Dorset memory - 15 Standing on the gate, early summer

A light mist sprinkled the downstairs windows & a certain foreboding sat upon the morning like a devil's breath wrapped in a shroud of mystery, grasping the mind of a simple farmer as he stood against the Aga, sipping the last drops of strong brewed coffee.
Inclement weather today would concentrate any efforts or expectations as to silaging the lower field & could even spell disaster. Ben's thoughts rambled through his brain, troublingly annoying, rampant, as the forage harvester had only just been fixed & appeared ready to take on the task at hand. He felt more than a little apprehensive as light rain now persisted vacillating in a breeze through the atmosphere, shading any warmth gleaned from the early summer sun. It shrouded any hope of achieving much needed silaging as he contemplated damp conditions & sodden grass looking out onto raindrop-spattered grass beyond the garden.
Well he thought, I'll give it a little longer. In the meantime I may as well see to some animals. It might clear soon. At least the presently obscured sun would be warm enough to dry things up a little.
He left the kitchen, his two Jack Russell terriers with him - they usually followed anyway unless they had been on a long walk or out chasing rabbits. In which case they would take to their beds in the boot room next to the kitchen.
Emily had finished her breakfast & a few chores. She wanted to attend the already our-of-control vegetable patch, but wondered if Ben was going to need any help today. Occasionally at certain times of the year she would lend a hand with one thing or another, in return for the times Ben had helped her with the intricacies within the Aga or something as complex as changing new washes on the bathroom taps.
Ben had a farm labourer employed on a part time basis. Andy was totally compliant with most things, taking over any milking needed or harvesting, driving the newer tractor & most other farming requirements associated with animals - he was particularly accommodating with them.
But Emily would opt for a less strenuous or demanding job, such as driving the older tractor when the hay was brought back to be stored in the barn. Ben had been very reluctant to allow her free access of his newer tractor, but the older one was often harnessed into action for hauling hay bales & executing other useful duties around the farm.
A good year ago, Emily had proved to Ben she was more than capable in her driving skills managing the older tractor, driving it back over deeply rutted tracks without any unfortunate mishaps. He only had to show her once, going through the gear & pedal motions & she quickly took on board all Ben had showed her. Henceforth, she helped out with some driving, lumping heavy bales up to the loft in the old barn & along with Lizzie's help, they soon accomplished the task.
Lizzie lived not far away & had been married once, but now lived alone. She also had a horse but kept her close to home on a field opposite or, in order to rest the grass, another one on the edge of Ben's farm. Lizzie was also adept at manual jobs as living in the countryside often required resourcefulness, applying oneself to the task which otherwise may prove expensive or time-consuming to call in a tradesperson. She regularly enjoyed chopping up wood from around her property to supply her large open fire place. This kept things tidier & branches fell from trees on a fairly regular basis throughout the year, particularly after strong winds or storms. She considered it good exercise, along with riding her ex show-jumper called Minerva, named after the Greek goddess of wisdom & reason, amongst other things.
Clouds were thinning - the air drying & rain for now relenting as morning sunshine breathed new life into the surrounding hills. Cows grazed, ambling through the sweet juicy grass, giving their rich creamy milk in the evenings.
Emily gave up the best part of her day, knowing it was time to see what may be required to help Ben, her long time friend, with any chores.
She drove down the hill to the farm not far away, pulling into the driveway of the farmhouse. As she got out, tucking the keys safely in her pocket, she immediately looked up the yard as the house looked deserted for now. She heard the dogs barking a little & walked towards their sound. Ben was sure to be around this area more times than not.
Emily stood on the large iron gate craning her neck in the direction of further barking, thinking that Ben could well be in the vicinity of the silage pit.
Calling out to Ben, she raised her voice just a little as the sound of the tractor was now quite close.
'Hellooo, are you there Ben?' I'm sure it must be him driving the tractor she thought, unless it is Andy. She decided to step down from the gate to look for him.
The silage pit was empty & cleaned out, ready for the new season's fodder. Andy waved from the cab of the older tractor & continued with what he was doing. Emily ventured back to the gate, climbed over again as she could never be bothered to open it first, then strolled back down the yard.
Where can Ben have got to, she thought. As she rounded the corner of the stables, there standing by the newer tractor was Ben, hands on hips & looking thoughtful with a slight frown on his face. He hadn't heard her arrive as he later told her, being was under the tractor trying to find where the a problem might be.
'Morning EM' he half muttered, only looking up briefly as his face showed complete disenchantment & not for the first time.
'What seems to be the problem?' Emily asked, frowning a little herself as she approached him.
'Thought the tractor was fixed recently as well as the forage harvester, but there still seems to be something preventing the link box from detaching. I need to do that in order to undertake the silaging.' His mood both contemplative & not a little condescending when it came to mechanics.
 He looked up at Emily, resigning himself to the fact that it may not be possible to continue with a good day's work on the fields.
'Don't suppose there is anything I could do to help is there?' she asked, always positive especially when practical non-working issues seemed utterly unfathomable.
"I doubt it Em, for some odd reason it's not behaving as it should, just when I need it the most to get on & do this bloody silaging.' Ben was still in a thoughtful frame of mind, racking his brains for an answer to what shouldn't really be a problem at all. Phoning for help wasn't at this stage an alternative.
Emily thought for a moment, suggesting they both have a look together. 'That may, just may she considered, by putting two heads together being better than one, be of help.' Ben reasoned for a moment & with a sigh, shrugged his shoulders, relenting in order to allow Emily's idea take its course.
Together they crawled under the contraption, tight though it was, getting very dirty knees as they continued working their way under, until they were both lying side by side on the somewhat damp earth. They suddenly faced each other, realizing how peculiar this may appear to anyone looking on & promptly burst out laughing.
At that moment they heard footsteps approaching on the gravel path nearby. They paused & listened, ceasing their outburst for the moment.
'Well well, if it isn't the two lovebirds & under a tractor too!' Lizzie had walked up to the tractor hearing voices & a certain amount of merriment going on from what appeared to be underneath.
'My, you DO choose the strangest places for that sort of thing don't you?'
'What sort of thing?' Ben retorted, although being perfectly aware of what Lizzie was suggesting.
'You know jolly well what I mean Ben!' Unable now to hold herself under control. Lizzie began chuckling to herself & added, 'oh never mind, you can pretend all you want, but I still think it is one of the most original places I've ever seen.
Bending down now with a grin on her face, she looked at what Ben was trying to adjust. Emily was holding something for him at the same time as Lizzie peered at them, altering her expression & asked, 'what seems to be the trouble?'
'That's what I asked,' Emily added.
'The link box is stuck & I can't detach it for some odd reason. Thought I had this part here sorted out,' said Ben, tapping something with one of his tools. 'But it's still not behaving,' Ben continued trying to adjust a few parts.
'Em, will you hold this for me please?' indicating to her what was required. 'Think I know what the problem might be & I just need you to take this for a moment, then I will be free to make the necessary adjustments.'
Emily took the grease covered tool reluctantly from Ben & tried to pull a folded paper towel from her pocket to clean it off a bit.
'What on earth is so sharp under me?' she cried. 'Feels a bit like a bed of nails,' she continued. 'Oh, I am such a dope, it must be the car keys!' she laughed. 'Must remember to put them somewhere more sensible next time, when contemplating crawling under tractors!'
Lizzie, still crouching down offered, 'anything I can do to help? Better late than never' she added.
'No thanks Lizzie' Ben replied half heartedly, concentrating on what he needed to do, both hands busy & mind stretched to the limit in undertaking something he is not often expected to do. 'Ah, that's done it I think!' clanking away with a tool still lying on his back with Emily beside him frowning.
'What's done it?' enquired an inquisitive Lizzie.
'It's not worth explaining at this stage' said Ben, gesturing to Emily to pass the tool back to use once more.
'I think he's got it, I really HOPE he's got it' laughed Emily next to Ben.
Lizzie stood up stretching her back, waiting until they both decided to crawl out from lying on the wet ground. 'I came to tell you something & now I've completely forgotten what it was. I must be getting old & befuddled or something,' she half muttered to herself.
Ben & Emily were now standing in front of her wiping off their hands, when Emily said with a laugh, 'hope it's not catching Lizzie, I'm hopeless at remembering the simplest things anyway & don't fancy it getting any worse. I believe this can happen to some people as they get on in life. I wonder what else gets worse?'
'We are a little young yet for those problems I hope,' Ben remarked, not wishing to elaborate on the matter.
'Speak for yourself!' Lizzie added. 'Some days I can be quite forgetful, like today. Fancy forgetting why I called in today. What the devil will it be like in say ten years from now? Pretty hopeless case I would think. Oh dear, it must be awful getting older, but it happens to us all I suppose. No avoiding it.'
Ben started walking up the yard towards a workshop near the milking parlour. Emily & Lizzie followed becoming quite animated about the loss of one's memory. Emily followed Ben, then changed her mind, walking over to stand on the gate again, the large iron one she often stood on near the milking shed, as Ben was nearby putting a few tools away in a draw. Lizzie stood in front of her & together they started discussing the price of a round of shoes for the horses.
Sunshine was now flooding all in its path with renewed warmth, the air feeling drier, releasing summer across the countryside, abandoning the moisture-held morning to its stillness. The air smelt sweet, a light breeze blowing across the nearby hills. A sense of peace dominated the atmosphere as birds flitted around the old barn, venturing on their individual 'sorties' catching insects.
Emily took a long breath still standing on the gate, pausing now, drinking in the late morning sun on her face.
Lizzie leaned on the gate beside her & she too felt sunrays drenching her with warmth, absorbing the sunshine, like drinking a perfect wine.
Ben approached them now, satisfied that he had fixed the tractor problem but exasperated he had lost a morning's work & the chance of getting the silaging well underway.
The morning was fast drawing to a close & he needed a good run at it, as all that was involved getting organized was perhaps best left until tomorrow. He sighed a little, resigned to the fact as he strolled over to the two friends.
'Think I'll give it a miss for today, but tomorrow is looking promising,' he said glancing at them both. 'Thanks Em for showing up today - fixing tractors will never be the same again,' he added with a grin.
Emily smiled back at him, 'You are welcome, but I wasn't really much help, & besides fixing tractors isn't really my forte.  Just glad it is fixed now.'
Lizzie glanced at them both, poked a strange face, then she too smiled at the thought of them both under the tractor.
Emily hopped down from the gate & together all three walked down the sun-drenched path towards the farmhouse.

