Bath

 Dear Reader,

I went to see an old friend last week and we talked of this and that, gossip and world news. She asked me about my poetry, was I still writing. I told her the muse seems to have deserted me lately and she made a suggestion.  There are so many new difficulties old people have to go through, why not write a short book of 'old age' topics in poems and try to keep them humorous.  I thought about this when I got home and wondered whether if could do it.  

I started thinking about getting into the bath and how difficult, well, nigh impossible, to get in it or out of it.  Then I started to write the following poem and hope you enjoy it.  There are so many things we have to accept that we can't do any more and try to find something positive about how we are now. I will be writing more poems in the weeks to come.  Perhaps you could put a comment on the blog to say if you like the idea. 

                                                                        *

Years ago there was an extremely funny series on the television called "Dad's Army".  Being deaf I hadn't been able to hear the jokes but I had a lovely surprise this week because I found that the series had subtitles.  It is still as funny as ever.  I laugh and laugh.   Arthur Lowe as Captain Mainwaring, the main character, is such a wonderful actor every twist of his mouth or roll of his eye are beautifully timed.  I thoroughly recommend this series if you want and like good comedy.

                                                                          *

From Dorothy Wordsworth   April 9th  1798  in Somerset

'Walked to Stowey, a fine air in going, but very hot in returning.  The sloe in blossom, the hawthorns green, the larches in the park changed from back to green in two or three days.'

From Gilbert White    April 11th  1790 in Oxford

'Thames very full and beautiful, after so much dry weather: wheat looks well; meadows dry, and scorched; roads very dusty.'

  

 Bath

I stand looking 

at the bath,

my friend the bath

what times I have had in it,

splashing and twirling

diving under the water,

scrubbing with French soap

from Marsailles,

listening to Mozart

by candlelight,

Badebas pine bath oil

scenting the room,

just lying back

thinking through the day

enjoying the warming water.

 

But Now?

 

The side is too high

I can't get over it,

getting out is nigh impossible.

Now baths are out

I will have to take

up the challenge

and shower.

 

I hear people like them,

maybe I will.

 

                                                            *

With best wishes, Patricia

 

                                                                      *

A Variation on the Tortoise and the Hare

 Dear Reader,

The story of The Tortoise and the Hare is one of Aesop's Fables.   It is the account of a race between unequal partners and has attracted conflicting interpretations.  

The fable itself is a variant of a common folktale theme in which ingenuity and trickery are employed to overcome a stronger opponent.

The one sense it is no surprise as to why the classic moral of the story is "slow and steady wins the race'.  This is what takes place in the fable, the tortoise did move slowly and did win the race.

                                                                             *

I do everything slowly these days and find the pace very comforting.  No rushing about, no headlong dashes somewhere, just an even step to help me along the way.  Would that I had known that earlier in my life and I might have taken different turns.

                                                                              

                                                                             *

 

 From D.H. Lawrence  April 18th 1918 in Berkshire

'Yesterday there was deep snow, though the trees are in bloom.  Plum trees and cherry trees full of blossom look so queer in a snow landscape, their lovely foamy fullness goes a sort of pinky drab, and the snow looks fiendish in its cold incandescence.  I hated in violently.'

From John Ruskin  April 19th  1873 in Lancashire

'Up at 5, out at 6, in calm morning, wholly glorious.   Lake like a dream.....Entirely Paradise of a day, cloudless and pure till 5; then East wind a little, but clearing for twilight.  Did  little but saunter among the primroses and work on beach.'

                                                                          *

 

A Variation on the Tortoise and the Hare

The tortoise, shell-encased,
shy and timid,
was fond of quiet places.
He ate lettuce sandwiches
drank bottled water
and did deep breathing exercises.
He was slow alright,
but kept on "keeping on", getting there,
although a little fearful
of what life can bring.

