Sleep Snare

 Dear Reader,

Sleeping is a large part of our lives and an essential function that enables our bodies and minds to recharge.  While this universal human experience may seem like a biological constant research shows that our sleeping patterns haven't always been the same.

An average night sleep in 17th century England is thought to have started with people going to bed between 9pm and 11pm.  A few hours later they would wake from their first slumber for between one or two hours before going back to their second sleep which would last until morning.

During night time waking hours evidence shows that people engaged in a variety of pastimes, whether that meant staying in bed to read or going out and visiting a neighbour.  When Thomas Edison invented the incandescent light bulb in 1879 it saw wide spread adoption that changed the way we sleep forever.  This is because it allowed people to stay up, work or socialize through the night in a way that wasn't possible under the dim glow of moonlight or with the use of oil lamps.

                                                                              *

I have always been a very poor sleeper.  Every night at about 3am I go downstairs and make a cup of tea. I take it up back to bed and read for a while until I feel sleepy.  I have a sleep in the afternoons, and at this time I sleep deeply and well.  

                                                                               *

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 and crimson-tufted, the mountain ash a deep orange, the common ash lemon colour, bu 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.'

                                                                                    *

Sleep snare

 

 

 

 

I lie awake and hear

the clock strike three,

and wonder how to

snare elusive sleep,

how to capture it,

how to find

its hiding place

and coax it back to bed.

I might entice  it

with crimson berries,

or butter croissants

then pounce on it,

and let it loose

inside my head.

But sharp is cunning sleep

it knows the tricks,

is bored of counting sheep.

 

 

 

I must fly northwards

to the moon

and let sleep take me

 

 

soon

 

          soon

 

soon ......... 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                           *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

The Shed

 Dear Reader,

I took this information from the Daily Telegraph as I thought it was interesting and hope you do too.

"You may have noticed spiders scuttling across your floor or dropping from the ceilings, fangs glistening, hairy legs outstretched, all eight of them.  If they are not in your house yet, they soon will be.  They are coming, and this year, according to reports, some are as big as rats.    It is spider season.

Late August and early autumn mark the start of the spider mating season when millions of sex-crazed male spiders look for mates and end up indoors.

Meg Skinner, a spider expert, says spiders are around our gardens all year round but now we are seeing a lot more spiders in homes.  They are bigger and tend to wander round rather than hide in corners.  This is because the ones that we encounter are usually males looking for females to mate with.  The females generally stay in one spot in the corner.  But the idea that spiders enter our homes for warmth is a myth.  Spiders don't like heat they prefer cooler, damp conditions.

There is no good reason to be afraid of spiders.  The vast majority of the world's spiders are harmless and there are no dangerous spiders in the United Kingdom."

                                                                              *

From Dorothy Wordsworth   October 2nd 1800 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 conversation about the manners of the rich - avarice, inordinate desires, and the effeminacy, unnaturalness, and the  unworthy objects of education ... a showery evening.   The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow.'

From Gerard Manley Hopkins   October 5th 1872 in Lancashire

'A goldencrested wren had got into my room at night and circled round dazzled by the gaslight on the white ceiling; when caught even and put out it would come in again.   Ruffling the crest which is mounted over the crown and eyes like bettlebrows, I smoothed and fingered the little orange and yellow feathers which are hidden in it.  Next morning i found many of these about the room and enclosed them in a letter to Cyril (his brother) on his wedding day.'

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The Shed

 

 The spider let himself down

from a crack in the grimy rafters.

Time to spin another web,

catch flies, feed his children.

This old shed he loved

had housed his ancestors,

its essence was in his blood.

He knew well the aged wooden bench

laiden with hand-worn tools,

the swallow’s yearly nesting place,

the bee’s hum and buzz.

He knew of the warmth from the earth floor,

from the hurricane lamp, lit on dark evenings,

of the dusty windows facing north,

and he knew he could swing on the ash spokes

spliced to the wheel hung on the hook.

