Ruskin, Mr Tayto and Waldorf Astor

So the violets are out - I don't know why they're considered to be shy, as the ones in London always seem bright and Suffragette-like.  I love to see them.  

I've had my head down trying to get all the Durrell material into shape, and still a few more interviews to go. I've run into a significant problem but I think I'm dealing with it, but at least it gives me something to think about rather than Brexit. (I'm trying not to comment too much on that, even though it's hard to ignore the whole pathetic mess.)

The pictures below show geological specimens belonging to the great Victorian artist John Ruskin.  We went to an exhibition about him at Two Temple Place,  (more about this interesting London house in a moment...)  Ruskin had the most extraordinary upbringing. As the only child of elderly parents, he was not allowed to attend school or have playmates, and even toys were in very short supply.  As I recall from reading his biography several years ago, he didn't mind too much, although his childhood sounded like a nightmare to me.  But, sitting with his elderly parents with nothing to do, seemingly encouraged him to develop his observational skills.  He found it so interesting and rewarding that he built his whole life around the visual arts. 

I admire Ruskin for his passion and commitment to beauty, nature and art.  He believed totally that these could benefit rich and poor alike, and worked tirelessly to spread this message as widely as he could. Looking around the exhibition I felt we could really do with another Ruskin these days to remind us to simply look at the inherent beauties to be found in nature.   

My favourite of the specimens here has to be the glittering multi coloured opal, the bottom one of the three. I've always been told it's unlucky. Have you ever heard this?  I hope it's not true. 

Two Temple Place is a magnificent house near the Inns of Court in London, built for Mr. William Waldorf Astor.  It's now owned by a foundation called the Bulldog Trust, which is devoted to promoting culture and philanthropy.  I have never heard of the Bulldog Trust, and their website is very scrappy, but they do a fine job of keeping up the house and always put on the most gorgeous exhibitions during the winter, which is when the house is open to the public. 

So this is what the house looks like from the outside. No garden, but note the golden weather vane.  By Astor or Waldorf standards, I suppose it is just a cottage, but how magnificent it seems to me!  I love the main staircase, with its leaded coloured glass ceiling... 

...and the long gallery, with a huge stained glass window at either end.  Rare woods are used all around the house in panelling, flooring and carving. Entering this room is like entering a stage set; my pictures can't quite convey the size and space and light.  

You could spend half an hour looking at a single door. If you were Ruskin, you probably would. In fact, everything in the house repays close examination and was built (and later restored, after wartime bomb damage) with no expense spared.  I should say you might not like the house if you are a minimalist at heart, but even so, you would probably appreciate it. 

Yesterday, we met old friends in another interesting building: the Garden Museum, near the very ancient Lambeth Palace.  The museum is shown below - it's in the deconsecrated church on the right.  It is a nice spot, and the gardens outside are full of spring flowers, but yesterday was so dim and rainy that I didn't take many photos.

The palace and church stand on the banks of the River Thames right within sight of our shambolic Parliament.  We and our good friends carefully avoided looking at it, or discussing what might be going on within.  

Instead, we looked at all the terrific objects in the museum, which tells the story of English gardening. I was particularly taken with this huge three dimensional artwork created from mirrors and dried flowers. T. took the photo, and it gives a better idea of what it is like than anything I took. 

If you look at the website you'll see that this museum runs some imaginative and interesting exhibitions. It's slightly off the beaten track, or always seems that way to me, but it really is worth a visit.   In the old churchyard is the super but very odd tomb of the Tradescants, the famous plant collecting family who rose to fame in the 17th century.  I have no idea why the tomb has a hydra on it, and nor, seemingly, has "Flickering Lamps" the blog I'm linking to above, which has a more detailed description of the tomb. 

AND.... my Irish passport finally arrived!  I'm delighted to have the Irish part of me acknowledged, and when I get a little bit clear, in May, I plan a "Becoming Irish" party. 

My friend Marjorie, in Chicago, bought me some St. Patrick's Day merchandise and mailed it over. Chicago's proud of its Irish heritage and I'm delighted at this selection of stuff.  So what to eat at this party?  Irish family members suggest bacon, sausages and potatoes, and ye-e-e-es, I suppose so.   Okay, Tayto potato crisps. Guinness.  But I'm not crazy on those things myself, so could anyone reading this suggest any more unusual Irish recipes?  We have had really terrific food in Belfast and West Cork not too long ago. I just can't remember what it was. ..