Dorset memory - 14 Standing on the gate!

Emily woke to sunshine not quite streaming through the window, but what looked to be a satisfactory late spring day. The morning was yet early but the will to accomplish more than the hours of the day would permit, she pattered several paces over to the dormer window & peered out over the top field. She called it the 'top field' as the hill rose to its highest peak for a good distance around the nearby countryside.

Below the window was a small garden with a well to the right, a very deep well, that had rocks around the outside of a large slab of rounded concrete covering it. A few small plants were growing between the rocks & alongside the front stone wall nearby were several low growing shrubs with a large bay tree. A wrought iron, black painted gate sat snug between both sections of wall with blue & white Aubrietia hanging over, tumbling halfway down to a small section of grass running alongside a narrow lane. A few other low growing plants nestled between the aubrietia presenting an abundance of delightful colour - a feeling of spring. A tall, very wide bank of hedgerow across the narrow lane, reached high up adjoining the field, acting like a fence, keeping the animals safe from escape.

Emily dressed & set off down the old winding staircase that lead from the bedroom to the sitting room. At the other end of the house was a newer staircase timbered from top to bottom, even the sloping ceiling overhead containing a large drop-down window, was lined in timber ending close to the Aga-heated kitchen. She pulled on her wellington boots over thick sox & walked down the sloping path to the where the car was parked in the garage, zipping up her jacket as she went. On her way out she remembered to take a larger container with her as she set off for the farm a mile down the lane.

The curving lane still had some wild flowers growing beside it with plenty more to follow, in amongst the lush grass & flowering cow parsley - nettles rampant once more as the hedgerows were fully dressed in spring's leafy mantle. Flushed with their late spring adornment, the tips of hazel, elder, blackthorn & oak, with holly & beech, were interspersed with dog roses & ivy spreading wide alongside
the road - some having survived as far back as Medieval times or even much earlier.

