MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 31

What irks me about new handbags is why manufacturers insist on stuffing so much rubbish inside them. I realise they need to give the bag a bit of shape, but often I’ve pulled out so many handfuls of  crumpled paper, plastic bags, cellophane and  bits of cardboard that it’s beyond a joke. I’m a handbag fanatic, though it took a long while for me to realise it. My mother was content to have just a couple of handbags – a dark one for winter and a light one for summer, but somehow, over the years I’ve acquired lots. Many women throw out old bags as they get new ones, but mine are like old friends and I tend to hang onto them unless they are completely unusable. I feel sad when I need to dump a bag because the straps have snapped or the zip has broken.

When our local TKMaxx store opened, I discovered a treasure-trove of beautiful bags and I’ve found some bargains there – even, on occasion a designer bag. Usually, though, I can’t afford expensive designer bags, and to be honest, many of them look rather boring to me. I know women are meant to yearn for classic Gucci or Louis Vuitton handbags costing hundreds of pounds but I’d much rather settle for a pretty, colourful bag costing a fraction of the price. I love colour. I love kookiness – well, I was fortunate enough to have been a sixties teen, so what else could you expect of me?! Floral bags, furry bags, bags with tassels and chain trims, applique bags, abstract bags and bags printed with quirky designs – I love them.

One of my all-time specials is by Baby Phat, a cream and beige bag decorated with dragonflies, butterflies and flowers, as well as chains, charms and silver links, while another, by Fiorelli, is a super, bright multi-coloured ‘snakeskin’ bag that I love to bits and which goes well with anything. It is magnetic, and has various chains which stick to it. I can fiddle with it for hours. Another of which I’m fond is black but covered in vividly-coloured flowers and features a cane handle. A few years ago, in a boutique in York, I acquired a gorgeous evening bag decorated with dolly-mixture beads, and it came with its own matching purse. York also provided me with a beautiful evening bag in a Regency design, sparkling with crystals, which I bought at the Jane Austen Centre. I wish I could use these more but unfortunately they just don’t hold enough. I do like to lug a lot around with me – my daughter regularly accuses me of carrying around a couple of bricks.  I also have a bunny-decorated pink Playboy bag, a couple of bright-colours-on-a-black-background bags by XOXO and a large gold one for when I fancy a bit of bling.

Oh, of course I have plain coloured bags, too – sombre colours for when I need to ‘act my age’ (not often!) – and also bags coloured canary yellow, bright blue, lime and red. My current favourite is a two-tone cerise and deep pink affair with lots of zips and pockets, large enough for me to cram in all my bits and pieces. I still have some of my 1960s/70s treasures – a small beige shoulder bag embroidered with brown beads and featuring a long chain handle, a bright red patent bag that resembles a cube, a purple fabric bag with woollen straps, a faded blue denim bag with plenty of zipped pockets and a bag created from dozens of squares of brightly-coloured leather and suede. One of my bags is made from grey (faux) fur, and reminds me of a cuddly creature so has gained the name of Arthur. I like to use Arthur in cold weather, as he feels comforting! My very first handbag, which I was given when I was eight or nine, was a small light brown leather shoulder bag decorated with pyramids, camels and a swirl of blue sky. I loved it, and needless to say, still have it. A few years later, my aunt gave me my first evening bag, made from black velvet with silver embroidery and a little strap at the back to tuck your fingers under while you were dancing, so you could have your bag with you instead of leaving it on the table.

A quick peek into the handbag I’m using today reveals: a purse, a credit/loyalty card wallet, a wallet containing membership cards for various organisations, pack of tissues, hand gel, mirror, comb, couple of makeup items, keys, phone, Kindle, camera, notebook, three pens, two pencils, address book, asthma inhaler, diary, two pairs of glasses, gloves, ipod, tube of peppermints, perfume, calculator, manicure set and a chequebook (yes, occasionally I still need to write one). Oh, and a worry stone, complete with its own little draw-string bag!  When I go on a longer journey, I take my special ‘emergency’ bag, too. This is a clear zip-up pencil case that includes such things as scissors, sticking plaster, safety pins, sewing kit, tape measure, sellotape, short length of string, pencil sharpener, spare notebook, tweezers, shoehorn, small magnifying glass and a minute atlas of the world! With a bit of luck, I can cram it into my handbag.

