Lads in their hundreds....

image: Fairground Heritage Trust



The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.


There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.


I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.


But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.


from 'A Shropshire Lad' A. E. Housman

A walk for the Sunday Papers

Off to get the papers -


down the road, past the cottages:







Along the Lane, and across the end of the Green:









Enjoy the plants peeping over the high walls:





Along the road to the newsagent's on the corner:

and into the newsagent's shop to buy the papers:

Back past the Green:

Along the road that slopes down from the Green to our little fell:

Through the gap in the stone walls - a type of stile known as a 'Fat Man's Agony':




Down through Prickly Fell:




Back down the road - admiring the campanulas en route :

Home again - and the pleasing prospect of an afternoon with the Sunday Papers:

A Tale of Two Tubs

I bought two packs of runner beans (the labels did not indicate the variety) and planted them - 8 in the larger black tub (left) and 5 in the green tub on the right.

The difference is their growth is remarkable; I think I placed new compost in the black tub and used last year's compost in the green. But I didn't think it would make this much difference!

Weird?!

Compare & Contrast

I came across an old wedding photo the other day and thought that it was interesting to compare it with one from my son's recent wedding:

April 2007

This old photo (below) is the wedding party for the marriage of my husband’s grandparents in London, 1899. Sadly no one thought to write the names of the participants on the back, so we only know the names of the bride and groom (pictured centre left).

Little did they know what lay ahead.

Tragically the bride and groom were both killed, many years later in the second World War: in a particularly heavy bombing raid (16th April, 1941) during the London blitz, the family home was bombed. (My husband’s father was blinded, but husband (then aged 5) and his mother were protected by a wardrobe which tipped over and sheltered them from falling debris.)

The members of the party all look rather severe - probably because of the long exposure time for photography in those days.

Bags of Common Sense

I have noticed all the fuss in the press about this designer bag on sale at Sainsbury's for around £5 - some stores reported that they had sold out of the bags within an hour. The bag was then reported to be selling on eBay for up to £200

How about a little common sense.

This bag is supplied by our local Booths supermarket. It is made of jute and is said to be ‘climate neutral', and comes with a useful insert should you wish to use it for carrying bottles. And all for £2.49. I think it beats the designer version hollow!

Good old Booths! (n.b. no apostrophe these days!)

More here: http://www.booths-supermarkets.co.uk/assets/news/20070427_Bags.html

A garden in June

Some pictures of my garden:

Geranium 'Johnson's Blue' with the white philadelphus peeping through

A bee visits

Carpet rose

Weigela



'Masquerade' rose

Welsh Poppy

This is a self-seeding poppy. I dead-head it every other day, cutting off the stems which have finished flowering. Then it throws out more and more flowers right until the first frosts. A modest but worthwhile little plant.

The Flat-Cart

Allonby - a Cottage by the Sea. 4

The Flat-Cart

‘I’m going down to Edderside with the flat-cart.’ Mrs. Tomlinson shouted. ‘You kids want to come along?’

Mrs. Tomlinson was a Londoner who spent her summers at Allonby helping out at the riding school, booking and saddling up and taking the rides. I never once saw her wearing anything other than her rust-coloured jodhpurs, green tweed riding jacket and black velveteen riding hat. We marvelled at her exotic London accent. ‘Eow, come on,’ she’d yell when we moaned about the rain ‘It’s only gonna be a sheower’ (We imitated those London vowels gleefully.) She was always accompanied by her dog, Pindy, a black Scottie who usually rode in the basket of his owner’s ‘sit-up-and-beg’ bicycle

A ride on the flat-cart! The others were not to be told twice. My sister ran to the cottage and informed our mother that we were going. I, as ever, had doubts. The flat-cart was another danger to me. It was indeed flat, but it sloped downwards front to back. It had no sides, and there was nothing for passengers to hold on to. I had ridden on it once of twice before, but just for short distances, and I had felt very insecure. It seemed to me that one stayed on the thing by some strange form of gravity which I did not trust.

But I was swept along by the enthusiasm of the others - they couldn’t wait. Mrs. Tomlinson patted Jimmy Mac, the trotter (he could trot very fast without breaking into a canter) and threw her dog, Pindy, onto the cart where he settled down happily. We all scrambled aboard. Mrs. Tomlinson took the reins, her legs dangling over the side. A couple of the others sat along the sides legs dangling in imitation. I sat as near to the middle of the cart as I could, crouching with my legs tucked under me, trying to find a fingerhold, but found I had to real purchase anywhere.

Mrs. T. shook the reins and clucked at Jimmy Mac who set off, soon breaking into his customary trot.

We were on the road now, and Jimmy Mac’s hooves sound sharp and staccato , like bullet shots. The others chatted excitedly. We were soon clear of the village, and the safety of home was receding fast. Edderside was only about 3 miles out of the village, but everything familiar had been left behind and the countryside was alien.

