Twist of Fate - Chapter Nine

     Young Dafydd had been conscientiously about his duties from an early hour, working diligently on the tasks that had been set for him. It was an important day, as he'd been granted permission by his master to travel with him on an unexpected journey. At this stage he was unaware of its destination.
     Although he still had a lot to learn, Richard was putting his trust in him which he took seriously. 
     Soon there was a sound upon the air of leather saddles creaking and reins being taken up. Dafydd scurried out from where he'd been working to find the party of men preparing to depart. Richard had chosen a smaller, fairly docile animal for him to ride, at the same time being spirited which he thought was within Dafydd's abilities to control. At least he hoped so.   
     As the men settled down between pommel and high cantle, voices were heard murmuring and last minute adjustment to stirrups were being made, saddle bags refilled. Most of the party had stayed overnight at a large inn nearby.
      The horses were becoming fidgety, eager to get started, some pawing the ground and stepping sideways when the men lowered themselves into saddles.
     Richard made last minute checks himself, acknowledging the presence of a few other men accompanying him. He glanced over to Dafydd, seeing him sitting straight-backed, reins in hands, a serious expression on his face and smiled to himself.
     Then activity in the courtyard ceased altogether, the gathered party setting off, soon disappearing through the main gates, riding two and three abreast, the pace increasing to a steady trot. The sun still low, was lightly misted - an early spring-like breeze causing the banner at the front of the mounted riders to flutter with a gentle movement. 

      The manor house suddenly felt empty around her. Katherine had been gazing wistfully from the window overlooking the courtyard, knowing her husband's absence would be necessary, her home for the moment, feeling eerily quiet. It was difficult to accept at first, but necessary.
     She turned to Martha who had just entered the solar, the last horses with their riders blotted from view, leaving small clouds of dust in their tracks. Where they'd assembled had been a hive of activity, now all was quiet apart from a few birds aloft a tall tree singing and chirping.
     'So they've gone then?' she said quietly, almost to herself, head bowed examining her clasped hands held in front.
     Before answering, Martha bobbed a quick curtsy glancing over to where her mistress was sitting by a window.
      'It appears so madam.'
     Katherine sighed slowly, turning toward Martha. 'I couldn't see them off. It's too upsetting - so sudden.' She was still feeling confused.
     'No madam.' Martha walked over near another window and looked out briefly as she busied herself, adding, 'At least the weather holds fine. There is nothing worse than getting soaked at the beginning of a long journey.'
     'Yes, that is a good start - indeed it is Martha.'
     Apart from worrying about the journey Richard was undertaking, she was aware it was expected of her to at least appear under control, even if deep down she was already missing her husband. Tears would not achieve anything. From an early age she learned to curb her emotions, even though they may be raging inside her. After all, she was Lady Katherine Trowbridge and must gain the respect of the servants, believing respect needed to be earned. It was necessary now, to centre her thoughts on other matters, regardless as to the sadness and emptiness she was already feeling. It may be a long time before Richard returned.
      Katherine had only just turned twenty years of age, and although young, was very capable when she put her mind to it. But it puzzled her when Richard received that message - the suddenness of it, leaving the very next day - she didn't understand its meaning, thinking no doubt there was had to be a very good explanation behind it. She was still feeling uncertain as she left the room.

