"POSH MUSIC"

What constitutes "posh" music? There has been some discussion recently about this subject on the musical blog "Tone Deaf".

It is not, necessarily, inaccessible music and an inspired teacher can make classical music understandable to some who would never have considered it.

I always found that impenetrable character T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia), a.k.a. T.E.Shaw, fascinating. This letter he sent to Sir Edward Elgar covers the subject beautifully, I think.

EMERGING FROM THE CAVE

Those who have honoured me by visiting this blog over the years will know that from December to March I tend towards hibernation as symptoms of SAD tend to overcome me.However the sudden heavy snows which we experienced overnight led me to poke out my nose, leave my Black Dog in the kennel and enjoy (yes!) a ramble with Rex the Dog. As he enters our woods his first act is to survey it for squirrels to run after (he never catches one), but they were not in evidence today, sensibly staying warm and cosy within their winter quarters.

"Now - where are those squirrels"

The wood was glorious in its winter coat. The snow being of a sticky rather than powdery nature meant that there was an “icing on the cake” effect

There was even a touch of “Lowry” evident!

Then home to warmth and a whisky mac – a pleasant interlude to shorten my hibernation period.

HALLELUJAH!

About this time, on the first Christmas night angels were supposed to have sung "Hallelujah" to flock-watching shepherds.

Lately we have been discussing hymn-singing and Leonard Cohen (but not at the same time) at the
TONE DEAF blog of Lorenzo da Ponte.

Thus my reason for my Christmas present to you

HAPPY CHRISTMAS
AND A PEACEFUL 2012 TO YOU  

"COUNTRY BOY"

I have just been re-reading (for the nth time) this book by “Richard Hillyer”. The biography, to the age of about 17, of a boy born into a farm labouring family in 1901. Totally self educated, he managed to reach university and ended his long life (died 1980) as a Canon of Durham Cathedral having written a number of books. His real name was Charles James Stranks and the village he calls “Byfield” in the book is Hardwick in Buckinghamshire, UK.

Without sentiment or pastiche he brings out the grinding poverty of the farm labourer’s existence at the beginning of the last century – yet manages to convey the pride, courage and dignity which went with it. Elements of John Clare’s work come to mind.

It is available for a song on Amazon and worth every moment spent reading it. I thoroughly recommend it.

I was born in 1938 in a country village which had changed little from the years he describes. The Second World War was in progress as I became sentient to my surroundings. The young men had left the village to go to war. The dignified and respected elders, many with bishop-like mien, were left to labour on the farms. Tractors and fuel went to the war effort. The horse and cart ruled once more.

My maternal grandparents were farm workers, living in a tied cottage. With my own father away at the war I spent much of my time with my grandfather who was Horseman on that farm; a farm dedicated to fruit orchards, nut platts and some beef cattle; a horse and cart was ideal to thread its way through the orchards and along the narrow winding lanes between. The warm, sweet smell of hay in the horse stable comes to mind, as I write this.

Grandfather with "Duke" c. 1938

My first memory of release from my enclosed world was as a small boy of about 4, sitting on a folded sack on the edge of a cart, beside my grandfather as he took the horse about 3 miles to a village blacksmith for re-shoeing. It seemed to take for ever as we clopped along what is now a fast main road which I have since traversed, under power, in less than ten minutes.

Not all was good though. My grandfather caught a bad chill through being out in the rain and the farmer hounded him back to work too soon. This brought on pneumonia and he died in 1944, aged 54 (but will always be “ancient” to me). My grandmother had to leave the tied farm cottage within a month. Always a fighter, she had all the house contents taken to the village hall and auctioned them off. Then she entered service as a housekeeper, only retiring at 75 to come and live with my mother.

Like “Richard Hillyer” I came from such a background and attended the village school. Like him, my “prospects” would have been to enter a similar life had my mother not instilled a love of reading into me. Because of this I passed the exam to attend the local grammar school (the “11+”). There are those that denigrate grammar schools and this entry exam, but because of it I, a fairly poor country boy, was able to make my way in the world. I shall be forever grateful to her and that chance.

KEEP RIGHT ON.......

I have owned, ridden and restored motorcycles now for over 50 years. It is an activity I love and enjoy. Thus, in spite of increasing arthritis I do not intend to give it up.


I found this video clip a poignant and inspiring commentary, not merely about motorcycling, but on the general battle against life’s little difficulties as we approach old age.


Best watched with your sound on. You may click on the "4 arrows" symbol, bottom right of link, to increase view to full screen size.

