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Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 78)

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Burgeoning Spring; a film star’s wedding; can Jane land a job?; Bill Goater; a life’s ambition fulfilled; more despoilation of the countryside, but Nightingales still hang on – for now.

It’s Spring 1956, and Gran is enjoying the first Cuckoos, nesting Blackbirds, and news of a Willow Warbler singing at Baddesley.  Daffodils, Violets and Primroses are up, and Tortoiseshell and Brimstone butterflies are on the wing.  Indeed, on April 9th:

Jane counted thirty-three Brimstones between Otterbourne and Winchester when she went to Winchester shopping.  Both she and I have lost our hibernating Tortoiseshells today and our bedrooms seem quite empty without them!  There was a Slow-worm in the garden, enjoying the warm sunshine in the shelter of the Heather.

Wild Daffodils – of great spiritual importance to Joan Adelaide Goater.  Image by Gabrielle Ludlow via Flickr.

Gran has noted an amazing number of hibernating butterflies leaving hers and Jane’s bedrooms as the season advances, “Where we have harboured them all I cannot imagine!”, she writes!  It shows how cold The Ridge was in those pre-central heating days, when a coal fire in one downstairs room and a paraffin heater in the hall were the only sources of heat.

April 15th sees Gran, with Jane, in the New Forest and, “We went on to Bucklers Hard”:

…but I was saddened to realize that, with the clearing away of the wide hedge on one side of the road and the erection of a car park and a refreshment hut on the other, that breath-taking first view of the Hard had lost its beauty, and one has to pass to the point where the old cottages remain as in Nelson’s days before the old magic is recaptured.

On the following day:

Jane and I went to Winchester to visit our old friend and Rector, Mr Utterton, who is in a nursing home there.  As we left, we were amazed to see a Heron languidly flying over Berewicke Road – in fact, across the Peter Symonds playing fields in which I have so often watched Barry running.  Needless to say this brought me a feeling of great nostalgia.

A nostalgic moment for Gran.  Image by Michael Brace via Flickr.

And on the 19th:

I went to Fowler’s to do some gardening, but on arrival found the family watching the marriage of Prince Rainier III of Monaco to Grace Kelly, the film star, and I was pressed to watch it also.  This television programme had meant little to me, but since the opportunity arose, I was pleased that I saw it.  Grace Kelly is undoubtedly beautiful, and was exquisitely gowned for today’s ceremony and far from appearing like a film star, she was just a lovely serious girl with eyes brimming with tears as the solemn service took place. The magnificence of the scene dwindled to insignificance in the sight of her sweet face and trembling lips.  I wish them both happiness.

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

Later Gran, rather than continuing with gardening, and at the invitation of the Fowler family, accompanies them (John and Diana, and their parents Tommy and Bob) to an Interflora Exhibition of Floral Art in aid of Cancer Research in Bournemouth. She loves almost all of the beautiful arrangements but, predictably, writes:

Much of the funeral work had already drooped (the Exhibition opened yesterday) and I do not care for wired flowers anyway, and the novelties, whilst being clever, distressed my aesthetic sense because they were largely composed of mutilated flowers, the sight of which always saddens.

Jane is applying for jobs at this time, and on April 19th, Gran is hopeful:

Jane has just come in from a session of “baby-sitting”.  She has received a letter from Exeter asking her to go for an interview on Monday to the school to which she had applied for the post of Physical Education Mistress.  I hope she gets it if this will be the best for her happiness.

Gran’s daughter Jane in her student days, with her nephew and Godson Julian.

A couple of days later, Gran mentions, for the first time, her stamp collection, which I remember as being important to her, impressive, and composed of stamps received from a range of acquaintances from home and overseas.  She and Jane have been gardening, then:

After an early tea, I did a little more painting, still the Marsh Marigolds, but interruption prevented me from finishing them.  Later Jane and I worked on my stamp collection, which has been sadly neglected of late, and whilst thus employed, Diana Fowler burst in upon us having come to escape her brother’s party at home!  Fortunately she is a philatelist also, so there was no need to stop! Indeed, she helped with identification.