A hundred years or so ago, women didn’t have such large bags as they didn’t need to carry so much with them, while in Victorian times a tiny reticule, just large enough to hold a few coins, a hanky and a couple of visiting cards was all that a lady needed. How times have changed!

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 30

Finally, this weekend, we had just a tiny glimpse of spring. With blue sky and sunshine, there was no way we could stay indoors so we decided to go and find some snowdrops to photograph. The beautiful gardens, created by Sir Frederick Gibberd, the planner of Harlow New Town, are situated on the outskirts of Harlow, and they had advertised that they would be open for three successive Sundays for snowdrop viewing, so that was where we headed.

The garden is charming, with a surprise at every turn – it is filled with sculptures and art works. Here are statues, urns, mobiles and other interesting items, such as a large, colourful metal bull. Mossy paths tempt you to follow them, and a stream reflects the trees overhead.  We didn’t venture into the woody depths, as they were extremely muddy, but even so, there was much to see.

Construction 11 by Tim Monks

Sir Frederick Gibberd was appointed master planner for Harlow New Town in 1946, and he must have been pleased with the result as he decided to live there. In 1955 he began to create the garden, in Marsh Lane. After the death of his first wife he later remarried. The new Lady Gibberd, being an active member of the Harlow Art Trust, had many contacts with sculptors and she and Sir Frederick bought or commissioned over eighty sculptures to enhance the garden. Sir Frederick died in 1984,while  his widow passed away two years ago. Now, the house is sometimes open as well as the gardens.

Bronze Dog (one of two) by Robert Clatworthy

The sculptures don’t dominate the garden, they enhance areas, or are weathered so that often, until you are almost on top of them, you don’t notice them. Amongst the pieces is a vivacious sculpture of a woman holding a baby. Another that caught my eye was of a woman holding a young goat. There were two bronze dogs, a shiny mobile, a bronze bull and a wooden deer, a stretching figure and even a head of Sir Frederick, perched atop a pot of ivy. I was very taken by a piece called ‘Construction 11’, by Tim Monks, made from steel and stained glass. The glass arrangement reminded me of an artist’s palette. The stainless steel mobile on one of the lawns was fun, and very elegant. Probably the brightest piece in the garden is situated right near the car park, and is entitled ‘Il Tractoro’. Constructed from painted copper sheet, it was created by Gabriel Underwood, and is a stylised bull painted in vivid shades of yellow, red and blue.

Mother and Child by Gerda Rubinstein

However, we had, of course, gone primarily to see the snowdrops and they certainly didn’t disappoint. From small clumps to long swathes, the snowy flowers were beautiful, and so delicate with their fresh green markings on the white petals. Some of the snowdrops were really large, others tiny. Later, we bought a couple of pots to take home with us. Incidentally, the café serves delicious cake and huge pots of tea!

Chinese Dynamic by John Mills

Harlow is renowned as ‘A Sculpture Town’ and  boasts a number of pieces of international importance. Perhaps the most famed is Henry Moore’s Family Group which is in the foyer of the Civic Centre, and which gazes impassively through the large glass windows at passing shoppers. My favourite piece is Solo Flight, an imposing, graceful stainless steel sculpture in First Avenue, fabulous when viewed on a summer’s day against a cobalt blue sky. I’m also fond of the small bronze boar in the water gardens.  I couldn’t resist a giggle when visiting Tesco last week as right outside the Church Langley branch is a larger than life statue of a bronze horse – rather unfortunate at the moment, given the ‘horse meat in beef ready-meals’ controversy!

