Lettuce-eating

late

2009-11-19T07:34:00.000Z

Theme Thursday is usually a nicely low-maintenance post for me, I tend to trawl through my photo-archive and theres generally something there which I can argue is relevant.

But this one had me stumped for a while.

Until the magic hour occurred to me - the hour before dusk when the light is transforming, enchanting and golden - or sometimes silver - and the shadows are long.... Along with the hour after dawn - often the best times for photography.

So - here are some photos taken late in the day - late sunshine and shadows:

Havre des pas in Jersey, Channel Islands

le Hocq in Jersey, Channel Islands

in Ipswich, Suffolk

Royal Victoria Docks, East London

the Regents Canal, North-East London

remembering

2009-11-15T13:30:00.000Z

war memorial, Charlton South London

I've been thinking about my (maternal) grandfather - "little grandad", as opposed to the other one who was "big".

He was in the trenches in the first world war and that gives me a sense of connection to those awful events, months, years - because he was there and because he was also part of my life.

Somewhere in my family there is a great photo I remember of him, aged probably in his 40s, with a couple of mates in the sunshine, baggy trousers, vest and braces, cigarette... but I couldn't find it in my scrapbooks and stache of old photographs. The search has taken more time than I'd planned to spend (time, tears, smiles) so I now don't have the time I'd planned to spend scanning in pictures.... sorry.

His name was Harry, he was an east-ender - too young to fight in WW1 but he lied about his age in order to go to war and he and his brother and best friend Tom were there in the mud and blood and thunder, in the first gas attack at Ypres and other horrors and lucky to ever come safely home.

Little grandad couldn't fight in WW2 because the shattered ear drums he came home with in 1918 left him very deaf - so he stayed in London and served as a first-aid officer. I remember him patching up my childhood scrapes and scratches and wish it was still possible to buy kaolin poultice, I know the smell would transport me right back there to his gentle firm hands on my little legs.

He dug for victory during the war and one of my strongest childhood memories is his long, long, narrow immaculate garden in north east London - fruit, veg, greenhouse, the smell of tomato plants also transports me back to him. And chrysanthemums, dahlias, old fashioned pinks and aquilegia.

I so loved staying with nan and grandad, I remember a huge soft puffy heavy old eiderdown and the hard heavy towel-wrapped stone hot waterbottle. He was strict in a way which made me know I was safe and loved. He loved war films and westerns and his hearing aid whistled constantly.

Heres a photo after all, quickly photographed - one of my favourite family photos ever, July 1920.

My daughter was quite profoundly struck by the death, recently, of the last surviving participant in the 1914-18 war - she is troubled by the fact that there is no longer anyone with us who was actually there, who could tell us.

I very much wish she could have known little grandad. If I could spend time with and get to know better one of my grandparents, it would be him.

This morning I finished reading Avilion - a very long-awaited sequel to Robert Holdstock's (wonderful) Mythago Wood, which I was going to write about but there are quite enough of my words here already.

But one of the images in the book is that of a battlefield of tartan, and at the end of the book is this poem written by the author:

The Field of Tartan
(written for my grandfather. Who walked across this field on the Somme: July 1916).

I walked for my life, across a field of tartan

The Scots went first. They had it worst.
The First, the Twenty-First.
Highlanders.
They sowed the seeds, the soft touch
Of fabric-woven earth, over which we walked.
They had been mown down to a man.

They made a field of tartan.

Before they went, they sang,
The songs were haunted.
We joked about their skirts; they took it in good part,
there was a sense of peace,
Resignation!
That touch of Spartan in each heart.

(He walks for his life, across a field of tartan)

No mud when the top was crossed,
When the iron wind blasted and counter-crossed,
Seeking the marrowbone, the head, the heart,

Taking us down into that field of tartan.

It was so strange, so savage.
Astonishing to find no earth, just fallen flesh
To briefly meet a dying gaze,
A last remembered highland day.
To walk over limbs clad in scarlet tartan.
And we slipped and slid upon the patterned cloth, but made the other line.
There was killing, then.
No charms, just arms, the sinking down, the frightened frown,
Flesh suddenly shaped into dirt, life dearth,
Blood silt,
Nothing to hearten us
Except our unwanted luck at walking over hand-weaved kilt.
Not sinking into earth.
Walking across a field of tartan.