Talking of Tayto crisps, the twins' school friend was saying how her family was going off to Legoland. Cue for two envious twin faces. Girl twin said bravely, "Well, we're going to Potato Land!"  Actually she meant Tayto Park, which their other grandparents have promised them at some stage. Apparently it has Ireland's only roller coaster, but that's just hearsay on my part, I wouldn't go on a roller coaster again after I wrenched my neck in Disney's Space Mountain.  After the worst theme park experience of my life in Legoland Windsor (click the link) I would not be envious of anyone going there, either; but I like the cheerful and unassuming Mr. Tayto and I have a feeling I'd like Tayto Park if I ever go.

 

The magnolias are out and on a sunny afternoon they make a good show. This is one of the magnolias at Kenwood House, in the middle of Hampstead Heath. It is one of my favourite spots and it always has a wonderful display of blossom in Spring. 

And what else? Well, we had the daughter of a Japanese friend to stay, and her high school friend - they had a spare day in London. They and their families gave us all kinds of cute gifts, of which the prettiest included these dinky little chocolates.  The cherry blossom is of course just in season but apparently it's the symbol of that particular brand of chocolates too.   Now, the chocolates are no more but I'll be keeping the box - Japanese packaging is always so beautiful.  

The leaves haven't quite come out on the trees and we've had some good sunsets. I do like this time of year. The photo below reminds me of certain children's book illustrations of the 1920s. I can imagine E.H. Shepherd (illustrator of Pooh Bear) being a bit inspired by this scene, somehow, can't you? 

So 2018's nearly a week old....

Thank you all for your New Year wishes, and let's hope that 2018 is a good year for us all.   I've started it with viral bronchitis, picked up from one of several folk I know who are suffering from this, so I haven't been out much. Apart from the discomfort of the illness, I've been happy enough. I've begun reading Helen Dunmore's "Birdcage Walk," and look forward to reading more every time I take it up. 

I don't know how it ends yet but it's about a young woman in 18th century Bristol who is married to a seemingly respectable man - but the reader (though not the young woman) can see he is becoming increasingly dangerous and desperate.   A very interesting situation! 

Dunmore is a wonderful writer in a literary sense - I admire her use of words, her writing technique, the quality of her research and the elegant way she uses that research to bring her period to life.  She is also a master of plot.  Or, at least, to be more precise, the other books I've read of hers have had terrific plots. I'll let you know if this also the case at the end of my reading of "Birdcage Walk"!

I've also been enjoying blogs. One of my favourites is "The Gentle Author," an anonymous resident of Spitalfields, a once-neglected, now trendy part of London. Her (or his) mission is to reveal as much about this area, past and present, as possible.  Because London is such an old city, there is history everywhere once you start looking and the blog is varied and full of treasures. Today the author shows some of the many wood and stone carvings that used to grace East and central London, as seen in local photographic archives.  I am glad a photo survived of this physician tending his patients, and particularly the matter of fact way he is sawing off the patient's leg in the second picture down on the left. What do you think is happening in the lower right picture? 

These days, one of the best ways to discover ancient carvings of everyday life is to check in old cathedral choirs.  Many of them contain special tip-up seats called misericords.  These often show scenes of medieval daily life, and may be humorous and touching. Others feature the fearsome demons which occur very often on old churches of all sizes throughout England.  I have never known exactly why these demons live in old churches. My theory is that they're imprisoned there so they can be kept under control by God.   Here are a nasty couple of creatures on an archway at Ilkesthall St Andrews, Suffolk. The one on the right with its sharp teeth appears to be muzzled. Let's hope so. 

Many pubs also have artistic and interesting signs. This "World's End" is near Taunton, Somerset has  a nice picture of a punter escaping from the world's cares, but the surround is also interesting.

The badger's a symbol of the brewery, "Hall & Woodhouse" which owns the pub. You can get a better view of the badger here on Street View.  