Then, he discovered anxiety pills
and grew bolder,
he opinionated more,
rejected lettuce,
ate avocado and prawn cocktails,
drank vodka,
and tried his hand at salsa dancing.
Confidence changed him.
He became the hare.

This hare spoke his mind.
He jumped and danced
texted and mobiled friends,
arranged outings,
and had a ball.
But the Gods were watching him,
they sent a "don't forget card"
to remind him of his tortoise life,
his quiet life,
the life that was right and good
for a tortoise.

He threw the anxiety pills away
and slowly his shell grew back,
he started reading again,
he talked less,
thought more,
enjoyed lettuce sandwiches
and drank bottled water.
He became the tortoise
that he was meant to be.

                                                                                      *

With very best wishes, Patricia

IF, when young

 Dear Reader,

The history of ballet begins around 1500 in Italy.  Terms like "ballet" and "ball" stem from the Italian word "ballare" which means to dance. When Catherine de Medici of Italy married the French King Henry II she introduced early dance styles into court life in France.

History credits Madmoiselle De Lafontaine (1665-1738) as the first professional ballerina.  Collaborating with composer and dancer Jean-Baptiste Lully, De Lafontaine played a pivotal role in opening the Paris Opera Ballet.

Ballet is a type of performance dance that originated during the Italian Renaissance in the fifteenth century and later developed into a dance form in France and Russia. It has since become a widespread and highly technical form of dance with it own vocabulary.

The core principles of ballet techniques focus  on balance, co-ordination, strength and poise.  Every exercise and step builds on these, creating a strong and capable dance.

                                                                                *

From John Ruskin  April 2nd 1885 in Lancashire

......Quite lovely spring day.   All the working time in wood without greatcoat.   Fullest gush of streams with the night's rain I ever saw.  Now....lovely sleet showers with melting sunshine.

From Dorothy Wordsworth    April 6th    1798  in Somerset

Walked a short distance up the lesser Combe with an intention of going to the source of the brook, but the evening closing in, cold prevented us. The Spring still advancing very slowly.  The horse-chestnuts budding, and the hedgerows beginning to look green, but nothing fully expanded.

                                                               

From Gilbert White  April 11th  1790 in Oxford

Thames very full and beautiful, after so much dry weather; wheat looks well; meadows dry and scorched; road very dusty.

                                                                              

                                                                     *

 IF, when young

 

I had had a good figure

long legs and ample bust

I would have worn

riding boots and breeches

and a silk shirt

 

I would have been a

ballet dancer, twirling

and whirling about the

stage, on tiptoe in satin shoes

 

I would have sung

in a sweet and gentle voice

inducing emotion

from the audience

 

I would have played the guitar

belted out Beatles songs

gone clubbing

danced my heart out

 

I would have cooked

beautiful sponge cakes

made Greek salads

of nutmeg and honey

 

 

But, If truth were told,

I am short, plump, and old,

and happy now to be

alive, well, and simply me.

 

                                                                         *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

From Gilbert White    April 11th 1790 in Oxford

Thames very full and beautiful, after so much dry weather; wheat looks well; meadows dry, and scorched; roads very dusty.

                                                                            *

Small Pleasures in Old Age

                                                   Geoffrey and I at a wedding 20 years ago

 

Dear reader,  

A very dear old friend who I hadn't seen for years very kindly sent me this photograph she had taken of Geoffrey and I at her daughter's wedding.  Gosh did I really look like that I thought and did Geoffrey?    It has been now seven years without Geoffrey who died in 2017.  We had been, and shared, much happiness for 34 years. I miss him.

 I was very lucky because after a year of widowhood I met Francis who has been my partner for the last seven years and we have had lots of love and fun too. 

                                                                           *

I like watching the television after supper and hope to see a good film or series.  But what a disappointment there is.  I expect it is because I am now so old I don't really understand the modern story.  There is so much noise, so many lights, so many characters to remember that mostly I give up.  BUT the marvel is I discovered a series made in the the early 80s (I think) called Heartbeat. 