Princess Daisy at the V&A Museum of Childhood

Recently I was asked if I would be one of the Guest Speakers at the Victoria and Albert Museum of Childhood, at a Teenage Doll Study Day next month. I’m really looking forward to it, and to meeting up with like-minded doll collectors. It’s quite a while since I last visited the museum, so it will be interesting to see it all again, especially ‘Princess Daisy’, a 19^th century wax doll with a magnificent layette – everything from a crib to a silver mug. The lucky baby has hundreds of items of clothing and accessories. All being well, I’ll be able to describe the museum in more detail next month after the event.

Apparently, this sunny spring-like weather will last till Wednesday, when yet another band of cold, wintry weather will sweep in bringing ice, snow and cold winds. Then let’s hope that is the last of it – I think we all deserve a proper spring and summer this year.

A mossy path at the Gibberd Garden

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 29

‘By hook or by crook,

I’ll be first in this book’

When did you last sign your name?  Properly, with a pen, not electronically on an email or text. Think about it – years ago we signed our name regularly. We wrote letters, signed cheques or scrawled our signature on petitions to our local MPs. Today, even petitions tend to be online, and unless we’re entering into some official business, like taking out an insurance policy or making a major purchase, our signature isn’t required.  When did you last write your name in someone’s autograph book? I expect that is even longer ago – in Victorian times, and right up until the Second World War, most girls and young women had autograph books, not to collect the signatures of their favourite pop singers but to collect rhymes, quotations and drawings entered up by their relatives and friends.

After the War, people still had autograph books but the rhymes become more banal, and gradually the books fell from favour. Sometimes, school leavers copy the American idea of the school year book, collecting signatures and good luck messages from their classmates, but in general, today’s books are used by fans to gather the autographs of their favourite actors, film stars, pop stars or reality personalities. A couple of years ago I wrote a book about autograph collecting, and gathered a collection of early autograph albums, which were packed with exquisite watercolour paintings, sketches and delightful verses. Can you imagine someone today taking the time to borrow someone’s autograph album, returning it a few hours later embellished with an intricate painting? Or a cartoon? Or a long poem, lovingly written, full of advice for the years ahead? No, neither can I.

Some imaginative pages found in earlier autograph books involved photographs or small objects pasted in, such as silk pictures, cigarette cards, lengths of thread, locks of hair, buttons, postage stamps or matchsticks with a clever comment, witty remark or joke beneath. For instance ‘The Lost C(h)ord’, ‘I’ve stamped your page’ or ‘This is the most striking object in your book’, as well, of course, as that vital signature.

One of my favourite rhymes that I’ve come across, was written in the 1920s:

He criticised her pudding

He didn’t like her cake

He wished she’d make the biscuits

That his mother used to make

She didn’t wash the dishes

She didn’t make the stew

And she didn’t darn his linen

As his mother used to do

Oh well she wasn’t perfect

Though she always tried her best

Then one day at length she thought

It was time to have a rest

So when that day he scolded

The same complaints all through

She turned around and boxed his ears

Like his mother used to do.

Or how about this gem, also from the 1920s?

Some girls love their brothers

But I so good have grown

That I love somebody else’s

Better than my own.

 

Love, marriage and babies are recurrent themes, something to be expected considering the vast majority of autograph books were owned by young women or schoolgirls. Friendship is another popular topic, with people proclaiming undying devotion. Interestingly, unlike today where we tend to bottle our feelings or make jokey references about ‘eternal friendship’, a few decades ago people weren’t afraid to show their feelings. They were happy to write loving thoughts and messages to friends and relatives as well being willing to show their patriotism by writing stirring quotations about Britain, its soldiers or its Union Flag. Unsurprisingly perhaps, forget-me-nots are the flowers which crop up in albums the most, though roses and violets are also exceedingly popular.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When on a lonely path you’ve got

And may perchance to see

That little flower Forget-me-not

Pluck it and think of me

 

This one was found in a late Victorian autograph album, and crops up time and again over the decades:

