Thanks Private Norfolk

 

 Dear Reader,

 

I have just been watching the ceremony at the Cenotaph in London and it always brings tears to my eyes.  Over 10,000 people marched past this morning and I would like to say thank you to everyone of them.  Think what they did for us.  Each one of them had done something to make our lives safer, with more freedom and a better future.  

On Remembrance Sunday I always think of my father, Major Harold Huth.  He was in the Royal Army Service Corps and was mentioned in Dispatches on three occasions.  I have a letter written in l916 congratulating my grand parents from a Colonel Harrison, and his other officers, on their son's distinguished conduct and gallantry.  

So today, as always, I am thinking of you Dad, and thanking you for the part you played to give us all the freedoms we now enjoy, and I am sending you my best love. 

                                                                             *

 

Ltd Colonel John McCrae:

"In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row."

                                                                              * 

 From H.W. Longfellow   1807 - 1882

Lives of Great men all remind us
we can make our lives sublime
and, departing, leave behind us
footprints on the sands of time.

 

From Jane Austen     November 17th    1798 in Hampshire 

"What fine weather this is!   Not very becoming perhaps early in the morning, but very pleasant out of doors at noon, and wholesome - at least everybody fancies so, and imagination is everything."

                                                                                  *

 

Thanks, Private Norfolk

 

 

You left, singing, with your pals,

marching for good and glory.

You hadn’t yet dug a trench,

killed an unknown soldier,

seen dead bodies, smelt their stench,

heard comrades’ last sickening cries.

 

You gave your life with generous heart,

believed the lies

dispatched by loftier ranks.

And so to you, dear Private Norfolk,

I give salute,

and my deepest thanks

 

for swapping your mauve rain-skies,

your white-breast beaches, and beckoning sea,

your level fields of ripening corn,

to fight in foreign fields, for us,

for me.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                   *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

 

Separation

 Dear Reader,

 

 

Redwings 

 

 

 

 

The history of the redwing bird is marked by its scientific description by Carl Linnaeus in 1758 and its long standing presence as a winter visitor to the UK with its name deriving from the red underwings.

Its presence in the UK as a breeding bird is a more recent development, first recorded in Scotland in 1925.  The redwings status as a winter visitor has been documented for centuries with early mention appearing in texts as far back as 1678.

Redwings migrate to the UK from Iceland, Scandinavia, and Russia during the autumn to escape the harsh northern winters.   They are known to be nomadic and will move in response to food availability, meaning their presence in the UK can fluctuate yearly.

Redwings feed on worms and berries, particularly hawthorn and rowan.  When food is scarce they will venture into gardens and orchards in search of a bite to eat.  Apples seems to be their favourite food. 

 

                                                                                  *

 From D.H. Lawrence   November 9th  1915 in Oxfordshire

'When I drive across this country, with autumn falling and rustling to pieces, I am so sad, for my country, for this great wave of civilization, 2000 years, which is now collapsing, that is is hard to live.  So much beauty and pathos of old things passing away and no new things coming; this house (Garsington Manor) - it is England - my God, it breaks my soul - their England, these shafted windows, the elm trees, the blue distance - the past, the great past, crumbling down, breaking down, not under the force of coming birds, but under the weight of many exhausted lovely yellow leaves, that drift over the lawn, and over the pond, like the soldiers, passing away, into winter and the darkness of winter - no, I can't bear it.  For the winter stretches ahead where all vision is lost and all memory dies out.'

 

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth   November 10th   1800 in Westmorland 

'I baked bread.  A fine clear frosty morning.   We walked after dinner to Rydale village.  Jupiter over the hilltops, the only star, like a sun, flashed out at intervals from behind a black cloud.' 

 

                                                                                    *

 

Separation

 

Sometimes, in the night, sharing  our bed

I feel cage-restrained.

I cannot stretch, or scratch, or swear

at moths or mosquitoes looking for

the light, or me.   I cannot listen to the

World Service, speak outloud or hum.

 

 

And yet and yet, separated,

my being yearns for you.

Not for rapturous couplings

not for passion, but for oneness.

It is my primordial need

to share the beat of breath,

the silent, unconscious rhythm of life

that is not yet death.

 

                                                                        *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

Of Different Stuff

Spitfires and Mosquitoes

 Dear Reader,

 

The De Haviland Mosquito. named the "Wooden Wonder" was a highly versatile and fast aircraft designed during WW11 that served in numerous roles including bomber, fighter, and reconnaissance.

Constructed mainly of wood to save on strategic materials, its speed was its primary defense, allowing it to escape many enemy fighters.