      Richard was mindful of the need to take young Dafydd along with him, the lad riding with confidence and within a few strides behind his master, aware slightly that something was amiss. Nevertheless with youthful intelligence and willingness, wished to keep within earshot in case he was needed at any time. It was not for him to question his master. He was being tested and although nervous, wanted to prove his worth.
     Before leaving, Edmund and Hugh had worked hard to prepare the horses - saddles and bridles needing last minute adjustments, while Dafydd, with due care, had been allowed to clean Richard's sword and prepare other items to be taken. Although very young, he was determined to prove to Richard he was capable of anything asked of him. Richard hoped in time as he grew older, Dafydd would become more competent.
     The road ahead was narrow and winding, rutted after the winter and not easy for the horses. At first they only made slow progress, but once clear of a thick woodland into open countryside, the horses quickened their pace from a trot to a steady canter for a while. 
     Richard was again riding his favourite horse Bedwyr. Apart from being named after one of King Arthur's companions to whom he sometimes entrusted his sword, Bedwyr was keen to have his head, at first pulling on the bit, but soon settling to a quieter rhythm. His rider was well aware of the horse's temperament, handling him accordingly.
     Other than Dafydd, accompanying Richard were three other men from the estate, trusted for their ability and loyalty.
     Roger, many years older than Richard, with a fierce rough-hewn look about him, reminding his lord of a newly felled tree trunk. His dark features appearing severe at first, hands well worn from years of toil, but possessing a good strong common sense attitude, able to reason, although he never learnt to read. Not many did, but Roger was hard working, reliable, once proving himself a worthy victor in a fight he was involved in on the estate. He always stood up for what he strongly believed in, not always able to bend with the wind, which possibly was a good thing anyway. 
     Toward the end of his life, Richard's father was mortally wounded on the battlefield at Lewes, which took place a good year prior to the battle of Evesham. Roger had been present at the time, being loyal to Sir William, when victory went to Simon de Montfort, the king's army having been defeated. About that time the barons, led by Simon, were tired of bad government, of royal extravagance, preferring rather the country was governed by a council. 
     On the eve of the feast of St.Pancras, the king's army were camped at the priory, their presence causing considerable disruption for the monks.
     After the battle north of Lewes, the king's army retreated to the priory and it was here that Richard's father was buried. He did not die immediately, and Roger who stayed loyal until the end, saw to it that a priest was summoned, in order for the last rights to be administered. Sir William had been a well known knight and fought bravely on the side of the barons.
     Owen, who had a Welsh father and an English mother, rode alongside Roger. He was in his mid thirties, with two small children and a doting English wife who worshipped the ground he trod. 
     Alex, the younger of the three, was unmarried as was Roger, possessing a keen eye for the girls, or rather sometimes ladies a little older than himself. There had been some gossip in the local village, of a girl who was too free when his charms overwhelmed her. His fair hair and blue eyes complimented his good looks and easy manner. He was also a steady worker and Richard trusted his judgment. He had a good head on his shoulders most of the time.

     The way ahead was becoming easier during their first day in the saddle, the party of men covering many miles, at times close to the river, passing through several villages and a town or two. The weather remained fine, and as they ventured northwards, the air became cooler. Plumes of pale smoke drifted from rooftops, as if dancing on the gentleness of breezes, wafting into the chilling air. The men tightened clothing to keep out the cold.
     Before pausing at a small monastery for the night, the sun glowed golden, gracing the tips of hilltops, as it sank low behind a whisper of clouds toward the western sky, leaving a temporary peace upon the land.
     The next day saw them experiencing light rain, the weather becoming inclement and cloaks, mantles and any other items of clothing were once again drawn tighter around necks and over saddles. 
     The rate of progress was temporarily halted, the state of the roads becoming wet and slippery. It was at that moment they had arrived at crossroads, a few looking surprised at the interruption, when those at the front drew on their reins.
     Alex turned to Owen with a questioning frown. They had been engaged in some desultory chat, riding side by side for the last few miles.
     'Now what,' he said under his breath, sounding somewhat impatient.
     Owen twisted in his saddle, noticing a group of horses approaching from a side track. 'Think we're about to find out,' he answered, keeping his voice low.
     Richard pulled on his reins, drawing up beside them.
     'Now there's some faces I recognize.' It had been some time when he'd last laid eyes on the three men about to join their group. John, William and Simon had accompanied him to and from Kenilworth, toward the end of the previous year. They were in the employ of Katherine's father and always an asset to have around. Richard was well accustomed to their abilities and secretly pleased to see them.
     The tall man who had delivered the message to Richard at his manor, nodded in their direction. 'Greetings gentlemen. Glad you could join us.'
     William answered with a tone sounding none too pleased, but for now needing to curb his tongue. 'Yes sir. We are too.'
     The tall man turned his horse at the front and led them forward once more, the rain easing, as a chill wind gripped them, turning their clothing cold and damp.
     Richard wasn't far behind, thinking that this journey was becoming more and more mysterious. The three men who had joined them, rode alongside Richard for the time being.
      John skewed slightly in his saddle, his head to the left facing Richard. 
     'It seems like you, we have been summoned. Do you know what this is all about and what is required of us at journey's end?'
     'Not exactly,' replied Richard, somewhat nonplussed.  But several ideas were going through his mind as he wondered why these three men had joined them at this stage.  
     Eventually after what appeared to be a long endless distance, riding many more miles, and another night's stay at a run down inn, they came upon a large camp.
     One by one they swung down from the saddle, glad to be free of it for a while, or at least so they hoped. It was good to stretch legs and let the blood flow back into veins.
     It was no surprise to Richard that a chosen few were asked to appear before the prince, their presence immediately required without giving them pause for breath.
     Edward himself was ensconced within the centre of the camp, his colours fluttering above one tent in particular.
     Richard, with the three retainers, John, William and Simon, were ushered through the tent flap and sitting at a trestle table busy writing, was Edward - one day to be king of England. He was surrounded by a few of his advisors, not looking up to acknowledge them as they approached for what seemed like minutes passing - but eventually facing the four men who had entered. His expression was difficult to read.
     They went down on one knee until the prince raised them up with a simple gesture.
     'I see you've arrived gentlemen, and may now be wondering why you've been summoned.' 
     Richard paused briefly before answering.
     'Yes sir.'
     'Hmmm...' muttered Edward, his face still unreadable. He related a few brief words to a waiting monk for several moments, who nodded and made his exit, before addressing the men standing before him, awaiting their fait. 
     'Do you remember how you revoked your allegiance to Simon de Montfort last year?'
     There was another long pause before Richard answered again, trying to think on his feet.
     'Yes sir.'
     Richard and the other men were by now, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, not knowing where this was leading.
     The prince looked away, then slowly brought his gaze back to the expectant faces of the men standing before him.
     'I thought it about time that new loyalty to my father the king, was brought to bear.'
     The feeling among the men was becoming one of almost fear and trepidation. Was this going to be an old score the royals needed to settle? They didn't dare utter a word until prompted to do so - Edward continued.
     'But first I'd like you to join me in a tournament that's being held tomorrow.'
     This was not what the men were expecting. Not by a long way. It was almost possible to hear the temporary fear being lifted from their shoulders as each man let out a slow breath quietly. Their fear for now, was abating, wondering what the morrow had in store for them.
     Was this a twist of fait? 

