Thanks Private Norfolk

 Dear Reader,

The 11th of November seems to come round very quickly and as usual my thoughts are with my dear father, Harold Huth, who was a soldier in this terrible war.  He served as a major with The Royal Army Service Corps and was mentioned in Dispatches on three occasions.  I have a letter written in January 1916 congratulating my grandparents, from a Colonel Harrison and his other officers, on their son's distinguished conduct and gallantry.  So today, Remembrance Sunday, I am thinking of you, Dad, and thanking you for the part you played to give us all the freedoms we now enjoy, and am sending you my love.

I have been reading a book about the first WW and am astonished afresh at how many men were killed in this war, and also how many animals were killed too.  Mules and horses, much loved by their riders, died in their millions.  I read that sometimes officers would sit by the heads of their beloved horse until they died, talking to them the while.

I always think, in an nonintellectual way, that wars are so unbelievably stupid. To waste your precious life on a small foot of mud or to bomb buildings and people, for what?  And the devastation afterwards is monumental, emotional and physical.  I despair thinking of Ukraine and seeing the aftermath of Russia's invasion.  Burnt out houses and cars, and what has anyone gained except an enormous amount of sadness and grief.

                                                                                      *

From Gilbert White, November 27th, 1782 in Hampshire

'Fierce frost.  Rime hangs all day on the hanger.  The hares, pressed by hunger, haunt the gardens and devour the pinks, cabbages, parsley, etc.  Cats catch the red-breasts.  Timothy the tortoise sleeps in the fruit-border under the wall, covered with a hen-coop, in which is a good armfull of straw. Here he will lie warm, secure, and dry.  His back is partly covered with mould'.

From John Ruskin, November 30th, 1875 in Surrey

'Herne Hill.  Bitterly cold and dark; the paper chilling my fingers.'

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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 my 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.

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If you enjoy my blog why not buy my memoir:   Half a Pair of People.  It is out on Amazon under the name Patricia Huth, in the book section.  Lots of reviewers think it is both hilarious and thought provoking.  It would make a good small Christmas present for someone who likes reading.

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With very best wishes, Patricia

Quick, quick, slow

Dear Reader, 

Most old people when asked how it is to feel old say: I don't feel old at all, I still feel 18 inside.  I now absolutely understand this sentiment.  Francis and I have a small routine acting role every evening, he sings something from yester-year's musicals with an assortment of props, hats, berets, and belts and I do the same when it is my turn.  I love trying to sing Shirley Bassey's hit : Big Spender, with all the actions needed.  We both laugh and laugh and truly feel young again.  It is a marvelous way to go up to bed, and assure us of a good night's sleep.  Surely it is only our bodies that get old and a bit worn not our souls or our spirits.

So the winter is nearly upon us.  We have bought a small stove with gas canisters and it seems to work very well.  Should we find ourselves without heat or electricity in those cold months coming we should be alright. And I have lots of jerseys and thick tights so, I hope, I will not be too cold.  I do recommend these small stoves you can buy them on Amazon.

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I have put this piece on before but it is worth, I think, of repeating again.

 

From Jane Austen, 1798, November 17th, in Hampshire

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

                                                                              

                                                                             *

Quick, quick, slow

Up at 6.30, no time to lose
quick cup of tea, muesli and toast.
Rush to the station, hurry up
the steps, run to the place of work.
It is 8 am exactly

Meetings
Emails
telephone contacts
lunch a snatched sandwich at the desk
people to see
reports to write
papers to assemble
home by 7 pm
dinner to cook
wash up, watch the news
bed by 10.30 pm

                      *
 

The dance of life
quick, quick, slow

                       *
 

At 8 am she made a cup of tea,
pulled on her old pink cardigan,
went downstairs, made porridge.
Perhaps someone might telephone today
of even come to see me
she thought as she fed the cat
and put the washing in the machine.

She turned on the radio
listened to the news
went upstairs and made the bed.
Later she shopped at the Co-op
and tried talking to the busy
lady at the till.  Her first spoken
words and only ones that day.
Slowly, the only way she could walk,
she went back to her house
heated baked beans for lunch.

The afternoon crept by.
She knitted another blue scarf,
tears spilling into the wool,
her heart full of sadness.
At 7 pm she made a cup of soup
and later wearily climbed the stairs to bed.

                                    *
The dance of life,
quick, quick, slow.

                                     *

My memoir : 'Half a Pair of People'.   is published on Amazon, you may enjoy it.  Read the reviews which say it is funny and insightful.

