Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 77)

Poles Lane is straightened; snowdrops from Ladwell House; flower arranging with sinister orchids; The Lake is frozen; a loved tree is felled; articles by Barry; five new birds and a Starling visits 99 Kingsway.

Book 56

February 6th 1956 is a Spring-like day, Gran taking much pleasure in the newly shooting Dog’s-tooth Violets and great numbers of Narcissus cyclamineus showing buds in the garden of The Ridge.  She:

…heard a very enjoyable concert on the radio this evening, in which Denis Matthews was the very able soloist in Mozart’s Piano Concerto in B. minor.  I had previously listened to an excerpt from Winnie-the-Pooh, that classic by A.A. Milne, in Children’s Hour, with equal enjoyment, so no-one can accuse me of being conservative in my taste, even though there are programmes to which I have not the least desire to listen.

With a summer of flower painting in mind, and the fine detail involved, Gran visits Southampton on the 8th to get a note from her doctor to get her eyes tested, and also to buy a new, fine paintbrush and some mapping pen nibs.

Visiting Ladwell House, near Hursley on her annual snowdrop-picking pilgrimage, partly to paint and partly for presents, she finds the flowers in peak condition but is depressed by what she notices in Poles Lane, writing:

I was saddened to see that “the powers that be” have taken upon themselves to straighten Poles Lane, cutting its corners and removing its bends, thus depriving it of all its fascinating character, and, in my opinion, making it less safe… Added to this, my precious Green Hellebores will be right on the roadside – one, indeed, is actually on the part marked for destruction and I must try to retrieve it…

This she does about a month later; she and Diana Fowler cycling there together with appropriate tools, digging the plant up, “after much struggling”, and later planting it in the garden, “with a silent prayer for its survival”.

The Snowdrops are, as usual, much appreciated by those who receive them, including Barry and Jock in Mill Hill:

…and their pleasure was shared by their kindly neighbour, Mrs Archer, and a newcomer to the district who had suffered a freeze-up and several burst pipes by way of introduction, and Barry thought a few of the Snowdrops might cheer her.

Waking to a “white world this morning, beautiful and undefiled” on the 14th, Gran again ventures forth to collect material for “the flower arrangements I am doing on Thursday, gathering [moss] before a further fall of snow made its detection impossible”.

These arrangements appear to be for an important “Masonic Installation”, at which Grampa is likely be involved. She continues the next day, in Southampton, collecting flowers from Fowlers’:

Some of those I wanted should have come from the South of France but the recent bad weather there has ruined them so I had to choose alternatives.  Luckily, Bob was able to supply me with Soleil d’or Narcissi, Freesias, Anemones and white Heather, and I cycled to Hursley after getting home with them, and picked snowdrops to go with them.

And later:

When I reached home I found that the promised Orchids had arrived from Malaya for the Installation, but unfortunately, either the box had been broken open deliberately or it had been most carelessly handled, in spite of express, registered post and many labels stating the nature of the contents and asking for care to be taken. Some of the flowers were quite ruined… So disappointing…

I did the ten arrangements with the flowers obtained from Bob, and, though I say it myself, very beautiful they look, though goodness knows how we shall get them to the Masonic Hall tomorrow!  But – let tomorrow look after itself – no doubt we shall manage somehow.

The following day, most of the orchids, warmed and watered by Gran:

…looked considerably more cheerful.  They are quaint little things, seven or eight on a spray, light brownish in colour considerably splashed with deep pink and with the top “wing” very much longer than either of the others.

She describes the transportation, by car, of the arrangements to the venue, their placement on tables and necessary small finishing touches as well as the general decoration of the hall, adding, somewhat dismissively:

I was allowed to see the room in which the Installation was to take place, but, having no knowledge of Masonic Ritual, it all seemed rather ostentatious and over-elaborate to me.  But no doubt it all had some significance to those who understand it.

There is no further mention of the Masonic event.  On the 18th, a letter from London brings the news that “Deidre, at whose wedding two years ago Jane was a bridesmaid, had a son on Thursday 16th.  His name is Timothy David – God bless him”.

“It was a surprise to see Jock come in the back door this morning!”, Gran writes on February 19th:

She had come to see her Mother, leaving Barry at Mill Hill with the two babes, as it is his half-term.  Not much of a holiday for him, I imagine, but no doubt he will cope admirably.  Julian was delighted with the funny little windcheater and pigtail hat, which I knitted him, and would, Jock said, go to bed in them if allowed!  Ricky walks everywhere now…

I well remember those pigtail hats that Gran knitted.  We used to stuff the hollow pigtail, about ten inches long, with used sweet wrappers!

The weather remains cold around this time, Gran noting that snow had fallen on Hiltingbury Lake’s already “thick coating of ice”, and that “Venturesome small boys were riding bicycles and tricycles across it, and I hoped fervently that neither of them would fall in”.  She continues, “I was grieved to see that the Council men had cut down our favourite Sallow tree, round which Barry and I have so often spent a pleasant evening “sallowing” for moths”.  The cut branches are rich with “pussy-willow” buds: “what a crime to cut it down at this time of year – a thing of beauty gone for ever”, she sadly notes.

Gran paints the least damaged of the Malayan Orchids, but she says:

…I confess that I think our own dainty, wild British Orchids are more beautiful. There is something a little sinister about the larger, tropical ones, though their formation and markings are wonderful.

February 23rd:

I have been no further than the shops at the corner today. I found an article written by Barry in the latest edition of “Hampshire Review” this afternoon and obtained a copy.  It is about Butterflies and Moths this time – their effects on agriculture and such when their numbers make them a pest.  There is a great deal in the article about which I knew nothing and I am left wondering just how Barry gleaned all his knowledge, and also feeling slightly amazed that the author of such should be my son!

The evening of the following day sees Gran at a dinner-dance at the Court Royal Hotel in Southampton, no doubt well out of her “comfort zone” but where she is much impressed with the floral arrangements. There is no hint of her reason for attending, nor of anyone accompanying her, but surely it was Grampa.  Who else could she attend such an event with?

Taking part in an outing of the Guildford and Aldershot branch of the B.E.N.A., together with members of its Bournemouth branch, to Poole Harbour on the 26th, Gran adds no less than five new bird species to her life-list.  This is a surprise to me, since none of them are particularly rare, and she has visited their haunts many times.  There are Sanderlings feeding on the tideline; Brent Geese flying past; Common Scoters on the sea; flights of Red-breasted Mergansers, and a Red-throated Diver, watched from the small motor boat, which took the place of the usual ferry, since the tide was too low for the latter to make the journey.

On the day of her saving of the Green Hellebore by Poles Lane, March 4th, Gran and Diana walk along the Itchen at Brambridge.  She writes:

Our walk was somewhat marred by a crowd of people watching the questionable “sport” of dragging the river for fish – a drag-net being pulled downstream by a man on either bank, preceded by one slapping the water with a stick, presumably to drive the poor fish into the net.  A wheelbarrow near the bridge contained the results of this operation – I assume they were Roach, from conversation overheard – they were certainly not Trout or Pike.

March 10th:

Barry sent me a copy of his article on the Lepidoptera of Chandler’s Ford, which recently appeared in the “Entomologist’s Gazette”.  He recounts his experiences with the mercury vapour lamp in this garden, from April 1951 until December 1954, during which period three hundred and thirty-nine species were recorded.  I am proud to have been associated with this census.

Much of what Gran has recorded in her journal around this time has followed the pattern of earlier years: some very hard work and long days in Fowlers’ florists, preparing displays and boxes of cut flowers for the liners leaving the docks, and also for various functions, including one for Shell-Mex.  She tends the Fowlers’ garden as well as her own.  Her migraines have still been a problem for her but are less frequent than they were.  She has attended Natural History Society lectures, and ventured out on her bicycle, alone and with others, but generally seeing little that is out of the ordinary. Much of her natural history excitement has come within letters received from Barry, with news of birds he has seen in the London area.

She has a new experience on March 14th though, calling it “a rare pleasure of quite a different style from the pursuit of nature”. At Mary Harding’s suggestion”, she says:

…I went to the Gaumont Theatre in Southampton to see a production of Ivor Novello’s “Dancing Years” on ice, and it truly was a most beautiful spectacle, full of colour, movement and the incomparable melodies of Ivor Novello.  The outstanding girl skater was Anne Rogers, as the charming Grete, and, I think, the best male performer, Eddie Wood, as Franzel, but Michael Walker as the composer Rudi Kleber, was very good.

She describes the detail of the performance, clearly loving every minute of it, and ends with, “I was sorry when the curtain finally fell”.

While spending a few days with Adrian’s mother in Kingston towards the end of March, Gran meets up with Norris and Fin, and they drive to Mill Hill to visit Barry and Jock and the children. It rains on the way and, Gran says:

…as a matter of added inconvenience, we had a puncture going along the Thames Embankment at Chelsea, and Brother had to don his coat and change the wheel.

She is delighted to see the children again, me now walking at speed and Julian intrigued by the tassels on her cardigan.  And she recounts an amusing incident involving Julian, “last Saturday”:

…when Julian went to the School’s Cross Country race, to see Barry act as Starter. Barry had appealed for silence, said “On your marks!” and was about to say “Set” and fire the pistol when, in the momentary silence, Julian’s little, shrill voice piped up, “Get on your marks!” Of course, everyone was convulsed with laughter and the runners quite put off, so they had to be set ready again, whilst Jock kept a lightly restraining hand over Julian’s mouth!!

Gran leaves Kingston on the 23rd, arriving home late because, alighting from the coach at Bassett, she goes straight to a whist drive, “where”, she writes, “I was lucky enough to win a box of fruit”.

There seems to be a hint of Spring in the air, and Gran’s spirits are lifted.  She plays tennis for the first time in many weeks on the 24th, and on the following day she takes the bus into the New Forest in the hope of finding the first bird migrants of the year.  She is unsuccessful in this, but describes, over several pages, the common birds and plants that she finds, including that more Robins were singing together than she had ever heard before.

It is in Hocombe Road, on the 26th, that she hears her first Chiffchaff of the year, “…dear, happy little wanderer returned once more”, she writes, followed by, “A surge of ecstatic joy overwhelmed me and I cried aloud my welcome to him”.

Book 57

March 30th 1956: It is the Good Friday Service at Compton Church, taken by the Rector, Mr Burdett:

This Good Friday Service always tears my emotional soul to pieces, and whether this is the reason or not I do not know, but I always seem to get an appalling attack of hay fever as soon as it starts.  Today was no exception and I found it most distressing and embarrassing, since my handkerchief was quite inadequate to deal with the discomfort of my nose, and kneeling in prayer was well nigh impossible.  I managed to last out but when I left the Church my heart felt full of unshed tears and my eyes were burning.

After the peace of the Church and the spiritual outpouring of my emotions, the shock of the traffic’s roar on entering the main road was almost unbearable, but – high above Shawford Downs a Lark was singing.

I turned along Poles Lane to get a Green Hellebore to paint and here distress was added to my discomfort, for widening had already taken place in the vicinity and a large area in which Primroses and Anemones have always carpeted the ground, had been completely despoiled, all the trees cut down and the plants grubbed up.  Great fires were burning.  I gazed at it in real sorrow, for twenty-six years ago, with Barry to be born in the August, I came to this place amid the Primroses one sunny March day, and listened to the birds singing, hoping that my coming baby would love these things…

April 3rd:

I must record a quite amazing remark concerning my wild Daffodils in the front bank, which was overheard by my Mother as she worked in the garden.  A party of people, walking on the opposite side of the road, looked across at the Daffodils and one of the women made a remark about them.  Whereupon a man crossed the road to look at them and returned, saying, “I think they are ordinary Daffodils!”  Had I been there I should have been tempted to say, “There are no ‘ordinary’ flowers and these are God’s own wild Daffodils!”

 

Today has been eventful!  I was doing the washing this morning when there was an urgent knock on the front door and there stood Jock’s Mother.  “An S.O.S.”, she said, and my mind leapt to Mill Hill!  However, she said that a Blackbird had fallen down the chimney into her sitting-room and she was afraid to go in there because it was flying about, and would I go and help her.  When I reached her home, I could see a Starling fluttering frantically in the window. With great difficulty we opened a window and I caught the poor terrified bird in my hands.  It lay perfectly still, with thumping heart, whilst I gently smoothed it feathers and spoke softly to it, and, after a few minutes, as I opened my hand outside the window, it sped away on vigorous wings, none the worse for its experience.

The year’s first Willow Warbler is recorded on this day, by the Lake, and in the evening, Gran and Diana Fowler attend the monthly meeting of the Southampton Natural History Society. The subject of the evening’s talk is “The Life of an Insect”, and it ends with a slide show where members are invited to identify the insects shown.  Gran writes, “I was the only member able to identify all the moths, but my knowledge of beetles and flies is extremely scanty”.

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Article series

• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 1)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 2)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 3)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 4)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 5)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 6)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 7)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 8)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 9)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 10)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 11)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 12)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 13)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 14)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 15)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 16)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 17)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 18)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 19)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 20)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 21)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 22)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 23)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 24)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 25)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 26)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 27)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 28)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 29)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 30)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 31)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 32)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 33)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 34)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 35)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 36)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 37)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 38)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 39)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 40)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 41)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 42)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 43)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 44)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 45)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 46)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 47)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 48)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 49)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 50)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 51)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 52)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 53)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 54)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 55)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 56)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 57)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 58)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 59)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 60)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 61)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 62)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 63)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 64)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 65)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 66)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 67)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 68)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 69)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 70)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 71)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 72)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 73)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 74)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 75)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 76)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 77)

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