Losing the . . .

 

Losing the . . .

No, I’m not losing the plot, at least, no more than usual. It’s the letter that comes between ‘f’ and ‘h’ that is proving elusive on my keyboard. I note, however, that it has decided to come out to play now that I’ve mentioned it. Just like a naughty child, seeking attention, it gives the lie to my complaint.

It reminded me of accents, dialect, whatever you like to call them, and some of the regional differences in speech. In some parts of the UK, ‘g’ is given extra value, so that words like ‘singing’ are pronounced ‘sing-ging’ and ‘hang’ becomes ‘hang-uh’. It sounds attractive, to my ears, anyway.

In other areas, ‘g’ is commonly dropped, particularly at the ends of words, so that ‘walking’ becomes ‘walkin.’ That manner of speaking was considered ‘upper-class’, and jokes were made about the Lord of the Manor ‘huntin’, shootin,’ and fishin’. Now, that trait is commonplace in some regions.

In my part of the world, there is an unusual pronunciation of words beginning with ‘str’. ‘Str’ becomes ‘shtr’ so that ‘street’ is pronounced ‘shtreet.’ It’s a ‘shtrange’ quirk.

Anyway, my ‘g’ has returned . . . for now!

Of hats and a song

 

Of hats and a song

Tricorne 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

The tricorne was the normal military head covering in the seventeenth century until 1786, when it was phased out and replaced by the bicorne as a more practical garment. The tricorne had uncomfortable associations with the aristocracy, which were particularly unwelcome in France, following the French Revolution of 1789 to 1799. Furthermore, the bicorne could be carried under the arm, when it became standard etiquette for men to remove their hats indoors.

There are no songs about the bicorne, but there is one that refers specifically to the tricorne. It is a traditional German children’s song,

‘Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken,
drei Ecken hat mein Hut.
Und hätt er nicht drei Ecken,
so wär’s auch nicht mein Hut.’

which in English translates as:

‘My hat, it has three corners,
Three corners has my hat,
And had it not three corners
It would not be my hat.’

and in Swedish as:

Min hatt, den har tre kanter,
tre kanter har min hatt.
och har den ej tre kanter,
så är det ej min hatt!

  It is sung to an old Neapolitan melody, and is popular in Sweden, Norway, and Portugal, as well as Germany and Britain, as an action song for young children.

The tune is known as a ‘wandering melody,’ and can be recognised in the works of composers, like Kreutzer, Chopin, Strauss the Elder, and Paganini.

Live and learn (5)

 

Live and learn (5)

Nankeen breeches, Philadelphia, 1785-1815

Image source

Nankeen originally referred to a firmly-woven, hard-wearing material, yellowish-brown in colour, produced in Nanking, (now Nanjing) China. Nankeen is a corruption of the name Nanking. Later, material was dyed yellow to resemble Nankeen. 

The material was used in the 19^th century to produce working trousers, often known by the wonderful name, ‘Nankeen inexpressibles.’

Nankeen night heron (Nycticorax caledonicus)
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

The Nankeen night heron (Nycticorax caledonicus) is reddish-brown in colour, and so is also known as the rufous night heron. It is native to Australia, and found in many other parts of Australasia. It is almost entirely nocturnal, emerging after sunset to feed on crabs, crayfish, frogs, lizards, and a variety of insects including crickets, caterpillars and ants.

Nankeen kestrel (Falco cenchroides) with catch

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Another rufous Nankeen bird, and native to New Guinea and Australia, is the Nankeen kestrel (Falco cenchroides) Though it is a falcon, it does not pursue its prey, although it often hovers over areas which might provide good hunting. One of its common names is the Mosquito hawk! Generally, it perches in full sight, scanning the ground for prey, mostly in the form of small rodents, and reptiles.

Bicorne

 

Bicorne

Napoleon Bonaparte

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I have been listening to the Wellington and Napoleon Quartet, by Simon Scarrow. It is historical fiction portraying the parallel lives and careers of Arthur Wellesley, (1^st Duke of Wellington) and Napoleon Bonaparte (1st Emperor of France) A small detail that jumped out at me last night was about the bicorne, and active duty.

The bicorne is a two-pointed hat, usually seen in portraits of Bonaparte, or Wellington, or Admiral Lord Nelson, during the time of the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815). 

Anne, Princess Royal

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

It is still seen in ceremonial dress, though usually in fore-and-aft fashion, whereas Bonaparte et al wore theirs side-to-side, or ‘athwart.’  

By the beginning of the nineteenth century, the practice of wearing bicornes fore-and-aft became more popular. It was more practical, because there was reduced wind resistance, when marching or riding, and a smaller likelihood of interference with weapons. There was also less chance of it being knocked off!