Talking of pubs, do you know the Lidl and Aldi song?  (In case you are living in a parallel universe, Lidl and Aldi are discount supermarkets which sell a limited range of very nice food at very good prices plus loads of "special buys" which can be anything from fitness mats to drinks fridges, or embroidery kits, or cheese graters,or even the very nice jacket which T. impulsively bought for £15 in Lidl in Belfast when the weather turned cold.) 

This Irish pub song explains how you simply can't go into either store without buying loads of random stuff you never knew you wanted, because the price is so insanely low.  Yes, yes.  

The composer and performer is Mick McConnell,  and the pub's John B. Keane's in Listowel, Co. Kerry. 

A friend from Japan stayed with us a couple of days ago - hope I haven't given him my bug. We've had some wonderful New Year and Christmas presents from Japan. Here are two charming small boxes of sweets from friends in Hiroshima.  Each box, made from papier-mache, is a little work of art. I think they depict characters from Japanese folklore: the Seven Lucky Gods and Hyottoko.   

I've got tickets to something tonight, but I'm not sure I'll be well enough to go. I hope so.  My neighbour's invited us to her Twelfth Night party later this evening so I'd like to go to that too but don't want to infect others.  Perhaps I'd better do some more research into bronchitis and see if I can figure out what to do!   

So that's what I have been up to. I hope you have enjoyed the first week of 2018

A Taste of West Cork

 One of my sons-in-law, who is Irish, suggested we join them on holiday in West Cork for a few days last week.  So we did, and found ourselves in a powerful and beautiful landscape. 

I visited West Cork once when I was a teenager, but had not wanted to return,  because it seemed to me then a sad place for all its loveliness, and somehow haunted by ghosts.    In the Great Irish famines of the 1840s, this was the area where more people died of starvation than anywhere else in Ireland.  

This time, though, it felt quite different. West Cork is now popular with the kind of tourists who appreciate art, music and good food. The  tourist development, (such as it is), is pleasant and low key, but there's money about, and luxuries in the shops. Best of all, the feeling of being abandoned at the end of the world has vanished. It is not that the victims have been forgotten; in fact, the heritage centre in the town of Skibbereen offers a deeply moving description of those terrible times, and brings into focus the people who lived through the nightmare.  Here's one corner of that exhibition, featuring a famous folk song first sung by the West Cork refugees in the 1840s.    

The museum had a recording of an old fellow singing the song, but here's Don Stiffe's version, which I like (below), and you may also know Sinead O'Connor's.  The words are never quite the same each time I've heard it; I think they're making it gradually less angry than the original.

So the prosperity and tourism have cheered West Cork up, but haven't blighted the landscape, which is still astoundingly beautiful.  The weather can easily change every few minutes, creating a kaleidoscopic succession of colour and lighting effects over intricate scenes of water, hills, cliffs, fields and flowers. 

 So here are a few pictures I took in the corner of West Cork that starts on the tiny Sherkin Island, about ten minutes from the village of Baltimore.  

 The type of rock you see everywhere is called Devonian Old Red Sandstone, although it doesn't look very red to me. It creates this craggy landscape, great for rock pools and crabbing, where I could have spent hours as a child.  

Sherkin Island's biggest white-sand beach, Trá Bán, is dotted with coloured stones and yellow shells, which glow out of the sand like little suns.  

Here's another view of Trá Bán over some rocks - the water is almost tropically blue.  The only footprints on the sand, apart from ours,  were made by birds.   

The path down to the beach is fringed with the red fuschia bushes which are very characteristic of the area. 

This wild coast was always at the mercy of pirates and smugglers.  Sherkin Island's abbey was burned in 1537 by bad men from Waterford, although, to be honest,  O'Driscoll clan who used to rule the place didn't seem all that much better, from what I could make out.

There are a couple of simple pubs on the island. In the older one, this fireplace with Victorian lady tiles is hidden away in a back room. I am sure someone was in love with those ladies to get them brought all the way over from England, even though they look slightly neglected here. 

The ferry sets out from the mainland - a ten minute run. Can you see a faint rainbow to the right?

By the time it arrives, the weather's already changed, the fog's dispersing and the ferry's lit by sun.

It is a ten minute ride back to Baltimore, whose most conspicuous feature is the Beacon, built around 1800 as part of an early warning system surrounding the Irish coast.  It's supposedly known as "Lot's Wife" because it looks like a pillar of salt, but everyone I met called it "The Beacon."  You reach it by climbing a very steep hillside or scrambling up via streams and goat paths.   