The interview at the Exeter School on the 23rd, apparently goes well, Jane, arriving home just after nine o’clock, telling Gran that she had “liked the school and its head-mistress very much, and will accept the post if it is offered to her”. However, they learn on May 2nd that:

Jane did not get the post in Exeter, but today went to Gloucester for another interview. I am beginning to wish she could get something settled – she is – well, she is Jane, and she deserves to be happy and happiness can be so elusive.  I want the best for my Jane, bless her!

Writing at night on May 3rd:

I had to go to Eastleigh Town Hall this evening to an At Home given by the General Manager of Pirelli-General Cable Works, and his wife.  Such functions are not much in my line, but I met several old acquaintances whom I have not seen for many years and, in spite of rather long speeches about production and finance, of which I know very little, time passed!  The flowers on the stage were beautiful… and a pleasant orchestra played between speeches. Nevertheless, it is good to be home…

Gran must have attended this event with Grampa, who toiled all forty-six of his working years with Pirelli General.  He retired in 1964, the photo below showing him receiving his gold Rolex watch from Signor L. Pirelli.  What a pleasure it is for me to have an excuse to refer to this kind and humorous man in this narrative, so sadly excluded from Gran’s writings!

William Cecil Goater on his retirement from Pirelli General Cable Works.

Over the Spring, Gran has, as always, noted the nesting dates of the resident birds, and the first arrivals of the summer migrants.  Of those species nowadays absent from the district, Wood Warblers still return, her first being on April 29th, “later than usual”, she says, “but none the less welcome”, singing in Birches near Hiltingbury Lake.  That day too, she finds the first Marsh Tit nest she has ever seen.  It is in a hole in the branch of an Oak.  And Cuckoos, she thinks, are more numerous than last year, sometimes noting them calling and chasing each other in the garden of The Ridge.

Her first Nightingale is heard, with Jane, in the New Forest on April 15th, but she is delighted to hear one closer to home, as she makes her way to Compton Church on Rogation Sunday, May 6th:

I stopped suddenly at Hurdle Way, my attention arrested by a few wonderful, thrilling notes, and I listened, enthralled as always, to the glorious song of a Nightingale.  How anyone can ever mistake the song of any other bird for that of a Nightingale I cannot imagine, and, though I concede great beauty and clarity to other songsters and love them, for me this charmer from across the sea is supreme.

Nevertheless, the death-knell for this bird locally is being sounded by 1956.  Cycling with her friend Hilda Pheby to Morestead to look for Cowslips on April 24th, Gran despondently notes the following:

Larks were singing as we cycled along the road to Colden Common and Twyford, but much despoilation is taking place for road widening, and the lovely bluebell thicket wherein the Nightingales were wont to sing is devastated.  A saddening sight!

She is cheered a little, however, by seeing her first House Martins of the year.  A letter from Jane on May 7th tells her that Jane did not get the Gloucester job:

…and neither did her room-mate Gill, but Jane is unworried since advertisements are appearing thick and fast now.  She has applied for three more schools, including one at Cambridge, where she has always wanted to go.

At the end of April, Gran had bought a new drawing block and her fifth album for storing her flower paintings. By May 8th she has, she notes, “completed my twenty-fifth flower for this year so far”, Lady’s Smock being the latest.  She needs good natural light for this now regular task, often having to give up by mid afternoon as the sun wanes.  Each painting seems to take about three hours to complete and Gran is constantly amazed by the success of her results, modestly writing that she cannot think from where her God-given talent comes, but also feeling that perhaps the artistic Adrian is encouraging her from beyond the grave.

Indeed, later in the month she writes:

…I finished painting the Green Alkanet and was later considerably encouraged by the admiration which a friend, Barbara Smith [who, I remember, lived in Kingsway next door to the MacNoes], showed for my flower paintings.  Curiously, when people speak highly of them, I feel that I am showing them someone else’s work and not mine at all.  I am still unable to realize that I do them!

I remember when a television first appeared at The Ridge – and this is still several years hence. Meanwhile, Gran, though clearly disapproving of this modern gadget, enjoys occasional programmes on other people’s sets: Wimbledon tennis, royal weddings and wildlife.  On May 9th, after gardening for the Fowlers, she remains at their home in Bassett:

…staying until the evening for Peter Scott’s television programme about Slimbridge. It showed the now familiar grounds of the Wildfowl Trust as seen from Peter Scott’s studio window and many of the Ducks and Geese, which we saw there in January.