ROYAL ENFIELD "BULLET"

Amongst my many motorcycles, I owned a succession of three Royal Enfield “Bullets” back in the ‘60s. An underrated motorcycle, they were never as popular as BSA, Velocette and Norton amongst single cylinder machine riders. Here is my 1956 version, suitably posed, in 1963.

Some history is now needed. The first Royal Enfield motorcycle was made in 1901 and over the years the company was responsible for many innovations in the motorcycle world – the first to use swinging arm rear springing, for instance. During the 1950’s they received a big order from the Indian Army for their 350cc Bullet model. This led the company to help India set up its own Royal Enfield factory in Madras (now Chennai). Morris cars did similarly and now versions of their old 1956 “Oxford” model form the bulk of Indian taxis.

The British motorcycle industry withered and finally died in the late ‘60s/early ‘70s, Royal Enfield included. But its “child” matured, prospered and continued to flourish in India. There will always be those amongst us that enjoy traditional, simple, solid motorcycles and, with almost poetic assonance, the Indian child began exporting its machines back to Britain in the ‘80s. They still do so and we are their best export market. Thus Royal Enfield can claim to have the longest continuous production run of any motorcycle in the world.

Which brings me to the reason for this posting. I remember with affection those Royal Enfields I owned over 50 years ago. I have often hankered to own another. I could have bought an original to recondition, but age and a prostate operation have led to a drawback – no electric starters in those days and kick-starting a 500cc single cylinder is only for the young and active! But, praise be, India has now equipped their time-warp machines with electric starters. A chance trawl in eBay brought up a 2005 model so equipped. I succumbed and won the auction for it.

My 48th motorcycle, it now shares the garage with the BMW and the Honda scooter. By no means a motorway rocket, it is happiest thumping along between 50 and 60 miles per hour, but returns an incredible 85 miles to each gallon of petrol. In this manner one enters an earlier motoring world - delightful, serene and relaxed. Almost without exception, whenever I park it I am engaged in conversation; “I had one of those when young”, “Is it original?” etc.

There is something about the exhaust beat of a “big single”. Akin to the chug – chug – chug of a traditional canal barge, it is deeply relaxing and pleasurable. Some have said that this is the result of spending 9 months nestling in the womb under a mother’s steady heartbeat.

Here is a picture of the beast  (It has been re-registered with a 1963 number plate - the year I first owned a Royal Enfield) There is not a lot of superficial difference between it and the1956 version above, but it has an ELECTRIC STARTER!

(click either photo to enlarge)

WINTER'S BLACK DOG IS KENNELLED

Spring, with the cuckoo-sob deep in his throat,

O’er all the land his thrilling whispers float,

Old earth believes his ancient lies once more,

And runs to meet him in a golden coat.

(origin of verse, anyone?)

BREAKING FREE

Late December snows have looked very pretty and seasonal (viewed from a warm room, glass in hand). However it has meant that venturing abroad on two wheels was very inadvisable. But a day came when the roads were at last clear and ice free. Even the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. Having become slightly "stir-crazy" I jumped at the chance to release the Dawes bicycle from its stable and toddled off for a morning's run over Romney Marsh and to get a sight of the sea. Within two miles a heavy fog rolled in with visibility down to about 50 metres!

Having started I intended to finish, so continued on to my destination, via a couple of miles along the sea wall, to the little town of Dymchurch where I knew a cafe would be open. Some chance of a sea view - the tide was well out over the sand flats and was lost in the fog.

However the cafe was warm and welcoming. There followed a large cup of tea and two slices of toast upon which rested two fried eggs. The "engine" thus refuelled for the return 12 miles, I pushed for home.

The Marsh has its own particular beauty under clear skies

But even I could not describe it as other than austere in the fog.

The damp clung to me and necessitated periodic stops to wipe my specs to enhance the available visibilty. A very misty and moist morning but, disappointingly, no sign of "an old man clothed all in leather"

A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL

As Mr R Kipling had it over 100 years ago

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";

But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

(Please click on link above to learn more about this superb charity)

Transport through the Ages (3)

HHnB, in her blog has mentioned that she rode pillion on a motorcycle since the age of 8. Reference to image files proves that this is so. Above you see her in 1967 alongside my ex-police LE Velocette.
These side valve 200cc bikes were so feeble that one was overtaken on hills by Japanese Honda 50cc scooterettes. Top speed, without a headwind, was about 50 m.p.h.on the flat. However they have a charm about them. Being water-cooled they are almost silent (great for country policemen to creep up on poachers!) and still have an enthusiastic following in spite of being discontinued in 1970. (I had three at various times but grew out of them).
My present Honda SH300 scooter is what they should have been and I look upon it as a latter day, improved version.