Your album is a garden

That only friends may know

I will plant a forget-me-not

And see if it will grow

It’s interesting to analyse the themes – broadly speaking, they fall into four distinct categories. There are the flippant, humorous or novelty entries – these are verses and drawings which usually bear no relevance to the owner of the album; they are purely entries chosen to entertain. Secondly, there are the sentimental entries which often proclaim advice, friendship or love. The third type are those which consists of quotes, homilies, texts or poems. Sometimes these poems seem original to the writer, but more often are an extract from a well-known poet such as Browning, Kipling, Shakespeare or Keats. The fourth category belongs to the entries that I think of as ‘self-indulgent’. These are the self-satisfied, holier-than-thou entries that were particularly in vogue in Edwardian times and up to the 19220s. You can imagine these being penned by elderly aunts with pursed mouths like cats’ bottoms, or pompous uncles who believed that their flighty nieces needed a firm hand to keep them on the straight and narrow. They tended to consist of moralistic verses and prose setting out rules for behaviour, and you can imagine the young recipient screwing up her nose in disgust as she read the offering, such as this entry dated 1919:

 Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life

And even when you’ve found them

It is well and kind to be somewhat blind

And to look for the virtue behind them.

The world will never adjust itself

To suit your whines to the letter

Some things must go wrong your whole life long

And the sooner you know it the better

 

I rather like this 1950s’ offering, too:

Tell me quick

Before I faint

Is we friends

Or is we ain’t?

As children, we tended to scrawl our names and a sentiment such as the ubiquitous ‘By hook or by crook, I’ll be first in the book’ or maybe, ‘Don’t kiss at the garden gate, Love is blind but neighbours ain’t’. However, as we mature, we realise what a great responsibility we undertake on the rare occasions when an autograph book is proffered for us to sign. What should we put? Do we come up with a thoughtful entry in the hope it will guide the book’s owner through life’s rocky highway, or do we opt for something witty to demonstrate our sense of humour? Sadly, the opportunity rarely comes along nowadays.

A Philographist's Prayer

Can't think

Brain numb

Inspiration won't come,

Can't write,

Bad pen,

Much love,

Amen

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 28

This has been a waxwing winter. Waxwings are elegant birds, slightly smaller than starlings, with a pinkish-beige body, black mask and throat, yellow and white wing markings, yellow tail flash and a punk-like crest on top of their head. On their wings are a few bright red waxy feather shafts, which resemble old-fashioned sealing wax, hence the birds’ name. They are winter visitors to Britain, but in some years – such as this – they come in vast numbers because there aren’t enough berries and hips to feed upon in their native Scandinavia. When I heard there was an invasion of the birds, I was determined to see some for myself as I had heard how striking they were, but although I was told several times that they were nearby, the waxwings had always flown on by the time I arrived.

Waxwings seek out berries in parks and gardens, and, especially, around supermarkets, which often, luckily for birdwatchers, plant sturdy, evergreen berry-bearing bushes around the car parks. So yesterday, when I heard that eleven of the birds were near our local Sainsburys, I was determined to see them. We parked and while my husband went in for some bread, I kept watch, hoping I would see a few of the birds around. But no luck. So we decided to drive along the roads surrounding the store in the hope that they were still in the vicinity. Suddenly I noticed a small flock of birds in a tree. Could it be? Yes! Parking once more, we walked along to the tree. Nearby was a thorny rose bush and after a while some of the birds fluttered down to take some rose hips. Close-up, the birds were stunning and I felt so privileged to see them. They didn’t seem to mind being observed, and we stood at watched them for half-an-hour or so, until the bitter wind had frozen our fingers and faces. Even so, I managed to get quite a few photographs – a memento of a beautiful bird – as well as hearing their unusual song.

From one songster to another; a few months ago, regular readers of my blog might recall that my daughter and I went to a pop concert in Bournemouth that featured Mary Wilde and a couple of guests. We enjoyed it so much that we vowed to get to another when the opportunity arose, so imagine our delight when we found that Marty was to appear at the Rhodes Centre in Bishops Stortford, not too far from us, together with his band, The Wildcats. I booked three tickets, as my husband didn’t want to miss out on the fun, and on Saturday we took our seats in the comfortable small theatre. We weren’t disappointed. Marty was on top form – amazing to think that he is 74! – and the Wildcats were excellent too. We, together with the rest of the audience, sang and clapped along as all our favourite hit from the late 1950s and early 1960s were belted out.

