Fairies

 

Fairies

Do you believe in fairies?

 In the woods there used to be a fairy tree. Children would hang trinkets on it and leave little messages. 

Now it would seem there is more of a fairy village, with several trees, ranging from spindly saplings to tall, full-grown adults.

                    Many and wondrous are the offerings to be seen there.   

At the foot of the trees are poems, drawings and a host of fairy doors.

It seems that the fairies are quite patriotic – hand-knitted red, white and blue bunting adorns one tree.

Around and about are the sharp, sweet-smelling fronds of bracken, interspersed with wild foxgloves, with their amazingly detailed flowers – their spotted throats inviting passing bees to stop and enjoy and pollinate.

Foxgloves – where does the common name for Digitalis purpurea come from? Is it to do with the little folk wearing ‘folks’ gloves’ or does it refer to foxes wearing ‘fox fingers’ to keep the dew off their paws?

Did it come from ‘foxes-gleow’? A gleow was a ring of bells and Norse legends spoke about foxes wearing a ring of bell-shaped flowers. The bells rang to protect the foxes from the hounds of the hunt.   

A Welsh legend says that foxgloves bend and sway, not because of a passing breeze, but because the flower is sacred to the fairies. When it senses fairies nearby, it bows to show respect for the fairy folk.

A summer cold?

 

A summer cold?

Achoo!

Joy, from‘Diary of a (retired) teacher,’ mentioned that she was suffering from hay fever, and it made me think about this affliction. Barry used to get hay fever every summer and was tested for all sorts of allergies. One year, he gave up drinking milk and his hay fever abated and has never returned – so far . . .

Hay fever is the body’s overreaction to pollen, the immune system mistaking it for a virus.

My father had a ‘summer cold’ every year. I realised some years ago that it must have been hay fever and wondered when the term came into being. I was surprised to learn that it was first used in the early 19^th century. John Bostock (1772-1846) wrote a paper on ‘summer catarrh’, described as ‘Case of a periodical affection of the eyes and chest.’ This eventually became known as hay fever and was considered an illness.

He had used his own experience as a case study, recording that in June each year, from around the age of 8, he suffered, ‘a sensation of heat and fullness in the eyes, first along the edges of the lids, and especially in the inner angles, but after some time over the whole of the eyeball; a slight degree of redness in the eyes and a discharge of tears; worsening of this state until there was intense itching and smarting, inflammation, and discharge of a very copious thick mucous fluid. To these symptoms were added sneezing, tightness of the chest and difficulty in breathing, with irritation of the fauces (the opening at the back of the mouth leading to the pharynx) and trachea.’

The true cause of hay fever was diagnosed in 1859 by another afflicted British scientist, Charles Blackley (1820-1900). Popular theories suggested that it was the smell of new-mown hay and excessive summer heat that gave rise to the condition, but Blackley conducted many experiments, finally narrowing the culprit down to grass pollens.

The season starts in March when tree pollens are released and ends in late summer, with the wild flowers, but the most common form of hay fever, or allergic rhinitis, is caused by an allergy to grass pollens. Grass pollens are most prevalent from the middle of May to July and affect 90% of sufferers.

Hay fever was not common before the 19^th century and the start of the Industrial Revolution. In UK now, 1 in 4 people suffer from it. Obsessive hygiene, destroying our bodies’ abilities to build up immunity, and excessive use of antibiotics, are thought to be two of the major contributors.

One last, happy thought – hay fever can start at any age, and there is no cure, though there are plenty of natural remedies, some more effective than others. A daily teaspoon of locally produced honey may help, as may probiotics in foods like sauerkraut and kimchi. Quercetin, an antioxidant found in onions, apples, berries and capers, acts as a natural antihistamine. Finally, a herbal tea, like chamomile, can soothe sore throats. If you add your daily honey to it, it might be even more efficacious.

😉

Nothing

 

Nothing

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

When I was quite a little girl, around 8 (which equates to 16 today – children grow up as soon as you look away!) my favourite thing to do at school was ‘composition.’  I loved writing stories and one day I told my brother, five years older than me, that I could write about anything.

That was a foolish thing to say. He said, ‘Write about nothing.’ I was completely flummoxed, of course, and went away, which is probably what he wanted me to do. This was the boy who, forced to ‘play’ with me, tied me to a drain pipe by my plaits and left me. He was an odd person – even my parents said that he was ‘different’. I can’t remember who rescued me, probably my sister, who was fifteen years my senior.

I’ve often thought about that sentence, ‘Write about nothing’.