PILOT OFFICER ARTHUR WILLIAM CLARKE

Our National Day of Remembrance is on November 11th and this year is also the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain. I should like to remember one man who can represent all the young men who fought in the skies above South Eastern Britain in that summer of 1940.

My cycle rides take me through the tranquil fields and under the vast skies of Romney Marsh in Kent. But in 1940 it would have been a very different scene. Air war was being waged here and as I turn a corner ahead I can see a lonely roadside monument.

Arriving at the corner one sees it is a grave, but a grave without a body. The remains of Pilot Officer Arthur William Clarke lie still within his Hurricane fighter nearby - embraced by Mother Earth, 30 feet beneath the peaceful fields of Romney Marsh, but by no means forgotten. Whenever I pass I will stop for a moment and there are always fresh flowers on the monument.

The story behind this little corner of the earth is poignantly told in detail here. Please do Arthur the honour of reading it.

"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few"

 The above link is a fitting ending to this post and is worth watching to the end.

Autumn in Dorset

A family bereavement caused us to cancel our summer holiday, so now a week in Dorset beckoned. It is a lovely county, fairly unknown and forgotten by the hordes, but known and cherished by, amongst others, Thomas Hardy aficionados.

Our caravan settled down in a field on a small farm, with glorious views from the front window

However, there is a price to pay - to enjoy a view one needs a hill, which means a slope. Siting the caravan was tricky but accomplished, with the help of stone props.

The caravan is level, the angle of the awning gives some idea of the slope.

But the autumn days were glorious.We awoke to misty mornings

But by about 10 o'clock the sun had burned through, drying the hedgerows and burnishing the autumn fruits

and lighting sympathetically the views over the Blackmoor Vale (which Hardy likened to the "cottage garden of Dorset")

On only one morning did we draw the curtains to find rain obscuring the view

And that day we made good use of our National Trust membership to visit Kingston Lacy

All in all a gentle, relaxing holiday. No plans, no rush. A gentle nurse for fractured souls.

AUTUMN APPROACHES

Awoke to the first "Misty, moisty morning" today.

Autumn is arriving, with its sense of completion and bounty .

(Blogging has taken a back seat these last couple of months with my mind on other things.)

CORNISH HOLIDAY

Just returned from 10 days immersed in Cornwall.

Cornish Wild Flowers

Woodland Rivers

Bodmin Moor and Rough Tor  (link)

Prehistoric Hut Circles  (What was the life of a megalithic farmer like, tending sheep on these moorlands? Bleak, according to our standards, maybe? Or Arcadian according to theirs? The climate was warmer then. There is clean running water nearby. There are signs of early agriculture. Warmth, shelter, food and drink. It could have been a simple and satisfying life even with an expectancy of about 30 years absolute maximum.)

Tiddy Oggies  (link)

Cornish Clotted Cream Teas

Oh... and the (fairly) new dog, Rex, enjoyed himself having been introduced to "watersports"  - a new experience for him but he took to it like a duck to water!

HAPPY DAYS

This morning we loaded the car with quantities of baggage, plus my antipodean daughter, HHnB and her husband to travel to Heathrow airport. This was at the relatively civilised hour of 7.00am - 5 weeks ago we had to leave for Heathrow at 3.00am to pick them up at 500.am when they arrived from Oz - hot, tired, dishevelled and jet lagged. (Most of which applied to us too!).

It was wonderful to see them again and they had a super holiday here. As you may see below, I kept my promises. The bluebells were right on schedule and a perfect June morning allowed me to give my daughter the (60 mile) motorcycle ride she had asked for. (With a stop for coffee and dark chocolate and ginger fridge cake at a seashore hostlery).

The house seemed very empty when we returned from Heathrow, but Rex made it pretty obvious that he was glad to see us.

Until the next time, my dears.

PILGRIMAGE

As Chaucer has it:

"Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote....

...Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages"

(now, persevere, this is all relevant!)

In the early '60s I worked in my father-in-law's blacksmith/engineering business which specialised in wrought iron ornamental work. I did the estimates.

One day we received a request for a quote to make  7 vast ornamental gates to fit the archways of the being restored Aylesford Priory. These were to be backed with plate glass.

Such was the effort and complication involved we decided we did not really need the work and, having worked out a quote, doubled it to lose the business! Much to our amazement our quote was accepted. The plate glass sheets were a nightmare to cut and fit (we broke two) and we did point out that, as the gates were outdoors, metal expansion/contraction could well shatter the glass over time - this the architect ignored.

