During winter, early in the year twelve hundred and sixty seven, life appeared to return to some form of normality. More snow persisted from time to time - flurries descending in slanting drifts shivered around the manor house encapsulating the surrounding countryside, not far from the River Severn. Wavering clouds of moistened fog breathed low over its surface, and from the rooftops, icicles sometimes dripped, forming glistening peaks when the low winter sun appeared lazily above an eastern horizon.
Throughout the Christmas festivities, the hall had been duly decorated with large sprigs of holly and other greenery. All the people from the estate, dressed in their best refinery, gathered within the warmth of its walls, woven tapestries hung each side, helping to keep the chill at bay. Welcoming wall sconces flickered, casting a soft glow over the festivities. As it had become custom, a Christmas feast was shared among those reveling, enjoying themselves in noisy banter after several cups of ale had been consumed. Music played from a raised platform at the end of the hall, as large logs crackled and glowed in the hearth.
There was one duty in particular Richard felt he needed to do, and that was in memory of Thomas, a young man who tragically lost his life, during the latter part of the long siege of Kenilworth, toward the end of the year that had come to an end. He had been killed outright by a stray arrow resulting in a great loss to his family, buried not far from where he fell.
Richard now tried to put that right and his parents were summoned before him. They were not accustomed to being before their lord and found it difficult to face him square on, eyes humbly lowered to the floor. Richard approached them with a certain amount of grace, allowing them several month's free rent in lieu of their son's death. Thomas was a huge asset to his parents and they felt his loss deeply. They were instantly gratified by Richard's gesture and thanked him accordingly, but knew nothing would ever replace the life of their son Thomas.
Young Dafydd had become almost as a new member of the family and in time, Richard learned of his father's loyalties to Simon de Montfort, before he too was killed on the battlefield at Evesham.
There had been a clause of the Dictum of Kenilworth which threatened corporal punishment if anyone considered Simon de Montfort 'holy or just'. Richard was aware of this and Dafydd had learned to favour the same loyalties as his father. He was a fast learner, adapting himself to most tasks. It now appeared that both he and young Hugh originated from similar areas of the Welsh Marshes.
In his twelve years he'd developed several skills from his parents, and Richard considered him a suitable candidate as his personal squire. It was normally highborn youngsters who were sent to apprentice as squires in noble households, but Richard noticed several possibilities in Dafydd's character and hoped in time, to develop them. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere, more or less thrust upon them and as he was keen and willing, Richard saw fit to allow Dafydd this unusual attachment within the inhabitants of the manor. After all he was now orphaned and slowly proving to be an asset. The lad was more than happy with the opportunity given him and set about his duties with renewed enthusiasm, dedicating himself to Richard, eager to please.
There existed an uneasy truce with King Henry III, being mindful during the restoration of royal authority of recent tensions, aware that further outbreaks of civil disorder were still possible. The Lord Edward was working hard at political and social reconciliation between his father and the rebels, the realm becoming more pacified.
Katherine's pregnancy was progressing well, and one morning while standing by the warmth of a brazier, Richard appeared dressed for hunting.
The low, nearby hills were shrouded in mist, while a harsh whispering wind sighed over the treetops; slanting sleet-driven rain soaking the ground the night before.
Looking up at him, in her humble opinion she feared for her husband's comfort. She knew not why, having a premonition about the day, mindful of her negative thoughts, before regaining her composure; Richard was clad in warm enough clothes, bent on some serious hunting. To Katherine, it was all too soon to venture out, as the deep wound on his arm was still healing. She bit on her bottom lip, holding her thoughts at bay, for she wasn't happy about him going. She knew Richard looked forward to some hunting and today was one of those days. The ground underfoot had thawed temporarily, therefore placing no danger to the horse's feet, but the previous night's rain made the ground underfoot slippery.
Several hours had passed, when outside the sound of several horses could be heard on the large, cobbled courtyard. Katherine looked out noticing a great deal of movement, as sweating horses had entered the gates, one bearing a low litter. She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to believe Richard had been involved in some sort of hunting accident. But alas, she knew only too well.
Immediately Edmund and Hugh were at the scene to lend any assistance.
Katherine sighed, her face tensing, the scene reminding her of when her betrothed Philip was involved in a hunting accident, falling from his horse, killing him soon after. She shivered, the memory still fresh in her mind, which had happened before she ever met Richard.
Martha, their housekeeper clicked her tongue, wiping hands on a cloth as she stood close to the door, opening it wide to allow the men carrying Richard, into the hall. Katherine was at his side in an instant, her expression one of grave concern for her husband.
'Richard, what..?'
'Don't worry...,' he intervened. 'Only a severe bump on the head as I fell, and the wind knocked out of me.' He smiled grimly at her, but she wasn't that easily pacified.
'You could have been killed...how did this happen and so soon after your return from Kenilworth?'
Richard recovered soon enough and sat on a chair, head lowered rubbing the back of it, still feeling a little disorientated. 'A slight mishap that's all...'
'A slight mishap you say...are you badly hurt? What happened?' Katherine couldn't help feeling dismay for her husband. Recent wounds had barely healed.
'I'll live,' muttered Richard, his pride hurt more than anything.
Not long after, Martha presented him with some hot spiced wine, which he drank gratefully. It appeared to revive not only his body, but his spirits - he was glad to be warm again before a crackling fire. Outside was wet and cold where he had fallen, his clothes muddied and damp.
After he'd changed into fresh clean clothes, enjoying the company of his wife, as sparks leapt into the air with a red glow, his body thawed after the chilled air outside. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. Richard felt badly bruised, but thankfully nothing was broken.
He stretched out, beginning to relax more, taking another long drink from his wine cup.
Richard sighed as he glanced over at his wife. 'My horse is fearless as you know,' he tried to explain, 'and content with taking on every obstacle in his path, jumping fallen trees and the occasional hedge; but when presented with a very wide ditch, appeared to think twice about it. He dug in his heels, hesitating, looked at it for a moment and that was when I went clean over his head. I wasn't pleased, but there was nothing I could have done. I think he lost his stride, and the hesitation was to my detriment.'
Richard took another long sip of the wine, accepting a warm pastry from Martha. She had the cook excel herself at Christmas, when an attempt at castle battlements and arrow slits appeared before the gathering, much to the astonishment of Richard in particular. The structure not only looked impressive, but tasted delicious with what was beneath, surprising everyone immensely.
Katherine was relieved to see her husband seemed to be recovering and in good spirits, considering what had happened. It could have been a lot worse, her thoughts still dwelling on the past.
Several weeks later, when winter was almost at an end, spring not far away, the courtyard was once again full of riders, looking as though they'd ridden many miles. The main gates had been left open and they rode through without hesitation. The horses were sweating badly, in need of rest, as were the riders. There was an official air to their presence.
Richard was standing close to the stables, in conversation with his steward, Henry - Edward busy nearby, while Hugh inspected the feet of Richard's horse, Bedwyr. He looked up, startled to see what looked like Prince Edward's banner at their head. Their faces were stern and Richard straightened his back, eyebrows drawing together, when their leader immediately dismounted, withdrawing a sealed message from his tunic.
Richard nodded, briefly acknowledging their efficiency, surprised with the sudden and unexpected intrusion. The tall man with a sullen face, squared his shoulders and faced Richard.
'Are you Sir Richard Trowbridge of the manor of Oakfield?'
'I am of that name,' Richard replied somewhat stiffly, wondering what this was all about, his insides beginning to churn.
The tall man handed Richard the sealed message with a certain amount of formality, the accompanying riders looking on with equally stern expressions. 'I'm requested that you read it immediately,' he added.
Richard was hesitant at first in the company of such a band as these official-looking men, well armed with swords at their sides, their helms polished, now spattered with mud.
He said something briefly to Henry, turned on his heels , and walked briskly toward the main door. He felt the need for privacy when reading this unexpected message, not wishing to share any uncertainties with these men. He'd begun to have serious misgivings with what he was about to read.
Richard entered a small room, broke the seal and read.
It didn't take long and with a feeling of rising indignation, anger and a certain amount of worry, he screwed the message tightly in his hand and stood for several moments before reacting.
Monday, 4 August 2014
Tuesday, 29 July 2014
Shutterbug
It's almost a distant memory when it all began - the exalted feeling of having a decent camera in your hands. Perhaps a serious interest developed when an SLR Minolta was purchased prior to the first overseas trip, planned for most of 1968, when my husband at the time would take absence of leave from his company. We were to visit England, where several of his relatives lived, and later we would venture further afield to Paris for a month, staying in the apartment of a work colleague and his wife.
After returning to England, we caught another ferry to Europe beginning with Belgium, then on to Germany, France, Switzerland, as far east as Vienna, Austria - south over some atrocious roads through parts of Yugoslavia to the Adriatic coast and Split - then north to Venice, over the French Alps and back to England - covering about three thousand miles. All in a lovely car smelling of leather seats, complete with wood paneling.
The Minolta camera and three interchangeable lens, accompanied us the entire journey and learning to use a light meter was included. We had bought many rolls of film and keeping them cool under a damp towel in the hot car, wasn't easy.
All the camera equipment was kept in a P & O duffle bag, when years later, no longer married, and living in the West Dorset countryside of England, the bag was stolen with everything in it. I was burgled while visiting Australia and had treasured everything it possessed. I had been fortunate to be left with it, as my ex-husband had moved on, wanting a Nikon camera to replace the Minolta. This was to my great advantage.
At the time, the Minolta served us well, together with the lenses. In those days, slides were fashionable and after three thousand miles later, many were processed and viewed.
It took a long time to get over the loss of the camera and lenses and I never replaced it. I had lost the motivation for taking any good photos. Instead, I bought a very small Canon film camera, purely to take skiing in the European Alps for many years, but it never really advanced my deep love of photography. I still have it! And I still had a love for photography, but life had changed and so had priorities.
Looking back, after our return to Australia from England and Europe, in November 1968 by the same P & O ship, the Oriana, we became interested in several aspects of black and white photography. Many a night in the weekends we would share studio lights with close friends, set up in our small flat and later in our first home. Here we inherited an outdoor vet's clinic, complete with bench tops and hot and cold running water. Perfect for a darkroom! A Durst enlarger was purchased and many an hour was spent blowing up black and white photographs, some as big as 20 x 24inches. My husband had his own small joint exhibition and also one of his black and white photographs was exhibited in the National Gallery of Victoria. An honour indeed!