Birds swept across the road, landing in a large oak tree spreading wide beside a farmer's gate as Emily wound the car around the bends. It was still early, the sun now content above the horizon, promising a little warmth to the day- Emily smiling to herself - embellishing her spirit. The car made its way down a hill & halfway, turned into the driveway leading to her friend's farm.

The large farmhouse was quiet in the early morning, the dogs not yet up & about, but further on past a large barn, a constant hum could be heard.
'Ah!' thought Emily, 'it's begun then. Good!' More sounds were drifting through the warming air where she now walked, with increasing noise wafting from further up the yard. A little clanging of doors being slid open & shut, became louder. Her expectation of some fresh creamy milk for breakfast was a delight to which she always looked forward. Coffee always tasted a whole lot better when milk from the cow's udder was added.

The milking parlour was a hub of activity, the milking machines in full flow pumping out gallons of fresh creamy milk into the large stainless steel tank, while the cows plodded in & out of the concrete bays. Their black & white bodies were the result of some selective breeding, being virtually the world's top milk producers. Emily had helped raise a few of her friend's calves by feeding them from a bucket when very young, next to her garage where she had two loose boxes.

As Emily approached the end of the track leading to the milking parlour, Ben her long time friend of many years, called out to her. 'hello my darling!' He often called her 'my darling', even though they were just friends. He poked his head around the door where the tank was sitting & grinned briefly before returning to his cows, then disappeared behind the body of a large, almost completely black cow called Sara, to clean her udder. She was actually very dark brown with a large white star on her forehead, one of the grown calves Emily had helped raise. She was almost Ben's top milker & very pretty Emily thought.

Emily stood on the large iron gate, container in one hand & called out half to herself as Ben was no longer in sight, lost to the morning's milking.
 'All seems right with the world for now, but here's hoping this weather holds for a few more days! I've plenty to do outside - but for now, okay if I collect some milk please?'

It was early in their relationship that the collection of milk & a cheque each month had started, before all the rules & regulations had come into operation. Emily had bought her first horse & arranged to keep it at Ben's farm. He also keep one or two & the stables where all horses could be brought in during foul weather or to escape the pesky flies in the summer, were alongside the track leading to the milking area.

Emily heard a vague muttering from behind Sara & so hopped over the gate & walked into where the milk tank was kept, quickly filling, with a paddle continually stirring the creamy milk.
She had spent many a time standing on the gate, leaning over to try & chat with Ben between moving cows proceeding slowly toward the noise of the milking machines, where they knew there was an easy meal waiting for them. It wasn't possible to expect Ben to linger for long, as the morning milking had to be undertaken, come rain or shine.
 At times in the winter, when it had become so cold during the night, Ben had to thaw frozen, already lagged pipes before he could commence the milking. It was never a good time in a farmer's year, coping with ice & snow. The animals were shut up in the large barn where they could wander at will to some extent. Then with the arrival of spring & lush green grass growing, the cows were turned out. Behaving like children on an important & fun outing with friends, the cows would canter down the field, kicking up their heels with their newly acquired freedom, tossing their heads to the warmer air then lower them to enjoy the sweet juicy grass.

Back in the milking parlour, Ben was coming to the end of the milking, the last cows in their bays about to be released.
Emily stood at the door between milking & tank sheds. Soon the lorry would be backing up the yard to collect the latest milk. Ben started cleaning up while Emily called out above the noise of the milking machines.
 'Do you know when the blacksmith will be arriving Ben?'

'Not quite sure' replied Ben, strolling over to the doorway with a paper towel cleaning off his hands. 'I think it will be about 10am,' he continued.

'Then I'll have to come back about 9.30am to get the horses in. They can each go in a stable & I'll tie them to rings' said Emily.

'That'll be fine Em, they will be separated & the blacksmith will be able to hold them against the wall if they step out of line' Ben announced looking at Emily.
He sometimes called her 'Em' when he was having a good day & none of the animals were escaping into the lane.

He walked back to finish the cleaning up of the milking parlour, scraping away what the cows had not been polite enough to deposit elsewhere!

Emily said her goodbyes & strolled back down the yard to return home for breakfast & a creamy cup of strong coffee. By now the morning was even warmer, several insects wafting past the car windscreen & halfway up the lane an elderly lady was driving her car in her direction at what seemed to Emily, rather fast.

Emily stopped immediately & quickly looked back to find a pull-in place to back into. She knew just how unimaginative & ill-equipped in the intelligence department some of the older people were when out driving in narrow lanes. Some had no concept whatsoever of the fact that there was hardly ever room to pass another vehicle when approaching one. It was necessary to slow down or stop in order to both negotiate the necessity of passing each other without mishap. It usually resulted in one having to back up. sometimes a considerable distance, then repeat the process all over again with another car. Some older people didn't seem to realize or pretended not to notice that the lane was for one vehicle only & proceeded with undue care & attention not giving another thought to their speed or judgement of just how close they were to the other vehicle! They drove by regardless & it was a miracle that both vehicles remained intact. They often shilly-shallied & fidgeted with gear sticks, looking back & forth to what seemed like an eternity & while this was going on, the other person would have backed up in a trice, saving both a lot of time. Certain older people did that on purpose as they realized they wouldn't have to back up, & got away with it too!

Emily quickly put the car in reverse & backed up to a suitable place in a farm gateway, resulting in the lady passing at the same speed for the remainder of her journey.

The elderly lady, with her nose & face looking straight ahead in a determined fashion, drove past never acknowledging Emily's courtesy or giving a little wave of thanks.

'Oh well' thought Emily to herself. At least the car is still in one piece' as she drove home with the fresh milk.

On  return to her kitchen she began thinking of Ben again & gave a little laugh, pulling a face. She had often gone down to the farm for one reason or another & when collecting the milk one day after returning from a ski holiday in Austria, she had driven down & was standing on the gate looking for Ben, when she spotted him about to undertake the evening milking.

