The Oxen by Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

 Dear Reader,

Apparently robins that live in the countryside become more aggressive when exposed to traffic noise, scientists have found. The red breasted birds are synonymous with Christmas and are fiercely territorial creatures that rely on signals, both visual and acoustic, to mark their territory and repel outsiders.   It has been found that the birds change their behaviour when threatened and that traffic noise was the trigger.

Researchers believe that while urban robins are used to louder habitats and have adapted to tune them out, their countryside dwelling cousins instead respond to raucous sounds - including traffic - by becoming more aggressive.  Dr. Caglar Akcay, of Anglia Ruskin University said: "We know that human activity can have a significant impact on the long-term social behaviour of wildlife, and our results show that human-produced noise can have a range of effects."

                                                                            *

I think I will write a little something every week from now on about my Chimp.  Do you remember when I wrote about the Downing Street cat and when I wrote something about the seagulls riotous behaviour?

Well this week I had a stomach ache and my Chimp told me it was probably stomach cancer.  It went after a day and was probably some prawns I ate.  So once again my Chimp was being over zealous and with the help of Prof.Steve Peter's book : The Chimp Paradox I was able to talk to Chimp as an adult and dispense with my fears. Question the chimp at every turn, especially if it is an emotional dilemma.

                                                                            *

From William Wordsworth, 1799, December 24th in Westmorland

'Rydale is covered with ice, clear as polished steel, I have procured a pair of skates and to0morrow mean to give my body to the wind.'

From James Woodforde, 1790, December 25th in Norfolk

'I lighted my large wax-candle being Xmas Day, during teatime this afternoon for about an hour.  It was very mild, thank God, to-day for this time of year, tho' wet and very dirty walking.'

                                                                               *

I am putting on my favourite Christmas poem.  It is by Thomas Hardy. 1840-1928

The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock,
"Now they are all still on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearth-side ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen.
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come, see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

                                                                          *

Thank you all for being with me on this small blog,
it is very cheering to know that you are out there.

Have a very happy Christmas and very best wishes,
Patricia

Another Chimp message

 Dear reader,

A big thank you to all American readers, I had a big readership from you last week.  You obviously liked my blog which talked about the Chimp.  The Chimp who lives in your head and causes you anxiety.  He means to be helpful, protect you and guard you from harm but sometimes he just overdoes it.  This is a piece of advice from Prof. Steve Peters book :The Chimp Paradox.   He says that in order to work with the Chimp you need to nurture him and manage him. Nurture first and then manage.  "If you have a Chimp that is well looked after by being nurtured and having all its needs met, then it is very likely that this happy little animal will not cause any trouble.If you don't look after your Chimp then it is very likely that it will kick off at any time and cause you a lot of pain."  I think this means, at least it does for me, that you have to question his wisdom.   Sometimes the Chimp in me suggests, for instance, that I should not go out in the snow because I might fall.  Well I might but the fresh air and the exercise tempt me outside so I don't follow the advice and I am fine, and refreshed.  So talk to your Chimp, make him your friend.   He is on your side just a bit bossy.

                                                                           *

From Francis Kilvert, December 8th, 1872, in Wiltshire

 

'....at about half past four began the Great Storm of 1872.  Suddenly the wind rose up and began to roar at the Tower window and shake the panes and lash the glass the torrents of rain.  It grew very dark and we struggled home in torrents of rain and tempests of wind so fearful that could hardly force our way across the Common to the rectory.  All the evening the roaring S.W. wind raged more and more furious.  It seemed as if the windows on the west side of the house must be blown in.   The glass cracked and strained and bent....I went out to see where the cows were, fearing that the large elms in the Avenue might fall and crush them.  The trees were writing , swaying , rocking, lashing their arms wildly and straining terribly in the tempest but I couldn't see that any were gone yet...... Everything was drowned in the roar and thunder of the storm.  The wind howled down the chimney, the room was full of smoke and every now and then the fire flaught out into the room in tongues of flame beaten down with a smother of sparks and smoke.'

                                                                               *

Chimp, give me a break

This Chimp lives in my head,
he is my protector
my guardian.
He works hard, too hard
he sees danger everywhere
alerts me to it
every day.
Obviously he loves me
doesn't want any harm to befall me,
but I am losing patience
with him, he overdoes it.

Surely I can drive without
serious problems arising.
Surely I can shop without
a gunman pinning me down.
Surely I can have a drink
without cirrhosis of the liver.
Surely that noise was a car backfiring,
not a shot.

Advice ad infinitum,
and my Chimp can't let up.
I want a peaceful life,
Chimp, give me a break please.

                                                                                *

If you like reading my blog why don't you treat yourself to my memoir : "Half a Pair of People" which can be obtained on Amazon.  In the reviews people have written that it is hilarious and thought provoking.  I t would make a good Christmas present for an aunt or someone who enjoys true life stories.

