Summer/Autumn 1945 More on Food and How to Get It

I have written about the last remnants of food from cellars and larders, gathering free food from hedgerows, woods and fields, the organised gleaning of grain and digging for potatoes left behind after the crops had been harvested.

Another means of gathering food was to steal it. In spite of the hardship there was very little of that. Some village children would make their way into the farmers' orchards and pick a few apples or pears; we were all too small to do much damage and we usually only picked what we could eat. Generally speaking, we were only chased away after we had had enough time to fill a pocket or two. The big boys would share their pickings with the children who were too small to reach even the lowest branches of the fruit trees. Plums and cherries were inaccessible to all.

Farms in the low-lying, wind-swept area of the Lower Rhine were built in a rectangular, enclosed pattern, barns, stores and cattle sheds were all part of the enclosure, with the farmhouse itself forming one side of the rectangle, usually in a prominent position facing the massive farm gates. These gates were only opened for vehicles and livestock, at all other times pedestrians used the ordinary, man- sized door cut into one side of the gates.

Outside the main gate on one such farm, in the middle of the green in front of it, stood a magnificent old walnut tree. Generations of children must have eyed up this tree, boys measuring their climbing prowess against it. During these hard times few farmers were generous; the owner of the walnut tree however, was by all accounts, a particularly mean man, only ever willing to exchange any food produced on his farm for goods many times its monetary value. Starving people from the towns came out into the villages to barter precious possessions for a slice of butter or a bag of potatoes.

One autumn afternoon a group of boys decided to raid the walnut tree. Although I was very small I tagged along, to the disgust of all the boys, one of whom had been told to mind me for an hour. In those days we were usually left to roam the countryside, the adults had no idea what games children played. When we got to the farm the pedestrian gate was shut. The boys had come armed with sticks which they threw up into the lower branches of the tree, thereby dislodging the nuts, causing a small shower of the fruits to rain down on us.

It was only a very short time after this that the farm dog, chained to his kennel in the farmyard,

started his furious barking. A moment later, the small door in the big gate flew open, the dog bounding out with the farmer in hot pursuit. The farmer had unchained his vicious guard dog and set it on us. The boys scattered in all directions; I ran too, as fast as I could, which was not very fast at all and very soon the big dog was on me, baring his fangs, slavering and growling.

Terrified, I screamed. The farmer, who had not expected to see so small a child, ordered the dog to stand back. He ran up to us, me and the dog, and reattached the chain. He was badly shaken himself; setting his dog on a group of children, the oldest of whom was no more than ten years old, was a very foolhardy thing to do, which he must have realized as soon as he saw us scatter. He picked me up, set me on my feet. I was crying and trembling in fear but otherwise unhurt.

The boy who was my minder slunk back, the farmer berating both of us soundly, giving his anger free rein. He threatened to beat us and set the dog on us, should he ever catch us trying to steal from him again.

The boys never took me on such expeditions again.

Sunday Quotation

photo Jeremy White

An Epilogue

I have seen flowers come in stony places

And kind things done by men with ugly faces,

And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,

So I trust, too.

John Masefield 1878-1967

A tag for a rainy day

Wipso of A Stitch in Time has given me the task to come up with 'seven things I have but don't need' and 'seven things I need but don't have'. After much head scratching I've come up with the following:

I have but don't need

too many years on my back

dog hair on the carpet

a garden full of stones

slugs in the hostas

summer rain

dust on the bookshelves

politicians

I need but don't have

more energy

more time

a toy boy (part exchange possible) for use with the above

a haven of culture and shops within 10 minutes walk and 100 miles away

a free season ticket for the amenities of the above

the ability to indulge my taste buds without increasing my waistline

the technological know-how of a ten year old.

Late August in the Garden

This is the time of year for the great finale in the plant world, when late summer herbaceous plants put on all their finery and produce a spectacular show in defiance of earlier nights and the weakening rays of the sun. The season of mists and mellow fruitfulness is near; I must go out and show my appreciation of the garden's efforts before the plants succumb to autumn's gentle touch.

The mixed border is still colourful with Sidalcea (the prairie mallow),

Japanese Anemonies, the pale mauve Phlox paniculata and

the yellow buttons of the herbaceous Phlomis in the front.