'Well, did you miss me then?' she asked with a huge grin on her face & an air of expectation.

'Have you been away?' replied Ben, grinning back at her, trying not to burst out laughing.

'Oh men!' Emily muttered, eyebrows creasing in a frown, screwing her mouth around & tightening her lips. 'I thought you might have missed me just a little, even with it being quieter around here!'

'Might have, maybe.' Ben said as he shrugged a little walking back into the milking parlour.

Emily was still standing on the large iron gate that separated her from where the cows were waiting to be milked. As she was about to step down, Ben thrust his head out of the shed & said, 'Of course I missed you, silly girl, well a little anyway.'

'Oh good!' grinned Emily. 'I was hoping you would, just a little. That's all right then, I shall be off now. See you Ben!' she called out, giving a little wave to her friend as she disappeared back down the yard.

She & Ben had been friends for quite a time & had much in common. Sometimes he would call in for a coffee after a meeting in the village or after they had played tennis in a foursome in the next village. Ben was always poaching Emily's shots on the court when they were playing together & she would stop, put her racquet down, walking over to Ben & gently but firmly, push him back over to where she thought he belonged, making a 'shooing' noise at the same time.

When Emily returned to attend to the horses, hers & Ben's for shooing, she needed to ask him a question & knew just where to find him. At this time of the day there was every chance he was still up the yard attending to the animals. Em walked up past the stables & another barn thinking of her question, deep in thought about a few other things as well.

 She called out to Ben & found him exactly where she thought he'd be, then promptly forgot what her question was. As she was considering this, muttering away to herself, she looked down & noticed that she was still standing on the gate.

Playing in the library

Outside, grey & white clouds were intermingled amongst a clear blue sky high above clumps of eucalypts & various shrubs of melaleuca, callistemon & acacia growing in a park-like environment outside the library. The air smelt earthy, pungent with rotted gum leaves lying around the base of the shrubbery, while over in the grass beside a timber fence, small button mushrooms grew where not many people bothered to look.

The atmosphere inside the modern library building, which had long windows looking out on the native parkland, was noisy as young children sat on chairs & floor over in a corner listening to a story read by one of the staff members. The young woman was quite animated speaking almost too loudly as the very young amongst the attentive group, fidgeted looking up with awe at the coloured illustrations in the opened book, held up for all to see.

A special fundraising event was taking place over the main part of the library, where stands of various books on fiction & other categories were stacked, their spines clearly labeled with a small sticker informing the would-be reader as to its genre. As the morning progressed, more & more mainly older ladies gathered, chattering in small groups.

A musician of some renown had quietly organized himself on a chair & started to tune his guitar. The instrument he handled with care & familiarity, it being made of a rare wood from Spain many years ago. After a short time, the musician seemed satisfied & began playing one or two folk classics. Then, unbeknown to the gathered ladies & a few others, he struck the strings with his right hand, the left choosing carefully exactly where he was to clarity the order of notes that sounded as if he was playing in one of the world's greatest auditoriums. His right hand flew across the silvery strings, picking them clearly with concentrated gusto, his eyes modestly watching his left hand, safe in the knowledge he knew exactly what notes had to follow the ones before. His mood calm but intense, lost in his own music. He played for everyone, he played for himself, he played for the world to listen, he played with the care of a maestro, perfection flowing with a strong rhythmic count of the Farruca. Ladies sat with their backs to him, chattering, eating from small plates of sandwiches. Others sat close by, drinking coffee or tea their plates covered in pastries or cake. They twittered on like birds while a small child clambered around them, the cakes covered with pink icing disappearing, the coffee consumed at various intervals after a little more conversation.

Ladies, why do you not hear the music? Why do you not pause for just a moment & hear the beautiful notes that fill your ears - fill the air with passion, melody, rhythms & tremolos - not to mention the Arabic overtones or the imagination of the dancer as he imitates the movements of the matador, flowing from the hands on these strings? There are only six of them, yet what they feel, what they are imparting is the virtuosity of a master at his craft. Stop, for just a moment, don't you hear what fills the atmosphere? Have you no conception of this instigation of complex notes?

 The right hand of the musician is now fulfilling his dedicated understanding of flamenco, he is an artiste of unimaginable tradition & quality striking the notes clearly & concisely, each carefully chosen & executed. You cannot see the swiftness of all that is undertaken, the controlled technique, his left hand in perfect balance as it selects & seeks out the exact notes. The unequivocal vibrancy he imparts, the walls are hearing, something of exquisite pleasure, but the walls don't feel, or have a soul, don't have ears like you do ladies - it will flood through you but you won't let it - you don't stop, pause for a moment to listen to the music created  - it would capture your souls, but you have none. 

A pause now in the music, the strings calm & still, the musician's head lowers in a quiet resigned way, unaffected by his surroundings. His music for now, has ceased. The instrument of considerable rarity remains on his lap, arms casually resting around it while a photographer approaches with a task in hand, to take a few photos of the musician accompanied by a lady carrying a tray laden with small cakes decorated with pink icing.

The musician is patient, resigned even & smiles in a placatory way, accommodating both the photographer & the generous-around-the-waist lady, the latter encouraged to get close in to the musician with the tray of cakes. It will all be explained in next week's local paper.

After a pause while the last of the young children vacate their story time in the corner of the library, the musician resumes his correct playing position on the chair & re-tunes his guitar. With a satisfied expression to himself with all the seriousness of an artist at work with his craft, he resumes with flamenco music, capturing the very essence of Granainas, with no recognizable rhythm, but a magnificent show piece with beautiful tremolo passages & melodies. The musician continues with a twelve beat structure from which all traditional rhythms are performed. His fingers flowing, striking & drumming, beating, tapping & picking, all making the sound of a configuration well performed & mastered to perfection.

The ladies, with their backs turned, ate more cake & finished their coffee.

English Autumn

When the light smells of apples falling
Rotting amongst dewy grass browning
Fruits now diminishing downward
Within darkening rainbow skies
The mists of autumn roll in & wispy
Settling yonder hills far dampness
Green sea reaches o'er cliffs broken
Pounding shells upon pebbles strewn.