He knew too that the moonlight

cast quiet shadows on the pile of logs,

home to small scuttling creatures.

He knew that nearby in a bed of shavings,

an old dog slept.

This restful shed scented with lavender and tar,

was a timeless place.

 

Clearing, cleaning, scraping, peeling,

the old shed becomes new.

Much buzzing and humming

as computers move in, reference books,

filing cabinets, printers, blaring telephones,

glaring lights, and stress.

 

No quiet shadows now

in the bright new shed,

no cracks, no silence, and the spider.... dead.

 

 

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

I glimpsed a child

Iraqi children

 Dear Reader,

Moroccan tea was first introduced to Morocco in the 12th century, BC, by the Phoenicians who settled in the country's north for over eight centuries.  Another hypothesis links it to the first settlers in Morocco, the Berbers, who brought a green plant with them when they moved from their original land in Asi.  Also another historical theory said that tea came to Morocco from Spain and the Portuguese at the time of their military attempts to conquer in the 18th century.

Some historians think that tea was first known to the Moroccan's through maritime piracy which was active at that time in both the Atlantic ocean and the Mediterranean regions.

Moroccans serve mint tea to their visitors not only as a gesture of warmth and hospitality but also kindness, appreciation and gratitude.  An ancient Moroccan proverb says; "The first glass is as bitter as life, the second glass is as strong as love, the third glass is as gentle as death".

                                                                                 *

I have learnt so much writing these piece about world affairs and movement and how people live or have lived in the past.  It seems to me that people from all over the world have, for one reason and another, have wanted to move elsewhere since the beginning of time and records.  

So who are refugees?  I often wonder.  

                                                                                 *

From Dorothy Wordsworth  September 30th  1800 in Westmorland

'It rained very hard.  Rydale was extremely wild.....We sate quietly and comfortably by the fire.'

From Katherine Mansfield   September 30th  1918 in Hampshire

'The last day in September - immensely cold, a kind of solid cold outside the windows....Don't read this.   Do you hear that train whistle and now the leaves - the dry leaves- and now the fire- fluttering and creaking.        Why doesn't she bring the lamps?'

                                                                              *

I glimpsed a child

 

on the kitchen chair

feet dangling

legs swinging

 

large brown eyes stared

from a dusty pale face

 

she didn’t smile or speak

 

about seven years old I thought

Syrian perhaps or Iraqi

her clothes once pink and green

now mud stained and torn

 

her silver bracelets sparkling

in the sunlight

 

I made her Moroccan mint tea

offered her cake

kissed her cold cheek

dried her tears

 

I fetched more sugar

but on return I saw

the chair was empty

the child gone

dissolved in the morning air

 

 

                                                                                    *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

this man

 

 Dear Reader,

I wrote today's poem for my husband Geoffrey at the end of his life, when he was very ill.  I looked after him for years and months before he died, and it was heartbreaking to see him slowly disintegrate.  But sometimes he seemed to perk up and get better and I wrote the poem on one of those occasions.  It has been eight years now since he died and I do miss him.  Looking at photographs makes things worse, I remember all the sunshine and the joys of being together and all the love that I received and gave. 

                                                                                *

On Wednesday this week Francis and I went to the Wildlife Park near Burford.  And what a treat it was.  The sun shone and it was warm ice cream weather.  The park was started by a family who lived in the big house which had fields and gardens surrounding it.  They decided to fill the grounds with animals from all over the world so that we can all enjoy them without having to travel to faraway places.  All the animals looked so well and healthy but I just had a question in my mind.  Were they happy enclosed?  They looked happy but I wonder whether they were.  What was taken from them was their freedom.   I have watched documentaries on wild life and seen meerkats scurrying around in the desert alerting themselves and their families to danger.   But they are fed well, they are safe and have medical care if needed so perhaps I can stop worrying about them.  The camels looked a bit moth eaten but perhaps that is how camels look. We finished the day with a small train ride round the estate and agreed that we had had a lovely day out.