Robert Holdstock, March 2008 (revised September 2008)
published in Avilion, London: Gollancz 2009, p.339-340

Telephone

2009-11-12T06:47:00.000Z

Well none of these is the photo I was looking for. But these I found whilst looking. And they are much better pictures than the one I was searching for.

Such is life.

South London

Central London

Grand Central Station, New York

New York Public Library

Family

a Theme Thursday post

art

2009-11-08T11:48:00.001Z

The perils (joys? inconveniences? surprises? bizarreness... ) of living with a GCSE (grade 10/11) art student.

castles

2009-11-05T06:35:00.007Z

I had such plans for this post! and so drastically ran out of time!

but here are some photos of the 2 castles on Jersey, Channel Islands.

Elizabeth Castle is just off the coast by the main town in the island. At low tide there is a causeway and the Castle can be reached on foot

to the right of this photo the "duck" - the amphibious craft which ferries to and fro - can be seen,

though there are local stories of people and vehicles being cut off by the tide and once, while M. had a summer job driving bread van, one of his colleagues hoped to make it home quickly and was caught out, leaving all manner of baked goods bobbing about on the waves for the sea gulls delight.

Elizabeth castle was used heavily by the Germans, during their occupation of the island in the 2nd world war. Hence the chimneys and not very castle-like roofs, though the castle was first built in the sixteenth century and Sir Walter Raleigh lived there for a while.

I've not been out to the island for quite a few years, hence no closer photos. I'll try and put that right next time I go.

In the meantime there are some good pics here and here and here.

Gorey Castle wasn't modified by the Germans to the same extent and its a much more medieval-looking castle - its older, built in the fourteenth century, originally known as Mont Orgeuil.

it even has stocks (not fourteenth century!)

and the seagulls are ubiquitous - looking out for baked goods no doubt.

oops

2009-10-30T08:37:00.004Z

must remember to blog...

street art in Brighton, July 2009

time

2009-10-25T10:07:00.004Z

Our clocks changed last night, so having slept till 8am (old "summer" time), I was then reminded of the time change and realised that it was now only 7am (new "winter" time).

I spoke to my sister this morning. She'd not been too impressed with waking at 5.30 am (new time) - far too early for a Sunday morning.

Well maybe that serves her right for being so organised as to change her clocks ahead of time and before going to bed.

I, on the other hand, was quite delighted to realise that my morning had an extra hour in it - it feels like an unexpected free gift.
Though maybe there will be a cost to pay later this evening....

Ah well, I guess I'll need to take my bike lights for cycling home from work tomorrow.

traffic

2009-10-21T18:26:00.003+01:00

NYC cabs, August 2008

I'm boringly busy i'm afraid and hence not very sociable, blogwise.
I shall endeavour to do better soon.

Theme Thursday

Climate Change

2009-10-15T08:42:00.000+01:00

Collected thoughts.

The Thames Flood Barrier is just down the road from where I live and I regularly cycle past it.

Its a constant reminder of the possible / probable consequences of global warming for London.

Last time I cycled past it the barrier was up for its regular testing. "Gates" slide up from the river bed between these "towers", forming a solid barrier - 30 metres tall at the highest point. It looked eerie and portentous - a wall across the river.

I can't help being glad that I live on the "right" side of the barrier, and also up a hill.

I'm not proud of that fact (the being glad, rather than living the right side....).

I found it sobering though not surprising that James Lovelock - one of the early prophets of the green movement - thinks that we have left it all too late.

I also sometimes wonder if our concern with ecology isn't ultimately self-centred and self-absorbed, another symptom of our anthropocentrism - we care about the consequences of our actions because they affect us not because they affect the earth. The earth will not be bothered if we expire from those consequences. The earth will adapt, and survive, and continue without us.

I enjoyed very much Margaret Atwood's book Oryx and Crake which presents some interesting projections about our use and abuse of science and the environment. Some of the ideas and images have stayed with me. I plan to read the "sequel" (-ish, not quite apparently) Year of the Flood.

A Theme Thursday post
also see Blog Action Day - Climate Change

I will be away this weekend and so it may take me a while to get around and visit your blogs... sorry, I'll try and catch up with you soon.

silent sunday

2009-10-11T07:00:00.001+01:00

oops just realised I've already posted before the photo I put up this morning.

So here is a different one....

Fern in the Glasgow Botanic gardens.

Collection

2009-10-08T07:52:00.007+01:00

Not so long ago I confessed my button habit - one of my favourite collections.