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia

Chimp, give me a break

Dear Reader,

 A little time ago I read a very interesting book called "The Chimp Paradox" by Professor Steve Peters. My daughter Jessica gave it to me knowing that I am always very anxious and thought I might enjoy it.  I did and I do.  It introduced to me the idea that in my head lives a chimp.  This chimp looks after me sees that I come to no harm and alerts me me to danger.  He sees danger everywhere. Whilst he had been very helpful in the past, I now want, and live, a pretty peaceful life and wish he would calm down a bit. But he likes to be active and I think stops me from doing very ordinary things which, if I challenged myself, I could do. I managed to drive somewhere this week which I would have thought, on advice from the chimp, was impossible. But I did it and was proud of myself.  I haven't driven much since lockdown and have lost confidence driving in a town. I love the chimp and don't want him to leave me, just to let me be a little more peaceful.

                                                                                   *

From Dorothy Wordsworth, November 24th, 1801, in Westmorland

'I read a little Chaucer, prepared the goose for dinner, and then we all walked out.  I was obliged to return for my fur tippet and spencer, it was so cold .....  It was very windy, and we heard the wind everywhere about us as we went along the lane, but the walls sheltered us....As we were going along we were stopped at once,  the distance perhaps of 50 yards from our favourite birch tree.  It was yielding to the gusty wind with all its tender twigs, the sun shone upon it, and it glanced in the wind like a flying sunshiny shower.......We came home over the stepping stones.  The Lake Grasmere was foamy with white waves.'

 

From John Ruskin, November 24th, 1857, in Denmark Hill, Surrey

'Very wet. But quiet, and the birds singing all sorts of delicate airs, richly, as it it were spring.' 

 

                                                                               *

Chimp, give me a break

 

This Chimp lives in my head,
he is my protector,
my guardian.
He works hard, too hard,
he sees danger everywhere,
alerts me to it every day.
Obviously he loves me,
doesn't want any harm to befall me,
but I am losing patience
with him, he overdoes it.

Surely I can drive without
serious problems arising?
Surely I can shop without
a gunman pinning me down?
Surely I can have a drink
without cirrhosis of the liver?
Surely that noise was a car backfiring,
not a gun shot?

Advice ad infinitum,
Chimp, please, give me a break.

                                                                                    *

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

My Patch is

 Dear Reader,

I used to live in old Charlbury, Market Street, for many years after leaving Oxford for a quieter and more peaceful life.  We bought an old cottage built in the 18th century with all its charm and inconveniences.  The stairs were treacherous, the windows let in the wind, there was damp and there were mice.  Lots of them.  But it was pretty and "quaint" and I was happy there.  Until the council decided that we could no longer leave our car in the field at the bottom of the lane. So we had to move. My stipulation to the estate agents was simple.  We wanted a garage more than anything else.  

The only houses for sale at the time were on a Cotswold stone estate away from the centre of town.  We bought one.  The central heating does a wonderful job of keeping us warm, the rooms are light and airy and we have a small and delightful garden.  And there are no mice.  I wouldn't have imagined myself living somewhere like this years ago, but it is the best move I ever made for so many reasons.  Do read the poem and you will see yourself what they are. Just to let you know the best reason.   It is the neighbours, both kind, helpful and funny. What more could you want?

 

From George Sturt, November 21st, 1890, in Surrey

'I noticed in the poplar above me two sorts of sound; the leaves pattering and rustling against one another, each with its separate chatter; and then as accompaniment and continuous ground-tone, the wind itself breathing audibly and caressingly between leave and round twigs and limbs.' 

 

From Gilbert White, November 26th, 1775, in Hampshire

 'Fog, with frost.  As the fog cleared away, the warm sun occasioned a prodigious reek, or steam to arise from the thatched roofs.'

 

                                                                        *

 My Patch is

houses with small gardens
bricks that are uniform
pale gold in the sun,
grass on the greens,
trees scattered here and there
a ted post box round the corner,
the Co-op a short walk,
dogs on leads, owners friendly
with a good afternoon, or hello
with kindly neighbours,
nothing too much trouble in the way of help
and bouquets of flowers
on my birthday,
lots of peace and quiet except
for the odd dog bark or a child's cry,
lots of space for cars,
and a blackbird singing on the roof tops.

My patch is perfect,
makes my heart sing.

                                                                       *

If you enjoy this blog why not try my memoir:  Half a Pair of People    out on Amazon.  Reviewers have said it is hilarious and also thought provoking.  Put in Patricia Huth, click and you will be there.

                                                                        *

With very best wishes, Patricia
                                                                          

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.'

                                                                                     *

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.

                                                                            *

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.

                                                                             *

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.

                                                                             *

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

                                                                                         

                                                                                       *

 

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.'

                                                                                  *

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.

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia