Straying thoughts

 

Straying thoughts

‘In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,’ runs a line from Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s poem 'Locksley Hall.'  I might counter that with, ‘In the autumn an old man’s fancy darkly turns to thoughts of death.’ Morbid, no?          

No, not really. Something caught my eye and started me thinking about mourning jewellery. It dates back to the 17^th century but became popular, particularly in England, during the Georgian era (1714-1837) so called after the Hanoverian Kings George I, II, III and IV (not much imagination shown in the naming of kings!) and William IV. William reigned for a relatively short time (1830-1837)

                   Georgian mourning ring, gold with pearls and hair insert

                                     Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Mourning jewellery was created as a way to commemorate the beloved dead and show them respect. It became extremely popular in the 19^th century, when Prince Albert died and was so markedly mourned by his widow, Queen Victoria.

Mourning was subject to complex rules of etiquette, covering how long the mourning period should last, and what apparel and jewellery should be worn. With the Georgian emphasis on ‘Memento Mori,’ (‘remember that you must die’ – so cheerful!) people were encouraged to live their lives as fully and as well as they could.

The symbols they chose to adorn the jewellery often included skulls and hourglasses, reminding the wearers of the transience of life. Weeping willows and urns also featured, the willows with their trailing branches as symbols of grief.  Some jewellery also held miniature portraits of the dear departed and it was quite usual to put a lock of hair in a locket or ring.

The materials used included jet, onyx, enamel, or gold. 

                            Victorian mourning brooch with hair

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Other than lockets, jewellery might take the form of a ring, earrings, a brooch, a bracelet, a pendant or even a tie pin. Sentimentality became evident in Victorian symbols, with angels and clouds becoming more prominent than skulls. Wealthier families would set their jewellery with precious gems. Turquoise indicated ‘thinking of you,’ and children were often commemorated with pearls, because pearls represented tears.

                        Mourning earrings made from metal and human hair

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 The dress code was very strict, especially for women. Black had to be worn for the first two or three years of deep mourning, complete with black veils, gloves and shoes. This was succeeded by ordinary mourning, with was black dresses without veils, moving onto light mourning of lilac, purple or grey. Queen Victoria went into deep mourning for five years after Albert died, and never really emerged from her grief, wearing sombre colours for the rest of her life.

There is a thriving market in antique mourning jewellery.

Georgian mourning brooch with garnets and pearls containing hair from the deceased. One similar to this has been offered on sale for £995.00. The idea of wearing this fills me with horror.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Modern mourning jewellery is created with ‘cremains,’ the ashes of a cremated body. Although the whole idea makes me feel a little queasy, I understand that it might bring a measure of comfort to the bereaved.  

As a complete contrast, but equally unsettling, to me anyway, is the advent of breast milk jewellery. This trend started around 2007 and became very popular about six years later. There is more information here and here, maybe too much information.

Something’s amiss!

 

Something’s amiss!

While the garden goes on happily looking after itself, something’s amiss in the conservatory. Several of the plants have white patches on their leaves. It’s the clivias that are really severely affected. I have been spraying them with something that’s supposed to do away with little pests, but it hasn’t been effective, so in desperation I’ve cut the leaves right down to the soil.

I’m aware that the plants may not survive and that would be a shame, as they all stem from one plant I gave my mother about thirty years ago. It only flowered once for her, but after she died, I brought it back to our house and it thrived, flowering every year, sometimes twice a year. Naturally, the flowers remind me of her.

Mealybugs on clivia

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I’ve tracked the little beasties down online and identified them as mealybugs. The best control for them is the Australian mealybug ladybird (Cryptolaemus montrouzieri) but the current temperature in the conservatory is only 13˚C (55.4˚F) It needs to be at least 16˚C for the ladybirds to start feeding and they are most effective at higher temperatures, between 20-25˚C. If the temperature falls below 9˚C they stop feeding altogether, so it would be a little risky to introduce them now.

                    Mealybug ladybird (Cryptolaemus montrouzieri) 
                                    Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

In UK, mealybug ladybirds, also known as mealybug destroyers, are usually used only in greenhouses, but have been remarkably successful in controlling infestations in citrus orchards across the world.

Villa Vie

                                                   Villa Vie 

 Villa Vie Residences is offering a four-year cruise. You may remember that one of its cruise ships, Odyssey, was stuck in Belfast for four months before being able to set sail on a world cruise that was to last three and a half years. 

It seems patrons may be able to choose cruises of varying lengths. 

• One-Year Escape from Reality
• Two-Year Mid-Term Selection
• Three-Year Everywhere but Home
• Four-Year Skip Forward

Will there be enough berths to accommodate all those who long to escape the next four years?

November garden

 

November garden

 
Antirrhinum, snapdragon, bunny mouth

Nasturtiums

Variegated nasturtium leaves. The marbling on these leaves is beautiful.

                            Herb Robert - Geranium robertianum

I love this wildflower that grows so freely in the garden. The foliage turns red as the plant matures. The leaves and flowers are edible, fresh or dried, and can be made into a tea. It is thought to repel mosquitoes if the leaves are rubbed on the skin.

Mahonia japonica flowers from late autumn to early spring and is a valuable source of pollen for early bumblebees. It has a strong sweet scent, a delight on a still winter day.

                                Three of the stages of raspberries 

Raspberries

I ate two  raspberries from the garden on Wednesday. I don’t think the rest will ripen now.

Courgette with teaspoon for comparison of size

This is from our courgette plant. I think it will be fine, maybe stuffed.

                                             Sweet pepper

                                                    Chillies

Begonia fuchsioides indoor plant in the last days of its summer holiday. It will have to come back into the conservatory soon.

Crumpets

 

Crumpets

JayCee’s post displaying the video of ‘The Elusive Scottish Haggis’ – a real treat and very credible – reminded me of my late brother-in-law.

Mick Burton was a Norfolk man through and through, with a splendid sense of humour and the ability to make people believe black was white. He was one of the most patient men I have ever known, a perfect foil for my late sister’s sometimes fiery temper. She once threw a bag of tomatoes at him, one by one. Every one of them missed and he gently smiled at her throughout, which exasperated her even more, until she saw the funny side. He made her laugh and that is a perfect gift in a marriage.

He had a unique way of deliberately mispronouncing words, putting the emphasis in the wrong place and making gobbledygook of the English language. When he spoke seriously, his words were chosen carefully, his vocabulary extensive and expressive. I don’t think I ever heard him curse or blaspheme. His Norfolk accent made him a pleasure to listen and talk to and his knowledge of music and literature was remarkable. He was also very blunt but somehow, hearing, ‘You’ve put it on a bit,’ or something similar, didn’t sting in the way it might from someone else’s mouth, for there was no malice in him.

One day, many decades ago now, he stopped to chat to an old lady in the village. It was early autumn, and he said, ‘It’ll soon be the start of the crumpet shooting season.’

She looked at him in surprise and said she had never heard of such a thing. Straight-faced, he said, ‘Well, my dear, how do you think the holes get there?’

‘Oh, I didn’t think of that,’ she said, and they parted ways with a smile. I’m sure she later thought about his words and realised how she’d been teased.

It is a measure of the man that when he and my sister met, at a NAAFI dance, they married three weeks later and lived a happy and fulfilling life together until she died, more than forty years later.

Unexpected

 

Unexpected

Melia, 20 months old

Mooching around on Saturday, doing nothing in particular as usual, we received a ‘phone call from our eldest grandson. He was headed in our direction, and would we be about for a visit?

Momentary panic as I looked around the sitting room. We hadn’t got five hours to clear up! On the other hand, we hadn’t seen him and his little family for a long time. Of course, we would be delighted to see them. After all, they were coming to see us, not conduct an inventory of the house and a critique of our home management.

Callum knows us well, and lived in the caravan on our drive for a year while he did his gap year near GCHQ. (The rest of the house was full with Susannah and her little boy.)

When they arrived, their little girl, Melia, had just woken from a nap and was clinging to Kat, unwilling to engage with strangers, and quite right, too. 

Really not sure, but safe in Mummy's arms

She is used to dogs and cats. There are two of each in her house, and all her Dorset cousins are knee deep in dogs, mostly working Labradors like ours. Nonetheless, we gated our dogs in the kitchen so that they could adjust to the excitement of visitors.

As Melia roused, she relaxed and showed her lovely smile, until Barry or I looked at her, when the shutters immediately came down. When we released the dogs, who went straight to Callum, she was entranced by them and life suddenly seemed more familiar to her.

 Gilbert, trying to understand

 Gilbert, our young boy, is not accustomed to toddlers, so he skirted around Melia, sniffing her surreptitiously, not yet realising that little children are sticky and good to lick. Roxy, having grown up with Frankie, is wise to the ways of infants and paid close attention as Melia munched a selection of sandwiches and satsumas.

The cats prowled around, as cats do, and Melia stroked them. Then she got into one of the empty dog beds, a big, fluffy doughnut of an affair, and was very happy. She is a very capable little girl and will be a loving big sister next March, when she will be two years old.

All too soon, it was time for them to leave. It was such a lovely surprise to see them and made our day.

The dogs were exhausted, as they always are with any change in routine, and slept soundly for the rest of the evening.

A dystopian tale

 

The following was a response to a writing prompt.

A dystopian tale

In a post-apocalyptic world, Mary had clung to her faith with obdurate resistance. She knew her beliefs would cause her strife, but her mission was to proselytise, no matter what the consequences, for the truth must be broadcast. She sang, she preached, she prayed, always aware that she was being watched and that reports were being sent to the Authorities.

Came the day when she was arrested and, without recourse to common justice, found guilty of sedition. Her sentence, banishment to the outer reaches of the universe, did not seem so terrible, for she could continue her work there, among the congregations of the exiled who had preceded her. It was not like the horrifying punishments suffered by earlier saints, for so she believed she would become. Not for her the excruciating torment of being burned alive, or of being lowered into boiling oil, or the slow suffocation of being crushed to death. The Authorities deplored such savage acts. The New Order advocated mercy to those who would not bend to their laws.

She was to be sent into space, suitably garbed, to live on one of the satellites, far, far away from Earth. She was sad to leave her home and her supporters. It would be hard never again to breathe sweet, fresh air, to feel the sun or breeze upon her skin. She would miss the dawning of the days and the sunsets, the sound of wind in the trees and birdsong at dusk, but she would survive.

A short time into her journey, she was informed that her life support system was to be removed from her, and she was to be jettisoned into the outer darkness. An unimaginable end awaited her. She closed her eyes and prayed.