                                                                                 *

From John Clare  September 26th 1824 in Northants

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

From Gerard Manley Hopkins   September 28th 1874 in Denbighshire 

.....to Caerwys wood, a beautiful place.   The day being then dark and threatening we walked some time under a grey light more charming than sunshine falling through boughs and leaves.'

From quiet homes and first beginning
Out to the undiscovered ends
There's nothing worth the wear of winning
But laughter and love of friends.

Hilaire Belloc

                                                                           *

this man

 

loved blue

 

it was a ship, a blue ship

 

that he sailed in

 

it was his power

 

made his heart beat faster

 

drove him along life’s waterways

 

 but he sailed away

 

came adrift

 

became shipwrecked

 

no power no heartbeat

 

this man

 

had lost the blue

 

 

but I made a small ship out of wood

 

gave it sails of the finest silk

 

an engine fired with love

 

 

 now he sails again

 

his power came back

 

 

and I painted the ship blue

 

for

 

this man

                                                                  *

 

 

 

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

d

Miracle

 Dear reader,

The barn swallow is the most widespread species of swallow in the world, occurring on all continents, with vagrants reported even in Antarctica.

The barn swallow is a bird of open country that normally nests in man-made structures and consequently has spread with human expansion.  It builds a cup nest from mud pellets in barns or similar structures and feeds on insects caught in flight.  This species lives in close association with humans and its insect-eating habits means it is tolerated by them; this acceptance was re-inforced in the past by superstitions regarding the bird and its nest.  There are frequent cultural references to the barn swallow in literary and religious works due to both its living in close proximity to humans and its annual migration.

Folk Lore:  In many places a swallow nesting in the house brought good luck, in other places, swallow nests were thought to protect buildings from fire and lightening.  Disturbing a swallow's nest would bring bad luck and would make the cow's milk bloody, or dry up altogether.

                                                                               *

 

From William Blake  September 23rd  1800 in Sussex

'The villagers of Felham are not meer Rustics; they are polite and modest. Meat is cheaper than in London, but the sweet air and the voices of winds, trees and birds, and the odours of the happy ground, makes it a dwelling for immortals.  Work will go on here with God speed.  A roller and two harrows lie before my window.  I met a plow on my first going out at my gate the first morning after my arrival, and the Plowboy said to the Plowman, 'Father, the Gate is Open.'

 

From Gilbert White  September 23rd 1781 in Hampshire

'Begin to light fire in the parlour.'

 

From Gilbert White  September 25th 1771 in Hampshire

'Hedge-sparrow begins its winter note.'

                                                                                       *

Miracle

 

 

Rich in England’s spring,

cow parsley entrancing

in dog-rosed hedge,

the fecund earth lush green,

a baby swallow

hatches in a Suffolk barn,

to the cries of gulls

flying over mudflats,

over sea-lavender.

 

This small bird grows

embracing our summer warmth,

swooping on insects caught

above rolling grasslands.

It dips and tumbles gracefully,

trouble free.

 

But what instinct tells of winter’s cold?

This bird, hand-sized, will

fly over icy Pyrenees,

thirst through the parched Sahara,

soar and glide on trade winds,

south to The Cape of Africa

drawn, inexplicably, to the heat

of the southern sun.

 

In early spring does

this swallow’s courageous heart

grow restless, homesick for 

a Suffolk barn?

Is it a miracle that some force

of nature returns this minute bird

to its birth-nest by the English sea?

Who knows, but it seems so to me.

 

 

                                                                                    *

With very best wishes, Patricia

When my dad came home

 Dear Reader,

This year our sweet peas just didn't want to bloom.  These five in the photograph are the only ones that survived but they smelt wonderful and looked gorgeous.   I wonder what we did wrong in the planting?  Please let me know if you do know the secret to make them happy and produce.

