THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods….
But there is no road through the woods

Rudyard Kipling

(A gentle autumn afternoon's potter on my bicycle led me down a country lane. The hedgerows closed in either side. The lane became a farm track. The track ended at a derelict, overgrown five-bar gate. I pushed through and found myself on a forgotten, ancient road that led down through the woods, emerging onto the levels of Romney Marsh. Kipling's words slid into my meditative mind as my tyres rode over the soft leaf litter, the crack of the occasional broken twig almost an intruder on my musings.)

ACTING SERGEANT MICHAEL LOCKETT

Our National Time of Remembrance comes round again. Poppy wreaths will be placed against memorials and bugles will sound the "Last Post" (or "Taps" in the USA)

Acting Sgt Michael Lockett, who was killed in Helmand on Monday 21st September 2009, was the first holder of the Military Cross to die in battle since the Second World War. In remembering him I remember all those who are fighting and dying now in Afghanistan and all those who have gone before. He exemplifies all that is best in a soldier and can stand for all of them.

Can I ask you to go to this article. It is quite a long one, but please do "Locky" the honour of reading it all. It made me feel proud, humble and not a little angry at the politicians who send these fine young men to die in often senseless wars.

HONDA SH300i SCOOTER

(click any image to enlarge)

Barrett Bonden has posted about Honda's latest motorcycle which has an automatic gearbox and asked for my opinion (as a dyed in the wool motorcyclist ) . This naturally got me thinking about the automatic scooter that I have added to my stable, the Honda SH300i .

I have ridden and restored motorcycles, exclusively, for over 50 years having owned about 42 over that period. Scooters had never remotely interested me. However Honda brought out this range with larger, motorcycle type wheels and I threw prejudice aside and had a test ride. What a revelation!

I can honestly say that it is the best "motorcycle" that I have ever owned. Not the most expensive, the most interesting, the most desirable or the most characterful, but the one which does everything I want it to comfortably, smoothly, efficiently and economically. I ride it in ordinary clothes in a breathable "Peter Storm" outdoor jacket. Once off the machine the helmet and gloves are stowed in the top box. It has an underseat storage area which takes a lightweight waterproof overall and any small goodies purchased along the way. Behind the front fairing is a glove box with a 12 volt charging outlet for a mobile phone.

My BMW motorcycle gives me exhilaration, but the Honda is the most used - in preference even to the car and it was used throughout last winter in snow, rain and frost. The worst aspect of such use is the salt which is spread on our roads in winter to keep them ice free - however all vulnerable parts were liberally sprayed with ACF-50 which keeps corrosion at bay, although at the end of the winter the road parts looked like the bike had been through a farmyard! But when cleaned off it was as good as new.

I suffer from poor circulation in the hands and the ultimate luxury it has to offer is heated handgrips. These, combined with its designed-in protection and the extra clip -on lap blanket meant that I was warm and cosy all winter.

Its 280cc engine, taken from a Honda motocross bike, enables it to cruise on motorways at 70mph (116kmh) with some 15mph still in hand for overtakes. In my hands it consistently returns 80mpg ( 3.5 litres per 100 km). With fuel here costing £1.04 per litre what more could one ask?

It has ABS on both brakes, electric starting, fuel injection, watercooling and completely automatic (CVT) transmission (so no gear changes or clutch to bother about). For those interested in such things a technical spec. can be seen here .

You might think that I was somewhat enthusiastic about the machine - you would be right. I can think of no better answer to open air, comfortable and economical travel.

"Works Well", B.B.? I should think so!

SHOES

HHnB has just posted about her new shoes (which, she says, are unfortunately not red"). This reminded me that in the back of the wardrobe there still existed a relic from the mid '70s . My pair of red patent leather shoes which were worn with a pair of grey chalkstripe flaired trousers, a blue patterned shirt and a paisley "kipper" tie. Be kind to me, people - autres temps, autres moeurs!

Thing is, having put them on for the first time in 30 years, they are very comfortable, but I don't feel like being a fashion icon any more. (I wonder, if I click the (highish) heels three times, I can fly off to Oz like Dorothy? Except my Oz would be W. Australia!)

NORFOLK REPORT

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Norfolk..........a leisurely, enjoyable week. A cosy spot to set up our caravanserai under the apple trees,


Norfolk skies with the harvest in

Norfolk churches


The nostalgia of "clackity-clack" rides through the Norfolk countryside on old railway lines in ancient carriages drawn by a steam engine



and a vintage Routemaster ex-London bus taking passengers from the train station to the town (Holt)


But there was work to be done for HHnB who had requested detailed pictures of the "Great Wall" of Erpingham for her future inspiration.