We had joined a local Camera Club and immediately after the birth of our first child, a girl, I was presented with first prize in the Print of the Year Competition! I was visited in hospital to be presented with my trophy and another young mum who occupied the bed next to me several hours later, was presented with Slide of the Year. She produced a son.
Many years later, after I had alone returned to Australia for good, I finally entered the digital age and bought a Kodak Easyshare camera, which at the time, was a good start. It was always set on 'Auto', hence I never learned much. I took it back overseas in the opposite direction this time and it served me well enough.
Then one day it was suggested by a family member, I join a local Camera Club. The feeling and enjoyment of photography had never left me and this was the start of re-learning. Approximately six months later I stepped up a little more to a Canon 600D with only one lens - an 18-200mm, mainly with further overseas trips in mind. Since then, a 50mm lens was purchased with more scope for a better aperture setting in low light.
The Camera Club has taught me much - while listening, discussing, attending practical nights, talks and joining various outings, enjoying the usual camaraderie and mentoring - the learning is never ending - all the while being stimulated with what is sometimes referred to as an art form. Apart from the technicalities, it is possible to adapt your own interpretation and apply it accordingly. I have a long way to go, but the journey is exciting, often stimulating and always fun.
From the first day owning this new camera, I decided never to use 'auto' again. It was no way to teach myself, or advance, and no doubt many mistakes would be made along the way, but it had to be a learning curve. Hence the camera settings are always on 'manual' and I use what I feel is right at the time for each photograph taken, rightly or wrongly.
The Canon 600D was purchased about 6 weeks prior to flying to England in 2011. Each weekend I took it to the city of Melbourne and many areas surrounding the CBD - getting the feel of it, learning how to use the settings, was paramount. I also needed to feel its weight and lenses on my back, constantly withdrawing it to use, while seeking out many areas that were of interest to photograph.
Since then it was necessary to upgrade to a better camera and two lenses, (with various filters), proving to be a good choice. There is always more on the market to choose from. Making do with what you have is sometimes a challenge, but a necessary one. Having the latest and most expensive equipment is not always conducive to taking good photos.
What often caught my eye, were the various light conditions. Light is a crucial aspect of good photography, as perhaps many a painter has found. Well captured and use of specific and beautiful light, can have a breathtaking effect on art - seeing the fall of it on a silk or velvet gown, pearls gently depicted worn by elegant ladies, a street scene, rolling countryside, or ships at war as in a Turner painting, will enhance and evoke all that the photographer or artist has set out to express.
Subject matter is vital and capturing and isolating the subject in question is another aspect of this creative pastime. If you go looking for something interesting, there's every chance you'll find it - whether reflections in the river early morning, the sun casting shadows across mountains, a foggy dew in the park as a lady walks her dog, watching people in the arcades, moody light flickering into a lonely laneway, sailboats on a sparkling sea, or an evening sky marbled with mystery before a thunderstorm. There are many things to photograph - exciting things - and each opportunity that presents itself, whether a lake at the height of autumn, when golden Ginkgo Biloba leaves are sprinkled upon its surface, silvery light reflected through a window at dawn, bees hovering temptingly around flowers, or touring through Medieval France - there is much on offer for he who seeks.
I'm often learning new lessons, that whatever the visiting monthly judges prefer and reward at the Camera Club, this exciting and creative pastime is engrossing, absorbing the senses. Many excellent and even spectacular images could fall by the wayside, taken by people with a good 'eye' for photography, or those who have had several images entered in National and International prestige competitions - who have many letters after their name, achieving high honours. But the judging is always a personal choice it seems, and never two have the same hard and fast rules.
It's within the eye of the beholder, as each person has their own individual preferences, likes and dislikes - but maintaining a high standard and expressing what you feel and see around you, to me, is what is important. Constructive self-criticism, striving to do something better, improve, continue learning, feeling the excitement using the camera, hopefully will always be with me. I'm often amazed at what the lens sees, that sometimes the eye does not.
In the end, perhaps the technique, post manipulation in software, the type of camera and fancy lenses used, will not necessarily produce a strong and captivating image.
There have been many times, when its difficult to concentrate on a book, writing, or mundane chores, if being afflicted with the overwhelming desire to grab the camera and lenses and seek that which may catch the eye, stimulate the soul, push the boundaries, seeking something different, a new challenge. It's a fresh and invigorating excitement of not knowing what you will capture until you do.
There is also every chance this feeling will never die, if I don't let it.
After returning to England, we caught another ferry to Europe beginning with Belgium, then on to Germany, France, Switzerland, as far east as Vienna, Austria - south over some atrocious roads through parts of Yugoslavia to the Adriatic coast and Split - then north to Venice, over the French Alps and back to England - covering about three thousand miles. All in a lovely car smelling of leather seats, complete with wood paneling.
The Minolta camera and three interchangeable lens, accompanied us the entire journey and learning to use a light meter was included. We had bought many rolls of film and keeping them cool under a damp towel in the hot car, wasn't easy.
All the camera equipment was kept in a P & O duffle bag, when years later, no longer married, and living in the West Dorset countryside of England, the bag was stolen with everything in it. I was burgled while visiting Australia and had treasured everything it possessed. I had been fortunate to be left with it, as my ex-husband had moved on, wanting a Nikon camera to replace the Minolta. This was to my great advantage.
At the time, the Minolta served us well, together with the lenses. In those days, slides were fashionable and after three thousand miles later, many were processed and viewed.
It took a long time to get over the loss of the camera and lenses and I never replaced it. I had lost the motivation for taking any good photos. Instead, I bought a very small Canon film camera, purely to take skiing in the European Alps for many years, but it never really advanced my deep love of photography. I still have it! And I still had a love for photography, but life had changed and so had priorities.
Looking back, after our return to Australia from England and Europe, in November 1968 by the same P & O ship, the Oriana, we became interested in several aspects of black and white photography. Many a night in the weekends we would share studio lights with close friends, set up in our small flat and later in our first home. Here we inherited an outdoor vet's clinic, complete with bench tops and hot and cold running water. Perfect for a darkroom! A Durst enlarger was purchased and many an hour was spent blowing up black and white photographs, some as big as 20 x 24inches. My husband had his own small joint exhibition and also one of his black and white photographs was exhibited in the National Gallery of Victoria. An honour indeed!
We had joined a local Camera Club and immediately after the birth of our first child, a girl, I was presented with first prize in the Print of the Year Competition! I was visited in hospital to be presented with my trophy and another young mum who occupied the bed next to me several hours later, was presented with Slide of the Year. She produced a son.
Many years later, after I had alone returned to Australia for good, I finally entered the digital age and bought a Kodak Easyshare camera, which at the time, was a good start. It was always set on 'Auto', hence I never learned much. I took it back overseas in the opposite direction this time and it served me well enough.
Then one day it was suggested by a family member, I join a local Camera Club. The feeling and enjoyment of photography had never left me and this was the start of re-learning. Approximately six months later I stepped up a little more to a Canon 600D with only one lens - an 18-200mm, mainly with further overseas trips in mind. Since then, a 50mm lens was purchased with more scope for a better aperture setting in low light.
The Camera Club has taught me much - while listening, discussing, attending practical nights, talks and joining various outings, enjoying the usual camaraderie and mentoring - the learning is never ending - all the while being stimulated with what is sometimes referred to as an art form. Apart from the technicalities, it is possible to adapt your own interpretation and apply it accordingly. I have a long way to go, but the journey is exciting, often stimulating and always fun.
From the first day owning this new camera, I decided never to use 'auto' again. It was no way to teach myself, or advance, and no doubt many mistakes would be made along the way, but it had to be a learning curve. Hence the camera settings are always on 'manual' and I use what I feel is right at the time for each photograph taken, rightly or wrongly.
The Canon 600D was purchased about 6 weeks prior to flying to England in 2011. Each weekend I took it to the city of Melbourne and many areas surrounding the CBD - getting the feel of it, learning how to use the settings, was paramount. I also needed to feel its weight and lenses on my back, constantly withdrawing it to use, while seeking out many areas that were of interest to photograph.
Since then it was necessary to upgrade to a better camera and two lenses, (with various filters), proving to be a good choice. There is always more on the market to choose from. Making do with what you have is sometimes a challenge, but a necessary one. Having the latest and most expensive equipment is not always conducive to taking good photos.
What often caught my eye, were the various light conditions. Light is a crucial aspect of good photography, as perhaps many a painter has found. Well captured and use of specific and beautiful light, can have a breathtaking effect on art - seeing the fall of it on a silk or velvet gown, pearls gently depicted worn by elegant ladies, a street scene, rolling countryside, or ships at war as in a Turner painting, will enhance and evoke all that the photographer or artist has set out to express.
Subject matter is vital and capturing and isolating the subject in question is another aspect of this creative pastime. If you go looking for something interesting, there's every chance you'll find it - whether reflections in the river early morning, the sun casting shadows across mountains, a foggy dew in the park as a lady walks her dog, watching people in the arcades, moody light flickering into a lonely laneway, sailboats on a sparkling sea, or an evening sky marbled with mystery before a thunderstorm. There are many things to photograph - exciting things - and each opportunity that presents itself, whether a lake at the height of autumn, when golden Ginkgo Biloba leaves are sprinkled upon its surface, silvery light reflected through a window at dawn, bees hovering temptingly around flowers, or touring through Medieval France - there is much on offer for he who seeks.
I'm often learning new lessons, that whatever the visiting monthly judges prefer and reward at the Camera Club, this exciting and creative pastime is engrossing, absorbing the senses. Many excellent and even spectacular images could fall by the wayside, taken by people with a good 'eye' for photography, or those who have had several images entered in National and International prestige competitions - who have many letters after their name, achieving high honours. But the judging is always a personal choice it seems, and never two have the same hard and fast rules.