Every so often the cart would lurch a little and I would feel myself slipping towards the back. I clung on, praying we would get there. Eventually we reached the farmhouse, where Mrs. T. went about her business (I don’t remember what it was). The others were fired up with the joy of their adventure, laughing and shouting. My throat was dry, but I pretended to join in. Then, as Mrs. T. reappeared I realised my torment was to begin again.

Once again I clung on. The dusk was gathering now, the blue-grey sky cool and threatening. I crouched and dug my nails into one of the gaps between the slats of the cart, picking up a splinter or two. I hoped fervently that I would get back alive. Didn’t the others appreciate the danger? Didn't they realise that we could slither off this swaying fairground-ride and dash our skulls to pieces on the tarmac? They were still prattling on merrily, completely unconcerned , legs swinging nonchalantly and arms waving excitedly. But I was in a state of fear, slipping a milimeter further towards the edge at every trotting step.. I could see the road flashing by through the cracks between the slats. I slid a little further down the cart. I could see how the back dipped with the weight of us all and almost scraped the ground . Just get me home, I prayed , Get me home

Of course, we all got back to the village safely. And I see myself on this photograph, kneeling happily on the flat-cart, looking blissfully confident. Nobody knew how filled with a myriad of fears I was - fear of the horses, fear of riding, fear of being too far from home, fear of falling off the flat-cart…

But there I am - grinning happily. If they only knew.

Jimmy Mac and the Flat-Cart.

Back row, l to r: Me, sister Pat, Dot with 'Pindy'
Front row: Elaine with 'Chummy', Jackie, Isa

Ambleside - 2

Some more photos of Ambleside, taken on Wednesday.

The House on the Bridge - built around 300 years ago this has been described as a Garden House, a Summer House and an apple store. It is built over the Stock Ghyll, some have said to avoid land tax. Stock Ghyll ran between the gardens of the old Ambleside Hall (no longer there) and its orchard. It is said that at one time a family with 6 children lived in the two rooms!

The old mill wheel

Garden alongside Stock Ghyll

The Apple Pie Eating House

Old cottages in Ambleside:

cottages in Peggy Hill

Ambleside - 1

A visit to my favourite Garden Centre, at Ambleside:

View from the cafe

Wisteria-clad dovecote

Snarker Pike with rosa rugose in the foreground

Todd Crag - with escallonia

'The Girlhood of Anno Domini'

A Cottage by the Sea. 3 - 'The Girlhood of Anno Domini'


Mr. Parsons was a grey-bearded dignified, but vague-looking ex-teacher. Nobody really knew him well. This was less than ten years after the war, and it was rumoured that he was ‘shell-shocked‘. We gathered that that meant mad - or 'screwy' as we would have said then.

He lived alone in a bungalow at the southern end of the village. Mr. Parsons was a driver of sorts; the extensive greens that ran the length of Allonby - and beyond - provided him with a road-free route into the centre. His pre-war Austin bounced over the springy rough grass from his home all the way to the square, and the handful of shops. He had ‘L’ plates on the whole time; and so, for his whole life, all his shopping and any social life he had, were carried out without the need for him to suffer the trauma of a driving-test.

One day, we met him as he was sitting in the shelter, a strange (usually deserted) open-sided building in the middle of the green. He started to talk to us about the tides, and how they were pulled by the moon. (This was real proof to us that Mr. Parsons was indeed mad) He gestured extravagantly as we gathered round him, in a scene reminiscent of the ‘The Boyhood of Raleigh’.

Uneasy about this wild talk, we escaped as soon as we decently could.

We went home and told Mum about the weird things Mr. Parsons had told us.
‘Oh yes, that's true,' said Mum, sweeping sand from the paving into a neat pile. 'that's absolutely true; the sea is pulled by the moon's gravity' . We were flabbergasted.

But we had a new respect for Mr. Parsons.

'The Boyhood of Raleigh' Millais

An Unforgettable Day

My elder son was married on Easter Day in the Chapel of Trinity College, Cambridge. The weather was kind to us. For the previous week it had been chilly in Cumbria, and I was concerned about the female participants in flimsy summer outfits: I needn't have worried - the sun shone all day. Here are a few photos:

Man and Wife

Leaving the Chapel

Young guests playing 'tag' around the Great Court Fountain (taken from the Hall)

Bride and Groom at the Wedding Breakfast in the 17th Century Great Hall - presided over by Henry VIII (a copy of the Holbein original)
The first dance

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined together to strengthen each other in all labour, to minister to each other in all sorrow,to share with each other in all gladness,to be one with each other in the silent unspoken memories?
after George Eliot

A lone bridesmaid wanders across twilit Great Court - the end of a wonderful day!