(a complete set of model "T" Ford wheels are embedded)


However, the real serendipity was that the house owner and builder of the wall, seeing me photographing, came out to ask (in an almost impossible to imitate in print, wonderful Norfolk accent) "Yew loiiike thaaat, then?" He had owned a rubbish skip business, wherefrom had come the wall's ingredients (he still had two fields full of the stuff as well a collection of 30 horse carts and pony traps). He and his wife had taken 7 years to build it together. Unfortunately she had died some 3 months previously. Telling him that I was there because a daughter in Australia had seen the wall on the net and wanted pictures, he was happy to accede to my request for his picture by it. "Mr. Wright" he said his name was - (the formalities were preserved). His somewhat set expression was down to the regrettable results of a stroke.



Oh - and I can recommend the fresh-caught Cromer crab!

ANY IDEAS?

In the past, whenever a comment has been posted on this blog, an email message appears in my Hotmail inbox to notify me of the poster and the comment. Recently this has been very spasmodic and many of your comments have not been notified.

Any ideas about this please?

The Gypsy Life

Been taking a break from blogging recently. When it starts to feel like an obligation, then I feel it's time for a rest.

We are now off for a week in the caravan to North Norfolk - an area we have not visited for years. A gentle landscape, pretty villages, Roman remains, large stately homes and delicious, fresh caught crab. No real plans - just take life as it comes (and hopefully it will come with ice, lemon, tonic and gin!). However, our mosaicist daughter has given instructions that she wants detailed photographs of the Great Wall of Erpingham

Here is a sample of this fascinating construction - the link above will show you much more.



Having researched the internet I see that the Spread Eagle Inn at Erpingham offers good, home cooked food - so, definitely a day spent there.

Sandringham House, the Queen's country home will not be far from the farm where we are parking up, so a visit there will be reserved for a wet day and I guess that there may be some of those. However, we take the line, along with Alfred Wainwright, that "there is no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing" - so we get by.
"Catch you all later", as our colonial cousins would have it.

Word Verification

I am turning word verification back on for your comments, as previous posts seem to be getting inundated with loads of Japanese comments. They may be genuine: they may be adverts. However, since I cannot read them I cannot tell.

THE ROMAN SAUSAGE RUN

(click any picture to enlarge)

The Romans built a road from their port/fort near Hythe to Ashford where it met their road from the Wealden ironworks on its way towards Canterbury. Most of it is still used as an arrow-straight country lane, but it became abandoned near my home and runs under the gardens of the house next door.

This road is my route to the village of Aldington

and about once a month my bicycle takes me the 5 miles to a rural gem of a shop by the roadside, both butcher and baker, slaughtering their own meat and baking their own cakes and pastries.

The aim is to take on supplies of their delicious and varied sausages to restock the freezer. (This time I chose pork and apple, pork with stuffing, pork with hops and beef with horseradish).

Ten miles does not constitute a cycle ride however so, saddle bag sausage-laden I continued in the sunshine along Rome's road, passing the historic pub which was the headquarters of notorious smuggling gangs in earlier times. The scene of running battles (and deaths) with "The Revenue" and the "Aldington Gang".

My goal was the village of Lympne (pronounced "Limm").

Its name a corruption of the Roman name for their fort and port, "Portus Lemanis". Itself named after the defunct river estuary of the River Limen.

A winding path takes me to the escarpment overlooking a panorama of Romney Marsh. Time for a coffee break and the puff-pastry pecan plait (how's that for alliteration?) picked up with the sausages.

Below me are the remains of an outpost of ancient Rome. The 2nd century "Saxon Shore" fort protecting the harbour of the port and home to part of the Roman-British fleet the "Classis Britannicus". All is now tumbled ruins. Landslip and stone robbing for the nearby mediaeval castle has left but the crumbled stone stumps.

Looking across and beyond one sees a sanitised canal cutting through arable fields towards the seawall in the distance. The canal all that remains of the River Limen, the seawall converting what was a vast tidal bay into modern farmlands. The picture below looks back to the fort . One must imagine the salt waves lapping to the line of trees at the bottom of the escarpment in Roman times. The Castle, built from the Roman stones stands at top right.

However - enough of musing on history and Kipling's "Salt marsh where now is corn" . The coffee is drunk, the pastry eaten. The way beckons.

Sausages were on the menu that evening.

A LITTLE BIT OF ALAN BENNETT

HHnB and I recently had an email discussion about Alan Bennett, a wry, gentle author and playwright whom we both enjoy.