Leaves fall on fettered fungi
Year upon year gathered there
Shiny brown chestnuts hidden treasures
Prickly under foot kick them free
As coloured leaves raindrop wet
And pastures of earthy richness held
Trees reaching given nutrients deep
Sapping autumn's mantle so bright.

Harvest hopes have gathered here
Feeding man's relentless longing
Gardens begin their long winter sleeping
First the apple boughs hang heavy laden
Mellow the heart as autumn drifts in
Long days sun where sleep you now
Summer takes flight empty meadows
Swallow don't leave quiet, gone.

Berries red, blackbird yet calling
To fattened lambs & corn cobs ripening
Yellow as summer was golden
The horizon's misty mornings coming
Hilltops hidden lost till springtime
House now wrapped in arms of autumn
Wood smoke drifts through evenings golden
Glowing red hues empty & fallen.

Lacy spiders amongst the blackberries
Moisture dripping in the hedgerows bearing
Trees into winter's cold & sleeping
Under the leaves animals nesting
As butterflies sip last the nectar
Hidden then spring vanquishes winter
Rose of loveliness perfumed breeze
Fair as sun-kissed mornings lost.

Come heavy heart why mourn you now
Arise from slumbers greet the fair dawn
Breeze softly blowing memories lost
Soul's emptiness flourishing cold night
Happy the hills moonbeams shared
Upon life's goodness silvery fingers
Touches the autumn's homeland here
Forever peaceful green as England.

Dorset memory 13 - Mrs T enters the 21st century!

It had been a little foggy earlier on & as the sun warmed the morning, the softness of a spring day breathed new life through opening buds growing throughout the countryside. In the narrow lanes, clumps of yellow primroses bloomed amid the feathery fronds of the green cow parsley, shouting spring in the mellow morning where wispy droplets of moisture still hung in the hedgerows. The cow parsley would not flower until May, when it reached tall on the sides of the road growing in abundance, narrowing the winding lanes still further. Obscuring the delicate daisy-like stitchwort & vague white petals of wood anemone, cow parsley stretched as far as the gurgling stream, flowing under a wooden bridge at the bottom of the hill. 

A skylark hovered above the top field, chirping & twittering continuously singing a territorial song, while blackbirds hopped in & out of apple boughs, blossom petals fluttering gently to the grass below. The cuckoo had called from the wood & black feathered pheasants squawked noisily into the garden.

In the village, old Mrs. T had been fumbling with her laptop, not knowing which end was what. Her grandson had shown her the tricks of the trade, but not practicing, old Mrs. T had got confused, not bothering to persevere with the somewhat bothersome 'gadget'. Over time, she had tucked it away in a cupboard of the spare room, upstairs in her cottage. But there comes a time in a person's life when, what comes around, goes around. She was not coming to terms with it, not bothering to open it for some time - years in fact - eight years in fact! She didn't know how, until a sporting friend from the past, happened to call one day to try & patiently coax her into learning what all the symbols meant, a little hesitant herself, as she had hardly touched a laptop before. Together they fathomed out what all the pictures on the left of her opening page meant & slowly Mrs. T would actually learn how to find & send emails.

"What's that for?" asked Mrs. T, pointing to a shortcut. "Hmm, oh, I've heard of those, but never really bothered with them much before." "Too many other things going on."

The friend made her practice, patiently going through the sequence of clicks, what seemed to old Mrs. T - an eternity! She fingered the inbuilt mouse clumsily, but slowly left-clicked onto things, double left clicked onto others, scrolled down pages & vaguely started to become more enlightened with the impervious beast.  She was adding snippets of information to her repertoire, which in the past had been non-existent. Dubious attempts at finding her email friends once or twice in the past, leaving them dangling in mid air for so long, resulted in non-communication completely!

Mrs.T sighed quietly, wrinkled her nose, shifting in her chair, but kept her right hand directing the cursor, moving it this way then that, replying to the first email at the top of a very long list. Her long lost email friends would have given up long ago. Expecting a reply & being more than surprised to receive one now, to whatever question or remark they had made years before.

Her dogs lying near her feet, were becoming restless. Several books were piled up on the dining room table or sprawled across her desk amid bills waiting to be dealt with, one way or another. The books, some stacked waiting to be read or returned to the library, others had been referred to & lay open on her desk in a haphazard manner.

But Mrs. T was actually a very talented lady, an excellent amateur actress, having played many different & challenging roles in local theatre groups, performing at various country guildhalls. The nearest one, having a large stage where several Gilbert & Sullivan light operas, amongst others, were performed, Mrs.T, possessing a strong & mellow voice, would take her allotted part & with  uncompromising clarity & perfect diction, belt out octave perfect & self-confident reassured ability. Her artistic talents, with sheer exuberance & onstage shenanigans often outshining all others, would bring the whole house down. Iolanthe, she did justice to, her voice resonating to the rafters, richly executing each performance, to be widely appreciated by a large audience. She would also play the organ in the village church on a Sunday & for weddings & funerals. Old Mrs. T, almost retired from sport altogether, was a powerful woman on the tennis court. Having a fearsome backhand that, once the ball had left her racquet, was hardly to be seen again as it flew off close to the baseline at the other end of the court, leaving her opponents gasping & utterly bewildered. 

This particular day, the tennis colleague from the past, had spent a considerable time pushing mind-bending patience to the limit, resulting in a fairly satisfactory session of achieving sufficient computer skills in email-literacy etc., for Mrs. T to cope with on her own later. 

She now fidgeted on her chair once more, sighed for a second time & studied the email page with careful scrutinizing, which still showed a lengthy list of un-read & un-dealt with correspondence. Some from a long distance away, in relation to her musical talents. And the dates that went back several years, would have resulted in those people's complete abandonment with the matter at the time. 

Everyone has their tolerance level & it would seem Mrs. T had reached hers. With a final expulsion of pent up concentration emanating from her taut mouth, the laptop was firmly closed with relevant finality. She pulled a sort of resigned face, eyebrows knitting together in a somewhat comical frown. Then rose decidedly from her chair, picked up the laptop holding it purposely in front of her & with a certain amount of disdain, firmly marched upstairs, replacing the laptop back in the cupboard of the spare room from whence it came!