It's within the eye of the beholder, as each person has their own individual preferences, likes and dislikes - but maintaining a high standard and expressing what you feel and see around you, to me, is what is important. Constructive self-criticism, striving to do something better, improve, continue learning, feeling the excitement using the camera, hopefully will always be with me. I'm often amazed at what the lens sees, that sometimes the eye does not.
In the end, perhaps the technique, post manipulation in software, the type of camera and fancy lenses used, will not necessarily produce a strong and captivating image.
There have been many times, when its difficult to concentrate on a book, writing, or mundane chores, if being afflicted with the overwhelming desire to grab the camera and lenses and seek that which may catch the eye, stimulate the soul, push the boundaries, seeking something different, a new challenge. It's a fresh and invigorating excitement of not knowing what you will capture until you do.
There is also every chance this feeling will never die, if I don't let it.
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
Journey's End - Chapter Six
Katherine's smile was intoxicating as Richard walked slowly toward her, a broad grin on his face, one arm difficult to reach out, weary in mind and body. She was eager to welcome her husband home. It was cold, his clothes damp and dirty, one sleeve badly torn. As his arms slid around her waist he winced slightly. Katherine noticed it immediately.
'Richard, what's wrong?' Her pretty blue eyes darkened as she stood back to observe her husband. He didn't wish to inflict upon her what was weighing on his mind - not yet anyway. His eyes lowered briefly, while his shoulders gave a slight shrug.
'Oh, nothing that a good rest, clean clothes and the love of my beautiful wife wouldn't cure.' Katherine was now alerted by the tone of his voice, a look of worry clouding her face. She noticed the dried blood on one sleeve. 'But you're hurt Richard, what has happened, where...?'
'All in good time my love. First I need rest and a good clean.' Richard suddenly felt the grime and dried sweat from the journey assaulting his nostrils. His wife tried to help him off with his outer garments, after they had entered the privacy of their room. Her husband's first thought was for the child she carried.
'Easy,' he muttered, as the arm began hurting again with the movement, his mood changing with the effort. His wife called for some hot water, hoping it would relieve some of his tiredness. She felt anxious and wanted to help, realizing Richard had somehow been wounded, then noticed the bandaged arm.
'Richard! Katherine frowned looking more closely at his arm, not at all squeamish. She thought it looked serious, the area having bled again through the bandage. All Richard longed for now was rest. Everything else would have to wait a little longer.
'It's nothing too serious to worry about. I'm longing for some decent food, and with you beside me.' He sighed, tiredness etched on his face. When the hot water had half filled a tub, Richard slid under, his wounded arm left dangling outside. He enjoyed the sheer pleasure of it, in no hurry to remove himself and also too exhausted. He'd been in the saddle a long time. But after the water grew cooler, he joined his wife for a late supper. Martha brought them some roasted meat, and a few other delights, which to Richard, tasted so good, relief on his face to be home.
Katherine waited to question her husband about the journey, but let him eat first. She felt anxious as to how his wound was inflicted, realizing by now it was a deep one, troubling her still further.
'Richard, what's wrong?' Her pretty blue eyes darkened as she stood back to observe her husband. He didn't wish to inflict upon her what was weighing on his mind - not yet anyway. His eyes lowered briefly, while his shoulders gave a slight shrug.
'Oh, nothing that a good rest, clean clothes and the love of my beautiful wife wouldn't cure.' Katherine was now alerted by the tone of his voice, a look of worry clouding her face. She noticed the dried blood on one sleeve. 'But you're hurt Richard, what has happened, where...?'
'All in good time my love. First I need rest and a good clean.' Richard suddenly felt the grime and dried sweat from the journey assaulting his nostrils. His wife tried to help him off with his outer garments, after they had entered the privacy of their room. Her husband's first thought was for the child she carried.
'Easy,' he muttered, as the arm began hurting again with the movement, his mood changing with the effort. His wife called for some hot water, hoping it would relieve some of his tiredness. She felt anxious and wanted to help, realizing Richard had somehow been wounded, then noticed the bandaged arm.
'Richard! Katherine frowned looking more closely at his arm, not at all squeamish. She thought it looked serious, the area having bled again through the bandage. All Richard longed for now was rest. Everything else would have to wait a little longer.
'It's nothing too serious to worry about. I'm longing for some decent food, and with you beside me.' He sighed, tiredness etched on his face. When the hot water had half filled a tub, Richard slid under, his wounded arm left dangling outside. He enjoyed the sheer pleasure of it, in no hurry to remove himself and also too exhausted. He'd been in the saddle a long time. But after the water grew cooler, he joined his wife for a late supper. Martha brought them some roasted meat, and a few other delights, which to Richard, tasted so good, relief on his face to be home.
Katherine waited to question her husband about the journey, but let him eat first. She felt anxious as to how his wound was inflicted, realizing by now it was a deep one, troubling her still further.
Richard ate well, beginning to enjoy a few home comforts once again. He had missed the cook's efforts and longed for a proper sleep. Katherine knew she needed to be patient, helping him to bed that night, his arm being freshly bandaged. The gash was deep and she hoped it would heal if she took care of him, with Martha's help.
No sooner had Richard's head touched the pillow, than he fell into a deep sleep.
No sooner had Richard's head touched the pillow, than he fell into a deep sleep.
The morning had barely dawned, a crisp chill in the air, the fire burning low, not keeping the room warm. Heavy snow had fallen during the night, turning everything purest white. It lay across fields and low into small valleys, the air having become a lot colder, their room feeling chilled in the early morning. Outside, all was quiet, with very little breeze. Ice had formed on the odd puddle in the courtyard where it had rained several days ago.
When Katherine awoke, she called for more logs to keep the fire going in the hall. Richard had slept late beside her, so she let him be for now, not wishing to disturb him, rising to see to her duties.
Not too long after, Richard joined her in the hall to break his fast. He kissed her forehead, before sinking down wearily at the trestle table beside her.
'You slept well my lord. How does your arm feel?' Katherine's look was one of concern, for she worried about his wellbeing. Richard sighed gently to himself before swallowing another mouthful.
'There is much to tell you my love. His face was somber. 'Not all has gone according to how we expected. The wound should heal in time though.' He bit into a fresh loaf, together with a little cheese and continued. 'On the return home, we were unexpectedly set upon by a band of ruffians - ambushed you might say. There are those who have been outlawed - on the run from the King or some authority. They must have been watching us, in the hope of earning a few coins or even a ransom. With the help of young Hugh, we were able to overcome them in a woodland, inflicting our own brand of punishment.'
'Hugh did you say? He is still quite young. You must have made the decision of taking him with you at the last minute.'
'I did and he proved his worth. He more or less saved my life. Good with horses too.' Richard explained to Katherine what had happened, leaving the siege and its aftermath for later. It troubled him what the King had had drawn up in the new agreement and he didn't want his wife to learn of it just yet.
They finished breaking their fast with a simple meal. Richard rose from the table, when there was a flurry of movement by the door. Edmund his groom, accompanied by Hugh, was shown into the hall by Martha.
'I need to speak with you my lord, when it is convenient that is...but perhaps it cannot wait.. I...' Edmund gave a slight bow looking anxious, his hat gripped firmly in both hands. He glanced from Katherine, back to Richard, shifting from one foot to the other.
'What is it Edmund, you look troubled?' Richard could see the matter wouldn't wait. The urgency on the man's face alerted him.
'Lord, there's been an accident on the road by the gates...a horse...' continued Edmund. Hugh's face had drained of blood. He looked pale.
'What sort of an accident?' Before Edmund could answer, Richard was moving towards the door. 'I'd better come now,' he added. Richard pulled his cloak over his shoulders, heading for the door. He immediately felt the bitter cold walking across the cobbled courtyard toward the gates, Edmund and Hugh in tow trying to keep pace behind him. Thick snow lay on the ground and more threatened, the air bleak and bitter.
As Richard passed out of the large gates, he noticed a horse in distress, lying on the snow-covered ground, legs twitching. Under it lay a youth of about twelve years of age. He was moaning, a leg trapped under the heavy horse which was trying to get back onto its feet again, but unable.
'Help me sir...' the lad managed, obviously in considerable pain and distress. ...'please...?'
Richard hurried to where the lad was lying, followed by Edmund and Hugh. At that moment, Henry, Richard's steward joined them, his broken arm evident and bound to his chest. Together they approached the distressed animal. The horse may have broken a leg as it appeared unable to get up. Richard indicated to Henry and Edmund for assistance, being careful of his injured arm. There were three of them to help. Richard was hoping to ease the lad's leg out from under the trapped horse and encourage the struggling beast back onto its feet. He seemed to be lying in a patch of ice.
Hugh, being good with animals, soothed and coaxed the animal, while the three men managed, gradually at first, to pull the youth free. He was whimpering in obvious pain. Edmund examined the horse's legs as Hugh kept him as calm as possible. The horse gave a groan and heaved itself upright. It stood looking a bit dazed, but obviously nothing broken, much to the relief of everyone. He was a handsome looking animal, a deep bay in colour with a kind eye. Hugh had hold of the bridle, still soothing him.
'What's your name lad?' Richard was breathing a sigh of relief. After further examination by Edmund, it appeared the animal had been awkwardly lying over the boy's leg, pinning it under his belly, unable to get back up, perhaps slipping on some ice, but he was obviously not badly hurt and nothing appeared broken.
'Davydd sir' The lad was moaning, still sitting in a thick patch of new snow fallen during the night. He was slowly rubbing the top part of his leg, still in pain from his ordeal.
'That's a Welsh name is it not?'
'Indeed it is sir. I originated from the Welsh Marshes and we moved to a small village near here when my father was killed at Evesham.'
Henry was helping him up from the snow-covered ground. 'You took quite a tumble. Are you able to stand on that leg,' he enquired.
'I...I think so sir.' The lad was disheveled and gingerly placed the leg down, then stood facing the men. 'My horse tried to jump that fallen tree over there...' The boy pointed to where the tree had blocked his path. 'He slipped on the snow I think and down we both fell sir.' The lad seemed able to stand on the leg, thankful it was not broken, perhaps only badly bruised. He walked a pace or two then doubled up, pain still evident on his young face. Richard was frowning.
'What on earth were you doing on that animal all alone, and at such an early hour?' The lad was trying to put weight on the leg, still looking pained.