One (amongst many) of his bon mots comes in his play and film "The History Boys" and it puts into words something felt, but very hard to express. So perfect and sweet it is that I thought it worth sharing with those who may not know it. The teacher of English, Hector, says to a pupil:

"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you thought special and particular to you. Now here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours."

Now isn't that just perfect and what would one give to be taught by such a man.

"ONLY A DOG"

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Sabre "found" us, aged two. A local German Shepherd Rescue Society directed me to him and he came untrained, ungroomed tangled coat and with the strength of a young horse. However, I have an affinity with dogs and with the help of a Halti lead and that splendid book, "The Dog Listener" he learnt that I, not he, was the Alpha Male.
Happy with this understanding he took his place in our "pack" and became a great softy who loved a romp with our 6 grandchildren - I have a happy memory of him vainly trying to shepherd them as they ran over a local field.
We caravan and he was a constant companion on all our holidays, making the load area of the estate car his own sleeping area. When we visited towns or country houses he was happy to be left guarding the car, loosely chained with the back door open.

With us he "triangulated" England. From Hadrian's Wall in the North,




where he became "mascot" to my fellow members of The Ermine Street Guard,



South-West to the Cornish coast


and, nearer to home in the South-East, walking the paths above the White Cliffs of Dover with my eldest grandson.

Reaching the age of twelve he was still happy to romp in the recent February snows.

Three days before our Australian holiday he showed signs of panic and distress - meandering around the house, pushing his head into tight corners and upsetting objects. He was due to be cared for by our son and I could not leave with him in this state, so the day before we flew I took him to the vet. She immediately diagnosed a brain tumour, to which elderly Shepherds are susceptible. Our eyes met and I knew there was only one decision to make.
A great English countryside writer is able to tell the rest far better than I:
"he died, swiftly and easily, with his head in my hands. Such is the price of love, which exacts nothing less than a part of ourselves, great or small, according as the occasion and our temperament decree. A dog is, of course, only a dog. His death is universal and not new. Two thousand years ago a Greek countryman suffered a similar bereavement, whereof the monument was discovered by archaeologists. "If," said the inscription, "you pass by this way, and happen to notice this stone, do not laugh, even though it is only a dog's grave. Tears fell for my sake, and the earth was heaped above me by a master's hand, who likewise carved these words."












Goodbye old friend.

HOME AGAIN

What can I say? We had a wonderful 6 weeks with our daughter

and Australian relatives. The Aussies lived up to their reputation for throwing a good one when they gave us a great Golden Wedding Party

As many will know from her site, HHnB constructs mosaics and her present to us was a beautiful bird bath made with her own fair hands and showing Golden Wattle (Australia's national emblem) for a Golden Wedding . Fortunately business class air travel allowed for weightier baggage, since the bowl is of very substantial earthenware measuring some 30cm across by 8cm deep!

Now safely installed on a pedestal on our lawn, the birds are already making use of it.

And our presents to each other? They had to reflect our celebration in Australia, so Mrs Avus received an opal pendant set in white gold, chosen in the Fremantle Opal shop and I, naturally, chose an Akubra "Snowy River" hat.

As to our Australian experiences? I can do no better than quote from her national poet (who wrote "Waltzing Matilda"):

"And the bush has friends to meet him,and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars"

OFF ON OUR TRAVELS

Well, the time has almost arrived for Mrs Avus and I to be off to Western Australia for 6 weeks (albeit by Boeing 747, rather than BMW motorcycle - although that would have been an interesting experience of REAL travel!).

The Perth area contains a good number of Avus' relatives. Our daughter, of course, my wife's sister and brother and numerous in-laws, cousins and niblets (collective noun for nephews/nieces). Looking forward to seeing them all again and celebrating our Golden Wedding whilst there.

So there may be some "interruption of service" for a while where this blog is concerned. However, if I get my hands on my daughter's PC, on a wet afternoon, who knows.....

There could be a "posting".

FOR VALONIA

I have always felt a little ambivalent about publishing my picture on the blog, but since Valonia has blown my cover (see previous post's comments) I have decided to come clean.

Word Verification

I am joining Lee (amongst others) in turning off Word Verification on the "comments" form. I know it's supposedly there to stop spam, but it is a source of irritation.
(If I now get flooded with spam I shall curse Lee and turn it back on)

Mature Love Poetry

Lucy has a recent posting about mature love poetry. This inspired me to re-visit one of my favourite poets, Edna St Vincent Millay. I have a great love of most of her work, but Lucy's post brought to mind one (amongst many) of Edna's exquisite sonnets. Here she uses the third of the Greek Fates, Atropos, who cuts the thread of life, to make her point.