                                     *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

Suit, Waistcoat, Tie

 Dear Reader

 

 

To save money in this difficult time I have decided not to buy any more clothes.  I have enough clothes and have had most of them for more than twenty years.  Looking through my cupboard carefully I found a rack of my ties that I always used to wear years ago.  My sister started a shop in the 60s called "Night Owls" and in it, along with the nightgowns, were a selection of ties, mostly liberty prints. I am wearing one of them in the photograph today and it is, I think, about fifty years old.  It seems to have stood the ravages of time pretty well and I am enjoying wearing it.  

I was looking at some photographs of the Wrens serving in the navy in WWII and I think they look so smart with their black ties.  And wearing a tie has given me lots of new ideas to go with the pinafore dresses I usually wear, so lots of new outfits without buying anything. Do any of you readers like the idea of women wearing ties, or do you wear one sometimes, do let me know?:    patricia.huthellis@googlemail.com

                                                                                         

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From Francis Kilvert, November 3rd, 1874, in Wiltshire

'......the strange hoarse belling of the buck, the fluttering of the coot as she skimmed the water with her melancholy note, the cry of the swans across the lake, the clicking of the reels as the fishermen wound up or let out their lines, the soft murmur of the woods, the quiet rustle of the red and golden drifts of beech leaves, the rush of the waterfall, the light tread of the dappled herd of deer dark and dim glancing across the green glades from shadow into sunlight and rustling under the beeches, and the merry voices of the Marquis's children at play.'

 

From Richard Jefferies, November 3rd, 1878, in Surrey

'The horse-chestnut buds at end of boughs; tree quite bare o leaves; all sticky, colour of deep varnish....Still day: the earth holds its breath.'

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Suit, Waistcoat, Tie

Why wear his best suit,waistcoat, tie
at a talk on Nuclear Waste?
The village hall crumbles,
lit by dusty neon lights,
tea is served from cracked cups
and dull biscuits offered.

The rest wear jumble-sale clothes,
too dispirited to care,
their appearance long abandoned.

But is there someone there
who has stirred his heart
made him feel alive again?
The reason for his best suit,
his waistcoat and his tie,
his winning smile, his bright eye?

I like to think so,
hope so.

                                                                                *

If you enjoy reading my blog why not try reading my memoir:  Half a Pair of People.  It is about my life as a single divorced woman in Oxford in the 1980s.   Go into Amazon click Patricia Huth and they will send it to you.  Do read the reviews which, among other things, think it is hilarious and thought provoking.

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With very best wishes, Patricia

Not one of us

                                                                            An autumn road to where?

 

 

 

Dear reader, 

I often think of autumn trees making an avenue on a long and lonely road to where?  These two pictures are telling us, perhaps, our own story.  Are they asking the question: Where we are going?  Have we arrived or are there still exciting things in store for us?  Now that I am 82 I haven't got miles to go on life's journey but fortunately my love of reading and writing poetry is still very strong and, of course,  I have you my friends reading my blog each week. And, as people do, I fell in love with the small garden we have.  I emulate the King and talk to my plants as I watch them grow, and I am sure plants like to have a word or two with them as you pass.  I think these beautiful rows of autumn trees are telling us to be brave, go forward with our lives, enjoy the wonders of nature and be happy and keep on keeping on.

                                                                               *

From John Constable, October 24th, 1821

'Does not the cathedral (Salisbury) look beautiful among the golden foliage?  Its solitary grey must sparkle in it.' 

'

From Gilbert White, October 25th, 1784, in Hampshire

Hard frost, thick ice.  In my way to Newton I was covered with snow!  Snow covers the ground and the trees!!.'

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Not one of us

A small figure at school in
a hot, strange land.  The
children left her alone,
she didn't speak their language
or know their games or rules.
She was not one of them.

Winter now and an English
boarding school, where the rules
were known, but not to her.
She was clumsy, wore spectacles,
couldn't tie her tie, dropped the netball,
couldn't master dance steps gracefully
to the music of :"Greensleeves",
was not an asset, wouldn't do.
She was not one of them.

She simply asked,
why do the safely-grounded
hear the beat of a terrified heart
and seek to silence it?  Is the beat
too loud, something not understood,
something to frighten?
Are things better when the group
destroys the alien in its midst?

She never knew,
she was not one of them.

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If you enjoy my blog why not try my memoir: "Half a Pair of People", now out on Amazon.  Critics have said it is hilarious, touching and well written.

                                                                                   *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia

Clanking

 Dear Reader,

Do.you remember the poem by Jenny Joseph about growing old and wearing purple.  The poem is called 'Warning' and is well worth looking up as it is both funny and thoughtful.  She lists in this poem the many things she is going to do when she grows old, one or two of them is learning to spit and another is to spend her pension on brandy and white gloves.  She is going to sit on the pavement when she is tired and run her stick along the railings.