Napoleon famously continued to wear his athwart, while Wellington, according to the author Simon Scarrow, altered his from athwart to fore-and-aft to indicate that he was on active duty.

Green shoots?

Not oak, but new rose leaves.

Not all new spring growth is green. The leaves in the oak trees near us are a rich bronze-red colour when they emerge, turning green later on in the year. The red colour is from high levels of anthocyanins, which provide an important natural defence against damaging sunlight. The chlorophyll in young leaves is protected until the leaves mature, and turn first light and then darker green.

Red leaves are less likely to be eaten by pests. Studies have shown that red indicates that a plant is not good enough to eat, lacking nitrogen, or is tough and more difficult to chew. Additionally, some sick or dying plants have red leaves, so will be avoided by herbivores, both insect and mammal.

Freelance

 

Freelance

Where did this expression originate? Were freelancers otherwise known as mercenaries, ‘lances for hire,’ ready to fight for whoever would pay them?

I digress. Our middle daughter, Susannah, is an excellent organiser. Weeks ago, she organised a day’s sailing for her father, brother, and eldest nephew. As the time drew near, she fretted over weather forecasts, but all looked set fair for a glorious day on the Solent. Every day this week the weather was beautiful until today, the day of the projected sail. The forecast was dismal. After much deliberation, they decided to make the most of it anyway. It might be a bit damp and there probably wouldn’t be much wind, but they’d have a good day out together.

Susannah is a television producer. When her contract ended recently, she became freelance. ‘Times is hard’ and jobs are few and far between. The nature of the work means that she is called at sometimes very short notice to work unsocial hours. That happened on Friday evening and she found she would be required to work all weekend as well as next week. She was very torn. Obviously, she couldn’t refuse the job, needing to keep her name in the forefront of potential employers’ minds, and not knowing when or if another would crop up any time soon. She thought long and hard about taking her laptop with her to the boat, so that she could work there. Reluctantly, she decided against that, needing to be on immediate call, and concluding that it would be difficult to concentrate on the job.

She was really upset, especially when her brother, Gareth, drove up with one of his sons. It was the right decision, but it has unsettled her. She had intended staying with us for a few days, but now has to return to London, as the job requires her to go to the office on Tuesday.

The men had a most enjoyable day. The sun shone, the wind blew gently, and the projected rain didn’t appear until late afternoon. It was very pleasant for them to spend time together. Callum, our eldest grandson, and Louis, Gareth’s younger son, are close in age, and employed in the same world as their elders.

Meanwhile, Susannah has highlighted another day for sailing. If nothing else, it may ensure that she is provided with work! She wasn’t very amused by that observation.

(Postscript: I just looked up the derivation of freelance and found the following:

The term “freelance” originates from the Middle Ages, where it was used to describe a “free lance,” referring to a medieval mercenary or knight who was not permanently employed by any lord or king. These knights offered their services to the highest bidder, often being hired for specific battles or campaigns.)

A veritable forest

 

A veritable forest

Api noir apples

Image source

This morning a long cardboard container was delivered to our front door. We knew from the depiction of flowers on the box that the contents were living plants, but we hadn’t ordered any.

They were carefully packed and secured to prevent damage during transit, and we soon discovered that we had been given a veritable forest of fruit trees and shrubs. There were six altogether. If we’re lucky and look after our trees properly, we should be rewarded with some sweet fruit, though probably not this year, of course.

‘Peregrine’ peach is reputedly one of the best-flavoured peaches, heavy cropping, and giving juicy white-flesh fruit from August. It is self-fertile, so does not need a compatible partner.

Apricot ‘Large early’ is also self-fertile, providing large, sweet fruit with orange-yellow flesh from late June to early August. It is described as ‘hardy’ and ‘dependable.’

‘Patio’ nectarine is grown on dwarf root stock and should not grow more than two metres tall. It does not need to be pruned, and is loved by bees. It, too, does not require a pollination partner.

‘Early Rivers’ cherry is an English tree that gives large, almost black, sweet cherries in the first half of June. It is one of the earliest cherries to ripen. It is said to be a heavy regular cropper, and has been grown since 1872. It is self-sterile, so needs a partner. We will attempt to identify our current cherry tree, which produced masses of white blossom this year, and hopefully it will be compatible.

‘Api noir’ apple is a French dessert apple, probably dating from the seventeenth century. It, too, is self-sterile, so perhaps one of our apple trees will fulfil the required task. The apples are small, and purple to almost black. They are plentiful and sweet and keep well.

The Goji berry (Lycium barbarum) is a member of the Nightshade family (Solanaceae) and is native to China. It was originally used for hedging and as a decorative garden plant when it was first brought to the UK by the Duke of Argyll in the early eighteenth century.

All six plants are suitable to grow in patio containers.

They were a gift from our eldest daughter. Thank you, Gillian!