'Well sir, my...my mother died early this morning and I didn't know what to...'
'Oh!' replied Richard. 'I'm sorry to hear lad. Perhaps you'd better come with me for now and Edmund can see to your horse.' He indicated to Edmund, who stepped forward and took the reins from Hugh, leading the horse toward the stables, with Hugh following close behind. Richard briefly acknowledged Henry's broken arm. 'I'll be with you in a short while Henry. Perhaps you could join me in the hall soon.'
'Yes lord.' There was obviously a lot of things on Richard's mind, but for now he led the limping boy toward the house. Martha the housekeeper, met them as they passed through the door, Richard shedding his warm cloak. She looked a little stunned at the sight of the young stranger.
'Lord, may I be of assistance?'. She looked from Richard to the lad who seemed to be limping badly and frowned.
'Indeed you can Martha. There's been an accident outside the gates and the boy took quite a tumble. His horse ended up on top of him, trapping his leg in the snow.'
'Oh! Dear God!' she exclaimed, looking worryingly at the boy before her. 'You might have been very seriously hurt, or even worse! But what...?'
'Later Martha.' Richard's apparent mood remained tolerant, but he needed some time for his wife and estate duties. He hoped with her various skills, Martha would take the matter in hand and deal with it accordingly. There was more to this perhaps and although he felt sorry for the boy, needed to find Katherine.
'What's your name lad?' Martha ushered him into the kitchen where it was warmer, indicating for him to sit.
'Dafydd. But my mother called me David. She...I prefer Dafydd.' The lad looked down, his hands clenched tightly, a look of utter sadness as the colour drained from his young face. Martha could see him fighting back tears.
'Oh!' she said again. 'Perhaps you could tell me about her. Are you Welsh?' She handed him a fresh warm loaf and a little honey to go with it. The boy was hesitant at first, but obviously hadn't eaten for some time. The cold outside had made him hungry. He accepted the food gratefully. The low pewter sky outside threatened more snow.
'Yes mistress. My mother...she..., she died during the night and has been ill for a while. My father died some time ago at the battle of Evesham. This morning I didn't know what...' The lad paused as a tear escaped. I haven't any brothers or sisters and didn't know what...what to do. I saddled our horse and just rode. He paused again. 'Perhaps I did very wrong mistress, but you see...'
Martha shook her head in amazement, taking an instant liking to the boy as he seemed to have reasonable manners. Under the circumstances, she was realizing the difficult situation the boy had put himself in, feeling his anguish. She offered an oat cake and some ale which he gladly accepted. 'It may be best if you stay here for the time being and I'll speak with my lord.'
'Thank you mistress.' His quiet manner was becoming apparent, eyes lowered, not wishing to face her. 'But hadn't I better return home mistress...?' He hesitated, eyes fixed on his shoes, still covered with snow. Home was a very humble place he had shared with his mother. 'I should see to Haf. He may have been hurt when he fell heavily.' He rose to face the door.
When Katherine awoke, she called for more logs to keep the fire going in the hall. Richard had slept late beside her, so she let him be for now, not wishing to disturb him, rising to see to her duties.
Not too long after, Richard joined her in the hall to break his fast. He kissed her forehead, before sinking down wearily at the trestle table beside her.
'You slept well my lord. How does your arm feel?' Katherine's look was one of concern, for she worried about his wellbeing. Richard sighed gently to himself before swallowing another mouthful.
'There is much to tell you my love. His face was somber. 'Not all has gone according to how we expected. The wound should heal in time though.' He bit into a fresh loaf, together with a little cheese and continued. 'On the return home, we were unexpectedly set upon by a band of ruffians - ambushed you might say. There are those who have been outlawed - on the run from the King or some authority. They must have been watching us, in the hope of earning a few coins or even a ransom. With the help of young Hugh, we were able to overcome them in a woodland, inflicting our own brand of punishment.'
'Hugh did you say? He is still quite young. You must have made the decision of taking him with you at the last minute.'
'I did and he proved his worth. He more or less saved my life. Good with horses too.' Richard explained to Katherine what had happened, leaving the siege and its aftermath for later. It troubled him what the King had had drawn up in the new agreement and he didn't want his wife to learn of it just yet.
They finished breaking their fast with a simple meal. Richard rose from the table, when there was a flurry of movement by the door. Edmund his groom, accompanied by Hugh, was shown into the hall by Martha.
'I need to speak with you my lord, when it is convenient that is...but perhaps it cannot wait.. I...' Edmund gave a slight bow looking anxious, his hat gripped firmly in both hands. He glanced from Katherine, back to Richard, shifting from one foot to the other.
'What is it Edmund, you look troubled?' Richard could see the matter wouldn't wait. The urgency on the man's face alerted him.
'Lord, there's been an accident on the road by the gates...a horse...' continued Edmund. Hugh's face had drained of blood. He looked pale.
'What sort of an accident?' Before Edmund could answer, Richard was moving towards the door. 'I'd better come now,' he added. Richard pulled his cloak over his shoulders, heading for the door. He immediately felt the bitter cold walking across the cobbled courtyard toward the gates, Edmund and Hugh in tow trying to keep pace behind him. Thick snow lay on the ground and more threatened, the air bleak and bitter.
As Richard passed out of the large gates, he noticed a horse in distress, lying on the snow-covered ground, legs twitching. Under it lay a youth of about twelve years of age. He was moaning, a leg trapped under the heavy horse which was trying to get back onto its feet again, but unable.
'Help me sir...' the lad managed, obviously in considerable pain and distress. ...'please...?'
Richard hurried to where the lad was lying, followed by Edmund and Hugh. At that moment, Henry, Richard's steward joined them, his broken arm evident and bound to his chest. Together they approached the distressed animal. The horse may have broken a leg as it appeared unable to get up. Richard indicated to Henry and Edmund for assistance, being careful of his injured arm. There were three of them to help. Richard was hoping to ease the lad's leg out from under the trapped horse and encourage the struggling beast back onto its feet. He seemed to be lying in a patch of ice.
Hugh, being good with animals, soothed and coaxed the animal, while the three men managed, gradually at first, to pull the youth free. He was whimpering in obvious pain. Edmund examined the horse's legs as Hugh kept him as calm as possible. The horse gave a groan and heaved itself upright. It stood looking a bit dazed, but obviously nothing broken, much to the relief of everyone. He was a handsome looking animal, a deep bay in colour with a kind eye. Hugh had hold of the bridle, still soothing him.
'What's your name lad?' Richard was breathing a sigh of relief. After further examination by Edmund, it appeared the animal had been awkwardly lying over the boy's leg, pinning it under his belly, unable to get back up, perhaps slipping on some ice, but he was obviously not badly hurt and nothing appeared broken.
'Davydd sir' The lad was moaning, still sitting in a thick patch of new snow fallen during the night. He was slowly rubbing the top part of his leg, still in pain from his ordeal.
'That's a Welsh name is it not?'
'Indeed it is sir. I originated from the Welsh Marshes and we moved to a small village near here when my father was killed at Evesham.'
Henry was helping him up from the snow-covered ground. 'You took quite a tumble. Are you able to stand on that leg,' he enquired.
'I...I think so sir.' The lad was disheveled and gingerly placed the leg down, then stood facing the men. 'My horse tried to jump that fallen tree over there...' The boy pointed to where the tree had blocked his path. 'He slipped on the snow I think and down we both fell sir.' The lad seemed able to stand on the leg, thankful it was not broken, perhaps only badly bruised. He walked a pace or two then doubled up, pain still evident on his young face. Richard was frowning.
'What on earth were you doing on that animal all alone, and at such an early hour?' The lad was trying to put weight on the leg, still looking pained.
'Well sir, my...my mother died early this morning and I didn't know what to...'
'Oh!' replied Richard. 'I'm sorry to hear lad. Perhaps you'd better come with me for now and Edmund can see to your horse.' He indicated to Edmund, who stepped forward and took the reins from Hugh, leading the horse toward the stables, with Hugh following close behind. Richard briefly acknowledged Henry's broken arm. 'I'll be with you in a short while Henry. Perhaps you could join me in the hall soon.'
'Yes lord.' There was obviously a lot of things on Richard's mind, but for now he led the limping boy toward the house. Martha the housekeeper, met them as they passed through the door, Richard shedding his warm cloak. She looked a little stunned at the sight of the young stranger.
'Lord, may I be of assistance?'. She looked from Richard to the lad who seemed to be limping badly and frowned.
'Indeed you can Martha. There's been an accident outside the gates and the boy took quite a tumble. His horse ended up on top of him, trapping his leg in the snow.'
'Oh! Dear God!' she exclaimed, looking worryingly at the boy before her. 'You might have been very seriously hurt, or even worse! But what...?'
'Later Martha.' Richard's apparent mood remained tolerant, but he needed some time for his wife and estate duties. He hoped with her various skills, Martha would take the matter in hand and deal with it accordingly. There was more to this perhaps and although he felt sorry for the boy, needed to find Katherine.
'What's your name lad?' Martha ushered him into the kitchen where it was warmer, indicating for him to sit.
'Dafydd. But my mother called me David. She...I prefer Dafydd.' The lad looked down, his hands clenched tightly, a look of utter sadness as the colour drained from his young face. Martha could see him fighting back tears.
'Oh!' she said again. 'Perhaps you could tell me about her. Are you Welsh?' She handed him a fresh warm loaf and a little honey to go with it. The boy was hesitant at first, but obviously hadn't eaten for some time. The cold outside had made him hungry. He accepted the food gratefully. The low pewter sky outside threatened more snow.
'Yes mistress. My mother...she..., she died during the night and has been ill for a while. My father died some time ago at the battle of Evesham. This morning I didn't know what...' The lad paused as a tear escaped. I haven't any brothers or sisters and didn't know what...what to do. I saddled our horse and just rode. He paused again. 'Perhaps I did very wrong mistress, but you see...'
Martha shook her head in amazement, taking an instant liking to the boy as he seemed to have reasonable manners. Under the circumstances, she was realizing the difficult situation the boy had put himself in, feeling his anguish. She offered an oat cake and some ale which he gladly accepted. 'It may be best if you stay here for the time being and I'll speak with my lord.'