Most of it takes place in a small country police station. I can so remember life like it is in this film.  It is in a village in Yorkshire where all the usual misdemeanors take place amongst the village folk. And the police station is exactly like the one I used to go to when I was serving as a magistrate. The sort of crimes I had to deal with were sentencing local poachers for poaching salmon or not having a bell on their bicycles.  I very much preferred those days to today, they were quieter and more peaceful.  Still as I said I am old so have to expect change in all things.

                                                                                     *

From Gilbert White  March 31st  1768 in Hampshire

'Black weather.  cucumber fruit swells.  Rooks sit.   This day the dry weather has lasted for a month.'

From Gilbert White  March 31st   1771 in Hampshire

'The face of the earth naked to a surprising degree.  Wheat hardly to be seen, and no sign of any grass: turnips all gone, and sheep in a starving way.  Al provisions rising in price.  Farmers cannot sow for want of rain.'

 

From Richard Jefferies in 1880 in Surrey

'Rain at last after weeks of the driest weather.  Rain in night and early morning.'

                                                                               *

Small Pleasures in Old Age

 

 

Listening to Mozart’s Andante

in front of a log fire

 

hearing the robin’s call

in early spring

spotting the first violets, first primroses,

 

walking in the woods

sitting under the trees

whilst the bagpipes utter

 

their unique spiritual sounds

watching the deer hurrying

through the undergrowth

 

following the antics

of the Archer family

eating peanut butter sandwiches

 

watching the goldfinch spitting

out seeds, and laughing

at the absurdity of life itself

 

exchanging family news

proudly loving the grandchildren

and their stories

 

small away holidays

with Francis, by the sea

in Dorset

 

And, perhaps,  best of all, having the courage

to not say yes to things

when I mean no

 

                                                                                    *

 

 

 

With best wishes, Patricia

 

Acknowledgement

 Dear Reader,

 

The magpie was a very common bird in the countryside until the nineteenths century, but it was from then that the persecution by gamekeepers started and continued.

The magpie was originally know as 'pie' derived from the latin pica and French pie referring to the bird's black and white (pied) plumage.  The prefix 'mag' likely came about because the bird's call was considered to sound like the idle chattering of a woman.

In Western Cultures magpies can symbolize bad omens, ill tidings and witchcrafts but in Eastern cultures magpies can symbolize good fortune, good tidings and happiness.

Magpies are known for their intelligence, often hidings objects and remembering where to find them.  They have shown the ability to make and use tools, imitate human speech, grieve, play games and work in teams.
                       

                                                                                *

The poem I have published today is the first poem I ever wrote.  My granddaughter Emma was staying with me when we went out for a walk.  I had been divorced for several years and was very surprised at the question she asked me.

                                                                                 *

From Dorothy Wordsworth    March 20th 1798  in Somerset

'A very cold evening, but clear.  the spring seemingly very little advanced.  No green trees, only the hedges are budding, and looking very lovely.'

From Francis Kilvert   March 19th  1871 in Radnorshire

'The sun was almost overpowering.   Heavy black clouds drove up and rolled round the sky without veiling the hot sunshine, black clouds with white edges they were, looking suspiciously like thunder clouds.  Against these black clouds the sunshine showed the faint delicate green and pink of the trees thickening with bursting buds.'

 

                                                                                   *

Acknowledgement

 

 

 

We walked along the woodland path

my grandchild and I

noting nature things,

pointing out early primroses, aconites, wild violets.

 

We crossed the stream, and headed up the hill,

“Look a rabbit”, my grandchild said.

Together we saw one magpie, then two.

We shared a chocolate bar, drank from the stream

cupping our hands.

 

Kneeling in the rich earth I said,

“we are part of this

you and I, dear granddaughter,

part of this earth is us”.

 

She nodded.

 

“Do you know Grandpa, Granny?” she said.

“He said nature is part of us, or ought to be”.

She chattered on and

God forgive me, I didn’t hear.

 

Do I know Grandpa?   Yes.  A bit.

We lived together for twenty years,

I do know of his love for wild things,

for nature, and of his quick eye,

and how he loved me once

and how I loved him.

 

Yes, dear granddaughter,

I do know Grandpa.

 

 

 

With very best wishes, Patricia                                                                                   *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                      *

Blue Gingham Dress

 Dear Reader,

It is widely believed that lavender first originated from the Mediterranean, the Middle East and India around 2,500 years ago.   It is known that the Egyptians made perfumes with lavender and when Tutankhamun's tomb was opened traces of lavender were found and its scent could still be detected.

In ancient Egypt it was used as a perfume and as an essential ingredient for incense.   Lavender was a favourite ingredient in herbal baths of both Greeks and Romans.  During the Middle Ages it was considered an herb of love and was used as an aphrodisiac.

Lavender flowers represent purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace and calmness.  Purple is the colour of royalty and speaks of elegance, refinement and luxury.  The colour is also associated with crown chakra, which is the energy centre associated with higher purpose and spiritual connectivity.

During the Middle Ages the Catholic Church strew lavender during holy days to ward off the evil spirits and people would scatter it on floor to keep stuffy rooms smelling fresh.  The herb became even more popular during the plague where it was used in the famous Four Thieves Vinegar to repel fleas.

                                                                      *

From John Clare   March 11th  1825 in Northants

'The frogs have begun to croak and spawn in the ponds and dykes'.

 

From Gilbert White  March 18th  1780 in Hampshire

Green plovers on the common.   The uncrested wren, the smallest species, called in this place, the chif -chaf, is very loud in the Lythe.   This is the earliest bird of passage, and the harbinger of spring.

 

From John Ruskin  March 19th   1867 in Denmark Hill, Surrey

'Desperately cold, with huge-flaked snow.   The worst of January, November and March all in one.'

                                                                                  *

 

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 urgently,

then came a call

 

they broke in two

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 very best wishes, Patricia

Cold Christ Child

 Dear Reader,

The tulip was in fact originally a wild flower growing in Central Asia.   It was first cultivated by the Turks as in 10000AD.   Mania in Turkey struck in the 16th century at the time of the Ottoman Empire, when the Sultan demanded cultivation of particular blooms for his pleasure.

The Dutch were not the first to go crazy over the tulip.  The bulb enchanted the Persians in the 10th century and was the symbol of abundance and indulgence.  But tulips found their most fertile ground in Holland, first blooming there in the late 1500s when they were imported from Turkey.

Tulips have held profound symbolic meaning for centuries in cultures across the globe, embodying themes of love, rebirth, and prosperity.   Their vibrant colours and delicate form have made them a powerful emblem in art, literature and traditions, conveying messages that resonate beyond their physical beauty.

In the language of flowers, every flower has a meaning.  Red tulips symbolize perfect love, yellow tulips symbolize cheerful thoughts.   White tulips represent forgiveness, while purple tulips symbolize royalty.

                                                             

                                                                                *

From Richard Hayes   March 9th   1766 in Kent

'Very pleasant sunny warm day.  My rooks for the week past have been very busy a building.  And the butterflies have turned out.  Crocuses and spring flowers appear.  I now look upon this to be the pleasantest time of the year.'

From D.H. Lawrence    March 9th    1916   in Cornwall

This morning, the world was white with snow.  This evening the sunset is yellow, the birds are whistling, the gorse bushes are bristling with little winged suns....The new incoming days seems most wonderful, uncreated. '

                                                                               *

Cold Christ Child

 

Why did Murillo, Fra Filippo Lippi,

Leonardo da Vinci paint

the Christ Child nude?

Did they not know of night-time cold?

 

Was the hot Levantine wind

blowing in the midday sun,

enough to stay the chill of evening

and warm this precious child?

 

They painted the Madonna in a dress,

the soldiers fully clad

in jerkins, armour, helmets,

the angels in sumptuous robes,

but the Christ Child is left on marble floors,

or dandled in laps,

with nothing to swaddle and secure him.

 

Could it be that this cold start

was not enough 

to set alight the love

needed to save us all?

 

                                                                              *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cold Christ child

                                                                          Leonardo da Vinci

 Dear Reader,

 

Leonardo da Vinci was an Italian polymath of the High Renaissance who was active as a painter, draughtsman, engineer, scientist, theorist, sculptor and architect.

Although he was known for his dramatic and expressive art work, Leonardo also conducted dozens of carefully thought out experiments and created futuristic inventions that were groundbreaking for the time.  His keen eye and quick mind led him to make important scientific discoveries, yet he never published his ideas.

He never married, and it cannot be stated with certainty that he had a sexually intimate relationship with any person, male or female, nonetheless art historian Raymond Stites suggested that Leonardo was romantically involved with Cecilia Gallerani who was the subject of his painting Lady with an Ermine.

He was most likely to have been a vegetarian and historians have claimed that minestrone was his favourite dish.

The Last Supper is one of the most famous paintings in the world.  It represents the last 'dinner' between Jesus and his disciples.

 

                                                                       *

I have always wondered why The Christ Child was painted with no clothes on. Very strange when you consider how cold it must have been at night.

                                                                        *

From Dorothy Wordsworth   February 21st  1802 in Cumberland

'A very wet morning....Snowdrops quite out, but cold and winterly; yet, for all this, a thrush that lives in our orchard has shouted and sung its merriest all day long.

 From Richard Hayes  February 22nd 1773 in Kent

'I observe now Spring begins by my Crocusses and Crown Pearls under hall window, with yellow rose budding for leaf.

                                                                     *

 

 

Cold Christ Child

 

Why did Murillo, Fra Filippo Lippi,

Leonardo da Vinci paint

the Christ Child nude?

Did they not know of night-time cold?

 

Was the hot Levantine wind

blowing in the midday sun,

enough to stay the chill of evening

and warm this precious child?

 

They painted the Madonna in a dress,

the soldiers fully clad

in jerkins, armour, helmets,

the angels in sumptuous robes,

but the Christ Child is left on marble floors,

or dandled in laps,

with nothing to swaddle and secure him.

 

Could it be that this cold start

was not enough 

to set alight the love

needed to save us all?

 

                                                                   *

 

With best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

 

Betrayal

 Dear reader,

I think I took off my poem "Betrayal" before time last week, but as so many of you were able to relate to this poem I have decided  to put it up on a week day so anyone who missed it can have have another chance.

 

 

 

Betrayal

 

 

You were always there

for me, as I for you.

You read to me

you laughed with me

you told me stories

of magic and imagination.

 

We travelled north and south

to Scotland and the Western Isles

enjoyed Dorset, Devon, Cornwall.

Went to see the Lakes

peeped into Beatrix Potter’s house

felt cold in Dove Cottage where

you put my hand in your pocket.

 

We were one heart beat.

 

But you have gone.

Now I have to try to live

another life

with you not there,

with someone else perhaps,

someone to fill the empty gap

you left me with.

 

 Please forgive me darling

                                                                                 *

With very best wishes, Patricia

That Was Then

 Dear Reader,

The river Evenlode is a tributary of the Thames in Oxfordshire.  It rises near Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire in the Cotswold Hills and flows south-east to the Thames, its valley providing the route of the southern part of the Cotswold Line.

The river flows for 45 miles from source to the River Thames.   The name Evenlode is modern, until the late 1890s the river was called the River Blade, hence the name Bladen.  The Ordnance Survey of 1884 already uses the name Evenlode.

The river joins the Thames approximately one mile down river from Cassington on the reach above King's Lock, 3 miles north west of Oxford.  The river is privately owned, used for fishing and other leisure activities.  Hilare Belloc commemorated the river in some of his poetry. 