There was a bonus, too. At the Rhodes Centre an exhibition was being held entitled ‘Worn To Be Wild’ which featured a selection of dresses by dress designer and textile artist Kate Plumtree, all inspired by a British bird or mammal and a specific fashion era. The intriguing dresses included designs based on a bat, a kingfisher, a mute swan, a Grebe, a fox, a golden eagle and an otter. I remember seeing some of them featured on Springwatch Unsprung last year – the inventiveness of the designs was extremely impressive.

In the last blog I mentioned that I was hoping to get a new bookcase to bring some order to the heaps of books which I kept tripping over. Luckily, in the end my daughter and I didn’t have to smuggle one in, which was good as I doubt it would have fitted into her car. This was because I explained to my husband how much space we would gain, how much tidier it would look and (the clincher), how he would be able to keep some of his books about trains to hand! So, a quick trip to Argos, a, surprisingly easy, battle with a flat pack – and the bookcase was up. It looks good, and, best of all, my precious natural history guides are all together. So now, I can read about waxwings whenever I want, as the book is now easy to find!

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 27

The more it snows

(Tiddly Pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddly Pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddly Pom)
On snowing.

So sang Winnie-the-Pooh one snowy day. And I sang it too as I watched the snowflakes fluttering down from a heavy grey sky – they began lightly, more like white dust than flakes, lulling me into a false sense of security. Then they grew larger, and started swirling and swooping before settling, covering the grass, the shrubs and the flower pots with a snowy white blanket. The branches of the apple tree looked beautiful with their frosting, while the owl and rabbit garden ornaments were turned into mysterious heaps of snow, like mini-snowmen waiting to be decorated with lumps of coal eyes and carrot noses.

We are lucky in our little corner of Essex, as we haven’t –so far – experienced the really heavy falls that some areas are suffering, and most of the roads are passable. Even so, my daughter took the precaution of leaving work slightly early on Friday to avoid travelling home in the dark though the swirling snow. It was just as well, because not long after the road she travelled became gridlocked.

More than ever, this is the time when it really is important to feed the birds – the robins have been coming down the moment the food is put out in the morning, even though it’s still dark. The tits, sparrows, starlings, blackbirds and dunnocks follow soon after, before the heavy mob – woodpigeons and squirrels – muscle in to dominate the feeders. Nuts, fat, seed, kitchen scraps – though not too much white bread – and mealworms (fresh or dried) are all very much appreciated. If the nuts or the fat balls that you buy are enclosed in plastic mesh, please remove it and put the food into a purpose-made peanut feeder or fat ball feeder, because birds die a lingering death if their feet become entangled in the mesh and they can’t escape.

Water is vital, too. Not only is it important for them to drink, they need to bathe to keep their feathers in pristine condition, so water, whether in a large dish, a pond or a fountain, will be gratefully received. If the dish freezes over, pour some hot water onto the ice to thaw it, and if you put a ping pong ball or tennis ball in the water, it will help stop the dish or pond from freezing completely. I love watching the birds splashing about in the water, with the snow piled high all around – they remind me of those intrepid swimmers who brave our seas ‘for fun’ in the winter months.

I’ve been sorting through boxes and boxes of photographs this week. As a writer, I need photos to illustrate my articles, and so over the years built up a comprehensive library of photos covering many subjects. Nowadays, of course, the use of digital cameras means that photos can instantly be uploaded to the computer, without the need to laboriously scan them in. Photos on the computer can be tagged so that they are easy to retrieve just by typing the subject into the search engine. Not so with prints, and although most are filed under subjects, a large quantity escaped the net and have been lurking in boxes – I didn’t have a clue what was there. Gradually, I’m pleased to say, they are coming under control, and it’s been quite exciting to see photos that I had forgotten about. They have given me plenty of writing ideas, too.