But fitting the gates was a wonderful experience, taking one back to the times when mediaeval craftsmen were constructing the cathedrals.

Work was going on all around us with the construction of the shrine

and at mid day all the workmen would gather for a meal in the monks' refectory, prepared in the monastery kitchens, while we were lucky (?) enough to have a monk at the lectern reading from the scriptures whilst we ate. (The food was excellent). An experience that has stayed with me all my life. When I first saw the television Cadfael series it was like déja vu!

However, the reason for Chaucer's opening lines here is that it is some years since I last visited the Priory and, although wanting a few days until April, with showers far from "soote" (sweet) at present, I decided "goon on pilgrimages" and see how all our work (which developed into more than just gates as time went by) was faring.

All gates are still OK after nearly 50 years in place, although all but one of the plate glass backings have been replaced with perspex after they broke (told you so!)

And both the great coats of arms (see first panorama shot of site, above) all fashioned in wrought iron (the lettering was crafted by "old Mac" our oldest employee with a lifetime doing such special work) still look good, although one is missing an "M" I notice.

As with our ancient cathedrals, this work should still be there in 500 years hence - a lasting testimony to the firm of  "J. Emery & Son (Maidstone) Ltd." which existed only until my father-in-law's death some 20 years ago.

FOR BARRETT BONDEN

This photograph of a garden rake being put to good use is especially for Barret Bonden who will understand why I have included it.

TRANSPORT THROUGHT THE AGES (2)

In the early '60s a car rammed the back of my bicycle at some 40 miles an hour, leading me to perform a parabolic curve towards the sky, leaving my shoes still captured by the pedal toeclips. I remember nothing of the accident, except coming to with an excruciating back pain whilst being strapped to a spinal board.

Apparently I came down on my head (a pretty solid part of the Avus anatomy), concertina-ing my spine and fracturing 3 vertabrae (nearly 50 years later, wet weather always reminds me of this).

However, every cloud has a silver lining (although not immediately apparent at the time). The subsequent compensation enabled me to buy a second hand motorcycle combination with a huge family sidecar. Here a somewhat larger munchkin takes her brother for a ride in Ashdown Forest.

Hopefully, in May, there will be a finale for this sequence when HHnB rides pillion on the BMW.

TRANSPORT THROUGH THE AGES!

Looking through some old photographs on this, a cold wet day, I found a memory of how a young married couple with two children travelled in the early 1960s. The little munchkin peering over the child seat now makes mosaics in Australia!

ALL BETTER!

My SAAB car was in the wars before Christmas. The insurance assessor was going to write it off, but changed his mind and allowed the repair.

BEFORE

4 WEEKS AND NEARLY £5,000 LATER

Researching the internet I see that this model (2002) is now valued at £4,500 and the garage tells me that the insurance assessor wishes he had given me the money!

HOPE

Welcome, wild harbinger of spring!

To this small nook of Earth.

                                                                                                                                                Bernard Barton

A cold February morning. A thin north-easterly wind in my face as I pedalled my bicycle up the rise from Romney Marsh. Stopping for a breather at the top I surveyed a panorama of dull greys, greens and browns. But there in the leafless, newly flailed hedgerow, right by my resting place, a yellow spray of wild gorse had defiantly asserted that Spring is not too far away.

In view of my blog's title Barton's second line seemed appropriate.

WINTER AFTERNOON

I have been getting slightly "stir crazy", not able to get out on two wheels since Christmas. Riding on ice and snow is OK if done carefully, but it is other road users of whom one needs to be in fear. However most roads are now ice-free, so some fresh air called. If nothing else, the image proves that I am not just a fair weather rider (even if my blog's header image suggests otherwise).

THANKS, POHANGINA PETE

I have always been impressed by Pohangina Pete's blog with his ability to post large images. I asked him how he did it and he was most generous with his time and advice (a natural teacher, is Pete).
So now I can manage large images too......thanks to Pete.

AT EASE

Lined coat, warm cap and felt slippers,
In the little tower, at the low window,
Sitting over the sunken brazier.
Body at rest, heart at peace; no need to rise early.
I wonder if the courtiers at the Western Capital know of these things or not?

                                                                                                           Po Chü-I (772 – 846)

Congratulating himself on the comforts of life after his retirement from office. (c844)
(Arthur Waley translation)

These lines, I have always felt, convey absolute comfort and contentment. (my feelings when taking early retirement!).

I dedicate them to you all as a wish for the coming year.