Another favourite is stones. I cannot CANNOT walk on a beach without picking up stones and I still have stones which I collected on family holidays as a teenager. I have a chunk of marble and pyrite which I remember picking up and carrying on a long hike up Ben Lomond and back down again, in Scotland ....
(sorry short of time, otherwise I'd post a photo of it, it is particularly beautiful)

Some of my stones lie in little places around the house

But most of them now have found a home in the garden

around my girl shed.

The granite stones with marble stripes and patterns mostly come from Jersey, the Channel Islands. Though some of the marbley ones come from childhood holidays in the Lake District. I could tell you which are which too.... Memory is bizarre sometimes.

The stones with holes in them come from beaches on the East and South Coast of England - especially Bexhill and Brighton.

The girl shed is looking a little autumnal and slightly neglected now and I've not seen any frogs in the frog pool for weeks.

But the stones will be there all winter, being lovely.

Theme Thursday - Collection

leaf love

2009-10-04T08:42:00.000+01:00

I was working in the kitchen last week - loading or unloading the washing machine I think, its a constantly hungry beast - and with a little breeze, this came fluttering through the open door.

I think maybe someone I love was thinking of me.

Flight

2009-10-01T07:44:00.001+01:00

Flight or falling? Whats the difference?

Neither is possible without letting go.

Coming or going?

Sometimes the only way to see the view is from the air.

And here are some other flying things.

Bats in the South of France - my friends house was right on their flight path.
I think my number one super-power of choice would be teleportation - but flight would come a close second.

Apologies to those of you who have seen this 2nd video before - though it was some time ago. The action starts just after half way through....

Starlings preparing to roost under Eastbourne pier.

a Theme Thursday post

right royal rant

2009-09-27T09:52:00.004+01:00

I had such a nice post in mind for this lovely Sunday, but am too mad since reading about our less-than-beloved-by-many royal family in yesterday's newspaper.

These are among the richest people in the world.

They get paid an annual salary/allowance out of the taxes of ordinary people in the UK.

Over recent years that allowance (the "civil list") has been set at £7.9million per annum, on an assumption in the 1970s of an annual 7.5% inflation rate.

The 1970s deal also states that the civil list payment can never be reduced. (WTF??)

Even though inflation has been way lower than this for years now and even though our less than universally admired royals have been building up quite an unspent surplus in the fund.

The newspaper report I read cited an unspent £21 million surplus in the civil list at the moment.

This would be bad enough in times of economic equilibrium and stability.

In our current economic context, it is a right royal scandal.

And the worst of it? they are not asking just ("just") for continued contributions at the existing rate.

They are asking for a raise. You can read the full report here.

I am beyond mad and speechless.
I am more than just a little pissed off.

Thats all.

Wild

2009-09-24T17:54:00.000+01:00

Logan, pretending to be wild.

When actually, he's really just pussycat.

A Thursday Theme.

Alice in the Channel Islands

2009-09-20T12:30:00.000+01:00

Alice arrived in London from California, and almost immediately was on the move again.

The next stage of her journey began in a South London railway station, and ended in Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands which lie between England and France.

Her adventures there are too numerous to chronicle here, but they included this visit to Gorey castle which made her feel even smaller than ever. She was not the only visitor to the castle, there were also some terrifyingly beautiful birds of prey which had her racing breathlessly back to the safety of her carriage.

She preferred the beach and the sea and gazed longingly at the surfers and wind-surfers and boaters splashing about.

The thought of sogginess kept her firmly on dry land. She'd had previous bad experiences with salty water.

Over the hill

2009-09-17T07:00:00.000+01:00

both photos taken in Suffolk, England. March 2009

a Theme Thursday post

Unexpected

2009-09-13T07:49:00.000+01:00

I did a bit of beach-combing on Friday - in Greenwich, London.

Here in fact:

photo from here, where there are some other great pictures of the Thames path.

I've heard tell there are fascinating historical finds to be made along the banks of the Thames, (and there was someone there with a metal detector) but despite working right there by the river, I've not found time - before Friday - to go down the steps from the Thames path by the Naval College which you can see in the picture, down onto the pebbles.

It was a thankfully-snatched lunch break in the midst of a gruellingly hectic day, and it did feel a bit like being by the sea... especially when a boat went by, making waves at the rivers edge. I closed my eyes and listened to the swell of the surf washing the edge of the riverbanks.