A Difficult but Necessary Decision - Chapter Eight

     Katherine swept into the room, one hand below her swelling breasts, waist starting to thicken under her gown, a look of concentration on her beautiful face. The neatly coiffed fair hair was tucked beneath a linen veil, with one curl escaping toward deep blue eyes. Katherine's simple gown, embroidered at the hem, brushed gently over fresh, sweet-smelling rushes as she moved lightly across the floor. The lady of the manor wore soft leather shoes upon her small feet, head slightly bowed as if deep in thought. Upon entering the room, immediately sensing  something was wrong, she promptly forgot what she wished to speak with her husband about.
     She found Richard with shoulders hunched slightly, standing one arm raised to the wall at the side of the brazier, gazing into the flickering flames, their warm glow not helping to lighten his mood. Katherine took one look at him, noticing the screwed up message in his clenched hand.
     'Richard...what's wrong? You look worried. Has anything happened - why are those men here looking so sullen and formal?'
     Her husband took a deep breath before answering and it came as a statement, or rather as a question.
     'It's not possible...' he spoke quietly, almost to himself - 'there must be some mistake, surely...?'
     'What's not possible? I don't understand.' Katherine was becoming a little agitated, having never seen her husband in this mood before. Richard's expression was one of morose gloom. He sighed and straightened up, before facing his anxious wife. There was a long pause before he spoke.
     'It appears I have been harbouring a rebel...'
     Katherine couldn't help interrupting before her husband could continue. 'A rebel? We don't have a rebel. What on earth does this mean Richard?' She was becoming more than a little concerned by now, her young mind in turmoil.
     'They think young Dafydd is some sought of threat, having strong sympathies toward Simon de Montfort.
     'Dafydd? He's only a boy!' Katherine sounded exasperated, incredulous.
     'Yes, we know that,' replied Richard, 'but it appears necessary I may to have to prove it to the king himself.' He walked slowly over to the window and peered out, his mind working fast as he watched a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Beyond was a garden, which was slowly waking up after the cold winter. Spring wasn't far away, shoots of new greenery beginning to appear.
     Katherine clenched both hands together, frowning. 'But you have sworn allegiance to the king. Doesn't that count for anything?'
     Richard answered with a question. 'Don't you remember me telling you about the Dictum of Kenilworth? Well, perhaps not. It stated somewhere, that corporal punishment was threatened if anyone considered Simon de Montfort holy or just.'
     'But Simon was killed over a year ago.' His young youthful wife in her own mind, was trying to reason, finding the situation troubling, almost intolerable.
     Richard continued slowly. 'Evidently the lad became a keen supporter of Simon and what he believed in, following in his father's footsteps, learning from him. Had Simon lived, Dafydd may have become a threat in time. Simon stood for so much, the lad impressionable.'
     Katherine retorted unrestrained. 'But he is still a young lad and surely cannot be considered any sort of threat. Not now, or even in the future.'
     Richard for the moment, studied the activity outside the window, his thoughts in concentration. He could see Dafydd looked to be in conversation with young Hugh, or at least Hugh was gazing at him in awe.
     Since his mishap with the horse, riding close to the entrance of Oakfield Manor, Dafydd now an orphan, possessed the ability to learn quickly what was required of him. He was adept at fitting into the general running of the place as and when needed - constantly applying himself to anything new, unusually astute for a lad of his age, a willing and conscientious contender. He went about his duties methodically, giving Richard cause to be pleased with him thus far. Both his parents were dead and never once were his or their political beliefs ever discussed and he continued to excel in becoming Richard's squire.
     Richard smiled to himself before becoming serious again, and walked slowly back toward his wife. 'It will be necessary to do as I'm bidden or I could be in serious threat of losing my land. I don't have a choice.' He knew only too well what the consequences were for disobedience.