'Thank you mistress.' His quiet manner was becoming apparent, eyes lowered, not wishing to face her. 'But hadn't I better return home mistress...?' He hesitated, eyes fixed on his shoes, still covered with snow. Home was a very humble place he had shared with his mother. 'I should see to Haf. He may have been hurt when he fell heavily.' He rose to face the door.
'Haf?' Martha was a little confused for the moment.
'Yes mistress. It's the Welsh word for summer. That's when we got him many years ago and my father always called him that until he was killed at Evesham. He was a strong supporter of Simon de Montfort.' He glanced up noticing some writing on a banner. 'I well know what that means mistress,' he said, brightening up slightly.
'You know your letters then?' Martha was amazed.
'Yes mistress. My mother had been taught hers and thought it would benefit me if I knew mine as well as I grew up.'
'Well I never..!'
Martha noticed how tall the lad was, a lock of dark hair falling over his brown intelligent-looking eyes. 'I'm sure Edmund our groom would be looking after Haf with the help of Hugh. He is very good with animals is young Hugh.' She smiled at the lad. 'Now don't you go worrying yourself.'
The Christmas season was upon them and gradually Richard settled back into some form of routine. He had conveyed to Katherine the new agreement the King had unexpectedly drawn up, imposing harsh conditions upon them. She considered this an outrage, but there was not a lot he could do about it under the circumstances. He had no choice but to conform to what had been set out, or forfeit his valued lands and more. It was all too obvious that the King's agreement was not only unfair, but unreasonable.
Katherine was shocked at the terms of it, but didn't want to make matters worse for her husband and accepted the situation in her own passive manner.
Martha had met with Richard to discuss the situation they were now faced with, thinking it unfair to return Dafydd to a home without parents, or kin anywhere in close proximity. Richard duly agreed and sent someone to where the lad had lived until the death of his mother. For now the boy would stay with them and as the Christmas season got underway, Dafydd proved a likable young man to have around. He fitted in well and was becoming a useful addition to the staff and slowly he and Hugh became inseparable friends. Dafydd taugh Hugh his letters, while Hugh passed on his knowledge of horses. They were seen frequently practicing their sword fighting and learning other skills that could be of use to Richard.
The Christmas festivities came and went, celebrated in the usual tradition within the household.
Katherine's body was slowly filling out with the advent of the birth of their first child. She remained well, much to Richard's relief and busied herself with her duties in helping run the manor house and estate. It pleased him to see her so radiantly happy. His wound slowly healed and he showed no ill affect from it.
'Yes mistress. It's the Welsh word for summer. That's when we got him many years ago and my father always called him that until he was killed at Evesham. He was a strong supporter of Simon de Montfort.' He glanced up noticing some writing on a banner. 'I well know what that means mistress,' he said, brightening up slightly.
'You know your letters then?' Martha was amazed.
'Yes mistress. My mother had been taught hers and thought it would benefit me if I knew mine as well as I grew up.'
'Well I never..!'
Martha noticed how tall the lad was, a lock of dark hair falling over his brown intelligent-looking eyes. 'I'm sure Edmund our groom would be looking after Haf with the help of Hugh. He is very good with animals is young Hugh.' She smiled at the lad. 'Now don't you go worrying yourself.'
The Christmas season was upon them and gradually Richard settled back into some form of routine. He had conveyed to Katherine the new agreement the King had unexpectedly drawn up, imposing harsh conditions upon them. She considered this an outrage, but there was not a lot he could do about it under the circumstances. He had no choice but to conform to what had been set out, or forfeit his valued lands and more. It was all too obvious that the King's agreement was not only unfair, but unreasonable.
Katherine was shocked at the terms of it, but didn't want to make matters worse for her husband and accepted the situation in her own passive manner.
Martha had met with Richard to discuss the situation they were now faced with, thinking it unfair to return Dafydd to a home without parents, or kin anywhere in close proximity. Richard duly agreed and sent someone to where the lad had lived until the death of his mother. For now the boy would stay with them and as the Christmas season got underway, Dafydd proved a likable young man to have around. He fitted in well and was becoming a useful addition to the staff and slowly he and Hugh became inseparable friends. Dafydd taugh Hugh his letters, while Hugh passed on his knowledge of horses. They were seen frequently practicing their sword fighting and learning other skills that could be of use to Richard.
The Christmas festivities came and went, celebrated in the usual tradition within the household.
Katherine's body was slowly filling out with the advent of the birth of their first child. She remained well, much to Richard's relief and busied herself with her duties in helping run the manor house and estate. It pleased him to see her so radiantly happy. His wound slowly healed and he showed no ill affect from it.
Friday, 4 July 2014
Under the Red Umbrella
Cars streamed slowly into the carpark in dribs and drabs, rain starting to fall on the scene facing the grimacing occupants, by now wondering if all may be lost. This hardy group of varying age Camera Club members, wouldn't give in that easily by steadily falling rain, or even the cold for that matter.
Shooting in rain is not necessarily conducive to concentrating on photography while jostling coats, hats, cameras, tripods, monopods, at the same time as holding an umbrella. With one finger on the shutter, trying to hold the camera in place long enough to focus the lens, was not easy. Juggling the umbrella placed within the crook of an arm, not wanting to remain there for long enough to press the shutter button, without the camera first changing positions - thus the umbrella upended and the camera ended up sideways, while rain dripped slowly onto the new lens! But as a keen photographer, intrepid plans of battle were drawn up, soon to be put into practice. Determination was of serious necessity in these conditions.
Good subject matter was thrown aside like straws in the wind - holding the camera still long enough, after setting the correct exposure, took all the willpower one may possess. I gave up any macro photography with flowers - standing back to admire the prettiest ornamental cabbages I've ever seen. Raindrops had nestled in amongst the scalloped leaves of pinks, mauves and greens. Nearby was a very healthy looking herb bed. That caught my attention.
Giggles, cursing and groans wafted out from flower beds, lakeside walks and from under umbrellas, particularly a red one - that was mine! The will not to give up, as raindrops continued to appear on new camera lens and hastily wiped off before quickly re-appearing, I was not to be daunted. The red umbrella woefully inadequate, too small and twisting constantly over my shoulder, persistent rain, with puddles underfoot, did not let up for a moment, but this amateur photographer was also persistent, not about to give up. Juggling a camera with heavy lens, was no easy task. It kept disappearing beneath an oversized coat, woefully wet by now. A mental note was made to spray it with fabric protector for the next time. What next time? A small broken, red umbrella, baseball cap forever falling over my eyes, can be hazardous, the two at odds with each other. The red umbrella won the battle, knocking aforementioned cap off its perch more than once and the decision to pocket said cap, was quickly achieved.
Along a rain-soaked path, where reflections fell among a few intrepid members paddling through puddles, an interesting flowerbed presented itself. There weren't any flowers, except ornamental pink and green frilly-tipped cabbages, with a good sprinkling of herbs around them. Time to investigate further. Sage, rosemary and thyme, interspersed with chives and parsley, were duly nibbled and tasted. A handful of chives was snipped off with thumb and forefinger, expertly executed and placed for future 'reference' in a rain-soaked coat pocket. To my mind, they were there for the delectation of all, providing very small amounts were sampled and consumed, otherwise, why were they planted in the first place? Well, chives do grow better when picked frequently, so my philosophical brain believed. My own chives had not done nearly as well as these beauties.
Frozen fingers, a paper towel already soaked, the shoot was not about to improve! Other Camera Club members seemed to be experiencing similar troubles, but a hardy lot we were! No one but me, battled with an undersized umbrella. With common sense eventually prevailing, many headed back to the carpark.
Upon returning to 'headquarters', a comforting mound of warm, homemade scones, together with huge bowls of raspberry jam and whipped cream were greeted with delight and gratitude, as members munched their way through the lot! Not a single one was left, the remainder of the day and Bootcamp weekend coming to an end with the annual dinner at night, held in a large restaurant.
The organizers had achieved their goals in what had been a well planned and well executed photographic weekend. Much new information had been gleaned and stored in the minds of many- new friends made - camaraderie amongst members thoroughly enjoyed, the rain slipping into the background, becoming a distant memory.
The day before was also packed with not only several talks on all things photographic, but a visit to the National Steam Centre with cameras in tow. An enormous variety both indoor and out of Melbourne's Steam Traction Engine Club having many exhibits from working engines dating from 1890's to steam tug engines, steam rollers and even an early de Havilland Engine Co. Goblin Mk 35 Centrifugal flow turbojet engine. The first jet engine to enter squadron service with the RAAF. This proved a very different and interesting place for photographic challenges and subjects. A place I could have spent several hours and forgot time completely. I was last to leave.
And the red umbrella? It was cast into the bin upon return home, a promise made to replace it with a much larger one for the future.
Shooting in rain is not necessarily conducive to concentrating on photography while jostling coats, hats, cameras, tripods, monopods, at the same time as holding an umbrella. With one finger on the shutter, trying to hold the camera in place long enough to focus the lens, was not easy. Juggling the umbrella placed within the crook of an arm, not wanting to remain there for long enough to press the shutter button, without the camera first changing positions - thus the umbrella upended and the camera ended up sideways, while rain dripped slowly onto the new lens! But as a keen photographer, intrepid plans of battle were drawn up, soon to be put into practice. Determination was of serious necessity in these conditions.
Good subject matter was thrown aside like straws in the wind - holding the camera still long enough, after setting the correct exposure, took all the willpower one may possess. I gave up any macro photography with flowers - standing back to admire the prettiest ornamental cabbages I've ever seen. Raindrops had nestled in amongst the scalloped leaves of pinks, mauves and greens. Nearby was a very healthy looking herb bed. That caught my attention.
Giggles, cursing and groans wafted out from flower beds, lakeside walks and from under umbrellas, particularly a red one - that was mine! The will not to give up, as raindrops continued to appear on new camera lens and hastily wiped off before quickly re-appearing, I was not to be daunted. The red umbrella woefully inadequate, too small and twisting constantly over my shoulder, persistent rain, with puddles underfoot, did not let up for a moment, but this amateur photographer was also persistent, not about to give up. Juggling a camera with heavy lens, was no easy task. It kept disappearing beneath an oversized coat, woefully wet by now. A mental note was made to spray it with fabric protector for the next time. What next time? A small broken, red umbrella, baseball cap forever falling over my eyes, can be hazardous, the two at odds with each other. The red umbrella won the battle, knocking aforementioned cap off its perch more than once and the decision to pocket said cap, was quickly achieved.