First flown in November 1940 it was a successful, multi-role combat aircraft that flew thousands of missions.  The Mosquito was often flown by a two-person crew (pilot and navigator) reducing its vulnerability compared to larger bombers.  It also had a long range, with extra fuel tanks allowing for flights of over 1,870 miles.

A small number of WW11 Mosquitoes are still air worthy with the most recent count listing five flying models. Several more are undergoing restoration to join these flying examples.

 

                                                                          *

From John Clare    October 31st 1824 in Northants

'Took a walk, got some branches of the spindle tree with its pink-color'd berries that shine beautifully in the pale sun. '

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth   October 31st  1800 in Westmorland

'A very fine moonlight night - The moon shone like herrings in the water.'

 

From S.T. Coleridge  October 31st  1803   in Cumberland

'The full moon glided on behind a black cloud.  And what then?   And who cared?' 

 

                                                                             *

Of Different Stuff

 

 

The ATS, the WAAFS, the WRENS,

rode in battleships,

flew spitfires and mosquitoes,

decoded enemy messages

nursed the wounded.

 

They tilled the land

drove tractors, fed the pigs,

birthed the lambs,

rose with the dawn,

went to bed late

exhausted and often hungry.

 

They walked alone in London

late at night

in the dark and dangerous streets,

they slept in freezing dormitories

shared a lavatory and basin

with twenty others.

 

These women were made

of different stuff.

They were fearless,

 they were brave.

 

                                                              *

 

I am ashamed at my fearfulness

in the peace they fought for us,

gave us.

I am made, sadly, of different stuff.

 

                                                                          ^*

 

^{With very best wishes, Patricia} 

 

 

 

 

The Mind Cupboard

 Dear reader,

In popular culture swans are renowned for their beauty, grace and loyalty.  But they are also highly territorial and rather noisy.   These large waterfowl are found in wetlands across all continents except Antarctica. 

Swans have a long history evolving from ancient myths to a symbol of luxury and royalty in the Middle Ages and continuing as a cultural icon.  Historically they were semi-domesticated for their meat with the British Monarch claiming unmarked swans, and the practice of marking ownership became a key part of their royal history.  

In folklore they are widely represented as symbols of beauty, purity, love and transformation.  The average lifespan of a swan is about 10/20 years in the wild.   In captivity swans can live much longer with some individuals reaching 30/40 years. 

 

                                                                               *

As the winter approaches I thought I would put on the blog some of your favourite poems.  Today is 'The Mind Cupboard' which seemed to attract people from all over the world.  How popular a poem seems that the subject is pretty universal. All humanity shares, I think, happiness and sadness to some degree and for the poems that I have written about these facts shows up in the responses I get. 'The Mind Cupboard' says it all.

                                                                              * 

I have been having lots of nightmares lately and have decided to stop reading about the two WWs.  I honestly think I could write a book about the Resistance in WW2 myself and feel it is time to stop the books.   So what am I going to concentrate on now I wonder.  Any ideas?  Let me know please if you do.  

                                                                              *

 

 

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 the 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.' 

 

From William Cowper  October 26th 1790 in Buckinghamshire 

'A yellow shower of leaves is falling continually from all the trees in the country......The consideration of my short continuance here, which was once grateful to me, now fills me with regret. I would live and live always.' 

 

                                                                     *

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 

 

PS   My email address is:   patricia.huthellis@googlemail.com    for book ideas please.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Call to You

 Dear reader,

 

The history of the ladybird is rooted in a blend of scientific classification and folklore, particularly European traditions honouring the Virgin Mary from whom the name "ladybird" originates.

In the Middle Ages farmers nicknamed them "Beetles of our Lady" after they saved crops from pests with the name evolving over time.  The name ladybird also references the Virgin Mary's red cloak which she often wore in early art.   The seven spots on the common seven-spot ladybird were said to represent the seven joys or sorrows of the Virgin Mary.

 Ladybirds have long been considered symbols of good luck.  Folklore suggests that if a ladybird lands on you, it is good fortune and some believe counting the spots can predict the future.

While the 7-spot ladybird is common in Europe, there are more than 5,000 species worldwide.  Ladybirds are important predators of pests like aphids making them valuable for farmers and gardeners. 

 

                                                                                *

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 passages were seen on the same day.'

 

From John Everett Millais   October 16th   1851  in Surrey

"Worked on my picture;  painted nasturtiums; saw a stoat run into a hole in the garden wall;  went up to it and endeavoured to lure the little beast out by mimicking a rat's or mouse's squeak.....Succeeded to my astonishment.  He came half out of the hole and looked into my face, within each reach.'