With a slightly smug grin on her face, Mrs. T returned to the dining room & announced that perhaps it was time to take the dogs on their usual walk. It was a cue for the visitor to bid farewell, delighting in the thought that perhaps after the slightly trying audition encompassing much patience & perseverance,  some further travel on one's own, would be very much the order of what remained of the day.

After a cheerful exchange of departing words, the visitor passed through the front door with the impression that, after returning home on the other side of the world, it may be another eight years before an email  from her friend, landed in her inbox!

Dorset memory 12 - Chasing Rainbows

Waves slapped the shingled sand continuously, larger waves thundering in menacingly higher up the rock-strewn beach, as ominous clouds threatened from the south west scudding towards the coastline.

Along the shore, rocks of varying sizes had crashed down from the cliffs above onto the already cluttered beach, grey as the sky was now. A few lengthening sunrays had struggled through gaps between the rain-filled clouds, fingering onto the tossing sea, turning silver tipped over the swelling waves. A lone seagull soared & swooped, cawing over the water, flapped, then rose with a circling cry halfway to the cliff top. It glided a little where fissures of clay & ochre colored rock were visible before it reached the top perching on a tuft of low grass, damp from a fine sea mist blowing in from the sea, the wind intensifying.

William, retired now from lifeboat duties & other various jobs he had fulfilled over the years, plodded up the beach keeping a close eye on the weather, accompanied by his dog Nelson. He was so-called after 1st Viscount Horatio Nelson, a British Admiral, often known as Lord Nelson had served his country well, in particular during the Battle of Trafalgar where Lord Nelson was shot & killed.

William had lived in a 200 year old house close to the sea, with his wife Emma. A coincidence, as Lord Nelson's mistress had been called Lady Emma Hamilton, but William had been happily married for a very long time. When he first met Emma, it was on a beach, similar to the one he was walking on now. The weather playing a vital roll as a brilliant colorful rainbow was prominently visible in the sky, becoming a sentimental symbol of their love for each other. They had spent many happy years together & on odd times a rainbow had appeared, William remembered the first time he had met his sweet Emma. She was almost silhouetted against the glowing rainbow, her skirts shifting around her in a stiff breeze, her dark hair blowing out behind her, cheeks rosy as the morning was pink.

Life was filled with happiness & tender moments, Emma worrying each time William had been called to lifeboat duties. In those days the boats didn't have the equipment & safety items they have now. His dear Emma had tragically departed after a short illness not one year ago & he was trying desperately to come to terms with his sad loss.

William had a friend, George, who lived quite close by, being also retired a good many years. He & William sometimes met at the pub down on the corner of a narrow lane at the bottom of a steep hill. The lane lead to the small boat harbor & near the old inn was the launching place for the present lifeboat.

The town sat comfortably nestled on a hill, many small shops & cottages were dotted close to the main road. A sprinkling of small hotels & guesthouses accommodating guests mainly in the warmer months. 

William & George sometimes sat close to a flickering wood fire in the winter just departed, putting the whole world to rights, discussing fossils & certain books, amongst other things. George enjoyed a stout mainly, but William would never stray from a single malt whisky when he could afford it. Together they discussed similar interests they shared, one being their almost obsession with fossil gathering. Since George had told William about a book he had read about a young local working class girl, finding the first complete ichthyosaur in the early part of the 19th century, it had stimulated William's imagination. Together they had sometimes gone off in search of fossils among the fallen rocks lying higher up the beach, William was now walking on. George also loved the sea & recently captured a fleeting rainbow with his camera, an interest he had acquired late in life. He particularly enjoyed photographing elusive rainbows, with unusual light playing on the sea. With the photos produced, he had entered them in a few competitions & won a prize, astounding him no end.

George had met up with William, close to where several fossils had been found. Together they dug about amongst the fallen rocks, tapping them with anticipation of finding something interesting, keeping close eyes on the incoming swell rolling onto the shore line, gathering pace with the  increasing wind. The weather appeared unpredictable at this stage & both men were not sure if a storm would hit them full on or blow across in another direction & miss altogether.

William was thinking of his Emma, how together, they had experienced many a storm over the years, rain beating against their cottage windows, the wind howling in gasps down the chimney. The cold winter winds licking around the rooftop & an occasional rainbow sometimes appearing from bright sunrays shining on distant rain, brought memories of their first meeting when the weather was fickle, but Emma was radiant. How they had paddled in the sea when young on warm summer evenings, the sun setting late & casting brilliant flashes of color reflected on the water, picnic suppers spent on the beach wallowing in the sand, bare toes buried as they watched perfect sunsets glowing red, the sun melting into the sea.

The seasons had come & gone as each year tumbled into the next, storms would roll in & new spring growth would appear in their small garden. The buds on the trees & shrubs casting winter into oblivion, the weather finally becoming warmer, the sun rising a little higher each day into the heavens. William remembered when Emma would be a little anxious each time he went to sea, helping boats that had got into trouble unexpectedly, sailors rescued from a bubbling wind-torn sea. But William had always been able to account for himself, safe in the knowledge he had been trained well & knew how to avenge the sea of it's menace. He was strong & trusted his dedicated crew, never taking unnecessary risks & abiding by the laws of the sea.

George was almost up to his neck in rubble, closely resembling scree, his hammer carefully splitting the rocks with an air of expectation of finding something of vague interest in the form of a complete fossil. The cliffs had eroded away exposing rock which had broken away, crashing to the beach below. In the past, both men had found the odd fossil amid the rocks, ammonites in near perfect condition. Some small, while others comparatively larger, had left them with an air of expectation & a quest to find something even greater.

William had paused once or twice looking at cloud formations & George at the light glinting on the waves, both with hope of catching another rainbow. But they were as rare as hen's teeth, the wind blowing as it forged toward the land, whipping up waves & foam, scattering it before the swell hit the beach, thundering ever further toward them. The sky had broken with brief interludes of brightness, rays of sunshine filtering through the clouds throwing silvery threads upon the boiling sea. Suddenly a large & perfect rainbow appeared from nowhere, the sun breaking through the upper blue & grey clouds, shining on distant rain.