"I pray you if you love me, bear my joy
A little while, or let me weep your tears;
I, too, have seen the quavering Fate destroy
Your destiny's bright spinning - the dull shears
Meeting not neatly, chewing at the thread, -
Nor can you well be less aware how fine,
How staunch as wire, and how unwarranted
Endures the golden fortune that is mine.
I pray you for this day at least, my dear
Fare by my side, that journey in the sun;
Else must I turn me from the blossoming year
And walk in grief the way that you have gone.
Let us go forth together to the spring:
Love must be this, if it be anything."

Appropriate, as Spring approaches here in the Northern hemisphere.

JUST VENTURED OUT OF THE CAVE

Having had the usual January feelings and also the most horrendous cold ever (started on New Year's Day and just getting better), I have not been in blogsphere for a while. However, things are looking up.

A bright and extremely cold day got me out on the bike for about 12 miles. Into town for a latte and cake at my favourite Italian coffee shop, home, and then after lunch to my country post office to send off a parcel. Could have gone to the town post office in the morning, but I needed the stimulus and exercise having not ridden a bicycle since January 1st. (Hard work,I have lost my wind and my legs!)

Why the town visit? To transfer funds ready for our 6 week visit to Australia in March. Time to see our daughter in Perth once more. We aim to celebrate our Golden Wedding whilst there and can rely on the Aussies for a good party!

So - a lot to look forward to. Think I will shut up the hibernation cave for another year.

FELICITATIONS FOR THE COMING YEAR

(click to enlarge)

My best wishes to you all for 2009 - may the way be level and as you turn the corner ahead may the view be pleasant and calming.

Not having Patterson's sketching talents (see previous post) I must needs make do with a shot from my post-Christmas "dissipating the pudding" ride.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

As my present , may I introduce you to Britain's foremost cycling artist, Frank Patterson.

Elegant work and nostalgia for a more gentle time.

If you like his work can I suggest a further link where there is also a delightful Youtube presentation of his work. Enjoy!

I wish you all a very happy Christmas and a peaceful and healthy 2009.

BOOKSHELVES

HerHimnBryn has just posted a view of her old friends nuzzling up together. As a lover of "reading" other peoples' book shelves I thought this would be a good meme (although I guess it must have been done before.)

So let's introduce our old friends to each other and post shots of our bookshelves. They will be a good read and might provide inspiration for new reading.

Queen Elizabeth the First once said she did not wish to open a window into men's souls (after the progroms of Bloody Mary), but our bookshelves do just that! So I will lay myself open, to kick off this meme .

(you can click any image to enlarge it to read the spines)

SEASIDE ELEVENSES

A crisp Autumn morning warranted a 12 mile cycle ride to the sea. The best bacon baguettes I have ever eaten can be had at a little seafront cafe in the small town of Dymchurch.

Warm and crisp with lean bacon and plenty of butter (and brown sauce, of course).

Join me sometime!

REMEMBRANCE

Once more Remembrance Day comes around and we buy and wear our poppies with pride. This year I would like to remember a brave man, an American pilot of the Second World War.

On my cycle rides through this peaceful countryside I often stop as I pass by this shrine and there are others too. You see, Romney Marsh, being flat and close to France was the site of many airfields during that war.

A guest to our country, let's talk about Lieutenant Johnson. His memorial is known as "Johnson's Corner" and the "Stars and Stripes" flies proudly over the English countryside there every day.

.

These faded poppies from last year will soon be renewed on November 11th.
(click images to enlarge)

There is a citation, obviously written by one of his surviving aircrew. One must do justice by quoting it in full:

Lt. W. JOHNSON US 8th Army Air Force.

This Corner is named after, and the Stone erected to one of the courageous Airmen of the Second World War. He gave his life to save his crew.

Pilot Lt. W. Johnson & crew, flew from Rattlesden, Suffolk in a B17. Take off time was 4.40 am. on Friday 13th. April 1944. Their target being the Messerschmitt Factory at Augsburg, Germany.

When in formation, their position being No. 4 Lead Squadron, they crossed the English Channel, entering into enemy territory between Ostend and Dunkirk. No flak for the first 90 miles. Then! All of a sudden, there were black puffs of smoke and cracking noises, bouncing the plane about.

Lt. Whitely, co-pilot, reported No. 4 engine stopping and No. 3 not running well. Finally, with No. 3 feathered (Turning the propeller blades into the wind to stop wind milling.) they left formation and headed for home. Flying over Abbeville France at 23,000 ft. they were hit by heavy flak. No 1 & 2 engines still running, they were losing height about 500 ft. per minute.

