Keeping watch

 

Keeping watch

                                            Jellicoe and Gilbert

Gilbert often sits at the open patio door, gazing into the garden, sniffing the air, watching the birds. Note how his ears are pinned back, listening for any sounds of food preparation.

Jellicoe loves Gilbert and joins him at every opportunity. Together they are guarding the house and the humans against all comers.

Earlier, they were watching the big television screen, our window on the world, which acts like a moving panorama. It may show a canal journey, a drone view of Switzerland, Japanese rail travel, a myriad other things, or, as at present, nothing at all.

Onto the screen, courtesy of Steve Reed, came a jaunty young fox, to which Gilbert took great and noisy exception. He is not prone to barking, but something about a fox where it should not be really set his hackles up and raised his voice to full volume.

As he yelled at the television, so Roxy leapt from her bed and joined her voice to his. She had no idea why she was barking and was looking into the garden, hoping for a glimpse of whatever had upset her big friend. Herschel and Jellicoe ignored the hullabaloo, as cats are wont to do.

Eventually, with a mixture of admonishments and praise – ‘Stop it, that’s enough,’ and ‘Well done, good dogs,’ – peace was restored, and all the four legged animals resumed their slumbers.

In other news, we have succumbed to the chill and lit our first fire of the autumn. Herschel assumed his customary position, with his back to the warmth. The seasonal task of checking levels in the coal bunker will  recommence soon.

I half expect to see the silhouettes of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego (Daniel, chapter 3) walking across the burning coals. 

An early night

 

An early night

We go to bed too late. Every day we promise ourselves that we will have an early night go to bed at a reasonable hour, that is, before 10.00 pm. Every night, I crawl into bed, if I can find a space between the animals, ‘far too late’ I say, complainingly.

We even have an alarm on our watches, each of us, that tells us we should be preparing for bed. Every night we ignore it. There’s always another episode of whichever riveting programme we’re watching, though I do wonder if we should really be watching yet more in-depth war documentaries just before retiring for the night.

Sometimes, we decide we should watch something less horrific to sweeten the mind after an evening of such viewing. So, we watch ‘Frasier’, or some other comedy and again, one episode leads to another.

When I went upstairs a few nights ago, earlier than usual, Herschel was already there – he likes to go to bed early. Gilbert came up with me while Roxy and Jellicoe stayed downstairs with Barry. He likes to make sure the fire will stay alight through the night so that it’s warm downstairs in the morning. This involves a bit of riddling, (not the joking sort) and another shovelful of coal.

Actually, we use anthracite and thereby hangs a tale. The UK has enough anthracite for its needs but to prove our green credentials we are no longer mining it. Instead, we are importing it from Australia. That makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?

Anyway, Barry started his evening ritual of feeding the fire but as he opened the door the inner ceramic pane which looks like glass but isn’t, slipped down. One of the screws had worked loose. He was familiar with the composition of the stove, having recently replaced various bits – baffle, rope door seal - so he donned his heavy gloves and set to work to screw the window back in place. The fire was hot, but glowing rather than blazing. Nonetheless, it was uncomfortable work.

I was blissfully unaware of his trials and tribulations until he appeared much later and told me all about it. I would have left it until the morning, probably, but Barry does not procrastinate. It’s a good thing one of us doesn’t. It didn't help my 'early night', though!

999

 

999

999 is the UK emergency number. If we require the immediate assistance of police, fire or ambulance our trembling finger jabs that number. It is also the number to be called if help is needed from HM Coastguard, Mountain or Cave Rescue and also for Lowland Search and Rescue.

The Berkshire Lowland Search and Rescue team can sometimes be found training in one of our local woods. On one occasion, when we were returning from a walk, Bertie, our late very placid and gentlemanly Labrador suddenly stopped, stood stock still and barked ferociously at a bush several yards away. Sure enough, a volunteer was hiding in it, waiting to be ‘rescued’.

We count ourselves extremely fortunate that we have had little need to call the emergency services. Once we had to call the local fire brigade when our daughter’s car caught fire. 

Crowthorne is an on-call (retained) fire service that has always been crewed by local people. A retained firefighter is a trained professional who may have a full-time job without the fire service but responds to emergency calls in the area.

On the occasion of the car fire, Barry had just got home from the ‘village’, which is more of a small town, actually, where he had been chatting to one of the retained firemen in a local shop. The car caught fire, though I can’t remember how or why, and 999 was called. Among the fire crew who attended was the chap Barry had been talking to a few minutes before. It was quite funny, really, when we looked back on it.

Whenever Barry set off on a sailing trip he always made sure I knew where he was going and what times he would call me, as he always liked to contact me daily. It was a safety strategy, as he had no desire to sail off the edge of the world! He said, ‘If you don’t hear from me by . . . (whatever time it was) . . . call the Coastguard.’ This was in the days before mobile ‘phones and GPS when courses were plotted on charts. 