The prostrate Clematis x jouiniana grows over a wall of ancient stone

liberated through the ages from the ruins of the castle next door and covers

an area of 4m in total, actually making it impossible to leave the garden through

one of the side gates. It is covered in bunches of pale blue flowers during late August

to early October, when I cut it right back to the base. This leaves a perfect area for growing spring bulbs, The emerging leaves of the clematis soon cover unsightly

yellowing leaves while the spring flowers are dying back.

This pinky/purple Phlox paniculata is a very common garden phlox, but it

will make a great show in late summer; I like my plants to earn their keep.

Ligularia Desdemona will grow in damp shade.

It is a great favourite of slugs and I grow mine in pots.

I bring them on in a working area of the garden and dump them

under trees in what I grandly call the fernery when the first flower heads form.

The deep yellow of the flowers brightens the gloomiest area.

Clematis Abundance is a great favourite of mine.

This is a picture of it growing out through the crown of a useless old damson tree.

The tree is barren but it provides a perch for the garden birds that come to

the nearby feeders and the perfect frame for this clematis which does full justice to its name.

The Japanese Maple

Acer palmatum dissectum Atropurpureum

is a tree and here

for the whole of the season, of course,

but it is particularly spectacular in autumn,

so I thought I'd sneak it in.

from The Seasons

The sun has lost his rage; his downward orb

Shoots nothing now, but animating warmth,

And vital lustre; that, with various ray,

Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of heav'n,

Incessant roll'd into romantic shapes,

The dream of waking fancy! broad below

Cover'd with ripening fruits, and swelling fast

Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth

And all her tribes rejoice.

James Thomson (1700-1748)

Thistles

Those of you who are interested may read the previous post to understand why I have not been posting or visiting for the past three days. But I am back now and, although still a bit shaken, well enough to share this poem by Ted Hughes on a late August plant which is presently ubiquitous in the hedgerows and fields of the Shropshire Marches.

Thistles

by

Ted Hughes

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men

Thistles spike the summer air

And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst

Of resurrection, a grasped fistful

Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.

They are like pale hair and the gutterals of dialect.

Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow like men.

Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear

Stiff with weapons, fighting back over he same ground.

In Praise of the NHS

It is too amusing, one day after I wrote a paean of praise to the UK's National Health Service in the pages of Time Goes By I was once again the grateful recipient of its many splendid services. There is no need to go into great detail; let me just say, that on Saturday afternoon I had cause to ring for an ambulance. We live 30 miles from the nearest hospital, it is not a good idea to hang about waiting for the situation to improve; if in doubt, call the Service out. The local paramedic arrived within 7 minutes, the ambulance with a driver and a further highly trained and efficient paramedic within 16 minutes. After some preliminary tests and examinations these professionals decided that the patient (me, as it happens) should be taken to the hospital immediately.

Having arrived at Accident and Emergency a full programme of assessment, tests, examinations and treatments swung into action. Of course, it took time and for some the waiting between each course of action might have been tedious but I was glad that no effort or expense were spared to get to the bottom of things. The medics decided that I should stay in overnight, for observation.

A boring night and morning of repeated tests, little sleep and hospital food followed. Test results proved negative and I was allowed home after lunch. Right to the end the Service was excellent, in order to spare my husband, who is somewhat elderly, the 60 mile round trip, I was taken home by car, free and gratis, on the NHS.

We in the UK all know that the Service is creaking at the seams, for a variety of reasons, but I am very grateful to the NHS; My husband and I have had need of it a good few times in the past 20 years and it has never let us down.

A Moment of Transformation

The lower Rhine area of Germany is part of the North European Plain which stretches all the way from the Ural Mountains and the Russian steppes in the East to the Atlantic Ocean in the West. The landscape is almost featureless, flat, wide and fertile, with woods and lakes interspersed with verdant meadows and rich brown fields. It is a quiet landscape, an autumn landscape with high, racing clouds and wonderfully soft, white mists rising from the marshy ground where the Rhine has left his alluvial deposits for many centuries of shifting in his bed. Even today the river refuses to remain civilized, every Spring, when the snows in the Alps melt, he threatens to overflow and break his banks.