What is ‘nothing’?  It is an absence, a lack of existence, of no importance, a nobody. Sweet nothings are fanciful remarks, often flirtatious. When asked if something is amiss, we may answer, ‘Nothing’, but that is usually untrue. It simply means that we are not prepared to discuss the problem that troubles us, or perhaps we’re trying to avoid an argument, or unpleasantness.

A child complains, ‘I'm bored. I’ve got nothing to do,’ although he or she apparently has every device under the sun and shelves full of books. Children need to learn to cope with boredom and to realise that life is not a carousel of delight and entertainment. They have to rely on their own resources, to learn how to manage their time or they will grow into discontented adults.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

‘Write about nothing’ – these days, naturally, I do little else than write about nothing, or, at least, nothing in particular.

 

Pussy cat, pussy cat . . .  

 

where have you been are you going?

This cat came to live with us a little while ago. He just looks like a boy cat to me and I love his smiling face and pink cheeks.

He is going to live on the front door step, with a pretty plant growing in him.

I actually bought a plant – the one plant I bought at the garden centre a while ago - a bright verbena, which may have been pink or red. I cannot tell the colour now, as it seems to have died a death. I suppose it may resurrect itself but I’m not optimistic.

I’m considering what I might try in there instead. At the moment, I’m thinking of nasturtiums, but I’m not sure. I’ll keep you posted.

Pussy cat, pussy cat,

Where have you been?

I’ve been up to London

To look at the Queen.

 

Pussy cat, pussy cat,

What did you there?

I frightened a little mouse

Under her chair.

This traditional rhyme was first published in 1805. The queen referred to in the nursery rhyme is believed to have been Elizabeth I, who reigned from 1558 until 1603. Illustrations often depict the queen of the verse in Elizabethan costume, some 200 years after her death. Some suggest the queen might have been Caroline of Brunswick, the estranged wife of George IV, again based on the style of dress illustrated, but she was queen from 1820 until 1821. The truth is that we do not know the exact origins of the rhyme and it really doesn’t matter.          

String of hearts

 

String of hearts

Ceropegia woodii is a succulent flowering trailing plant native to South Africa and Zimbabwe. It was discovered in 1881 by John Medley Wood, the curator of the Durban Botanic Gardens, hanging from rocks on Groenberg Mountain. In 1894, J. M. Wood sent a living plant to The Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. The plant eventually flowered and was named for the man who discovered it.

The plant has heart-shaped mottled grey-green leaves and thrives on benign neglect. It dislikes being heavily watered and the recommendation is to allow it to dry out between waterings, some say until 'the top two inches of soil are dry.’

It is grown principally for its pretty leaves, but also produces pale pink tubular flowers in summer. In its natural habitat, its trailing vines can reach 4 metres, though it is unlikely to reach such lengths in a Northern European conservatory.

Other names for it include rosary vine, sweetheart vine and chain of hearts. 

Daily column

 

Daily column

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Professional writers who produce a daily newspaper column find inspiration where they may. Sometimes, it’s personal – a reflection on a recent colonoscopy, perhaps, or a death in the family. At other times, they look to the news, good, bad or indifferent, and weave a story from it. Entertainment can supply a rich vein of material, but the requirement remains that a column must be written, of a certain length and by a defined date and time.

Even more taxing, I imagine, is the job of the cartoonist. It is difficult to encapsulate current affairs through drawing. Some artists are very successful and manage to convey their comment clearly, with small, telling details half-hidden to be discovered with joy by eagle-eyed observers. Other cartoons are almost indecipherable. On such occasions, it is often comments from readers that make matters clearer.

When there is a rapid turnover of political figures, it is not easy to caricature people relatively unknown to the public.

At present, with at least three elections being contested, political commentators and cartoonists are spoilt for choice. Biden versus Trump (how can that continue - a convicted felon being allowed to stand for re-election?), Sunak versus Starmer (and maybe Davey), and Macron versus the rest, all present rich pickings. 

Every gaffe, blunder, outright lie, is picked over and dissected mercilessly, and speculation, already rife, is approaching fever pitch, or would be, if there were anything riveting to discuss. We are three weeks away from the General Election in UK. The French election must be done and dusted before the onset of the Olympics on 26^th July and the American election rumbles on in its hugely divisive manner until polling day in November.

 I’ve just received a notification on my watch to say that Trump has a significant lead in the contest. Oh, dear!

Regimental mascots

 

Regimental mascots

                                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

A regimental mascot, also known as a ceremonial pet or military mascot differs from a military animal, in that it is not deployed for any purpose other than ceremonial. Since the 18^th century, British army regiments have adopted mascots, to bring luck and strengthen morale among the troops.