     Katherine interrupted him again. 'But that is unfair...' She shook her pretty head, eyebrows in a frown of scorn, trying to keep her opinion and willful thoughts under control. She could be outspoken at times, not necessarily admired by men of any standing.
     'Nonetheless, I've been summoned by the prince himself.'
     'Edward? surely not.'
     'He has been busy patching up, mending fences between the remnants of the rebels, trying to put the realm to rights.
     Katherine continued frowning. 'Do you have to leave again so soon?' It came as almost pleading.
     'Apparently so, I am to meet with the prince further north. I've heard recently he's possibly taking part in several tournaments.'
     There was a sudden knock on the door at that moment. Wallace, Martha's husband, appeared looking anxious.
     'My lord, you are needed to give some sort of answer to the tall gentleman standing at the door. He looks very errr...official.'
     'Thank you Wallace. Will you tell him I'm on my way.'
     'Yes lord.' He bowed briefly, before closing the door behind him. Footsteps were heard walking briskly away down the hall.
     Richard drew a deep breath, turned to his wife clasping both her hands in his. 'Don't worry my dearest, the sooner I attend to this, the sooner I'll be home again. I know this doesn't make any sense to you, but the matter will soon be cleared up. I have no doubts about that,' he stated firmly. 'Whatever Edward has in mind I'm yet to find out.'
     But Katherine wasn't so sure. She needed to adjust to the fact that her husband would be away again, finding it difficult. For how long, she knew not. Her safety and that of her unborn child were at the forefront of her mind. She also cared deeply for her husband. 
     Richard, face tense but resigned, turned and headed with long strides toward the main door.
     The men responsible for delivering the message to Sir Richard, were accommodated nearby that night. They and their horses were in much need of rest, and the next day dawned bright, the sky marbled with scudding clouds - hues of pink, blue and white-tipped grey. There was little frost, the air almost sweet-smelling, breathing life into the early morning with an intoxicating freshness of an early spring day.
     The staff were up and about their duties as Katherine joined her husband in the hall to break their fast. She wanted to spend every remaining moment left to them in the presence of her lord. Richard's mind was full of everything he needed to do before departing. The manor as usual, would be left in the competent care of Henry, his estate steward - the rest of the staff were capable of running things in his absence, or so he thought. 
     Richard finished the last mouthful of food, while noticing his wife was quieter than usual.
     'Are you alright my dear? You look a little flushed and have gone quiet?' She shifted on the bench briefly and gazed across at Richard with a gentle smile on her face.
     'Yes...yes, of course,' she replied
     Richard thought something may be troubling her. 'But you've hardly eaten at all. Are you sure the babe is alright and still active?'
     'I'm sure,' Katherine smiled again.
     'Now you've got me thinking.' Richard was puzzled by his wife's unusual mood.
     'It's just that...' she began again.
     'Just what?' Richard was rising from the bench they'd been sitting on.
     'Well you see, it's the day I was born, my birthing day.'
     'Oh, I'm sorry my love, I quite forgot. There has been much on my mind of late.'
     He placed his hand gently under her chin, lifting her head slightly, her deep blue eyes looking straight at his. 'Forgive me. I'll be sure and make it up to you as soon as I return.'
     Katherine looked down thinking of the forthcoming birth, praying that Richard would be home in time. Neither were deeply religious, although there was a tiny chapel within the walls of the manor which was used regularly - but she hoped her prayers would be answered.
     Not long after, Richard joined the gathered men by the stables, noticing the tall man who had delivered the message the day before, wearing a formidable expression upon his face. With them Richard had arranged for three men from the estate to accompany him, together with Dafydd.
     Edmund the groom was there to lend a hand and for the moment the tall man flung the reins of his horse at Edmund, before strolling over to converse with one of his party. Edmund who was none too pleased.
     A few moments later, Richard glanced over to the messenger and nodded briefly, his face serious, thoughtful. He had recruited his estate men as assurance and also hoped Dafydd was up to his duties, as the journey to meet Edward could be hazardous.
    