 

From Francis Kilvert  October 18th  1878  in the Gower Peninsula, Glamorgan

'St. Luke's Day.  This week has indeed been the summer of St. Luke.  Five of us drove in the waggonette to Oxwich Bay....We had a merry windy luncheon on the bank near the churchyard gate, and great fun and famous laughing.  An E. wind was blowing fresh and strong, the sea was rolling grey and yeasty, and in splendid sunburst the white seagulls were running and feeding on the yellow sands.  A wild merry day.'

 

                                                                                *

I Call To You

 

I am the winter snow

the summer sun

I am the birdsong

the first snowdrop

I am the seagull's cry

the gold red sunset

I am the butterfly, the ladybird

the falling leaves

I am the blue mountains

the oak tree

I am whispering trees

the silver stream

I am the Southerly wind

the Northern Star

I am the sound of the sea

the gentle rain

I am the light, peace

love and sisterly soul

 

I call to you

 

                                                                    *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

Stations

 Dear reader,

 

Gauloises cigarettes were launched in France in 1910 by the state tobacco monopoly SEITA and became a symbol of French identity, particularly after WW1, known for their strong, dark, unfiltered tobacco and signature blue packs with a winged helmet design. 

The brand evolved with the introduction of filtered cigarettes in the 1950s and American-style blends in the 1980s, but remained an iconic cultural symbol associated with French artists, intellectuals and the working classes.

Gauloises became intertwined with French art and intellectual life, they were smoked by Pablo Picasso, Jean Paul Sartre, and Albert Camus.

 

                                                                                  *

From Gerard Manley Hopkins   October 5th  1897  in Lancashire

'A goldencrested wren had got into my bedroom 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 beetle-brows, 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.'

 

From Francis Kilvert   October 7th  1874 in Radnorshire 

' For some time I have been trying to find the right word for the shimmering glancing twinkling movement of the poplar leaves in the sun and the wind. This afternoon I saw the word written on the poplar leaves.   It was 'dazzle'.  The dazzle of the poplars.'

 

                                                                                   *

Stations

 

are full of people,

people angry, people joyful

people sad, people anxious,

people disappointed,

people running,

people excited,

old people,

young people,

middle aged people

the odd dog

 

Stations are full

of smoke

the smell of frying onions

gauloise cigarettes

pigeons

lost luggage

people hurrying to and fro

the crashing of doors

noise and emotion

 

Stations

are the beginning

or the end

 

the alpha

the omega

 

                                                               *

 

With best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

Mother Earth

                                                                              Red Pandas
 

 

 Dear Reader,

This week I had a small adventure, well I don't have many, but on Friday I visited a wildlife park.  I gazed at rhinos, giraffes, and lions.  I peeped in at various alligator type animals and saw a large group of camels.  But, and this is my point:  these animals didn't look at all happy.  The lion, in particular looked unutterably miserable and one of the monkeys was in a rage, tearing about its cage at an enormous rate. There was an air of sadness, I thought, in every cage, and although it was all very well done I am sure the animals were bored and frustrated in their captivity.

However, Francis enjoyed himself on the maiden voyage of Humphrey.  Humphrey is a new acquisition in the form of a mobility scooter and he whirled around the paths in great style.  I haven't walked so far in ages and was thoroughly exhausted.  Still it is nice to go on an outing sometimes.....

 

                                                                                * 

 The red panda was formally described in 1825.  The two currently recognised subspecies, the Himalayan and the Chines red panda, genetically diverged at 250,000 years ago.  Genetic evidence suggests they are closely related to raccoons, weasels, and skunks.

Red pandas are not dangerous animals but they do have aggressive tendencies. When a red panda stands on it hind legs and raises its arms, it displays a defensive stance and may attack the threat with its claws and teeth.

Red panda symbolism includes, gentleness, patience, compromise and adaptability, reflecting their calm natures and ability to thrive it their environment.

                                                                                  * 

 

From John Clare    September 29th  1824 in Northants

'Took a walk in the fields, saw a old wood-stile taken away from a favourite spot which it had occupied all my life.  The posts were overgrown with ivy and it seem'd so akin to nature and the spot where it stood as tho' it had taken on a lease for an undisturb'd existence.  It hurt me to see it gone.'  

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth   September 30th   1800 in Westmorland

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

                                                                                       * 

 

Mother Earth

 

is dying,

 

suffocating in

oceans full of plastic,

 

gasping for breath

in the rain forests,

 

choking in cities

from pollution,

 

gagging in rivers full

of chemicals.

 

She is asking us to stop

and think,

sending fires, floods

and famine

 

but do we hear her?

 

Mother Earth

is weeping,

 

and so am I.

 

                                                                   *

 

With best wishes, Patricia