Last night I discovered that today is Trafalgar Day: the anniversary of the day on which Admiral Nelson lost his life, after leading the British navy to a glorious victory over the French and Spanish during the Napoleonic wars. Did you know Nelson had only twenty-seven ships, to the Franco-Spanish thirty-three? And that, whilst they lost twenty-two of those thirty-three, the English lost no ships at all?
What a great opportunity to indulge in some national pride!
I'd like to celebrate this great day in Britain's history, but it's rather short notice to get hold of any fireworks (my first idea), and I don't have any red-blue-and-white bunting (second idea). So I will just have to settle for opening a bottle of extra-special apple juice that I've been keeping for just such an occasion, and perhaps make something special for pudding. Oh, and before I eat and drink, I will read this prayer that Nelson prayed before going into battle; the battle in which he lost his life in the cause of liberty:
“MAY THE GREAT GOD, whom I worship, grant to my country and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory: and may no misconduct, in anyone, tarnish it: and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British Fleet.
For myself Individually, I commit my life to Him who made me and may His blessing light upon my endeavours for serving my Country faithfully. To Him I resign myself and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend.
AMEN AMEN AMEN”
Amen indeed!
Friday 21 October 2011
Thursday 20 October 2011
The mosaic of autumn...
What a sudden change in the weather! From the deep warmth of summer to the chill and frosts of autumn in the space of a day; it is quite a shock to the system, but I don't complain. Every season that comes around, I think is my favourite, and this is no exception.
I don't know why it is, but with all the poems there are about autumn - some extolling it, others lamenting - I have never read one that talks about its sounds. Changing leaf colours, yes; frosts and early evenings, yes; mists and "mellow fruitfulness", yes - but nothing about the great murders of crows that are now gathering, crarking away to each other as they swoop through the sky. (Isn't 'murder' a great collective noun?) No mention either of the thin but delightful music of the robins, singing to reclaim their territory in the wet early mornings, while a low pink sun rises behind them over the fields.
Funnily enough, the seagulls aren't making much noise at the moment, but their numbers have swelled considerably since the ploughing began again. As the tractors snort and grumble their way across the fields, turning over great clods of dark brown chocolatey earth, they gather in a great cloud, rising and falling, and rising again, following in the tractors wake.
I don't know why it is, but with all the poems there are about autumn - some extolling it, others lamenting - I have never read one that talks about its sounds. Changing leaf colours, yes; frosts and early evenings, yes; mists and "mellow fruitfulness", yes - but nothing about the great murders of crows that are now gathering, crarking away to each other as they swoop through the sky. (Isn't 'murder' a great collective noun?) No mention either of the thin but delightful music of the robins, singing to reclaim their territory in the wet early mornings, while a low pink sun rises behind them over the fields.
Funnily enough, the seagulls aren't making much noise at the moment, but their numbers have swelled considerably since the ploughing began again. As the tractors snort and grumble their way across the fields, turning over great clods of dark brown chocolatey earth, they gather in a great cloud, rising and falling, and rising again, following in the tractors wake.
Autumn is such a bits-and-pieces, patchwork of a season: part summer, part winter, it combines the mournful lament of late summer, with the expectation and anticipation of early spring. It think this quote from Stanley Horowitz describes it very well: "Winter is an etching, spring a watercolour, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all."
Sunday 9 October 2011
It Shouldn't Happen to a Willow Warbler
Better Late Than Never...
Today I awoke to grey skies and a world wet from last night's rain. At least the weather matches the changing colours of the falling leaves; I was getting a little worried by that Indian Summer we had! Not that I didn't enjoy it, of course; it was delightful to have, at last, the summer weather that had been so notably absent from July and August. What with those big blue skies without a trace of cloud, and heat that became almost unbearable if you sat out in it too long, I was actually able to wear my summer dresses - I have never in my life had a birthday like it!
It reminds me of my favourite Psalm:
"[The sun's] rising is from the end of the heavens,
and its circuit to the end of them,
and nothing is hidden from its heat." 19 v 6
One day during that spell of heavenly weather I was sitting in our little outside study with the door open, when to my surprise a robin flew in, perched briefly on the edge of the desk, and flew out again. Well, that was a little exciting to be sure, but it didn't last long, and I returned to my work.
The next thing I knew, another bird had flown in and landed on the window sill. It tried to fly out through the glass, and on finding it couldn't, it panicked, and flew further into the room, coming to rest on a row of books in front of a window which doesn't open. There it sat for some time, panting for breath.
As soon I saw it, I recognised it for the Chiffchaff or Willow Warbler which I had first seen in the garden a week earlier. At the time I had been unable to identify it exactly, as I couldn't see whether its legs were black (Chiffchaff) or flesh-coloured (Willow Warbler). Now, here was my opportunity, handed to me on a plate!
Rather annoyingly the bird had flown behind me, but by twisting round in my chair I managed to get into a position where I could see it. As it sat there, panting quietly, I could see its flesh coloured legs clearly, and so knew it was a Willow Warbler. We sat there quite still for about ten minutes, and then I thought I had better start helping it to get outside again; the study was hot, and I didn't want the the Willow Warbler to get over heated. I got up and moved towards it slowly, hoping to 'shepherd' it in the right direction; and, after a few mishaps (such as falling down behind the row of books several times), it got itself to the door, and flew out into the sunshine. I thought I had seen the last of it...
That afternoon, my mother heard a thump on her window: a bird had flown straight into the glass. Out we went to investigate, hoping against hope that it hadn't broken its neck. There, sitting on the gravel beneath the window, and gently panting away, was my friend the Willow Warbler.
Today I awoke to grey skies and a world wet from last night's rain. At least the weather matches the changing colours of the falling leaves; I was getting a little worried by that Indian Summer we had! Not that I didn't enjoy it, of course; it was delightful to have, at last, the summer weather that had been so notably absent from July and August. What with those big blue skies without a trace of cloud, and heat that became almost unbearable if you sat out in it too long, I was actually able to wear my summer dresses - I have never in my life had a birthday like it!
It reminds me of my favourite Psalm:
"[The sun's] rising is from the end of the heavens,
and its circuit to the end of them,
and nothing is hidden from its heat." 19 v 6
One day during that spell of heavenly weather I was sitting in our little outside study with the door open, when to my surprise a robin flew in, perched briefly on the edge of the desk, and flew out again. Well, that was a little exciting to be sure, but it didn't last long, and I returned to my work.
The next thing I knew, another bird had flown in and landed on the window sill. It tried to fly out through the glass, and on finding it couldn't, it panicked, and flew further into the room, coming to rest on a row of books in front of a window which doesn't open. There it sat for some time, panting for breath.
As soon I saw it, I recognised it for the Chiffchaff or Willow Warbler which I had first seen in the garden a week earlier. At the time I had been unable to identify it exactly, as I couldn't see whether its legs were black (Chiffchaff) or flesh-coloured (Willow Warbler). Now, here was my opportunity, handed to me on a plate!
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| Misadventures of a Willow Warbler |
That afternoon, my mother heard a thump on her window: a bird had flown straight into the glass. Out we went to investigate, hoping against hope that it hadn't broken its neck. There, sitting on the gravel beneath the window, and gently panting away, was my friend the Willow Warbler.
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