 From D.H. Lawrence   February 15th 1916 in Cornwall

"Here the winds are so black and terrible.  they rush with such force that the house shudders, though the old walls are very solid and thick.   Only occasionally the gulls rise very slowly into the air.  And all the while the wind rushes and thuds and booms,  one forgets the rest of life.  It shuts one in within its massive violent world.   Sometimes a wave bursts with a great explosion against one of the outlying rocks, and there is a tremendous ghost standing high on the sea, a great tall whiteness.'  

 

From James Woodforde  February 18th  1795 in Norfolk

'Very hard frost with strong easterly winds, a black frost......Had a fire again in my bedchamber to-night.' 

 

                                                                                      *

That Was Then

We made our home
where the west wind blew
and the sun shone, sometimes
we walked where people
we met in the street
or in the country lanes
exchanged news,
people well known to us
growing infants to children,
teenagers to married couples.

We walked by the Evenlode river
up into the fields where
butterflies gathered in the clover.
We saw horses grazing,
wheat fields full
of red remembrance poppies,
the first primrose and bluebells
in the spring, foxgloves,
cowparsley dressing the hedgerows,
summer roses,
the first autumn leaves
fluttering to the ground,
and winter snow.

He walked ahead,
I followed.
We held hands, embraced,

but that was then.

                                                                        *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

                                                                         

Betrayal

Dear Reader,

Cornwall

Cornwall has large reserves of tin which was mixed extensively during the Bronze Age by people associated with the Beaker culture. Tin is necessary to make bronze from copper, and by about 1600 BCE the West Country was experiencing a trade boon by the export of tin across Europe.

An independent British polity was established in Cornwall and was defended against Saxon incursion for many hundreds of years.   Not until 838 were the 'West Britons' finally subdued and for centuries after this Cornwall retained many of the marks of a separate country.

Cornwall, or Kernow as it is known in Cornish, has a unique Celtic heritage and is considered one of the Celtic nations.  The Celtic nations are made up of Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Isle of Man, Brittany and Cornwall.

The Cornish Pasty is the undisputed national dish.  Beef, potato, swede, onion, salt and pepper folded in pastry to make a D shape and side crimped.   The original Cornish pasties were eaten in the darkness of Cornwall's coastal mines.

                                                                               *

From D.H. Lawrence    February 9th   1919 in Derbyshire

'It is marvelous weather - brilliant sunshine on the snow, clear as summer, slightly golden sun, distance lit up.  But it is immensely cold- everything frozen solid- milk, mustard everything.  Yesterday I went out for a real walk-  I had had a cold and been in bed. I climbed with my niece to the bare top of the hills.  Wonderful to see the foot marks on the snow - beautiful ropes of rabbit prints, trailing away over the brows; heavy hare marks; a fox so sharp and dainty, going over the wall:  birds with two feet that hop; very splendid straight advance of a pheasant; wood pigeons that are clumsy and move in flocks, splendid little leaping marks of weasels coming along like a necklace chain of berries, odd little filigree of the field mice; the trail of a mole - it astonishing what a world of wild creatures one feels about one, on the hills in the snow.'

From Thomas Hardy    February 10th 1897 in Dorset

'In spite of myself I cannot help noticing countenances and tempers in objects of scenery, e.g. trees, hills, houses.'

 

                                                                             *

 

Betrayal

 

You were always there
for me, as I for you.
Your read to me
you laughed with me
you told me stories
of magic and imagination.

We travelled north and south
to Scotland and the Western Isles
enjoyed Dorset, Devon, Cornwall.
Went to see the Lakes
peeped into Beatrix Potter's house
felt cold in Dove Cottage where
you put my hand in your pocket.

We were one heartbeat.

But you have gone.
Now I have to try to live
another life
with you not there,
with someone else perhaps,
someone to fill the empty gap
you left me with.

Please forgive me darling.

                                                                         *

With very best wishes, Patricia