Knossos, Crete

                                                                                Views of flowers in Crete

 

 

Dear Reader,

The weather has been most disappointing this week, hasn't it?  I often imagine the summer months as wonderful warm sunny days inviting us to be outside as much as we can, picnics, and eating in the garden if that is possible.  But no the cold dry air was with us all week, well not Friday, and I stayed indoors most of the time.  Mind you the sweet peas are beginning to flourish heedless of the weather so in the morning I rush out to check on them and see if they have grown.

On Monday I went to Radio Oxford to talk about my book.  I met a lovely woman, Kat Orman, who does the interviews and the whole performance was great fun. Its funny sometimes, isn't it, how you meet someone and they are on the same journey in life as you, and you know it straight away.  She is now my friend and I am going to meet her in Oxford in June.

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From Gilbert White, 1792, May 31st, Dorset

'Grass grows very fast.  Honey-suckles very fragrant, and most beautiful objects! Columbines make a figure.  My white thorn, which hangs over the earth-house, is now one sheet of bloom, and has pendulous boughs down to the ground.' 

From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1802, May 31st, Westmorland

'We sat out all day.'

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Knossos, Crete

It was hot,
a brilliant sun shone,
sky a bright blue.
We wandered
across ancient pathways
wild flowers abundant,
climbed over pink stone walls
marking Minoan burial sites
from a thousand years ago.

We separated and I found
tucked away,
a stark white room.
It was deathly cold and
I shivered violently.
A spirit seemed to envelop me,
strangle me, clasp me round my neck.
Fearful I ran away screaming,
my heart pounding.

This was the room
I later learnt,
used for a human sacrifice,
a young man's bones lying there
bearing witness.

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Half a Pair of People here

As you see, my book 'Half a Pair of People' is now out on Amazon.  Look for it in books:    Patricia Huth  and click here and they will send you a copy if you would like one.  Sorry to boast here but I do have nine 5 star reviews and most people seem to find it amusing.  Hilarious in fact. As I told you last week I have to do this publicity against my will because I have no publicity agent.

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With very best wishes, Patricia

Spring Fair

                                                                                    Lovable rogue

 Dear Reader

Have you ever been to a wonderful, exciting spring fair in England? I always loved them when I was a teenager and beyond, crowds of people all out to enjoy themselves, munching on cornet type ice creams and pink sherbet sticks.  These incidentally got your hands and clothes sticky for the rest of your visit.The dodgem cars were such fun, the first time I was in charge of a car, being bumped into and bumping my sister in turn.  Then in the evening for romance there were lots of lovable rogue fair attendants in their black clothes, long hair and earrings in abundance, who teenage girls would love to have been noticed by. And some were of course.

In my case it was my beautiful daughter Jessica.  She had just come back from India and we had gone to stay for a weekend in a bed and breakfast house near the fairground.  The poem I think tells her story but I was very relieved when she came back the next morning saying she had slept by the river when she left the fair.  Well that is her story......

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From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1800, May 20th in Westmorland

'A fine mild rain.  After breakfast the sky cleared and before the clouds passed from the hills I went to Ambleside.   It was a sweet morning.  Everything green and overflowing with life, and the streams making a perpetual song, with the thrushes and all little birds not forgetting the stone-chats.'

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Spring Fair

The young girl
and her mother, holding hands,
hurry down the hill
where the bright lights beckon,
see the big dippers hurtling,
painted horses swirling, yellow
swing boats diving, swooping,
smell the grease and diesel
hear the loud beat of music,
the children's screams.

Young men of the fair,
long-haired, dark, a little wild,
eye the girls with bright,
knowing looks.
The air is full of restlessness, of quickening,
an urgency to act
before the end of the night,
when the morning light will move them on.

Dusk falls, the young girl drops her mother's hand,
stirred by the primal desire of early spring.
Running silently she disappears into the night, eager
to share what ancient fires of life can bring.