The many old river beds remain today as brooks, small lakes and marshland; they have become a picturesque habitat, rich in wildlife. Rare waterfowl nest here, there are several nature reserves where flora and fauna are under protection. Part of the landscape are the many windmills; whether the wind direction is East or West, it is a wind that blows unhindered, often furiously, driving the high clouds in front of it at a pace only seen in the plains. Nowadays the windmills are decorative only, but many are left standing and are periodically repaired as reminders of a different age.

The roads marching through this landscape are dead straight, always lined with trees, often with tall poplars or oaks. Each and every road has a cycle path running alongside it and bicycles are the preferred method of transportation, even today. Cycling here is always a pleasure, whether you are battling against the wind or being speeded along by it.

The tree most typical of the landscape is the pollarded willow. All pollarded willows here are protected by law, they are the symbol of the area.

This rather lengthy introduction finally leads me to my 'Moment of Transformation'. It was Bonnie of Original Art Studio whose post under this heading brought the moment back to me.

On my visits to the area of my birth, when my parents were still alive, the first thing I always did was to lug the old bike out of the cellar and set off for a long ride, always to the same, old familiar places, to pay homage.

On one of these rides the wind was blowing furiously, dark, heavy clouds were racing high above me in the endless sky, the trees in the copses waving their branches in supplication and the poplars by the side of the road almost bent double; the land all around wide and flat and magnificent in its severity - and there was I, alone, not a soul to be seen anywhere, a few birds carried shrieking to the far off ocean - there was I, also carried before the wind on my bicycle,

shouting at the top of my voice: I AM ALIVE, I AM ALIVE, I AM ALIVE, over and over and over again. A moment of true exultation, never again have I felt this intensity of being one with the elements, nature , my history and the history of this modest landscape; with myself as part of infinity.

Thoughtful Walkies

Looks like a pleasant afternoon, Benno, how about a walk?

This is just the sort of cloud which makes you feel good about being out. Wonder if there are any faces or imaginary shapes up there. What do you think?

Welcome!

How very nice, we are being welcomed here.

Wait a minute though, there is also a sign saying 'Neighbourhood Watch'. In Red! So it's a qualified welcome then. They are keeping a close eye on us while we are in the neighbourhood. Looks like they don't trust us - it's a warning for us to stay on the Straight and Narrow! As if we would do anything else!

Achtung!

Ah, Farm Traffic.

We'd better watch out for mad tractors; this one looks like a dinky toy, it won't push us into the hedge. It's the big ones we need to watch out for. The young farmer high up in his cabin won't see us down here and he won't hear us, if we shout.

And that's where the tractor is going. The harvest is ready. The bales are waiting to be collected.

We are very lucky to have all this wonderful countryside for our walks.

Macbeth, Miss Macbeth, The Rehearsal Orchestra

On August 15th, 1058 Macbeth was killed by Malcolm at Lumphanan in Mar. He was buried on Iona.

Ard Righ MacBheata Mac Findlaich

(High King Son of Life, Son of Findlaich) -

Macbeth, King of Scots 1040-1058

The one remaining tower of one of several castles in Scotland attributed to Macbeth. This one is in Peebles.

Photo Jeremy White

Every year in August the famous Edinburgh Festival of the Arts is held in Edinburgh. In 1957 the musician Harry Legge 'invented' the Rehearsal Orchestra, which has run each year since then during the same period. Each section of this orchestra is led and coached by a professional player, and students, amateurs and young professionals explore a wide repertoire of music, far broader than they could hope to meet in their college or local orchestras.

One of the most faithful summer students was Miss Macbeth, an elderly Scots lady, who was a violin teacher in Ayr. Wednesdays were half-days at the course and on one particular Wednesday afternoon Miss Macbeth decided she'd like a trip out of Edinburgh on one of the many sight-seeing coach tours on offer. The trip took her to many of the wonderful Scottish sites and she enjoyed herself tremendously. Until they came to a ruined castle which the tour guide introduced as " .....and this is the castle of the notorious murderer, Macbeth".

Whereupon little Miss Macbeth rose from her seat, bristling with indignation, and replied, in her finest lady-like accents, "Sir, I'll thank you to speak civilly of my ancestor".

The last, but by no means least, word goes to the Bard himself, who took the story of Macbeth and turned it into fiction. But what fiction!