I didn’t think any more of it until the day I didn’t hear from him. Feeling a little apprehensive, I called 999 and a rather bored-sounding operator said, ‘Which service do you require?’ When I said, ‘Coastguard’ I could almost hear her sit up straight as her voice changed. We don’t live anywhere near the coast so I suppose it was surprising.

I explained the safety plan to the Coastguard and where Barry had been heading. He then asked me, ‘What colour is the yacht’s deck?’ I told him it was white. Most boats have white decks so I couldn’t see how that could help, but he was the expert and I was now rather worried. He said he’d call me back with any news. A couple of hours later he called to say, ‘We’ve found your wandering boy.’ I was mightily relieved.

 It turned out that the boat was outside St-Vaast-La-Hougue, in Normandy, north-western France, unable to get into the port because it was low tide and the lock gates were closed.

                         Images of St-Vaast-La-Hougue courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Fire!

Yesterday fires broke out in four different areas of Swinley forest. 150 fire fighters from four fire and emergency services attended alongside police and ambulances. Forest Rangers were hauling water bowsers while a police helicopter overhead directed operations and was alert to fresh outbreaks.

Image copyright Ian Emery

Strong swirling winds ensured that the fires spread rapidly in the dry undergrowth. The fire travelled underground as well as over the surface. There has been little significant rain for several weeks and the rich leaf mould covering the ground and the resin in the trees is highly combustible.

The skies were dark and the air was thick with smoke, the smell permeating everything. Emergency services are expected to remain on site until it is certain that the fires have been extinguished. Today a pall of smoke hangs over the forest and the wind is picking up again so that any small smouldering could be fanned into life afresh. It will be several days before we can resume our customary walks in Crowthorne Forest.

Some businesses and houses were evacuated yesterday and today local schools close to the forest boundaries have been closed. There has been no loss of life and for that we are thankful but the police will now be actively seeking the person or persons unknown who set the fires.

Last night we took the dogs to Simon’s Wood beyond the opposite end of the village but we could still see and smell the smoke, so today they will have a rest. It’s not good for their lungs – or ours – to breathe in smoky air.

You can just make out a fire appliance with its blue flashing light in the centre of the photo.

A week ago Barry reported fire and emergency services were called out. We thought it had been quenched. Maybe it was, but fire reappeared in the same area, so it seems that someone was determined to burn the forest. It is a Site of Special Scientific Interest, where nightjar, Dartford warbler and woodlark breed.  It is also one of the most important sites in the country for dragonflies and damselflies. 24 of the 38 species in the UK breed here.

Hands, knees and boomps-a-daisy . . .

Barry is the Fire Master in our house. I can light a fire – I can even keep it going but his method is infinitely superior, naturally. He settles to the stove with a will – cleaning and polishing the glass (which isn't actually glass but ceramic) with newspaper, scouring pad and a solution of water and washing-up liquid. The fire is carefully laid – scrunched-up paper, kindling, coal and finally, when the monster is roaring, logs. I lay it exactly the same way but my efforts are not rewarded with the resplendent dancing flames which Barry achieves. My fires sulk! He cares for it as tenderly as for an infant, checking on its progress throughout its burning life. Woe betide me if he goes out leaving me in charge and the furnace expires.
Barry sits down for fire-lighting duty. He has a nifty little lightweight folding three-legged seat called a 'Walkstool' and I have one too. We bought them so that we could take them out to sit and watch and photograph the wildlife in the forest. They're made by a Swedish company and we have been very pleased with them.
Yesterday evening, while sitting on this handy stool feeding wood into the maws of a greedy fire, he suddenly found himself on the floor. The seat had collapsed! One of the legs had come adrift – the metal holding the legs together had sheared dumping him unceremoniously and extremely painfully on the deck. Barry has wonky legs – too many sports injuries through the years have left him frequently hobbling, often wallowing like a ship in a storm, and so he spends many hours exercising to build up muscles to support his less than brilliant joints. Unfortunately his legs were at an awkward angle as he fell and took the brunt of his fall. Gus thought he was playing and tried to join in, the rest of the dogs looked anxious lest they should be blamed for his misfortune and the cats, as is their wont, made themselves scarce. It is fortunate that he fell backwards and not forwards onto the cast iron stove.
After a few moments, during which mentally I ran through emergency drills, the pain became less severe and he struggled to his feet. Disbelievingly we examined the stool and he emailed the company to report the incident. They replied very promptly, offering profuse apologies and a replacement. The rest of the evening passed without incident, Barry relying on a walking stick to limp around the house. He has strong pain-killers in reserve for occasions when the pain in his legs becomes too great and so took one and we repaired to bed. He passed a very restless, agonizing night, unable to find a comfortable position and decided this morning that perhaps he should try to acquire some crutches to make walking easier.
He phoned the doctor's surgery to inquire about crutches and was told brusquely by the receptionist that they didn't have them there and he'd have to hire them. Politely, he asked if he should see a doctor in order to check the damage to his legs, and was passed on to a nurse who told him to go to the hospital A and E (Accident and Emergency) department. Now, no-one goes to A&E if they can avoid it because unless there's a limb hanging off or breathing has ceased a long wait of several hours ensues. It is increasingly the case that patients are referred to hospital where once upon a time matters would have been dealt with at the local surgery. Eventually, he was reluctantly offered an appointment for late morning. It is unfortunate, though not uncommon, that the first contact with one's General Practitioner is routed through reception staff who sometimes seem unwilling to expose their doctors to the public and can be quite intransigent. It transpired that Barry had damaged his cruciate ligament and might have cracked a bone. The doctor Barry saw was an Army medic so they exchanged a few khaki yarns and Barry discovered that he didn't need to go to a hospital for an x-ray – a local health clinic had the required facilities.
This afternoon he went to have his legs x-rayed. The information will be relayed to our local surgery electronically and the results phoned through to Barry once the doctor has seen them. The radiographer said, 'Your knees are ruined, aren't they? There's no cartilage left in the left knee – bone is grinding on bone.' Barry nodded – he only had one cartilage in that knee anyway, one having been removed in his twenties.
'You must be in a lot of pain,' said the radiographer chattily.
Barry agreed that sometimes the pain was worse than others.
'You must be very brave,' concluded the radiographer. This came as news to Barry. He doesn't think he's brave – he just gets on with life (Oh, my hero!)
The upshot of all this is that he didn't get any crutches but received heavy hints that maybe it was time he had some new knees. Much as he is anxious to avoid the surgeon's knife the prospect of pain-free legs is tempting. The longer he delays invasive treatment the greater the chance of improved surgical techniques. So, very soon he'll be visiting the consultant at Windsor Knee Clinic to discover what's new in knees this year! He last saw him two years ago when he was advised to stop running immediately – and seriously, he is brave because he loved cross-country running and still really misses it.
However, Barry is philosophical and an optimist. He is strong and healthy (apart from his wonky legs!) and has a large and loving family, many interests and an inquiring mind. Life is never dull with him!