                                                                                 *

There are two great claimants to the invention of whisky, the Irish and the Scots.  But distillation, the process of using heat to separate liquids into component compounds dates back to ancient Greeks. 

William Grant founded the first distillery in 1887 to redefine the world of whisky.  In fact in 1963, Glenfiddich claimed to be the first single malt available in a sea of blends meaning that everything else before was exclusively blended Scotch whisky.

Single malt whisky is often considered the highest quality type of whisky, and it is usually more expensive than other types of whisky.  This spirit classification is often described as being smoother and more complex than other whiskies, and they are often used in mixed drinks or enjoyed on their own.

                                                                                  *

 

 

From John Clare  September 10th 1824 in Northants

'The swallows are flocking together in the skies ready for departing and a crowd has dropt to rest on the walnut tress where they twitter as if they were telling their young stories of their long journey to cheer and check fears.'

From William Cobbett  September 11th 1826 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 ripe.  The thistles are all cut and carried away from the fields by the harvest; but the 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 roads and banks, I do believe I had, at least, a flock of ten thousand flying before me.'

                                                                               *

When my dad came home

 

 

he nodded off

in the old armchair,

any time,

forgot everything,

could name no names.

 

Tobacco smoke from woodbines

filled the house,

he drank malt whisky,

came home unsteadily from the pub.

 

He talked of cricket, he whistled

and hummed old country and western songs,

rocked in the rocking chair

and potted up red geraniums.

 

He ate junket and white fish

had headaches,

and he wept sometimes.

 

But we were good friends, my dad and I,

night times he told me stories,

and tucked me into bed.

I never asked him about the war,

and he never said.

  

                                                                                   *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

The Mind Cupboard

 Dear reader,

By the 17th century the cupboard was taking over the role of the chest as the principle piece of storage furniture.  The concept of cupboards can be traced back to medieval times when they were primarily used for the display of cups and dishes.  These early cupboards were simple wooden structures with shelves or drawers, often adorned with decorative elements like carvings or ornate hardware.

During the Victorian era cupboards were primarily used for storing clothes, linens and household items.  They were often small and cramped and only rich people could afford to have a separate cupboard for their clothing.  In fact many people used wardrobes and armories to store their clothes which were often made of heavy wood and ornate carvings.

During the 1940s/1960s cupboards became more stream lined and minimalist. The focus was on clean lines and simplicity.

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The mind cupboard is where our life is stored.  We can open the door and see and remember what we did, or not remember that well.  My memory is getting very poor especially with words but I use the five minute game and, usually, whatever I am looking for comes back.  In the middle of the night I often wonder why I did this thing or that - was I mad or what?  I never know even now.  Still I have got to 84 and things don't look too bad, I did my best, helping as many people as I could and I am still here, alive. The cupboard holds my adventures which I enjoy looking at sometimes, sometimes sadly and sometimes with a smile.

                                                                               *

From William Cobbett   September 1st 1823 in Kent

From Tenterden I st off at five o'clock , and got to Appledore after a most delightful ride, the high land upon my right, and the lowland upon my left.  The fog was so thick and white along some of the low land, that I should have taken it for water, if little hills and trees had not risen up through here and there.

 

From Ann Radcliffe  September 3rd 1797 in Sussex

Walked towards Shakespeare's Cliff, the fleet still in view.   Looked down from the edge of the cliffs on the fine red gravel margin of the sea.  Many vessels on the horizon and in mid-channel. The French coast, white and high, and clear in the evening gleam.   Everything upon the sea becoming melancholy, silent and pale.   A leaden-coloured vapour rising upon the horizon, without confounding the line of separation; the ocean whiter, till the last deep twilight falls, when all is one gradual, inseparable, undistinguishable, grey.

                                                                                  *

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 best wishes,  Patricia

 

The Mind Cupboard is on again by popular request.