Some mascots have official status, with a regimental number and rank, and can be promoted or demoted, according to their behaviour. For example, Lance Corporal Billy Windsor, the goat mascot of the 1^st Battalion, the Royal Welsh, was demoted to fusilier in 2006, charged with unacceptable behaviour and disobeying a direct order. He had marched out of line, in front of Queen Elizabeth II, and attempted to head-butt the drummers. He eventually regained his former rank and retired to Whipsnade Zoo three years later.

While he was the regimental mascot, he received two cigarettes a day to eat and a drink – maybe a pint! – of Guinness.

The Royal Welsh and their predecessors have maintained goats as mascots since the 1770s. The legend is that during the American War of Independence, at the 1775 Battle of Bunker Hill, a wild goat wandered onto the battle field and led the Royal Welsh Fusiliers’ colour party from the field. From that time the Royal Welsh have always had a goat as their mascot. The current mascot is Lance Corporal Shenkin IV, 3^rd Battalion, the Royal Welsh.

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

A more unusual mascot was a Bengal tiger, who was named Plassey after the famous battle of 1757.  He belonged to the 102^nd Regiment of Foot (Royal Madras Fusiliers) and in 1870 he travelled with them and two leopards, to Dover, where he lived at the regimental base. He was not chained and wandered at will, but had a habit of frightening the local populace and so was given to London Zoo, where he died seven years later.

The cap badge of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, successors to the 102^nd Foot, depicted a tiger, a symbol in Indian culture of grace and strength. The Royal Dublin Fusiliers were disbanded in 1922, following the establishment of the Irish Free State (Eire).

The Staffordshire Regiment has as its mascot a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, always named Watchman. The current holder is Lance Corporal Watchman VI. Their association started during the Egyptian War in 1882. When leaving Cairo by train, the South Staffordshire Regiment were accompanied by their bull terrier, Boxer. He was frightened when the train started and jumped onto the tracks. He was assumed to be dead, as he lay so still. A few days later, having arrived at their destination, the soldiers noticed a dog following them. Remarkably, it was Boxer, who had run 200 miles across the desert to rejoin his regiment.

                                    Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Other mascots include a Shetland pony, a Welsh mountain pony, an Irish wolfhound and a ram. The 2^nd Battalion the Royal Yorkshire Regiment has two ferrets, Imphal and Quebec.    

                                                Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

In other countries, the mascots can be unusual. Major General Sir Nils Olav III, Baron of the Bouvet Islands, is a King Penguin and Colonel-in-Chief of the Norwegian King’s Guard. He lives at Edinburgh Zoo.

Meanwhile, in Australia, the 5^th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, has Quintus Rama as their mascot. He is a Sumatran tiger and accompanies them during military parades. The 2^nd Cavalry Regiment has a wedge-tailed eagle, Courage, the 3^rd Combat Engineer Regiment has a dingo called Wooly, and the 1^st Aviation Regiment has a peregrine falcon called Penny Alert.

Trooping the Colour

 

Trooping the Colour

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

The King’s Birthday Parade takes place every year in June. Commonly referred to as Trooping the Colour, the ceremony takes place on Horse Guards Parade and has marked the Sovereign’s official birthday since 1748.

This year it is the turn of the Irish Guards to lead the military parade and troop, or carry, their colour through the ranks.. 

                                    Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

At the head of the massed pipes and drums will be Turlough Mór, a beautifully bred Irish Wolfhound, known as Séamus. He will be wearing a solid silver collar and a specially tailored scarlet cape and will walk proudly beside his handler, Drummer Adam Walsh.

The ceremony starts at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday 15^th June.

Crime scene

 

Crime scene

In the woods a pile of feathers indicates that an attack has taken place. There is no body, no blood, just a sad collection of hastily shed plumage, so there is some hope that the victim escaped, shaken but safe. The feathers belonged to a wood pigeon.

These woods are not used for shooting. In all the years we have frequented them, we have heard gunshots only once, so it is pretty certain that it was not a gundog that caused the feathers to fly, so to speak. Gundogs, particularly young ones, dislike picking up wood pigeons because the birds have loose feathers that can fill a dog’s mouth and put them off retrieving. Someone said that the dog looks as though a pillow has exploded in its mouth! With careful training, the reluctance can be overcome.

So, who was the culprit? It may have been a fox or a sparrowhawk or possibly an enthusiastic dog. We will never know, but I, for one, am glad that there was no corpse. Nature may be red in tooth and claw but I prefer not to see too much evidence of that.

Lipstick plant

 

Lipstick plant

The botanical name of the lipstick plant is Aeschynanthus radicans rasta. It grows in the forests of Asia as an epiphyte and prefers a warm, bright humid atmosphere to thrive. Although in its natural habitat, it grows on trees or in rocks crevices, it will live happily in a pot in free-draining soil.