Both men stopped what they were doing, looking in awe at the subtlety of colors, deep in their own thoughts of its beauty. George put the hammer down & reached for his camera, adjusting the settings accordingly, while William with a tear in his eye, thought of Emma who had become his wife, the beautiful girl with the flowing hair, cheeks like pink roses & now had left him, simply lost without her. 

The rainbow glowed brilliant in the dramatic sky, complete in its form & color before it slowly faded, absorbed into the blue & grey hues of the oncoming storm, then disappeared from whence it came.

 

A little on Paris!

From the first corner turned, walking toward the Metro, a one-way street filled with traffic, rushing up the hill in organized chaos, fast & furious on their way to work or school & jammed at the five-way crossroads at the top, in the ninth arrondissement. Ceaseless cars, (not even pausing at the pedestrian crossing where people dared to cross,) piled up, impatient & gathered again, turning into the narrow side streets. Coffee bars were open early accommodating the usual gossiping locals, sipping their coffee in the early warmth of the Paris spring. Boulevards & roads buzzed with early morning traffic in monotonous activity as the sun rose, filling the air with captivating sunshine, light emitting a radiance that softly beamed all over the city, throughout the parks & gardens glistening like sprinkled jewels on the Seine, flowing swiftly under the Pont Neuf.
In the Metro under Paris, people hurried down passages, keeping to the right, while others proceeded at the same pace, in the opposite direction, feeding small tickets into machines that spat them out again, then at the sorties, crashed through the opening barriers. Trains tunneled around Paris in quick succession, while the roads above fed the constant traffic, people from apartments & hotels slowly spilling into the system, then going their separate ways.
The next day was a warm Sunday in the Tuileries Garden, people promenaded the paths amongst the tulips, hyacinths & daffodils. Families with small children gathered at the large pond, their children poking long sticks at wooden sailing boats with coloured sails, sending them to & fro across the water. In a breeze, the boats would heel over, dipping their sails in the water, but remaining upright & sturdy.
The Seine flowed swiftly through Paris, carrying tourists on the Bateaux Mouches under the Pont Neuf & other bridges, close to the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Rive Gauche & the Louvre. The Pont Neuf being the oldest bridge in Paris & the first stone was laid by Henry III, son of Henry II 1578, in the presence of Catherine de Medici, the Queen Mother. Its design marking the end of the Middle Ages, the bridge linking the Louvre, the Abbaye de Saint-Germain with the Left Bank, (Rive Gauche.)
The Louvre was busy with people, Leonardo's Mona Lisa attracting much attention, while in another large room, Raphael's beautiful lady in a red velvet dress, went almost unnoticed. The face delicate, the skin tones exquisite, her complexion radiated from the artist's brush as she peered demurely with an enchanting elegance, from the painting. Her clothing was perfection & refined in all its richness of texture, gentle folds of velvet & silk capitulating the era of her life & social standing leaving nothing to be desired from Raphael's skillful brushstrokes, capturing the very grace & elegance of youth. His portrait of Dona Isabel de Requesens painted in 1518, will be remembered & quite possibly revisited.
Paintings by Rembrandt elsewhere, were sometimes dark & foreboding with subtle enhancement of light, giving the paintings a warmth & careful colour variation that perfected his individual style.  
The Louvre's original Palace of Kings & accompanying court witnessed lavishly decorated rooms with a rich architectural style of the period. Its vastness almost enfolds a newer pyramid  of glass architecture in complete contrast to the original building.
In an archway toward one end of the Louvre near the river, a lone female busker played Brahms with exquisite beauty on her violin, the notes blown around in the briskness of a breeze, the violinist getting almost blown sideways. She battled with it for a time, then the music was carried across to the Seine, where a  bateau mouche  moved with quiet stealth up the river & under the bridges of Paris. The violinist's  positive playing was given to the breeze & the instrument was carefully packed away. The moment had ended.
The Basilica of Sacre Coer stands high on a hill overlooking the city & beyond at the back, a few streets away was the Place du Tertre, a place once the mecca of modern art, where Picasso & Utrillo were living. The square, popular with artists on a daily basis & tourists alike, is surrounded by cafes & restaurants. The Lapin Agile, (Nimble Rabbit), at the turn of the 20th century, was a favorite place for struggling artists & writers (such as the aforementioned artists) & lies down a sloping hill from the Place du Tertre.

The Champs Elysee is a main street, one of many leading from Etoile, where the cars hurtle around, vaguely keeping in some form of order, & is wide where the Tour du France ends each July. It has trees lining the roadside which, in early spring do not bear leaves, but always popular with shoppers & where restaurants spill onto the pavement.

A short 20kms train ride away is the Palace of Versailles with abundant gardens where music filters through the trees on the edge of the pathways. The gardens are beautifully laid out, but the court of Versailles was the center of political power before the beginning of the French Revolution in 1789 & the palace was a symbol of the system of absolute monarchy. The rooms seem endless & each one is more than lavishly decorated with magnificent fabrics, china, & furniture, amongst paintings & architecture that is ornate & sumptuous to say the least. 
The Sorbonne is on the Rive Gauche (left bank), where students attend the university. The Musee d'Orsay, (an ex railway station}, also on the left bank of the Seine, where construction started 1897, is now an important art gallery, home to French Impressionist paintings & post-impressionist masterpieces by highly-acclaimed painters such as Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Cezanne, Renoir, Delacroix & Gauguin.
Paris in the spring, or any time for that matter, is a feast of art in particular, having many galleries.  Shopping is no exception, where the architecture designed by Georges Chedanne & pupil created of a glass & steel dome above the center of Galeries Lafayette, situated on the Boulevard Haussmann, an up-market department store.  It is impressive, even for the non-shopper, & richly decorated, with the Art Nouveau staircases finished in 1912.

Paris will always be Paris & appeals to different people in its own unique way. It has an 'atmosphere' that remains with the visitor & somehow being there, remains within & has to be repeated at another time in the future for whatever reason.