Orders were given to Sgt. Williams (right waist gunner), to dump all loose items and start to remove the Ball Turret. All bombs were dropped. Sgt. Zeiger (left waist gunner) was to stay on intercom and help Sgt.J Higgins (radio & gunner). Sgt. P. Simpson (ball turret gunner ) and Sgt. Williams were told to release the ball turret. They nearly went with it. We were hit continuously over Abbeville. Looking down through the ball turret hole it looked like the 4th. of July. ( Independence Day.)

The plane was badly damaged. The crew suffered casualties. Lt. Nye (bombardier) had a badly damaged arm, Lt. Francher (navigator) had quite a hole in his leg, but kept them on course in spite of the pain. Lt. Whitely had a hole in his wrist.

The plane’s cables were shot out, No. 2 engine was running but not good. They crossed the channel with No. 1 engine at maximum revs. The port fuel tanks were very low and fuel could not be transferred from the starboard tanks because the electrical pump had failed and the wabble pump had been hit. When they finally left enemy territory they were at about 12,000 ft. and they were losing altitude faster now that they only had one good engine. They prepared for ditching in the Channel. Sgt. Higgins notified Air Sea Rescue. Lt. Fancher said they would see land in a few minutes. Looking down, an Air Sea Rescue boat was below them, just in case they had to bale out over water. They crossed the British Coastline near Hythe at 2,000 ft. The oil line on number 2 engine fractured and immediately caught fire. The flames came past Sgt. Zeigler’s waist gunners window. He then noticed that the horizontal stabliser was missing.

Lt. Johnson gave the order to bail out.

Lt. Johnson, Lt. Whitely and Lt. Fancher, using their skills, is the reason they all returned even though they were badly wounded. Sgt. Hazzard (engineer & gunner) did an excellent job of giving medical aid, and should have been given an award.

They started to bail out at Lympne over Romney Marsh. Sgt. Zeiger states that when his parachute opened he noticed that the main wings were very badly damaged. They looked as though a can opener had been at work. The last man out jumped at 800 ft. leaving just the Pilot, Lt. Johnson, who died when the plane crashed.

The crew were very saddened at the loss of Lt. Johnson, as they knew that he gave them priority.

Lt. Johnson was nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross posthumously.

WONDERFUL CLOCK!

HerHimnBryn emailed this link to me. I enjoy clocks and watches (the mechanical kind) and this really floated my boat. I just had to share it with you all.

It is derived from John Harrison's wonderful clock of the 1700's (this is a long link, but the fascinating story it tells is well worth perseverence).

BICYCLE GEARS - HISTORY LESSON

(apparently this "Penny-Farthing Band - German - is available for hire)

Barrett Bonden asked me about my cycle gearing in my previous posting and I said that my lowest gear was "23 inches". A non-cyclist would be justified in saying "pardon?" So I thought you might like to know the history behind this calculation.

In English speaking countries cycle gearing is usually measured in inches. You don't really need to know what these inches stand for, just that a large number makes you push harder to go faster whereas a small gear allows you to winch yourself slowly uphill.

Gear inches come from the days when geared bicycles superseded the ‘ordinary’ – now known as a penny-farthing. This had its pedals fixed directly to the front wheel and if you wanted to go faster you needed a larger one. So bicycles were rated by the diameter of this wheel. A 52inch ordinary bicycle was big and potentially fast for its time, but only a tall man could ride it.

Then the safety bicycle was invented, on which all modern bicycles are based and in which the pedals are connected to the rear wheel by a chain and gears. These make the wheel turn faster (or slower) according to the ratio of front chainwheel divided by rear sprocket. A gear ratio of 48 by 16 for example, makes the wheel turn three times for one turn of the pedals. The effect is the same as if the pedals were fixed directly to a wheel three times as big, making a 26 inch wheel equivalent to one of 78 inch diameter. Such a bicycle was said to be geared to 78 inches – that would be one heck of a tall penny-farthing!

This system may be antiquated, but referring all gearing arrangements (including hub gears) back to a simple size of directly driven wheel gives us an easy way to compare all sorts of pedal cycles.

To calculate gear size you enter the diameter (in inches - or metric people could enter it in cms) of the actual wheel, and the numbers of teeth on the front chainwheel and rear sprocket, into the following formula:
Gear = Wheel × Chainwheel ÷ Sprocket

Not a lot of people knew that! But now you do. My lowest gear (23 inches or 58 cm)would have me riding an old penny-farthing with a front wheel that size - it would be like a small child's bike!