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