Dorset Memory 11 - On a Sunday

Thomas & Anne lived in an old farmhouse on the edge of a village, which scattered itself down a steep hill amidst rolling hills & valleys. Thatched & tiled cottages dotted the narrow lanes leading down the hill through part of the village, which didn't seem to have much of a front garden, but sat close to the lane, each having a very different front door.

The abandoned coal yard halfway down the hill, was still much the same after a fire partially destroyed it, & it too existed close to the road, but never seemed to change from one year to another. The village shop was more or less the center of the village & often became the cornerstone for gossip, sometimes forming a concentration of ladies fussing about the goings on within the village.

A school of inspirational learning was close by where Thomas & Anne in particular, gleaned snippets of historical knowledge whenever their teachers administered explicit involvement  of knights on horseback or foot, engaging in a certain amount of bloody battles, arrows & swords charging into the melee with unequaled bravery.

The old farmhouse had several outbuildings where the children would engage in imaginative play. In the weekends they would occasionally pack a picnic lunch & set off with renewed enthusiasm to explore the nearby countryside, walking through the woods & paddling streams in boots when it wasn't raining or cold. They both enjoyed the excitement of reading books, particularly about history, having an insatiable interest in what the kings & queens wore, of castles built in extreme locations on high hilltops overlooking the sea. Battle scenes in particular, stimulated their curious minds & imagination, to the point of overindulgent scenes being re-enacted. On a rare occasion they were scrabbling around deep in a combe not too far from home, when they came across a few bones which, much to their disappointment were that of a dead sheep.

In the depths of the countryside, an occasional fox would emerge from a hedgerow late in the evening, when the spring was well established over the fields & valleys, encompassing the mellow ambience of the longer evenings, birds singing into the encroaching night. Shadows from the moon casting strange shapes, glancing off  gravestones embraced with lichen, in the churchyard. An owl would hoot, high in the dusty beams of a barn, before it would call out & swoop low over the nearby fields, hunting its prey. A hush would settle over the village, as a full moon rose & fingered moonbeams over the rooftops winding in & out of the darkness in the lanes & around the houses. Cows turned out for the night after late milking, bellowing to their stolen calves, munching with sweet breaths, would move slowly in the stillness of the moonbeams flickering in the sweet grass.

In the lanes, late daffodils nodded in the cool breeze of the night, bluebells pushing up through the damp earth, bending their heads to the dewy grass below amongst the lush nettles.

The moon ambled across the sky while the children slept, dreaming of fierce battles where the English soldiers would fight the French, weapons crashing down, slaughtering their enemies. At the battle of Agincourt, King Harry would fight bravely against all the odds, the French soldiers losing many of their ruling classes, dropping dead on the battlefield & King Henry returning to England a conquering hero. The battle having taken place on a muddied, ploughed field after it had rained, now lay thick with tortured bodies & spilt blood, archers having loosed many arrows, groaned dying in pools of blood & abandoned weaponry.

The next morning, Sunday, the children had taken off for the best part of the day, taking lunch with them. Setting out toward the combe again, the day bright with morning sun glistening on a pond used to water cattle, the small valleys damp with a slight dew. The sun was warm on their backs as they scrambled toward the bottom of the combe, taking care not to slip on the damp patches of spring grass. Their voices echoed around the steep sides bouncing off the depths, their feet selecting the easier ground to descend into the abyss. They had been here a few times before & were confident that once near the bottom, they would be able to climb out again. If it had rained, it would have been too slippery & dangerous for them even to consider such a feat & they were forbidden to go near the combe. They laughed & joked a little as they picked their way down, their lunches slung around their backs so as to use both hands for gripping objects & support. At last they found themselves at the combe's most deepest part.

The sun had gone behind a cloud & the lower walls were dark & dank, their echoed voices eerie in the dimness cast upon them. Thomas & Anne sat for a moment on a fallen log to catch their breaths, wondering if the brightness of the spring sunshine would return to their darkened cave-like environment. They now spoke in hushed tones, then decided to explore further. They started rummaging around under a few odd rocks & scrambled up & over several mossy logs.

As the sun reappeared, bright & warmer, Thomas suddenly spotted something glinting in the sunshine. He fell upon it with enthusiasm, expressing a squeal of surprise.

"What do we have here?" he said to Anne, as she was close behind him & spotted it at almost the same time.

"It looks rather interesting & with luck, may be something a little bit special!" she replied.
Thomas bent to pick it up out of the red ochre coloured clay that had partially hidden it.

"It's quite small, but there seems to be more than one!" cried Thomas, holding the first piece between finger & thumb, then looking down again. It was what looked to him, to be an old coin with perhaps a faint picture on it. In his excited state, he almost dropped it.
Anne said, "I wonder how it got here?"
"Surely it can't be very old!" said Thomas.
"Of course it can!" retorted Anne.
But before anything further was discussed, Anne suddenly discovered almost below her feet, another coin just appearing from under a small stone. She bent & held it carefully, peering long & hard.
"Well, there is one way to find out!" said Thomas, as he carefully pocketed the small coin.
"Hadn't we better keep looking, in case there are more!" Anne gestured.
"That's what I was about to say, silly!" Thomas replied, as he continued looking down at the same spot where the first two coins were found.
After a little more time had elapsed, they both discovered with great excitement, several more coins amongst the stones & clay. An overwhelming desire to explore further, the hidden depths of their inquisitive demands were fulfilled, until no more coins were discovered. They both decided it was time to head back & carefully tucked the coins away & made their way out of the combe.

On their return home, they displayed the coins to their parents, who decided it was best to take them to the museum some miles away for examination. This done, the expert in coins, who was called to the museum specially to  examine them, after considerable time, let out a long breath as he stood up & faced the expectant children with a parent standing hopefully, at the other side of the table.
"Well then!" he started. "I have not seen anything like this for a very long time indeed." They are quite old & it's still a mystery as to where they were found."

But in the end, it turned out that they were several hundred years old & the faint picture on one side told a history that was never quite possible to confirm. The children became almost famous for a brief while, having their pictures printed in several newspapers & the fact that they had found some very old coins. It was agreed that the actual place deep within the combe, would forever remain a secret, their secret.