Along a rain-soaked path, where reflections fell among a few intrepid members paddling through puddles, an interesting flowerbed presented itself. There weren't any flowers, except ornamental pink and green frilly-tipped cabbages, with a good sprinkling of herbs around them. Time to investigate further. Sage, rosemary and thyme, interspersed with chives and parsley, were duly nibbled and tasted. A handful of chives was snipped off with thumb and forefinger, expertly executed and placed for future 'reference' in a rain-soaked coat pocket. To my mind, they were there for the delectation of all, providing very small amounts were sampled and consumed, otherwise, why were they planted in the first place? Well, chives do grow better when picked frequently, so my philosophical brain believed. My own chives had not done nearly as well as these beauties.
Frozen fingers, a paper towel already soaked, the shoot was not about to improve! Other Camera Club members seemed to be experiencing similar troubles, but a hardy lot we were! No one but me, battled with an undersized umbrella. With common sense eventually prevailing, many headed back to the carpark.
Upon returning to 'headquarters', a comforting mound of warm, homemade scones, together with huge bowls of raspberry jam and whipped cream were greeted with delight and gratitude, as members munched their way through the lot! Not a single one was left, the remainder of the day and Bootcamp weekend coming to an end with the annual dinner at night, held in a large restaurant.
The organizers had achieved their goals in what had been a well planned and well executed photographic weekend. Much new information had been gleaned and stored in the minds of many- new friends made - camaraderie amongst members thoroughly enjoyed, the rain slipping into the background, becoming a distant memory.
The day before was also packed with not only several talks on all things photographic, but a visit to the National Steam Centre with cameras in tow. An enormous variety both indoor and out of Melbourne's Steam Traction Engine Club having many exhibits from working engines dating from 1890's to steam tug engines, steam rollers and even an early de Havilland Engine Co. Goblin Mk 35 Centrifugal flow turbojet engine. The first jet engine to enter squadron service with the RAAF. This proved a very different and interesting place for photographic challenges and subjects. A place I could have spent several hours and forgot time completely. I was last to leave.
And the red umbrella? It was cast into the bin upon return home, a promise made to replace it with a much larger one for the future.
Saturday, 14 June 2014
I Can Jump Puddles
It's early winter and rain has fallen during the night, forming puddles on the path at the edge of the park. No-one pays them any attention on a quiet Sunday morning, except me. They walk their dogs and bid me "good morning", and I'm in my seventieth year. Seventy! I strongly rebelled when I was almost fifty and within a matter of years, it's now seventy. Frightening or contemplative? Foreboding or exciting? Forbidding or engaging?
In the twilight of your years there is a temptation or tendency to begin wallowing in old age, grumbling about the body falling apart, aches and pains trying to deflect from a normal lifestyle - whatever that is.
When puddles confront me, they have much to offer. Looking into their midst you can see forever, watch birds flitting in the trees, trees that delve deeply into the reflections - waving this way and that in a breeze blowing that sometimes shimmers the surface of the puddle. Pink and grey-tipped early morning clouds, scud wistfully across a blue sky that appears as infinity in the puddles. The last colours of autumn reflect their hues of fading yellows and reds. Leaves flutter silently down to lie gently on their surface, momentarily disturbing the tranquility.
After the rain, worms have slithered from vivid, wet green grass, onto pavements, beaching themselves to an unpleasant fait - for they never return and lie alone until they dry up and die. It saddens me, but removing the masses is not possible, nor practical, so they will remain there and isolated.
Late mushrooms push up through the damp and rich-smelling earthiness, revealing their creamy tops tinged with the light brown, that for years I've eaten. They must be edible - I'm still here!
I often contemplate over the future, philosophize what it will behold, think about my end and wishing it to be quick. But not for now. There is a life to live, a future to share, love to give, places to visit, photographs to take, and maybe more writing to achieve. That's been a recent interest - for what it's worth, it may well continue - God willing.
One important thing to be achieved before whatever end is in store, for I care not about that for now - I am alive, free and happy and I can jump puddles.
In the twilight of your years there is a temptation or tendency to begin wallowing in old age, grumbling about the body falling apart, aches and pains trying to deflect from a normal lifestyle - whatever that is.
When puddles confront me, they have much to offer. Looking into their midst you can see forever, watch birds flitting in the trees, trees that delve deeply into the reflections - waving this way and that in a breeze blowing that sometimes shimmers the surface of the puddle. Pink and grey-tipped early morning clouds, scud wistfully across a blue sky that appears as infinity in the puddles. The last colours of autumn reflect their hues of fading yellows and reds. Leaves flutter silently down to lie gently on their surface, momentarily disturbing the tranquility.
After the rain, worms have slithered from vivid, wet green grass, onto pavements, beaching themselves to an unpleasant fait - for they never return and lie alone until they dry up and die. It saddens me, but removing the masses is not possible, nor practical, so they will remain there and isolated.
Late mushrooms push up through the damp and rich-smelling earthiness, revealing their creamy tops tinged with the light brown, that for years I've eaten. They must be edible - I'm still here!
I often contemplate over the future, philosophize what it will behold, think about my end and wishing it to be quick. But not for now. There is a life to live, a future to share, love to give, places to visit, photographs to take, and maybe more writing to achieve. That's been a recent interest - for what it's worth, it may well continue - God willing.
One important thing to be achieved before whatever end is in store, for I care not about that for now - I am alive, free and happy and I can jump puddles.
Friday, 13 June 2014
The Way Home - Chapter Five
All four men had thankfully survived the ordeal with some severe bruising, but no broken bones. There was relief all round with the quick thinking of Richard helping enormously. Several large poles were found in the vicinity and used as levers to ease the heavy timbers upwards; enough to drag their trapped legs free, the pain subsiding eventually.
After the long struggle accompanying Prince Edward, he at last led them into breaching the south wall of Kenilworth Castle. Richard and his entourage were reluctant to help, but it was of necessity to them being pardoned for their part in the rebellion at Evesham, over a year ago. Within each man that needed to swear his allegiance to the King, it was a deeply humiliating experience and it went against their original loyalties to Simon de Montfort. They still mourned his loss.
Nonetheless, they each felt they had proved their worth, one way or another. They had not wanted to assist the Prince or indeed King Henry III, but their futures were at stake. They looked forward to returning to their homes, their duty to the King paid in full, or so they thought.
Edward's men had captured the causeway, then the garrison was forced back. Eventually after moving the siege engines gathering momentum, the inner bailey was under attack. The defenders, led by Henry de Hastings, after holding out for months, finally lost their strength with many falling to disease and running out of food, resulting in loss of power when they came under fire. Ladders were employed and no further resistance came from within, the garrison being forced to surrender. Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford, being knighted by Simon de Montfort, held out hope Simon's son, also named Simon would return from France to break the siege. But it was not to be. It was almost over.
Harsh terms were applied by the King to the remaining survivors, much to the dismay of Prince Edward. He was not in agreement with his father and they had openly quarreled. Edward was temporarily in disgrace, much to the amusement of Richard and all the men accompanying him. Henry eventually backed down, not wanting a mutiny on his hands.
Finally after the resistance being difficult to crush, the remainder of rebels accepted the Dictum of Kenilworth, they were offered the right to buy back their forfeited estates at a price according to their level of involvement in the rebellion. Terms were accepted and around mid December they surrendered.
Henry eventually granted the castle to his younger son Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, together with the rest of de Montfort's land and titles.
William, John and Simon and one other, had escaped the tragedy of losing a leg or two when dragged out from a carelessly moved siege engine, or worse still - their lives. They were more than grateful for the quick thinking of Richard, who more than owed them for their help, being responsible for the release of his wife after her abduction. It was the least he could do. They had formed a close association while at Kenilworth, and it was now time to head home.
They were all about to mount their horses, when they had a summons from the King. Their presence was requested immediately. The men looked at one another, their faces turning from expectation of returning home, to indignation.
'Now, what could he possibly want with us?' John's penetrating dark eyes looked at Richard, his expression becoming defiant, exasperation rising from the pit of his stomach.
Richard was puzzled, as were the other men, but a summons from the King was not to be ignored. To do so would be foolhardy.'I was aware we had fulfilled our duty,' he muttered almost to himself.
Simon, the youngest at twenty five replied, 'perhaps his mood is still dark after the confrontation he had with Prince Edward, over the matter of the harsh terms he set out originally for the rebels; still barely existing within the Castle, poor devils.'
'Well I'd like to confront him, but it wouldn't be about buying back my land at an exorbitant amount!' William handed his reins to a young squire, his eyebrows almost meeting in a deep frown, mood foreboding.
Richard was about to laugh at the jest, but suddenly turned to face William. 'Perhaps that is exactly what he intends...'
'God's bones, you are not serious I hope Richard?' Simon's outburst reflected what they were all starting to believe.
'I hope not either...'
'Well, we're about to find out,' John intervened, his impatience evident, tolerance fast running out.
The other men were now fully dismounted. With a certain amount of trepidation, they began the long walk to face the King; they hoped for one last time.
'We had better waste no time. Whatever he wants, I hope it doesn't prevent our planned journey home. I have a young wife waiting and it's almost the Christmas season. But I don't somehow feel like celebrating at the moment.' Richard strode on, grim-faced, the three men closely behind him. They fell silent, each with his own thoughts, a steady cold rain starting to fall. Around them, puddles quickly formed upon the uneven ground. A misty gloom settled over them and it wasn't only the weather.
Eventually they arrived at where the King was to be found, a large entourage around him, making calculations, men busy writing with quills, continually dipping them in dark ink. They were ushered to a small outer area to await his command, taking what seemed like hours before they finally went before King Henry III of England.
To their horror, a special agreement had been drawn up, which at first sounded as if they were still not free men. The king's face was bland, almost tense, difficult to read. The four men were to learn that they had been partially pardoned for one further year and if, after that year they had abided by the full terms of this new agreement, they would be granted a full pardon. If not, they risked losing any land they owned for their entire lifetime.