So far, now I am old, I haven't been very adventurous but I have started to wear purple.  Purple is the most beautiful colour and suits everyone I should think. But it is difficult to come by so buy it if you feel tempted buy it when you see it. I am also letting the blonde grow out of my hair so that I will have a white thatch which I think is more suitable to my age.  I see white hair everywhere today and  both my daughters have let their hair go white and it looks stunning and so today.

The poem today is about one of Francis's fairly mad ideas.  He thought I should have boiled eggs whilst I was seriously ill in hospital but obviously this was not possible. 

Do read the poem and see what you think.

                                                                                    *

From John Everett Millais, October 16th, 1851, in Surrey

'Worked on my picture; pained 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 squeak....Succeeded, to my astonishment.  He came half out of the hole and looked in my face, within easy reach'.

 

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 room 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'.

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Clanking

She was ill, in hospital
seriously ill and
the hospital food was not good.
A boiled egg is what she needs,
he thought.
Clanking down the passage
he came, with saucepans,
and a small gas fire to light
in the bathroom, he said.
Thank you but no she said
you could set the hospital on fire.
Sadly he agreed it wasn't possible
and stepping into the passage
he left, forlorn,
clanking, clanking.

                                                                                *

If you enjoy my blog why not try my memoir: Half a Pair of People.  Reviewers have said it is hilarious and insightful.  The book can be bought on Amazon with the name: Patricia Huth, click that and you will get me.

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia

My Husband and Other Men

 Dear Reader,

                                                                    Me dressed in violet for the first time

 

 

Originally the flowers of violet were known ever since the ancient Greek time or around 500BC.  Greeks and Romans believed that this flower was useful as a herbal remedy for different illnesses and sicknesses. The flowers were also used to create wine and to sweeten their dishes for festivals.  Violets are mostly found in shaded grounds and hedgerows specifically in areas where deciduous trees provide shades and protect the plants.

In 1814, Napoleon Bonaparte covered the grave of his wife, Josephine, with the flowers of Violet. He also declared violets as his signature flower.  Because of this he was called Corporal Violet.  Blue violet is meant for faithfulness and love, and white violets represent chastity and purity.  Violets are also know to have some nutritional value.  Since ancient times people use this flower in different recipes and savory dishes.

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From Francis Kilvert, October 9th, 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 wind.  This afternoon I saw the word written on the poplar leaves.  It was 'dazzle'.  The dazzle of the poplars.' 

 

From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1800, October 8th, in Westmorland

'A very mild moonlight night.  Glow-worms everywhere.'

 

From S.T. Coleridge, 1800, October 10th, in Cumberland

'The first snow fell on Skiddaw.'

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My Husband and Other Men

My husband is from heaven,
well, he is close to God;
but goodness me, even so,
I do find men are odd.

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If you enjoy my blog why not try my book:   Half a Pair of People.  It is a memoir and people have found it funny and entertaining.  It is on Amazon under the name :Patricia Huth

                                                                               *

With very best wishes, Patricia

The Brown Bear

 

 

Dear Reader, 

In North America the brown bears are called grizzly bears.  This bear is often described as nocturnal but it frequently seems to peak in activity in the morning or early evening.  In summer the brown bear can double it weight, gaining up to 180 kg of fat which it relies on to make it through to the winter when it becomes very lethargic.  Although they are not full hibernators and can be woken easily both sexes like to den in a protected spot during the winter months.  This species is mostly solitary and adult males are particularly aggressive so are avoided by adolescent males, both at concentrated feeding opportunities and any chance encounter.  During combat bears use their paws to strike their opponents in the chest or shoulders and bite the head and neck.  Males take no part in raising the cubs, parenting is left entirely to the females.

I had always imagined that bears were kindly and friendly but I suppose that is because we think of teddy bears rather than the large aggressive real ones found in forests and lonely wild places.  And the teddy bears picnic ditty, of course, makes those bears just like us!

                                                                                          *

From Dorothy Wordsworth, October 3rd, 1800 in Westmorland

'A very rainy morning.  We walked after dinner to observe the torrents....the lichens are now coming out afresh, I carried home a collection in the afternoon.  We had a pleasant conversation about manners of the rich - avarice, inordinate desires, and the effeminacy, unnaturalness, and the unworthy objects of education....a showery evening.  The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow.'

Plus ca change.

                                                                                          *

The Brown Bear

lies on the floor,
the rocking chair still,
the house mute,
the children gone.

Three months of silence,
as boarding school houses my children,
the woman thinks.
How will I endure the emptiness,
the ache of missing them,
not being of comfort?

She sees the bear's blue jersey
is torn, has large holes in it,
like the large holes in her heart.
She picks up the bear,
holds him tight,
pours herself another drink.

                                                                               *

If you enjoy my blog why not try my book?  It is called:   "Half a Pair of People" and can be bought on Amazon in books under my name:  Patrica Huth.  Lots of people have found it funny, you might too.

Best wishes, Patrica