In Her Spare Room

                                                                                        The Wind in the Willows

 

 

Dear Reader,

I watched with interest and emotion all the celebrations for our Queen's Jubilee this week.  I saw so many ordinary English people interviewed in the Mall, and elsewhere, all so articulate about their feelings for Her Majesty.  So enthusiastic were they to express their thanks and love. And I felt proud to be British.  We all spend so much time complaining about everything we perhaps forget what a truly marvelous country we live in.  If this were not the case whey would so many people from all over the world want to come and live here?  And I don't think it is entirely because we have a policy of benefits to all, it is because we are still civilized. In many parts of the world barbarism seems to have taken over and appalling atrocities, man on man, take place. 

The Queen has been a rock to us all over the last seventy years and it will be a sad and very distressing day when we lose her.

                                                                                      

                                                                                  *

Quotes from:    The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame 

'Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing - absolutely nothing - half as much worth doing as simply messsing about in boats'.

'All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived, and still, as he lived, he wondered'.

                                                                                  *
 

In Her Spare Room 

I see these books
draw in a breath,
as cherished memories
race in my head.

These are:

 Akenfield                                                            

Portrait of an English Village

Swallows and Amazons

The Speckledy Hen

The Little Flowers of St. Francis

My Friend Flicka

The Wind in the Willows

Tales of Old Inns

 

The owner of this house 

is unknown to me,

but her collection

of treasured books

tells me a little of her,

what makes her who she is,

what makes me who I am.

 

                                                                    *

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. 

 

                                                                      *

 

 

With very best wishes, Patricia

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.

                                                                               *

 

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.'

                                                                                    *

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.

                                                                             *

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.

                                                                              *

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......

                                                                                       *

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.'

                                                                                          *

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.

                                                                                 *

 

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.

                                                                                  *

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.

                                                                                        *

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.

                                                                                       *

 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.

                                                                                         *

 

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'.

                                                                                            *

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.

                                                                             *

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.

 

                                                                                  *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia

Beach Mirror

 Dear Reader,

It has been quite an exciting week for me because I have had various feed backs about my new book: "Half a Pair of People."  Mainly they are good, it made people laugh, and they enjoyed the good stories.  However one friend of many years, found it "Sad".  This particular friend has been one of the lucky ones in life, wonderful happy family life growing up and never any money worries that I know of. Obviously if you have plenty of money always at your disposal your view of life and how it is led would be very different for those of us where money is scarce.

 In fact, as I remember it all,  I was perfectly happy and enjoyed the excitement of living in an university town of distinction. The early years of my life weren't memorable but I didn't dwell on them in the book, and my marriage was spoken of very little.  So 'sad' I don't think so but of course I have to take any criticism as it comes, otherwise as they say, 'if you don't want to feel the heat, stay out of the kitchen.'

                                                                             *

The only funny story this week is about cows.  Apparently when cows burp they fill the air with something that is not an advantage to the plant.  As a result they are going to fit cows with masks which apparently will help with the pollution.  I am not sure how much the cows will enjoy the masks but time will tell.  Perhaps there will be a protest march.  There seems to be one for almost any occasion these days.

                                                                               *

From Samuel Pepys, 1665 in London, 1st of May

'To Westminster, in the way of meeting many milkmaids with their garlands upon their pails, dancing with a fiddler before them.'

                                                                               *

Beach Mirror

I see myself, a young woman
recognize the long skirt,
the three blonde children,
one on her hip,
two holding hands,
all laughing, hugging, arguing,
her hair dancing in the wind.

Swirling thoughts about time past
consume me.
I kick at pebbles,
pick up oyster shells.
gaze at the everlasting point between sea and sky.

I have aged, certainly,
but, feeling the warmth of the sun,
watching the sea and the tides,
it seems these things
are ever the same as they were,
all those years gone by.

                                                                           *

'Half a Pair of People' to be bought on Amazon under the name Patrica Huth.

With very best wishes, Patricia

Wash Day

 Dear reader,

The exciting thing that happened to me this week was that my book: 'Half a Pair of People'  was published.  If you would like to order a copy put :  Patricia Huth into Amazon Books and they will send it to you.  

It is a 1980s memoir of me, a former debutante, who fled an unhappy marriage to live in Oxford. Re- singled at 41, I tell of comical adventures while often being vulnerable and poor. I hope it is amusing and if you buy it I hope that you enjoy it.

                                                                                   *

The original Newgate prison was built in 1188 but was rebuilt in 1770.   After being badly damaged during the Gordon Riots in 1780, George Dance was commissioned to design a new prison at Newgate.  The King often used Newgate as as a holding place for heretics, traitors, and rebellious subjects brought to London for trial.  The prison housed both male and female felons and debtors. Prisoners were separated into wards by sex.  

The name passed into infamy as a by word for despair: an oubliette from which the hangman's rope was often the only way out.  Towards the end of the eighteenth century all public executions were moved to Newgate and this coincided with a greater use of the death penalty, even for crimes previously considered too minor to merit the ultimate sentence.

Newgate Prison was finally demolished in 1904, ending its seven hundred year reign as the blackest hole inn London.

                                                                                 *

Wash Day

It is early spring, about 4.am
when I dress myself,
shiver in the ice cold air,
pull my red shawl around my shoulders
creep downstairs.

I gather up piles of laundry
pick up a new bar of soap
and hurry down to the river,
find a large flat stone,
knead and pummel
my master's white breeches,
my mistress's ruffs,
cuffs, petticoats and collars.

Hours later in the warmth of the
afternoon sun I spread the clothes
out to dry on a camellia bush.
I see my hands are
sore and bleeding.

Wearily I lie down under
an oak tree, a southerly wind
whistles softly in my ear,
and I sleep.

                                                                            *

With best wishes, Patricia