The four men stood with hands clenched, eyes narrowed and it was as well their swords had been temporarily confiscated, as they might have been tempted to use theme. Before they were free to go, they were required to kneel before the king and swear their allegiance to him a second time; a last humiliation the four men were loathe to do, gritting their teeth, but a necessity nonetheless.
Eventually they were free to return home, each man seething deep down at the further punishment inflicted on them. They had acquitted themselves well they thought, but Henry, in his usual way, had other ideas and would continue making them pay for their part at Evesham, supporting Simon de Montfort and the rebel Barons, resulting in Simon's untimely death.
Rain had eased when they were mounted, ready to travel the long journey home. All the men bar one, who had originally set out with Richard, were thankfully able to join him. A stray arrow had unfortunately embedded itself between the ribs of Thomas, a young man from his estate, piecing his heart. He died instantly not suffering a prolonged agony. Richard was sad for his loss, as would be his family.
He gripped the reins, turning his horse Bedwyr to face the men, and gave the command to head in a southerly direction. His thoughts turned to Katherine, his young pregnant wife; he was anxious to see her again, hoping she had remained well during his absence. Katherine's health was important to him and her ability to give him more children in the future. The first one could be difficult, but he had every faith in his wife to carry the child to its full term and give birth without too much pain. He cared for her a great deal.
In his absence, Katherine tried to remain resolute, often conferring with Martha, their housekeeper about the running of the manor. She was still young and learning fast.
Other matters were left to Henry, Richard's steward, who carried out his duties with impeccable care and attention to detail - until one day without warning, while he rode the perimeter of the estate, a heavy branch suddenly cracked and fell in a strong gust of wind, catching him on the arm, breaking it. He was annoyed at the inconvenience, and somehow managed to return with it tucked into his tunic. The pain was severe, putting him briefly out of action. His muscular arms and body from all the physical work he undertook, thankfully stood him in good stead to cope. Upon return, it was attended to by Martha. She had seen several broken bones in her day, knowing how to splint and bind them.
Richard and company were only one day out from Kenilworth, the air sharp with frost, roads prone to ice. They had to take care over any frozen ground they were likely to encounter. It was hard going for the horses if they increased their pace too suddenly, as legs could be damaged on the ice. Clouds of hot air from their breath wafted momentarily through the air, then disappeared. Long periods of cantering left the horses sweating at the end of it, the air growing even colder as the sun dipped early. They had a good rub down by the grooms and young Hugh was busy with his chores. He had a natural ability with horses and Richard was pleased with him. It was a last minute decision to take him with them, proving to be a good one. Hugh was growing fast and big for his age, with a good head on his young shoulders.
The following day they were passing through a darkened woodland, as threatening low clouds hung overhead. They were strung out along a narrow track, deciding to rest the horses briefly, watering them in a stream. A weak sun briefly cast long shadows around them. Hugh, always alert and keen to please, disappeared into thick undergrowth nearby to relieve himself. While there he thought he heard a sharp crack coming from between some nearby trees, sounding like a twig breaking underfoot. At that moment there was a faint glint of light that flickered from what could be a weapon. He cried out alarming the others, seeing riders emerging from the trees to their right and bounded out from where he stood.
'Sir, look...!' At the same time, several of the men noticed where he pointed, and to their dismay, were about to be set upon by what looked like bandits. Instantly swords were drawn from scabbards as they prepared to defend themselves. Immediately the sound of steel on steel echoed through the trees, shouts went up as they parried blow for blow. Luckily they were not outnumbered, but these ruffians were fierce. Most of the men with Richard had remained fit and strong, their sword arms constantly exercised so they were always ready for anything unforeseen. The men sliced and cut, breathing hard. Although the bandits were ruthless, they were not able to overwhelm with their sword skills. Richard caught glimpses of William and John close-by dealing their usual efficiency. An arm was severed, blood flowing, soaking the ground as William took charge of the man threatening him. He screamed out, backing away. Simon gritted his teeth, letting out a cry as the hilt of a sword was thrust into his stomach, but he held on, catching his opponent by surprise with steely determination. He rose quickly regaining his balance, the tip of his sword plunging into the throat of his attacker. Blood bubbled up as the man was forced back, Simon finishing him off with one last thrust.
They all fought well, not pausing for breath until all the bandits were dealt harsh blows, the air cold and steaming with their heavy breathing. Several of the attackers were badly maimed and simply gave up, retreating back through the trees, two were missing a hand or limb, unable to continue. Blood seeped into the cold ground beneath their feet. As Richard fought, his sword was momentarily knocked out of his hand, falling at the feet of young Hugh, who immediately retrieved it, handing it hilt first back to Richard. It was just in time as his opponent came at him viciously. Richard was able to fend him off, landing a heavy blow to the man's sword arm, rendering him defenseless.
Soon it was all over and the men were able to breathe more freely. None of them had been badly hurt. A few had torn clothing and bruises to contend with. They had survived the mauling well, until Richard looked down and noticed blood dripping from under his sleeve. Hugh noticed it, 'my lord, you are hurt!'
'I don't expect it's anything to worry about,' replied Richard. 'Only a nick I should think.' But it started to hurt. Simon was immediately on hand and he and John helped remove Richard's torn outer clothing.
'It's more than a nick by the looks of it.' John was not squeamish as he looked at the arm. A flap of skin was hanging down, the flesh wound deep. 'Really should be stitched,' he added.
Richard was a little pale by now with loss of blood, but his resolute strong. 'Well we haven't the resources here and will have to make do. It can be bound up until we reach home. Rather unfortunate to happen now,' he grumbled.
Simon had found some cloth in a saddlebag and tore it into strips. 'Let's hope this will see you safely home. It must be kept clean.'
'What do you know about that?' retorted William.
'I was taught it when young.' Simon felt he had to defend his remark, a little indignant. 'We had a housekeeper who told me when I was constantly getting into scrapes.'
John joined in. 'I can imagine that,' he said with a grin. Simon let it ride and finished bandaging Richard's arm. He looked over to Hugh and smiled at him. 'You were brave to do what you did and probably saved my life. I thank you for that.' Hugh's colour changed, his face becoming flushed. 'It was nothing my lord,' he mumbled, looking down at his feet.
Soon they were on their way home again, after gathering any spare horses in their midst, hoping nothing further would delay them. They were relatively unscathed after all that had happened.
The weather remained cold and bleak, a little snow beginning to fall toward the end of their journey. It wasn't long before it covered their path in front, softly falling through the air in large flakes. They huddled beneath mantles and cloaks, drawing them closer as the weather grew colder. The horses were tiring. Then after weeks away, they were finally home.
Richard eased himself off Bedwyr, who had served him well. He handed the reins to Hugh with a tired smile of satisfaction in the young man. He had proved a loyal asset to them.
The front door opened and his lovely wife Katherine was there to welcome him home, her face aglow when she set eyes on her husband, relieved and delighted he had returned home safely.
After the long struggle accompanying Prince Edward, he at last led them into breaching the south wall of Kenilworth Castle. Richard and his entourage were reluctant to help, but it was of necessity to them being pardoned for their part in the rebellion at Evesham, over a year ago. Within each man that needed to swear his allegiance to the King, it was a deeply humiliating experience and it went against their original loyalties to Simon de Montfort. They still mourned his loss.
Nonetheless, they each felt they had proved their worth, one way or another. They had not wanted to assist the Prince or indeed King Henry III, but their futures were at stake. They looked forward to returning to their homes, their duty to the King paid in full, or so they thought.
Edward's men had captured the causeway, then the garrison was forced back. Eventually after moving the siege engines gathering momentum, the inner bailey was under attack. The defenders, led by Henry de Hastings, after holding out for months, finally lost their strength with many falling to disease and running out of food, resulting in loss of power when they came under fire. Ladders were employed and no further resistance came from within, the garrison being forced to surrender. Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford, being knighted by Simon de Montfort, held out hope Simon's son, also named Simon would return from France to break the siege. But it was not to be. It was almost over.
Harsh terms were applied by the King to the remaining survivors, much to the dismay of Prince Edward. He was not in agreement with his father and they had openly quarreled. Edward was temporarily in disgrace, much to the amusement of Richard and all the men accompanying him. Henry eventually backed down, not wanting a mutiny on his hands.
Finally after the resistance being difficult to crush, the remainder of rebels accepted the Dictum of Kenilworth, they were offered the right to buy back their forfeited estates at a price according to their level of involvement in the rebellion. Terms were accepted and around mid December they surrendered.
Henry eventually granted the castle to his younger son Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, together with the rest of de Montfort's land and titles.
William, John and Simon and one other, had escaped the tragedy of losing a leg or two when dragged out from a carelessly moved siege engine, or worse still - their lives. They were more than grateful for the quick thinking of Richard, who more than owed them for their help, being responsible for the release of his wife after her abduction. It was the least he could do. They had formed a close association while at Kenilworth, and it was now time to head home.
They were all about to mount their horses, when they had a summons from the King. Their presence was requested immediately. The men looked at one another, their faces turning from expectation of returning home, to indignation.
'Now, what could he possibly want with us?' John's penetrating dark eyes looked at Richard, his expression becoming defiant, exasperation rising from the pit of his stomach.
Richard was puzzled, as were the other men, but a summons from the King was not to be ignored. To do so would be foolhardy.'I was aware we had fulfilled our duty,' he muttered almost to himself.
Simon, the youngest at twenty five replied, 'perhaps his mood is still dark after the confrontation he had with Prince Edward, over the matter of the harsh terms he set out originally for the rebels; still barely existing within the Castle, poor devils.'
'Well I'd like to confront him, but it wouldn't be about buying back my land at an exorbitant amount!' William handed his reins to a young squire, his eyebrows almost meeting in a deep frown, mood foreboding.
Richard was about to laugh at the jest, but suddenly turned to face William. 'Perhaps that is exactly what he intends...'
'God's bones, you are not serious I hope Richard?' Simon's outburst reflected what they were all starting to believe.
'I hope not either...'
'Well, we're about to find out,' John intervened, his impatience evident, tolerance fast running out.