Replanting after fire

The contrast between healthy growth and bleakness is merely glimpsed in this photograph

Last July a swathe of Crowthorne forest was destroyed by fire. It's almost certain it was deliberately set but the swift arrival of several fire appliances extinguished it though the smell of burning was in the air long after the flames were doused. The Scots Pines looked very sad, blackened and burnt. These trees have a very high resin content which means that once alight they burn fiercely.

A few days after the fire Nature has not yet asserted her dominance but the sterility, though shocking, will be transitory.

At ground level green soon reappeared though the trees remained blackened skeletons as reminders of someone's folly.

Young saplings in the foreground, 5 or 6-year-old trees in the midground and mature pines in the background. 

However, the forest is a working concern managed by the Forestry Commission and in February the burnt area was cleared and replanted with Scots Pine. In just seven or eight years these saplings will be approaching 6' in height. For the present they are spikes of green hopefulness.

Newly-turned and planted soil offers enticing scents.

Crowthorne Forest is one of three local Sites of Special Scientific importance, areas which are selected and monitored by English Nature because of their particular flora, fauna, geological or physical features. Reputed to have been a tract of Henry VIII's hunting forest it is also part of the internationally important Thames Basin Special Protection Area. Three rare European ground or low shrub-nesting birds breed here - the nightjar, Dartford warbler and woodlark. It is also one of the most important sites in the country for dragonflies and damselflies. 24 of the 38 species in the UK breed here.

Six Word Saturday

We might light a fire tonight

The chimney sweep came to sweep our chimneys on Monday. It's not particularly cold today but it is a blustery, dull day and night will fall early. (It's only 10:30 am!) We'll probably get too warm but will enjoy the ever-changing flickering flames. However, if the sun comes out later we may change our minds. Decisions, decisions!

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Saint Swithun’s Day

Today, July 15^th, is Saint Swithun's Day.

Saint Swithun (sometimes Swithin) died in July 862 and was an early Bishop of Winchester. He is now chiefly remembered for the following weather lore:

St Swithun's day if thou dost rain

For forty days it will remain

St Swithun's day if thou be fair

For forty days 'twill rain na mair.

Swithun was buried out of doors rather than in Winchester Cathedral so that 'the sweet rain from heaven may fall upon my grave.' He is considered to be one of the saints to pray to in times of drought. 109 years later in 971, it was decided to move his body to an indoor shrine but the ceremony was delayed by forty days of torrential rain; this was taken as a sign of Swithun's displeasure at being moved.

It has rained several times today, between bouts of sunshine. At times it has drizzled, at others it has poured so I suppose we should expect the next six weeks or so to be fairly damp. Rain would have helped in the forest last week. It would appear that a fire was set, destroying young evergreen and deciduous trees.

Several fire appliances attended and the blaze was brought under control.

The area will recover . . .

. . . though there are no fresh green shoots yet.