     

The Hissing of Winter!

     Slugs and bugs, snails and trails and I'm about to drink the water drops that fell upon the lettuce leaves overnight.
     Rocket greens, grow out toward me as I reach and pluck their flavour. Every tiny seed sown has germinated, flourishing with vigour and laughter when it rains. I can watch it growing. Throughout the winter it thrives to meet the mint. Wait until spring and it will try hard to outsmart the rocket, providing digestible leaves of love - a refreshing salad each day if necessary - tea that tastes of impeccable impishness, exploding with fragrance and aplomb with these freshly picked leaves of affability - mini explosions of summer in a mouthful. 
     Mint is everything at once, enhancing any salad, impossible to do without. The chocolate mint I have indulged in, turning a plain old cheesecake into another life. Pots of basil mint have also stood me in good stead a few years, never owing as much as a tiny leaf, shrinking back over nights of harsh frosts, but its roots coming alive in spring, shooting forthwith without fail, its loyalty assured.
     When I visit my best friend's garden in England, I wander to the borders, around which the hedges of West Dorset grow high and wide. All the varieties of different mint flourish with unrestrained vigour -  for I put them there. I need my fix of mint when I visit, but she doesn't thank me for it, when they take off into the hedgerow banks amongst pale blue geraniums, foxglove, beech and oak. Spearmint grows at the base of the beech roots, while apple mint rubs shoulders with the last of dying foxglove clumps - it is September and they have flourished in the lanes during June and July, when summer is at its height.
     It rains well in England, hissing through a summer's day as well as in the winter. If cold enough it turns to snow, falling with large fluffy wet flakes that sit on the end of your nose. If the temperature dips enough below freezing, the snow may turn to drifting power - like cakes, the trees and hilltops are transformed with a dusting into a winter wonderland, from which it's difficult to extract yourself - so pure, brightest white and beautiful beyond measure.
     I heard the hissing of winter rain through the air last night, unrelenting as it cascaded down the window - each drop in competition with the ones next to them - ravishing the soil below with wind-rippled moisture. 
     Walking through the park next morning a red wattle bird calls with its familiar sound, high in the branches of a bare silvery birch tree. Its call unmistakable, while the creek rushes on toward the sea, singing with gurgling glee. 
     The golf course was soaked, it heard the hissing succinctly - but neither the creatures from under the ground or high above would hear it as I do. - tapping on the roof, trickling down like miniature streams in the valleys, until it drains and is lost to the sea.
     Winter can charm the brain, lull the mind, its cold may chatter the teeth, but when the hissing of winter rain subsides, the dawn breaks still and quiet, the sun will always rise, its rays lengthen, wrapping themselves lovingly around you, feeling of lingering warmth it brings, till winter turns to spring, horizons full of promise.

Sworn Loyalties - Chapter Seven

     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.
    

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.  
    

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 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. 

     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.

     '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.

         

    
    
    

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.