In January I always feel as though I want to madly clean and tidy (luckily, those feelings soon go after a lie-down!) but one thing I really want to do is to get a new bookcase, because I can never find the book I’m looking for as they tend to get stacked in heaps. My husband doesn’t want me to get any more bookcases, but my daughter and I have had a secret measure-up, and have discovered that one would fit nicely in the space near the door. So, one day when he’s out, we will go and buy one and smuggle it in before he gets home. He might not even notice (she says, very hopefully) – he didn’t notice when we sneaked in a 6ft high CD shelf unit recently!

Oops – it’s snowing again!

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 26

I’ve been having a ‘sorting and tidying session’. I freely admit to being a hoarder, but my excuse is that my ‘treasures’ give me something to write about, whether a doll, a piece of china, a postcard or the wrapping from a millennium celebration chocolate bar! Near my desk – which isn’t really my desk but actually the dining room table – I had accumulated a few crates of typescript, pencils (oh, I love pencils, especially when they have just been sharpened and have that fresh woody smell), folders, photographs and magazines. They didn’t look very tidy. Then I discovered a shop which sold boxes, pretty boxes decorated with birds, flowers, butterflies and all manner of things, and soon a selection came home with me. In the1960s there was song which went something like this:

‘Little boxes, little boxes,

Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,

Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.’

Well, my boxes aren’t made from ticky-tacky, whatever that may be. They are made from sturdy cardboard, and some have posh metal handles or little studs in the corners. And they are certainly not all the same – there are big ones for magazines and tiny ones to hold paperclips, and in-between sizes for pens, camera chargers, disks, notebooks and –um – my collection of wooden push-ups. (I’m addicted to wooden push-ups. They are toys intended for children, and are usually colourful animals on a base. When you push the underside of the base, the animal collapses in a heap. Great fun!) Anyway, so now the dining room looks much neater and much more colourful. The horrid plastic crates have gone and in their place is a collection of pretty boxes.

The weathermen are forecasting snow this week, and apparently it is already falling in some parts of Britain. As yet, we haven’t had any but it’s only a matter of time – certainly the temperature has dropped dramatically today. My daughter and I had an enjoyable walk in Hatfield Forest this morning, but we were certainly conscious of the cold and grateful that we had wrapped up warmly. On the lake we were pleased to count six grebes – normally we only see a couple. Furthermore, one pair was performing their mirroring dance. There was no weed waggling, but even so, it was certainly surprising to see them dancing so early. There was also a pair of Canada geese rhythmically pushing their necks forward in a kind of dance. If the snow and bitterly cold temperatures do arrive, I think that all feelings of courtship will be put aside till spring.

In the garden we now have two squirrels, one more shy than the other. I threaded some monkey nuts on a wire and hooked it onto the feeder and one of the squirrels was carefully removing the nuts one by one – I was impressed that he hadn’t tried to pull the whole wire down. Then suddenly, as he pulled off one of the nuts, it freed the next nut, and then the one above until a dozen or so monkey nuts, still in their shells, rained down upon the surprised squirrel, pinging off his head and bouncing to the ground. He had hit the jackpot and you could see the amazement on his face.

Finally, I am pleased to announce that for five days only there is a free promotion on my new novel, ‘Nelly’s Knickers’. Set in the late 1980s, this humorous novel follows the antics of a lively group of pensioners, furious after a spate of petty thieving leaves them bereft of their treasured concrete cats, pots of plants, plaster owls, bird baths and cheeky gnomes. Deciding to take matters into their own hands they not only defeat the enemy but the confrontation  becomes the talking point of the country – only to be topped by an outlandish performance from feisty Glad and her passion for Janet Reger underwear. 

Along the way we meet the irrepressible Eric taking flowery revenge on the Powers-On-High in the town hall after being forced to take voluntary redundancy, Dippy Doris with a penchant for speaking a dozen words when two would suffice, Rosa with a ‘face like a crumpled pile of wet washing and a mouth like a cat’s bottom’ and posh Hermione who struggles to run the Social Club against all odds. We mustn’t, of course, forget Maisie who tries to keep her best friend Glad from being too outrageous. And last but by no means least is 86 year-old Nelly whose knickers are essential to the whole altercation.