From Macbeth

Act V Scene v

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty face from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

The Scraper's Diary, Wednesday, March 19th, 1947, Osnabruck

Nothing about this place, except that it is less bombed, in places, than Dortmund. Also, that by another masterpiece of over-organisation, we arrived too late to give a show.

Went with B.S.M. Scott this morning to his house to inspect his piano, with an eye to its suitability for our use in the Officers' Mess. I approved of it and also of his wife, tea, cakes and son to whom I was introduced in that order. Needless to add, I also approved of B.S.M. Scott. I hope that this was reciprocated.

o-o-o-o-o

Walking delirium of Germany, the streets muddy, impersonal.

Carts rumbling over wet cobbles.

A Wagnerian vista of clouds round a watery sun. Pre-Raphaelite above.

The chatter of children in their clean fur coats or muddy rags.

Boots boots boots boots.

Eternal chemists and hairdressers.

Piles of weather beaten rubble.

People clinging to the front of crowded trams.

A ridiculous flurry of cloud, like a gaggle of distant geese.

The clinging smell of dark bread and rank cigarettes, like plaster and potato peelings.

"I wish I'd never come, straight I do."

Policemen in green overcoats.

Traffic on the right.

Forever thumbing.

A foreign tongue all round.

Clean barracks, good food.

"Naafi, chum?"

Military signs nailed to every tree.

Wide autobahn and temporary bridges.

"Spades it is."

Stone stairs and echoing corridors.

Gaunt shells of churches.

Old men burrowing in dustbins.

"I'm jarred off, straight I am."

Heavy kit and long journeys.

Selling cigarettes for marks, watches, irons.

No mail.

And the beauty of the country round.

"Bloody roll on, roll bloody on".

Sunday Quotation

Vegetable Beauty

by Gertrude Jekyll, 1900

Getrude Jekyll's ideas about gardening were on a much grander scale than anything the modern gardener with his small plot could ever achieve. The lucky few might have an allotment for growing vegetables but these are hard to come by and every council has long waiting lists for them. To make matters worse, many former allotments are under threat with councils wanting to sell them to developers for hard cash to fill their depleted coffers.

In my little town this haven still survives, hidden round the back of the ancient almshouses and chapel and here, together with Mrs. Jekyll's words are a few pictures of the results of hard work done by the allotment holders.

I have often thought what a beautiful bit of summer gardening one could do, mainly planted with things usually grown in the kitchen garden only, and filling up spaces with quickly-grown flowering plants.

For climbers there could be the Gourds and Marrows and Runner-Beans; for splendour of port and beauty of foliage, Globe Artichokes and Sea-kale, one of the grandest of blue-leaved plants. Horse-radish also makes handsome tufts of its vigorous deep-green leaves, and Rhubarb is one of the grandest of large-leaved plants.

Or if the garden were in shape a double square, the further portion being given to vegetables why not have a bold planting of these grand things as a division between the two, and behind them a nine-foot high foliage-screen of Jerusalem Artichoke.

This Artichoke, closely allied to our perennial Sunflowers, is also a capital thing for a partition screen; a bed of it two or three-feet wide is a complete protection through the summer and to the latest autumn.

It was the lovely Moon

It was the lovely moon - she lifted

Slowly her white brow among

Bronze cloudwaves that ebbed and drifted

Faintly, faintlier afar.

John Freeman - 1880-1929

The full moon riding the cloudy sky above the Marches on 6th August 2009

Gardening

For the past few weeks the garden has had very little attention. Open Garden Season is over until the autumn, which means I can relax a bit and let nature do its worst for the moment. The endless rain has made going out into it an unpleasant chore; walking the dog every day and getting soaked in the process was bad enough without volunteering to get dripped on by shrubs and trees.

But the humidity and warmth also caused an explosion in growth and gardener and I had to grit our teeth and start cutting back floppy herbaceous plants, pruning shrubs that had finished flowering and trim edges and hedges. Pot plants needed feeding, roses needed deadheading and feeding to provide a second flush for the autumn, large clumps needed re-staking and the overflowing compost heaps needed turning.

geraniums in a pot

gardener standing in one compost bin and forking the

contents into another.

eryngiums (seaholly)

newly staked

the big border is looking tidy again,

acanthus, campanula and helenium are all standing up again, supervised by

the very prolific flowers of clematis Polish Spirit

agapanthus,

no work required, just looking beautiful.

I have seen the first dark red leaves in the ornamental cherry tree; I don't know the species name; it was here when we came and is a large, mature tree, whose leaves turn a deep burgundy red in autumn. Leaves turning at the beginning of August is surely extraordinary; can anyone confirm or even beat the record?

Just Seven?

Looks like I'll have to do what's expected of me, thanks to Snailbeachshepherdess; I've been doing the rounds, and found many of you had come clean already.

Like Fennie, I chickened out of making up my own mind (sorry, Fennie) and decided to ask My Beloved, children being unavailable and probably far to cruel-minded to leave a good hair on me.

"What do you think I'm like? In seven words, nouns or adjectives. Just off the top of your head, don't think about it".

Beloved stops to think.

"What do you mean, what do I think you're like? You're fine, actually, you're quite nice". (Note the qualifying 'quite'.)

"That's already no good, you left too long a gap, you were meant to react spontaneously".

Then comes the interrogation:

"Well, what DO you mean, why are you asking? I can't tell you what you're like, don't you know

what you're like? Anyway (slightly apprehensive hesitation here), I wasn't aware there were any major questions that needed asking? Everything okay, is it?"

We were never going to get anywhere this way.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, there's this thing doing the Purplecoo rounds and I'm to describe myself in seven words and I thought you might be able to come up with one or two things; you're not usually this slow with the "you know you are very.......... kind of remark".

"Sorrreee", Beloved says.

Disappointed, I trot off, up the stairs, to my study.

Within five minutes I hear heavy steps lumbering up the stairs, Benno first (he usually overtakes Beloved half way up), Beloved next. Both come into my study, Benno lies down for a long session.

Beloved speaks.

"You are open and warm, at least to a husband", (again, note the qualification), "you are a good, tender wife BUT, also likely to withdraw quickly, if you feel the need".

Golly, that man knows how to hedge his bets. Still, I accept that he means well.

He had come to a decision about my character; considering that describing any human being in seven words cannot be more than superficial, here are his (and my) Big Seven:

Independent, in every sense of the word. Never in my adult life have I followed anyone or any cause blindly, never have I surrendered independence of spirit in any situation, although it might have been pragmatic to do so.

Resilient; I've had to be to survive. I have had a very difficult life for long stretches and when it finally got better and really quite easy, I fell ill; three times I jumped off the grim reapers shovel.

Sensible; I wish I could be fluffy and silly and trivial and helpless and all things "little-woman-ish", but in spite of occasionally trying my best, nobody has ever bought it.

Intelligent; again, it comes with the territory, I can't imagine what life might have been like without it. Pretty dire, I guess.

Blunt; It is a long time since I told myself any lies; I dislike people who do so. Facing facts is very important to me, without knowledge there can be neither solution nor resolution. I will always excuse telling white lies to and about others - never wanting to hurt anyone - but that's as far as I'll go. Under this heading I would also include being unable to bear fools lightly; I'll be kind to the foolish one but I'll certainly not make a friend of him/her and try to avoid contact.

Loyal; very important. If you are my friend you can rely on me, in any or all situations. If you need help, you will have mine. I will not betray you. Disloyalty I consider to be one of the deadly sins.

Melancholic; this is something I've laboured under all my life. I enjoy laughter as much as anybody but melancholia is my default state of mind. I'll go for the melancholic poet, the thoughtful read, the soulful music, the sunset rather than the sunrise, the autumn rather than high summer, the racing cloud rather than the cloudless sky, the deep wood rather than the sunny meadow, the rocky shore rather than the sandy beach.

Sunday Quotation

From the Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon,

a lady-in-waiting at the court of the Emperor of Japan

towards the end of the 10th century AD.

Things That Give a Clean Feeling

An earthen cup. A new metal bowl.

A rush mat.

The play of the light on water as one pours it into a vessel.

A new wooden chest.

Row in the Bathhouse

Things That Give an Unclean Feeling.

A rat's nest.

Someone who is late in washing his hands in the morning.

White snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk.

The containers used for oil.

Little sparrows.

A person who does not bathe for a long time even though the weather is hot.

All faded clothes give me an unclean feeling, especially those that have glossy colours.