brighton to study
in September next year

she is helpful, enthusiastic
puts her all into everything
is engaging and funny

she is alpha plus

I loved her and looked after her
and now she looks after me

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia

P.S. Emma now works in the film world for Warner Bros.

 

 

                               

Word-dancing

 Dear Reader,

I made an interesting discovery in my secret cupboard this week.  It is the manuscript of a book I wrote over forty years ago and it is called 'Half a Pair of People'.  It is about the single life I suddenly had to live after leaving my marriage of twenty years.  Many things struck me as I read, one of them was how cheap everything was then. To go to a Singles Club the ticket would cost me £1.69p, and my first wages as a secretary in an Oxford College, for a full 38 hours week, was about £60 and no luncheon vouchers either. But the puzzling thing is how much I have forgotten of my life at that time.   Lots of names of people I can't remember came up whom I seem to have spent lots of time with and places I went to.  I now have no recollection of them. Some of it is quite funny and I do hope that somehow I will be able to publish it.  

Always looking for jobs, I once  took a job as a receptionist in an Oxford hotel but when I arrived the owner said I had to do the cooking.  As I am not a good or enthusiastic cook this pronouncement took me back.   But what I had to do was have a pan of boiling water always on the hob and a pan of boiling fat and simply pop frozen duck or chicken into the appropriate pan. Frozen vegetables went into the boiling water.  In addition I had to wear a brown nylon uniform and had taken a wig with me so that my hair didn't smell of kitchen fumes.  I have never forgotten that night, but looking back it now seems rather funny.

                                                                                     *

September 11th, 1826 from William Cobbett in Wiltshire

"Between Somerford and Oaksey  I saw, on the side of the road, more goldfinches than I had ever seen together; I think fifty times as many as I had ever seen at one time in my life.  The favourite food of the goldfinch is the seed of the thistle.  This seed is just now dead ripe.  the thistles are all cut and carried away from the fields by the harvest; but they grow alongside the roads; and, in this place, in great quantities.  so that the goldfinches were got here in flocks, and as they continued to fly along before me for nearly half a mile, and still sticking to the road and the banks, I do believe I had, at least, a flock of ten thousand flying before me."

                                                                                      *

Word-dancing

The woman discovers the double act
of word-dancing at dinner,
recognizes with excitement
mutual friends from books,from poetry,
from words explored, but only
known thus far in solitude.

Together they dance through imagined lands
sharing knowledge,
throwing words back and forth
in light ethereal movements,
cerebral binding and bonding,
now the foxtrot, now the waltz.

For her these pleasures
are found at lunch parties, at dinner,
in libraries, on courses.
But where can the young word-dance?
Her grandson lunches on the run,
dines with Eastenders,
goes clubbing on solitary trips
too noisy, frightening, for word-dancing,
for cerebral binding and bonding,
now the foxtrot, now the waltz.

                                                                                   *

With very best wishes, Patricia

Rooks

                                                                                Cornish cottage gardens
 

 

Dear Reader,

 

A judge sentencing a neo-Nazi sympathizer this week has spared him jail as long as he spends time reading the classics.  If he reads Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare he can avoid prison.  But he will have to return to court to be tested by the judge on his reading, his progress.

But Michael Deacon in the Telegraph thinks this could be a bad decision and gave some examples.  If, for instance, this Nazi sympathizer reads Dickens's Oliver Twist he might encounter Fagin, a nakedly anti-Semitic stereotype. And if he reads Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice he will encounter another, in the form of Shylock.  He might also discover the Evelyn Waugh admired Mussolini, Ezra Pound supported Hitler, and W B Yeats approved of eugenics ("Sooner or later we must limit the families of the unintelligent classes").

There were many more examples but you have probably got the idea now.  I wrote about human behaviour in my blog a few weeks ago and would just reiterate that people are very complex and can be good and bad, kind and cruel, or anything else, in the same personality.  Indeed I am often surprised at what I think about something myself.  Alexander Pope, 1688, poet and satirist, wrote: 'know then thyself, presume not God to scan.....the proper study of mankind is Man.' I would suggest that knowing yourself is not easy, knowing someone else even more difficult.

                                                                                    *

 From S.T.Coleridge, 1800 in Grasmere, Westmorland

'The beards of thistle and dandelions flying above the lonely mountains like life, and I saw them thro' the trees skimming the lake like swallows.'

                                                                                    *

 

Rooks

I was fourteen
when I first heard
the call of the rooks
caw-cawing
their eerie cries.

From a Cornish cottage garden
I walked down through
dark woods to the beach,
a remote place,
just dunes, sand, the sea
and me, a confused, angry teenager,
with the rooks caw-cawing in my ears
disturbing my thoughts.

Even now, in later years,
whenever I hear whispers from the wind,
or sea lapping over large grey stones
ever forward, ever backward,
glimpse a faraway horizon
and see twilight descending
darkening the sky,
the rooks in large black groups
flying high towards
their evening bed
cawing, cawing, cawing
my heart misses a beat
and an unexplained sadness
overcomes me.

                                                                                        *

With very best wishes, Patricia