May 12th, the day before Jane’s twenty-second birthday: “A wonderful day, culminating in the good news that Jane has secured a post at Nottingham. But to begin at the beginning…!”

But there are no more details of Jane’s success, Gran filling seven pages with enthusiastic descriptions of her day with Diana Fowler on a New Forest ramble with Southampton Natural History Society, led by Paul Bowman, the profoundly deaf but highly skilled local naturalist.

They take a train to Beaulieu Road and then walk across the heath to Ashurst, more or less following the railway line.  All sorts of common bird and plant species are carefully noted, and Gran records three plants new to her Hampshire list: Marsh Violet (found by Diana), Rustyback Fern, “growing quite profusely on a railway bridge” and Lesser Mouse-ear Chickweed, growing on a bank:

…thickly carpeted with tiny wild flowers which included Buckshorn Plantain, Wall Speedwell, Lesser Clover, Common Whitlow-grass, Parsley Piert and Upright Moenchia.

Those small, dry, frequently calcareous banks, often by roadsides in the New Forest, can have a wonderful array of tiny but beautiful flowers.

Rustyback Fern Asplenium ceterach. The location where Gran found it is always known in the family as the “Ceterach Bridge”.  Dad tells me there are few places in Hampshire where it can be found. Image by Anita Gould via Flickr.

“Jane’s twenty-second birthday, bless her, and a red-letter day for me also!”, writes Gran on the 13th:

This morning was spent chiefly on household chores, but, having cooked the hot lunch yesterday and hung out the washing early, I did snatch half-an-hour in which to paint, in detail, just the flowers of the Marsh Violet, since I was afraid it would soon fade. I can do the leaves later, but I had hopes of finding an all-important subject this afternoon which must be painted as soon as possible, and I was lucky.

Southampton Natural History Society members, Mr Southwell, Brigadier Venning and Mr Donohoe, meet her at the top of Hiltingbury Road and drive her to Stratfield-Saye – “a long way but a most enjoyable outing”.  They meet Paul Bowman on the way, “who was coming on his motor scooter to join us in our expedition”:

As soon as Paul arrived, we pressed on to Stratfield-Saye, after asking the way from a party of Ramblers from Reading.  Turning down a lane and over a bridge over the Loddon River we went slowly and suddenly I saw – my first wild Fritillary (Fritillaria meleagris)!  I had realised one of my life’s ambitions.  There were seven or eight, deep purple with the sunlight shining through them and I could scarcely contain myself.  We went on to a field where, on payment of sixpence, we could go in and pick thirty each!  I did not want thirty, only a few to paint, but oh! how lovely they must have been a week ago.  Today they were past their best, but I was able to find a few perfect ones, seven or eight purple and three white.  We walked over a huge field literally carpeted with them…

It appears today that this colony of Snake’s-head Fritillary is much reduced, most botanists wishing to see a vast meadow carpeted with them, needing to visit North Meadow, at Cricklade.

Did you ever see such a sight?!  Image by Mark Kent via Flickr.

The following day, she writes:

Aided, abetted and encouraged by my Mother, I spent most of the morning painting the Fritillaries, for we were both afraid they would soon fade. They took all of three hours.

After finishing the Fritillaries early this afternoon, I took a break and mowed the grass in the garden before completing the Marsh Violets started yesterday morning. Afterwards I painted the Wood Dog Violet, leaving the Alkanet for tomorrow. Reading this, one would assume that I have done nothing but paint all day, but some household chores, including ironing, were also achieved and letter-writing and shopping done!  I do not as a rule, record these domestic details, for this is primarily a “journal of beautiful things”, but they do get done!

Unfortunately Gran’s painting of Snake’s-head Fritillary is in an album I cannot find. Image by Natural England via Flickr.

Oh how I wish there were more of these domestic details!  Cycling into Winchester, “to get another book for these notes, some green paint and a new, fine paintbrush”, Gran finds that at St Cross:

…an attractive picture presented itself.  The Greenjackets Club, in the College Cricket Field, were holding an Archery Competition, and the men and women were shooting at the targets with great accuracy.  Swifts were flying overhead…

Image by Ron Knight via Flickr.

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