If you would like to download this novel for free to your kindle, ipad or computer, please go to http://tiny.cc/9ogaqw  - but remember you only have until Wednesday!

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 25

Welcome to a new year of musings – 2013. Some people consider the number 13 unlucky, but I’ve not had a problem with it.

It’s much too cold to sit in the bower at the moment, but already the evenings are getting a little lighter, and it’s only a few months to spring. There is a pretty Christmas hellebore in bloom, I love those white waxy flowers. And I bought a pot of lily-of-the-valley at the local garden centre a few days ago. It was in bud, and the flowers have opened in the warmth of the kitchen, perfuming the room. Glorious! Lily-of-the-valley is ‘my’ flower – it’s the flower of May, my birthday month.

The winter jasmine has been out for weeks, its cheerful yellow flowers on their curving green stems brighten the garden at this time of year. I took a photo in early December, just after we had a light snowfall. Amazingly, we have a red polyanthus in flower which we bought a couple of years ago. I don’t think it’s stopped blooming. The snowdrops are shooting, and a trough of daffodils have leaves about three inches high. Let’s hope we have a warm and sunny spring so that we can see the flowers at their best. Unfortunately we have had so much rain that the garden is very muddy – the lawn is really soggy, but at least we didn’t get flooding unlike so many people. It must be devastating to have torrents of water ruin your furnishings and possessions. As I’ve travelled around recently I’ve seen plenty of flooded fields, swollen rivers and water-logged roads.

Usually, this is a green field, not a lake!

Have you made any New Year resolutions? My only one, so far, is to keep a nature diary so that I can see just when the blue tits begin nesting in the boxes and the newts come back to pond.  I think it’s the wrong time of year to begin dieting – this cold weather requires hot soups and stews, filling casseroles and maybe warm puddings with plenty of custard. This is when my slow cooker comes into its own – just put all the ingredients into the pot about 10 am, and by 6pm a delicious stew with tender meat and rich gravy is ready. The slow cooking means that you can get away with cheaper cuts of meat, and root vegetables cook beautifully too.  When the warm weather comes, that’s when I’ll be serving plenty of salad and healthy food!

Recently I wrote an article for Best of British magazine about the history of pet keeping. It is interesting to see how fads and fashions changed through the years, from parrots and monkeys, to tropical fish and budgerigars, to today’s fad for exotic pets and reptiles. Dogs and cats are still the most popular pets in Britain, but rabbits are poised to take over – house rabbits are becoming a craze nowadays, and it’s quite easy to see why. Rabbits can easily be house-trained – they are naturally clean creatures anyway – and they can be affectionate and playful, too. They are also quiet, although our rabbit does grunt when he is happy!

I would love to have a cat, but sadly, with a main road at the back of us, a very small garden and an open-plan house, it is not feasible. So I get my ‘cat kicks’ when I visit my son, who has two, one grey, one ginger.  When  I was a toddler, I had a blue Persian cat called ‘Dinky’, a terrible misnomer as the name conjures up thoughts of tiny cat. My mother said she used to feel really silly when calling ‘Dinky, Dinky,’ and this huge fluffy cat came plodding up to her!  Later, I had a ginger cat called Jinx – I didn’t mean to buy a cat, I was meant to be buying a tortoise (but that’s another story) – and Jinx was beautiful, especially when sitting in the sun. The rich gold of his fur was almost the colour of marigolds.

Speaking of marigolds, did you know that an old name for marsh marigolds was marybuds? We used to sign a hymn at school, and the second and third verses were my favourite – they told of everything that was beautiful about spring:

Green now is on the larches;
Springtime in triumph marches,
And every day uncloses
A host of new primroses:
Then daffodils and marybuds let us in garlands bring,
For Christ has come again to greet the spring.

Skylarks, the earth forsaking,
Soar to their music-making,
And in the roof-tree's hollow

Now builds the trusting swallow:
So cries to him, so flies to him my soul on fearless wing,
For Christ has come again to greet the spring.

Don’t those words make you long for spring to come?!