The ‘lipstick’ flowers emerge from dark red tubes at the ends of twisted leaves carried on cascading stems.  

                                 

It is relatively easy to look after, with one site saying that it is ‘perfect for those new to plant parenthood’ and suggesting that the soil should be allowed to dry out between waterings. It looks well in hanging baskets, providing interest all year round.

Moor Green Lakes

 

Moor Green Lakes

We went to a nature reserve not far from our house. It was a bright, warm day, good for a gentle stroll. Roxy and Gilbert were not delighted to have to remain on their leads, but they enjoyed a different set of sniffs and met some friendly people. Dogs seem to encourage interaction between often reserved Brits.

 We didn't have the super-duper zoom lenses with us, so everything looks rather far away! Well, it was far away, actually.

The air was thick with the screaming of gulls and at first glance, it looked as though they were the only birds around.

A closer look revealed swans and cygnets, Canada geese, Egyptian geese, ducks of various sorts and jackdaws.  Earlier in the year, in April, we might have seen a bittern and a spoonbill, but we’re not twitchers, just casual birdwatchers.

We heard many smaller birds in the trees and hedgerows.

                        Curious horses watched as we passed their paddock. 

To be precise, one of the horses was interested, while the other wanted to continue grazing.

The track verges were a froth of Queen Anne’s lace. I hesitate to identify this as I’m never quite sure if I’ve got it right. Anyway, it was pretty and plentiful.

Togetherness

 

Togetherness

Gilbert: Ill put my paw on his head to remind him to be gentle. His teeth are sharp.

Gilbert: I like him licking my head.

Herschel: Does that feel good, too?

Herschel: I’ll give him a friendly headbutt.

Gilbert: Just be careful, Herschel. All right?

 Herschel: I really love you,  Gilbert.

Gilbert: I love you, too, Herschel.

Gilbert: Do you like me stroking you, Herschel?

Gilbert:  Let me whisper in your ear.

Gilbert: I could get your head in my mouth if I really wanted to.

Herschel: Time for a snooze.

Root canal?

 

Root canal?

I rocked up for my ‘procedure’ on Wednesday. Barry insisted on driving me there, sweet man, in case I felt strange afterwards. Surely he realises after all these years that I’m strange all the time?

I had had something to eat, as requested, though I prefer an empty stomach when I’m about to embark on a two-hour appointment. I’d also had 400g of Ibuprofen, as bidden. Don’t quite know why and forgot to ask.

Isn’t it odd these days that the most obvious things have to be requested? Seeking assistance from one of the motoring associations, one is informed that bad behaviour will not be tolerated and may affect one’s insurance. Similarly, notices in hospital and doctors’ waiting rooms remind patients that abusive behaviour will not be tolerated. So, it shouldn’t really have surprised me to read that I should clean my teeth thoroughly before the treatment. I mean, why wouldn’t you? Why would one need a reminder to do such a basic thing?

Nonetheless, gnashers gleaming, I arrived at 1:20, ten minutes before my appointment, but was asked to sit outside as the staff were having their lunch break and they didn’t have a staff room. I had waved Barry off as there was no point in him hanging around, and it’s only 15 minutes from home. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining, though a brisk breeze was blowing, so I sat on a bench and messed about with my ‘phone, reading snippets of news and wondering why on earth I had taken photographs of the ground and sundry other ‘things’. Cameras and I have only a passing acquaintance and any half-decent snaps I take are the result of happy chance.

Eventually, I was invited indoors and trotted along to the surgery. All proceeded swimmingly for about an hour, the canals were being cleared satisfactorily until suddenly the third one wasn’t, and the procedure was abandoned - something to do with the resorption having progressed further than could be seen on any of the x-rays. Apparently, it is not very common for that to happen and the endodontist was most apologetic. My tooth was rebuilt and I was sent on my merry way.

Now, I may hang onto my tooth, or it may be removed – I’ll ask my dentist. The endodontist asked if he could have the extracted tooth, as it would be helpful in his teaching sessions. He will collect it! I should have asked him how much he’d give me for it  😉.

The upside was that I arrived home much earlier than expected and we took the dogs out for a walk. 😊

 

One day in June

 

One day in the garden in June

Strawberries are growing, but not over-enthusiastically.

Fish are swimming, but haven’t spawned this year, or maybe they did while I wasn’t looking or listening. I mean, there’s no mating call, but there is usually a great deal of splashing.

Raspberries are hiding among the leaves, not big or ripe enough for the dogs to help themselves.

Philadelphus is blooming sweetly and scenting the garden.

Cleavers are springing up everywhere. They’re very easy to pull up.

Blueberries have a long way to go before they’re edible.

Mahonia japonica has beautiful Oregon grapes, which are reputedly edible but sour.