On our first visit, the sun came out, the sea was deep blue and the wild flowers glowed red and yellow. 

We returned late the following afternoon when everything seemed to be silver and gold.

Another day, we took a stroll round Loch Hyne.  It's something of a celebrity loch among geographers, for it's a tidal salt-water lake fed by a narrow channel from the sea - so narrow, indeed, that it takes just four hours for the tide to force its way in, but eight hours to go out.  The result is that it contains all kinds of unusual creatures.  The road is public but we met only three cars in a couple of hours, and in places, the wild fuschia bushes were three metres high.

The section of road nearest the loch is heavily wooded - you see the water shining silver on the left.

All was peaceful as the clouds gathered, dropped rain for three minutes, then dispersed.    

Spotted this mischievous warning on a small jetty.  

We ended up wishing we'd spent more time in West Cork, so I hope we'll get back next year.

As it happened we arrived just too late for the annual food festival.  I took a look at the brochure and thought it looked fascinating - here's the link. 

And this is a plate of the salad I got at the Friday country market in Skibbereen, which takes place next to the Aldi car park. It has been there for years, I was told (much longer than Aldi) and is complete with the two ladies totting up all the purchases in longhand at a table in the corner. I wished I'd taken an extra bag on the plane to Ireland, to fit in all the beautiful produce I wanted to buy.

Veronica's Travels, Book Marketing, A Grave Mystery and a Note About Contact

This is a picture of my neighbour down the street, Veronica Wakefield   Obviously, this picture is not taken in our street, but let me tell you about Veronica, who  had a lifetime in the travel industry.

What she doesn't know about travel would fit on a 1 cent coin. Wherever I go, I am likely to find that Veronica has already been - probably led a tour there - and knows all the best places to eat and stay. She's always kind and generous about sharing the information.

These days she takes groups to destinations of her choice.  I don't believe she advertises, or even has a website; it's done by word of mouth. Last Spring she took a group to the White Desert in Egypt. ENVY ENVY!!  I have yearned to visit Siwa oasis for years, but you might remember I was having a very difficult time of it, then.   Veronica wrote the trip up for our neighbourhood magazine and I liked it so much that I thought I'd give you the chance to read it too.

It can be read here and I hope she forgives the way I've laid it out and reduced her beautiful pictures. Oh well, I never pretended to be a layout artist...

Workwise, I'm still following the progress of the BBC project, quietly getting on with our Great War schools project and hammering my brains on something else which is frankly overwhelming. It needs to be finished fast and there's only so much creative work you can do in a day before the ideas stop coming.

As for the maze, and talking of writing, I've started subscribing to a writing site called Bestsellerlabs which has just had a post about negotiating the maze of book marketing.   Seems very sensible and practical to me, (and I like his taste in photos so much that I've pinched one of them.)  No, the author hasn't asked me to post this, either, I just like his blog.

I often wonder what other writers think is the most important thing about book marketing?  I am inclined to think it is "creating a brand" although that is not something I'm very good at doing myself.

Elsewhere on the domestic front, K has just returned from visiting family in Co. Cork, Ireland.  I was entranced by some of her pics. Quick, quick, I want to get on that plane to Cork! (but I can't).   Here's her photo of Sherkin Island.   Doesn't it look like somewhere from Middle Earth? Or somewhere else that is not quite real?

And we all puzzled over this warning notice below.   I mean what has been going on? Gravedigging parties?  Maverick gravediggers "disposing" of the real grave diggers?  And what about that comment on  "voluntary" grave digging?  I hate to think of what "involuntary" grave digging might be like...

Here's the notice in Irish, but it makes no more sense to me. Even less, in fact :)  There was nobody around who could enlighten K.  These pictures recall the sense of mystery which often envelops me when I go to Ireland.  I really must go back soon.

Finally, a few people have asked me to add my email address to the profile page so they can write to me.  I love to hear from people and I hate to say no to the request, but I don't put my email address online these days.  The "My Web Page" link (underneath "Contact Me" on the profile) connects to a webform, so I hope you won't mind using that if you want to drop a line.