The other men were now fully dismounted. With a certain amount of trepidation, they began the long walk to face the King; they hoped for one last time.
'We had better waste no time. Whatever he wants, I hope it doesn't prevent our planned journey home. I have a young wife waiting and it's almost the Christmas season. But I don't somehow feel like celebrating at the moment.' Richard strode on, grim-faced, the three men closely behind him. They fell silent, each with his own thoughts, a steady cold rain starting to fall. Around them, puddles quickly formed upon the uneven ground. A misty gloom settled over them and it wasn't only the weather.
Eventually they arrived at where the King was to be found, a large entourage around him, making calculations, men busy writing with quills, continually dipping them in dark ink. They were ushered to a small outer area to await his command, taking what seemed like hours before they finally went before King Henry III of England.
To their horror, a special agreement had been drawn up, which at first sounded as if they were still not free men. The king's face was bland, almost tense, difficult to read. The four men were to learn that they had been partially pardoned for one further year and if, after that year they had abided by the full terms of this new agreement, they would be granted a full pardon. If not, they risked losing any land they owned for their entire lifetime.
The four men stood with hands clenched, eyes narrowed and it was as well their swords had been temporarily confiscated, as they might have been tempted to use theme. Before they were free to go, they were required to kneel before the king and swear their allegiance to him a second time; a last humiliation the four men were loathe to do, gritting their teeth, but a necessity nonetheless.
Eventually they were free to return home, each man seething deep down at the further punishment inflicted on them. They had acquitted themselves well they thought, but Henry, in his usual way, had other ideas and would continue making them pay for their part at Evesham, supporting Simon de Montfort and the rebel Barons, resulting in Simon's untimely death.
Rain had eased when they were mounted, ready to travel the long journey home. All the men bar one, who had originally set out with Richard, were thankfully able to join him. A stray arrow had unfortunately embedded itself between the ribs of Thomas, a young man from his estate, piecing his heart. He died instantly not suffering a prolonged agony. Richard was sad for his loss, as would be his family.
He gripped the reins, turning his horse Bedwyr to face the men, and gave the command to head in a southerly direction. His thoughts turned to Katherine, his young pregnant wife; he was anxious to see her again, hoping she had remained well during his absence. Katherine's health was important to him and her ability to give him more children in the future. The first one could be difficult, but he had every faith in his wife to carry the child to its full term and give birth without too much pain. He cared for her a great deal.
In his absence, Katherine tried to remain resolute, often conferring with Martha, their housekeeper about the running of the manor. She was still young and learning fast.
Other matters were left to Henry, Richard's steward, who carried out his duties with impeccable care and attention to detail - until one day without warning, while he rode the perimeter of the estate, a heavy branch suddenly cracked and fell in a strong gust of wind, catching him on the arm, breaking it. He was annoyed at the inconvenience, and somehow managed to return with it tucked into his tunic. The pain was severe, putting him briefly out of action. His muscular arms and body from all the physical work he undertook, thankfully stood him in good stead to cope. Upon return, it was attended to by Martha. She had seen several broken bones in her day, knowing how to splint and bind them.
Richard and company were only one day out from Kenilworth, the air sharp with frost, roads prone to ice. They had to take care over any frozen ground they were likely to encounter. It was hard going for the horses if they increased their pace too suddenly, as legs could be damaged on the ice. Clouds of hot air from their breath wafted momentarily through the air, then disappeared. Long periods of cantering left the horses sweating at the end of it, the air growing even colder as the sun dipped early. They had a good rub down by the grooms and young Hugh was busy with his chores. He had a natural ability with horses and Richard was pleased with him. It was a last minute decision to take him with them, proving to be a good one. Hugh was growing fast and big for his age, with a good head on his young shoulders.
The following day they were passing through a darkened woodland, as threatening low clouds hung overhead. They were strung out along a narrow track, deciding to rest the horses briefly, watering them in a stream. A weak sun briefly cast long shadows around them. Hugh, always alert and keen to please, disappeared into thick undergrowth nearby to relieve himself. While there he thought he heard a sharp crack coming from between some nearby trees, sounding like a twig breaking underfoot. At that moment there was a faint glint of light that flickered from what could be a weapon. He cried out alarming the others, seeing riders emerging from the trees to their right and bounded out from where he stood.
'Sir, look...!' At the same time, several of the men noticed where he pointed, and to their dismay, were about to be set upon by what looked like bandits. Instantly swords were drawn from scabbards as they prepared to defend themselves. Immediately the sound of steel on steel echoed through the trees, shouts went up as they parried blow for blow. Luckily they were not outnumbered, but these ruffians were fierce. Most of the men with Richard had remained fit and strong, their sword arms constantly exercised so they were always ready for anything unforeseen. The men sliced and cut, breathing hard. Although the bandits were ruthless, they were not able to overwhelm with their sword skills. Richard caught glimpses of William and John close-by dealing their usual efficiency. An arm was severed, blood flowing, soaking the ground as William took charge of the man threatening him. He screamed out, backing away. Simon gritted his teeth, letting out a cry as the hilt of a sword was thrust into his stomach, but he held on, catching his opponent by surprise with steely determination. He rose quickly regaining his balance, the tip of his sword plunging into the throat of his attacker. Blood bubbled up as the man was forced back, Simon finishing him off with one last thrust.
They all fought well, not pausing for breath until all the bandits were dealt harsh blows, the air cold and steaming with their heavy breathing. Several of the attackers were badly maimed and simply gave up, retreating back through the trees, two were missing a hand or limb, unable to continue. Blood seeped into the cold ground beneath their feet. As Richard fought, his sword was momentarily knocked out of his hand, falling at the feet of young Hugh, who immediately retrieved it, handing it hilt first back to Richard. It was just in time as his opponent came at him viciously. Richard was able to fend him off, landing a heavy blow to the man's sword arm, rendering him defenseless.
Soon it was all over and the men were able to breathe more freely. None of them had been badly hurt. A few had torn clothing and bruises to contend with. They had survived the mauling well, until Richard looked down and noticed blood dripping from under his sleeve. Hugh noticed it, 'my lord, you are hurt!'
'I don't expect it's anything to worry about,' replied Richard. 'Only a nick I should think.' But it started to hurt. Simon was immediately on hand and he and John helped remove Richard's torn outer clothing.
'It's more than a nick by the looks of it.' John was not squeamish as he looked at the arm. A flap of skin was hanging down, the flesh wound deep. 'Really should be stitched,' he added.
Richard was a little pale by now with loss of blood, but his resolute strong. 'Well we haven't the resources here and will have to make do. It can be bound up until we reach home. Rather unfortunate to happen now,' he grumbled.
Simon had found some cloth in a saddlebag and tore it into strips. 'Let's hope this will see you safely home. It must be kept clean.'
'What do you know about that?' retorted William.
'I was taught it when young.' Simon felt he had to defend his remark, a little indignant. 'We had a housekeeper who told me when I was constantly getting into scrapes.'
John joined in. 'I can imagine that,' he said with a grin. Simon let it ride and finished bandaging Richard's arm. He looked over to Hugh and smiled at him. 'You were brave to do what you did and probably saved my life. I thank you for that.' Hugh's colour changed, his face becoming flushed. 'It was nothing my lord,' he mumbled, looking down at his feet.
Soon they were on their way home again, after gathering any spare horses in their midst, hoping nothing further would delay them. They were relatively unscathed after all that had happened.
The weather remained cold and bleak, a little snow beginning to fall toward the end of their journey. It wasn't long before it covered their path in front, softly falling through the air in large flakes. They huddled beneath mantles and cloaks, drawing them closer as the weather grew colder. The horses were tiring. Then after weeks away, they were finally home.
Richard eased himself off Bedwyr, who had served him well. He handed the reins to Hugh with a tired smile of satisfaction in the young man. He had proved a loyal asset to them.
The front door opened and his lovely wife Katherine was there to welcome him home, her face aglow when she set eyes on her husband, relieved and delighted he had returned home safely.
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
Winter begins as Autumn ends
Canopy of leaves hang high
Arching boughs bending down
To lie on earthy sodden ground
Soft the wind soon to sigh.
Alas autumn's glory fades
Upon the lake shivering surface
Ducks drift with quiet purpose
Oh season lost are thy shades.
The lake so yellow steely bright
Its reflections will the senses
Wallow gently here no fences
Deeply depths float endless light.
Golden glowing Ginkgo drifts
Across shimmering water covering
Its beauty wanders hovering
Laying still yet soon to shift.
Cloudburst o'er the lake so calm
Rain seeps through dripping song
Overhanging on golden pond
Winter's presence be like a psalm.
Gathering force it blows few leaves
Quivering left soon to die
Away to float on breath and lie
Damp and dank listening breeze.
Lovely autumn hues now fade
Into shadows darkening deeply
Only a memory with winter steeling
Gone your season's rustic shade.
Force of winter fiercely flowing
Through the foggy fitful day
Into nights will have its way
Sharp the frost its fingers glowing.
Longer nights length of shadows
Days grow short increasing cold
Winter winds its presence bold
Come the spring swift as arrows.
Arching boughs bending down
To lie on earthy sodden ground
Soft the wind soon to sigh.
Alas autumn's glory fades
Upon the lake shivering surface
Ducks drift with quiet purpose
Oh season lost are thy shades.
The lake so yellow steely bright
Its reflections will the senses
Wallow gently here no fences
Deeply depths float endless light.
Golden glowing Ginkgo drifts
Across shimmering water covering
Its beauty wanders hovering
Laying still yet soon to shift.
Cloudburst o'er the lake so calm
Rain seeps through dripping song
Overhanging on golden pond
Winter's presence be like a psalm.
Gathering force it blows few leaves
Quivering left soon to die
Away to float on breath and lie
Damp and dank listening breeze.
Lovely autumn hues now fade
Into shadows darkening deeply
Only a memory with winter steeling
Gone your season's rustic shade.
Force of winter fiercely flowing
Through the foggy fitful day
Into nights will have its way
Sharp the frost its fingers glowing.
Longer nights length of shadows
Days grow short increasing cold
Winter winds its presence bold
Come the spring swift as arrows.
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