In places the banks of the Thames are more mud than anything, but by Greenwich there are lots of pebbles and flinty stones, even patches of sand - there were some shells, even riverglass though most of it wasn't caressed and washed smooth quite like seaglass. There were deformed and rusty chunks of metal and a lot of smooth strangely angled pieces which I think were bone.

My inability to leave a beach without one or two "combings" clearly extends to riverbanks as well - I did pick up and pocket a couple of things.

The heart of the larger stone is sparkly quartz.

I went back into the office with heavier pockets and a lighter heart.

rhythm

2009-09-10T07:18:00.000+01:00

This post brought to you via Theme Thursday.

socks in Bexhill on sea

2009-09-05T15:06:00.001+01:00

I guess he had cold toes....

Beginning

2009-09-03T07:49:00.000+01:00

This Thursday's Theme did tax my brain a bit - but this is really a time of endings and beginnings for me, and for M, so I've been thinking in those terms about "beginning".

And so this picture - taken in East London's docklands, just across the Thames from where I live -

which is the ending of the day, but also the beginning of night.

There are all sorts of changes we're going through in my household and some of the endings are sad but many of them are positive - some also a relief. The beginnings are unpredictable - but then, thats life, isn't it? Its always unpredictable, even when we forget thats so.

There are always beginnings, at least potential beginnings, embedded in what we do from day to day, like secret seeds. Some of them might grow unseen into something lovely.

So my rather taxed brain thinks that beginnings often - normally? - include endings. But also that endings go with beginnings. "Segue into" beginnings. Segue is a good word.

I saw a conker today on the pavement. If you don't know what conkers are, click here for an old post I did about them. Way back when.... when I couldn't possibly have foreseen our current situation. A lot has ended and begun since then.

I was a little shocked to see that this conker was already ripe - like the elderberries I picked at the weekend. Autumn begins earlier these days than it used to, I'm not quite sure I'm ready for it.

But wearing cosy slippers again will be nice, theres nothing like a good pair of slippers, and open fires and that crisp chilly bright October air... Oh and autumn leaves....

And the seeds being shed now

will be there, dormant and waiting, ready for the beginning of Spring.

The cycle of life. Endings and beginnings. Commonplace and amazing, innit?

Oh, and as most of my work at the moment is to do with the beginning of our University term in 3 weeks time, eeek only 2 and a half weeks, I'm ultra-busy and apologise for not being "around" much in your comments at the moment. I hope to find more time soon...

Wordless weekend

2009-08-30T10:48:00.003+01:00

Le Hocq, Jersey, Channel Islands

Not a limo...

2009-08-26T17:58:00.006+01:00

... but it provided a less conspicuous mode of transport for Alice, stowing away in search of sunshine. She'd have been shaken to bits and flung about and entirely lost in a limo. And besides, south London is not overwhelmed with such luxury transportation.

A suitcase would have to do. A suitcase, a train, and - if she'd picked well - maybe even a plane.

The blank suburban windows gazed at her as she slipped into the suitcase pocket's darkness and heard the rush of the approaching train...

...to be continued, either here or there.

Not a limousine.
Not quite a proper Theme Thursday - do you think this counts?

I'm not sure I do, but I'm hoping to get away with it.

P.S.

2009-08-22T11:03:00.002+01:00

My back-from-holiday post is just below this, but this is a brief P.S. about made4aid, to thank Wendy who has been looking after things while I've been away.

And we have a number of lovely items on sale at the moment - most of the auctions ending in the next week, so why not pop over and have a look?

seaside treasures

2009-08-22T08:51:00.003+01:00

Blogging about the contents of my suitcase would have been such a good way to tell you about my holiday.

Such a shame I unpacked right after getting home yesterday (well, after a cup of tea of course...) and that I only had this great idea this morning.

Ah well.

I guess you may be relieved to know you wont be seeing photos of my dirty laundry after all.

The contents of my suitcase included these treasures from the beach - I am a compulsive beach-comber and I love how each beach has its own character. Some have pebbles with holes worn right through (these are among my favourite beach-treasures); some have shells; some have lots of sea glass (also very have-able).

I only discovered this year - after holidaying in Jersey for 25 years - that the beaches there have treasure like this.

Little fragments of china worn so satiny smooth by the sea's constant caressing, their patterns sometimes quite worn but still delicately decorative.

Tiny remnants, I wonder about their histories and their stories... Wouldn't it be fascinating to know?