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Half a Pair of People here

As you see, my book 'Half a Pair of People' is now out on Amazon.  Look for it in books:    Patricia Huth  and click here and they will send you a copy if you would like one.  Sorry to boast here but I do have nine 5 star reviews and most people seem to find it amusing.  Hilarious in fact. As I told you last week I have to do this publicity against my will because I have no publicity agent.

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With very best wishes to you all, Patricia

 

 

 

When my dad came home

 Dear Reader,

My favourite reading is about the First World War. It is such a rich literary field and I have read many many books on the subject. One of the reasons I became interested in this particular war was because my father was in it.  He was mentioned in three dispatches for bravery and I have got a very precious letter from some of the officers of his regiment, the A.S.C., applauding him. Although he was gassed and suffered from headaches and stomach problems ever afterwards, he never complained about his time in France or indeed ever spoke about it. I wish now I had asked him more about it but he is no longer with us sadly and I missed my chance. Thinking about him I wrote the poem and probably many of you remember someone coming back from a war and will relate to it. I remember Dad sitting in the rocking chair so I have put one in the blog in case you have forgotten what they look like.

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From Katherine Mansfield, 1918, May 16th, after a train journey from Paddington to Cornwall.

'I had a very comfortable journey.  The country in the bright morning light was simply bowed down with beauty - heavy, weighed down with treasure.  Shelley's moonlight may glittered everywhere.....I have never seen anything more solemn and splendid than England in May - and I have never seen a spring with less of the jeune fille in it.'

I am not quite sure what she means here : less of the 'jeune fille'.  I think it is because May the month is so fecund, fertile and sexy.  It brims over with heavy blossoms and rich green meadows full of buttercups and cowslips and dozens of wild flowers.  A 'jeune fille' month would be more innocent, like perhaps February.
This is just what I think but I might be wrong.

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 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.

                                                                                         *

Half a Pair of People here

As you see, my book 'Half a Pair of People' is now out on Amazon.  Look for in books:    Patricia Huth  and click here and they will send you a copy if you would like one.  Sorry to boast here but I do have eight 5 star reviews and most people seem to find it amusing.  Hilarious in fact. As I told you last week I have to do this publicity against my will because I have no publicity agent.

                                                                                          *

With best wishes to you all,

Patricia

England Dear to Me

 Dear Reader,

                                                                                  Old Harry Rocks in Dorset

 

Old Harry Rocks were created through thousands of years of erosion by the sea and were originally a part of the chalk ridge-line that runs across the south coast joining up with the Needles on the Isle of wight. The chalk ridge was formed approximately 65 million years ago when the area was a shallow sea.  Until 1896 there used to be another rock known as Old Harry's Wife, but erosion cause her to fall into the sea. Old Harry Rocks are reputable named after a famous local pirate (Harry Paye) or the devil.

One summer I walked through the luscious grasslands towards Harry's Rocks and thought I was easily going to manage the whole way.  But the truth of it is that I am not much of a walker and half way there I gave up and turned round to walk home.  But it is very beautiful and I thoroughly recommend the walk to anyone with a little more energy than I have then, or now.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth, May 6th, 1820 in Westmorland

'A sweet morning........The small birds are singing, lambs bleating, cuckoo calling, the thrush sings by fits,Thomas Ashburner's axe is going quietly (without passion) in the orchard, hens are cackling, flies humming, the women talking together a their doors, plum and pear trees are in blossom - apple trees greenish'.

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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 the 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  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.

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This is a review I had for my book this week from Lady F. Montagu:

'A delightful tale of the absurdities of life.  This memoir is hilarious, self deprecating and poetic.  It will brighten your life in these troubled times'.

If you would like a copy of the book:  'Half a Pair of People'  go to Amazon books and put in Patrica Huth and they will send it to you.

I am sorry to keep on reminding you about the book but I have no publicity agent and would so like people to read it.  I know it is funny and think you might enjoy it.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia