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Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 92)

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Discomfort and Badgers; a Cousin visits; standing for the Queen; the challenge of thistles; ashamed of depression – but painting helps; a holiday is long overdue; Marsh Tit and Hamster observations; Jane in Edinburgh; standing for Vaughan-Williams, and “Man should not trespass”.

“This evening”, Gran writes on a dry St Swithun’s Day, July 15th 1958, “brought today’s main interest, for, after working at Fowler’s this afternoon I went up to Bassett to have tea with Mrs Eagle, with whom I was going to watch Badgers at Lordswood… for I had yet to see my first Badger.”

They walk from Mrs Eagle’s house, through the Sports Centre grounds, to Lordswood, reaching the area of the Badgers’ sett at half-past seven.  Gran continues:

…I had changed into corduroy trousers and Wellington boots, with an old mackintosh, and was liberally smeared with insect repellent on all exposed parts, having been forewarned by Mrs Eagle.  We crawled underneath some very large rhododendron bushes, amid the roots of which the Badgers had made their home, scuffling out huge mounds of earth at both entrances, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible on cushion and rug among the branches.  We held Bracken fronds in front of our faces to screen them from the Badgers and prepared to sit it out…

They wait, in growing pain, for a long time:

My feet had gone to sleep and the tree-trunk against which I had earlier reclined so comfortably now became a hard and unrelenting rod down my spine, and, as I eased my wedged left foot it slipped to the ground with a thud that sounded like the drop of a ton weight, and my Mackintosh creaked like stiff paper!  I closed my eyes, hoping that if I relaxed completely I might forget the increasing discomfort… but the sound of movement on the dry leaves instantly re-opened them.  And there, before my eyes and scarcely four yards away, was my first Badger.  It was ten past nine!  No wonder we were stiff and cramped!

Gran describes the experience at length: noting stripy head, white tipped tail, the body darker than expected, and two animals appearing together, which foraged among the rhododendrons, and into a field nearby, where, she writes, “they made a series of extraordinary noises; grunts, growls and little yelps like puppies, and Mrs Eagle told me that she once heard one of them utter an ear-splitting and eerie yell.

“Stripy head, white-tipped tail, the body darker than expected.” Image by Barettyman via Flickr.

At twenty-minutes to ten they walk “quickly back through the now deserted Sports Centre to the garden fence, where Mrs Eagle whistled her husband to put over the ladder, by which we had ascended earlier from the other side…”

Enid Blyton would surely have approved of the whole escapade!

Gran notes a few days later that the ground opposite The Ridge, cleared for building some time ago, is still not developed and that it “is being claimed again by nature”.  There she finds examples of Great Mullein and Creeping Thistle to paint, writing when beginning the latter, that:

I had just started painting it when the Rector of Compton, Mr Burdett, called to see me.  He is retiring in September and said he wanted particularly to see me before he left because “you have been so faithful”.  This gave me much pleasure but I did not feel that it was wholly deserved for I do not seem to get to Church as often as I ought, nor as often as I should like.  I shall be sorry when he has gone, for changing one’s Rector is rather like changing one’s Doctor and he has been a good friend to my family, marrying Barry and Jock, and christening Julian and Ricky.  I do not like change, but no doubt Compton will be blessed with another good man.

Joan Adelaide Goater - her journal about Chandler's Ford.

On her fifty-fourth birthday, when Gran writes that all her cards but one were of flowers, she adds this:

Mary Harding, having carefully cut out details of a painting competition from the newspaper, was so pressing that I send in a picture for it – it is for flowers – that I decided to try.  After finishing my thistle this afternoon I made a start on Rosebay Willow-herb, which lends itself for attractive arrangement, and hope to get it done before the closing date, which is August 5th.  But, of course, I shall not win anything – I never do!

Not really true, Gran – you are always winning prizes at whist drives in Bassett! And she finishes the painting on the very next day, “adding some dainty Wall Barley”, just as Cousin Fairlie:

…walked in and brought me a box of chocolates and a delightful card for my birthday. Flowers again, and with a little Harvest Mouse in addition.  It was good to see Fairlie again, for she lives in Kent and is an infrequent visitor to these parts.  Later I finished the picture and went to tennis.

I expect that Fairlie herself had painted the card Gran received.  She was a younger sister of the better-known artist, Dorothy Adamson, but she did not have the art-school training that Dorothy received, their Father, Alexander Adamson, decreeing that one artist in the family was enough!  I recently experienced a house-full of Fairlie’s rather fine works in the south-west Lake District, where her nephew, Paul Adamson resides.

At the end of July, Jane and Gran play tennis together several times, and Gran is pleased for her daughter, noting ”It will not be long before Jane plays a better game than I do!” and that “Jane said that a Grandmother had no business to run as I do, but my lack of breath is my main weakness now!”

Grandad, Frank MacNoe, Jock’s father in the garden of 99 Kingsway. Rather damaged by the Great War, he was difficult to know. But he grew fine runner beans!

There is a rare mention of Jock’s father, Frank, on August 2nd.  After describing exciting Davis Cup tennis, watched on the neighbour’s television, between Italy and Great Britain, Gran then writes:

Jock’s Mother came round to ask me to go and look at a large moth which was at rest on the frame of her back door.  It was a Pine Hawk, the only Hawk-moth I have seen so far this year.  Mr MacNoe told me he had recently seen a Death’s-Head Hawk-moth, which had flown into a house in Otterbourne!  Why do such things never fly into this house?

Death’s-head Hawk Moth. A rather sinister creature but Gran would have liked to record one in the house! Image by Len Worthington via Flickr.

August 3rd is Adrian’s birthday, and as usual on this date, Gran spends some time before entering Compton Church, with him in her thoughts, mentally describing to him the view, the flowers, the birdsong and the passing butterflies.  This year she does not find time to climb to the top of Compton Downs for her meditation, choosing instead to rest “at the foot of Shawford Downs, on the opposite side of the road behind the Wayside Cross”.

Shawford’s Wayside Cross, a memorial to the passing troops of the First World War, was moved several times as the road was widened. Image by “MO” Maurice S via Flickr.

Later that morning:

Jane and I left by car to go to Highclere Park, near Andover, to see a cricket match between the Duke of Edinburgh’s team and one captained by Lord Porchester.

We are given some detailed history of the Castle and Estate of Highclere, dating from a first mention in the Saxon Charters in 741 A.D, to its ownership by the Earl of Carnarvon.  “The 3rd Earl”, Gran continues:

…succeeded in 1833 and settled at Highclere and commissioned Sir Charles Barry, famous as the architect of the Houses of Parliament to rebuild the house into the Castle as it appears today.  It is to the present Earl of Carnarvon that we owe the privilege of coming here today to see this cricket match, and Lord Porchester, who captains one of the teams, is his son.

There were several well-known names in the two teams, including two of the New Zealand Test players, J. R. Reid and W. R. Playle, and several from the Hampshire team which is presently doing so well in the County Championships.  These include the Captain, A. C. D. Ingleby-MacKenzie and Roy Marshall, the West Indian.

Highclere Castle.  Image by James Rintamaki via Flickr.

Gran and Jane leave a little earlier than the main crowd, as rain begins and Jane needs to get home for a tennis match.

A few days later she is cross with one of her neighbours:

I went to tennis this evening and whilst I was changing in my room a Jackdaw walked continually up and down my window ledge, occasionally tapping on the window. Our neighbours at the bottom of the garden have gone on holiday and left him – a most unkind thing to do since they tamed him and made him dependent upon them.

On the 11th, she writes:

The whole afternoon and part of the evening, about four and a half hours, were taken up with painting the Marsh Thistle, a very difficult but also a very satisfying subject.  Having now achieved three of these flowers [thistles] and several Umbellifers, I think no others will hold any terrors for me, for surely these must be the most complicated and difficult.

Gran’s Marsh Thistle – one of “the most complicated and difficult” of flowers to paint.

Gran attends an interesting lecture at the Bassett Garden Club on the following evening.  It is given by Professor Williams of Southampton University, and is entitled “Long-day and short-day Plants”.  Gran records some of what she learns there:

This dealt with the effects of light and darkness upon the flowering propensity of various plants, some of which need many more hours of darkness to promote flowering than others and it an almost unbelievable fact that even a minute’s flash of a torch during a certain period of development in a dark-loving plant can ruin its chances of flowering.

She says that there is much research still to be done on the subject, and ends her account of the evening with, “I won a bunch of delightful blue Hydrangea blooms in a draw, which pleased me very much”.

It is Dad’s birthday on August 14th.  Gran always expresses her pleasure in his achievements on this date.  Today she writes:

Barry is twenty-eight today and may God bless and keep him always and guide him in the new responsibility which will be his when he takes up his new post as Head of the Biology Department at Haberdashers’ next month.  I am grateful for the gift of my son, in whom all my hopes have been fulfilled and who, with Jane, has brought me great happiness when so much else has been lost.

This is followed with a sad little comment next day, perhaps related to her thoughts on her boy’s birthday:

I felt unaccountably but utterly depressed today, worse, I think, than I have done for years, for it was something additional to the constant sadness in my heart and not being able to account for it made me ashamed of it.

However, she adds later:

This afternoon I painted Marjoram and the necessary concentration and intricate beauty of this, one of my favourite wild flowers, did much to lift the oppression of my soul.

Wild Marjoram – concentrating on this painting did much to lift the oppression of Gran’s soul.

Clearly, it seems to me, the recording of each wild flower species she encounters, by painting it and storing it in an album, has become one of the most important ways she has found of allaying her underlying unhappiness. The daily routine and discipline of writing her journal and also her frequent outings into the countryside in order to see wild flowers and animals are further essential coping strategies for her.  Of the seven hundred and sixty-eight plant species she has found for herself in Hampshire, she has painted two hundred and forty-nine so far.  She joins in a wonderful plant-filled Natural History Society outing to the New Forest, led by Brigadier Venning on the 16th, during which she adds a number of new species to her Hampshire list.

The following afternoon sees her, with Jane:

…at “Finchampstead, near Wokingham and just over the border into Berkshire, where she was spending the night with her College friend, Gill Tween, with whom she goes on a tour of the Lake District and Scotland, which starts tomorrow.

“After reaching Finchampstead Church”, she continues:

…we followed a gravelly road past the Manor and soon saw Gill and her parents waiting to guide us to their bungalow.  A new and lovely home, built on part of the ground that had once belonged to the Manor, high on a hill and overlooking meadows and farmland with a very wide view over the distance where, in clear weather, it is possible to see as far as Basingstoke one way and Farnham the other.

Indoors everything was tasteful without being pretentious and the colours were lovely. The family are charming.  After tea we went to look over the Manor Garden, which is open to the Public, and the owner, Lady Liddel, came out to welcome us. She is a friend of the Tweens and a very sweet old lady – over seventy.

The Church at Finchampstead.  Image by RTPeat via Flickr.

 Book 74

A postcard from Jane on August 20th tells Gran that she has arrived in York, and Gran notes: “Barry and family go, also to Scotland, on Tuesday”.

She records this unusual bird behaviour in the garden on the 23rd:

…this morning I was interested to see a Marsh Tit eating honeysuckle berries in the garden. Unlike the Bullfinch, who eats them in situ, the Tit pulled each one off and flew with it to a branch of the nearby Laburnum Tree, where he held it beneath one foot whilst he pecked at it until he had demolished it all.  He then returned for another.

And, noting the moon bright in the sky on her way to post a letter that evening, she comments on Pioneer 1, recently launched from Cape Canaveral: “How pleased am I that the American rocket recently fired, in an attempt to reach the moon, failed. I do not think Man should trespass in the unknown universe”.

It appears that not only Jane, and Barry and family are in Scotland at this time but also “Brother”, who is at Fort William, enjoying good weather, and Gran admits:

…that I felt slightly sick with envy, for it is now ten years since I had a real holiday, apart from two or three days at Kingston, occasionally.  I would have liked to see Scotland before I die, though the number of places in England that I have visited could be counted on my fingers.  Still, I had wonderful childhood holidays in Wales.

The Hockridges, next door, have a hamster, which Gran fed (without seeing it) while they were away recently. On August 28th, when taking eggs to Jean, she does see it:

A pretty little creature with the curious habit of filling a large pouch behind its jaws with food and then retiring into its straw nest to consume it at leisure. It also uses its front paws like hands, as does a squirrel.

More news from Jane, now in Edinburgh, arrives including, Gran recounts:

…she has been to the Tattoo, where they stood in remembrance of Vaughan-Williams, the composer, who died this week, while the massed bands did the slow march to Greensleeves.  Jane said it was very moving (no doubt she wept, as I would have done!)

Article series

Related posts:

Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 46) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 55) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 75) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 84) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 96)
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Comments

  1. Dear Rick,

    I’ve enjoyed your posts so much, I grew up further down the road from your Gran, in the Polish Camp, from 1950 to 1957, it was pulled down a year later. It was where the Junior School and the Sports ground is now. I loved walking in the wonderful forest north of Hiltingbury Road, picking mushrooms etc. Before it was a Polish Camp it was a Prisoner of War Camp and earlier may an American Camp, but I’m unsure. Across the Road was an English Army Camp, they had a Primary School I attended. Does Gran mention these two camps.

    We then moved to Linden Grove, which is off Park Road, where I knew Mr. Wood (or Woods), he had a smallholding (in Park Rd. opposite Linden Grove) that I think Gran mentions in one of her books. He would give me sixpence for weeding round his tomatoes, he kept pigs I think, he had a son and daughter and him and his wife were such warm people, their mongrel was called Rough (or Ruff) and he’d sit on the pavement waiting for a stroke.

    Also she mentions a little girl coming to her door, saying her name is April and I’m sure I went to school with her, by now I was at the Merdon Avenue Junior School, its such a memorable name, this would be in the late 50’s.

    I loved that area, I now live in London, and was devastated when it got so built up, urbanised and my biggest heartache apart from the Forests going, is when the old cottages in Ramalley got pulled down, especially the large beautiful cottage on the right which the Factory pulled down behind people’s backs saying they needed it for car parking and its just a piece of scrub behind a fence now. The bigger upset was when they build on the most wonderful flood meadow past Monks Brook, which harboured a wealth of plants and insects, it was built on and the piece they left in the middle was grassed over. The Woodland Trust run the small area pre and past the railway line before Monks Brook, Flexford Reserve, as I’m sure you know, but it has lost its fresh abundance, when fewer people used it. Chandler’s Ford was probably chosen for this extensive building due to it not having a proper village centre, there were bits here and there, not enough to put up a fight with the planners.
    I’m struck that Gran goes to Compton Church and not the Hursley Road Church, but its probably nearer, older and more beautiful. I feel devastated that we’ve lost so much of our bird and insect life. The odd thing is that despite weekly or bi-weekly walks in that forest, I never saw a fox, though saw fox sets, in London they walk around the street, oblivious of humans, I would say I saw them at least a couple of times a month and keep us up with their noise.
    Thank you for putting your Gran’s diaries up online for our enjoyment, would you put them in a book one day?
    Yours
    Ryszarda Rogers (Raczewska)

    Reply

  2. Dear Ryszarda,
    I share your vivid recollections of Chandlers Ford as it was in the 1940’s. I remember the Polish people well: they were famous for collecting fungi in the local woods, and for winning the local table tennis championships.

    Barry

    Reply

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