Each year I try to find a new location to explore a woodland area and see the spread of snowdrops. Last year’s post (good photos) was focused on Lochend Woods in Dunbar. This year, on one of our walks around Spott, we walked down the path to The Doonery, past the houses and turned towards the road to the village. On our left, there is a wood – with no name on the ordnance survey map, so let us call it The Doonery Woods – and here, over the stone wall, you can see bunches of snowdrops – large and small – on either side of the wee burn that flows through the woods. I remind you each year of Alice Oswald’s uniquely beautiful poem The Snowdrop – read here by Andrew Motion, accompanied by some elegant and graceful photos, including a close-up one of raindrops on the flower. I make no apologies for once again quoting from Oswald’s poem “Yes, she’s no more than a drop of snow/ on a green stem…. But what a beauty, what a mighty power/ of patience kept intact is now in flower”. The photo below shows the lantern like snowdrop heads – like a drop of snow – bowed as if in reverence to nature. The white head also reminded me of the oppressed women in Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, with their heads bowed as in this Getty image. The shining white contrasts here with the light green bulb-like part holding the flower and the darker green stems. The remains of last autumn’s leaves, now faded and soon to disappear into mould, also enhance the dramatic whiteness of the flowers.
Snowdrops near The Doonery (Click on all photos to enlarge – recommended)
In order to see the inside of a snowdrop, you have to turn it over, which is not easy of you are taking a picture of it. This site refers to the “Morphology of Galanthus nivalis or Common snowdrop flower” and identifies the inner part of the flower as the inner perianth. These are new terms to me, so I found that morphology is “a branch of biology that deals with the form and structure of animals and plants” and perianth is “the outer part of a flower, consisting of the calyx (sepals) and corolla (petals)”. So my anthological (study of flowers) knowledge has been expanded. Beneath the shy, white, glistening head which you can see from above, lies this beautiful, scallop-shell like inside, with the main part yellow and light green. This is hidden from the world but obviously known to pollinators, which probably find it by smell rather the sight. A snowdrop head rewards an inquisitive mind with a glorious revelation.
Inside the snowdrop’s lantern head
In this wood, looking to the south (photo below) you can see the groups of galanthus nivalis on both sides of the burn, which was meandering downstream at a very leisurely pace on the day of my visit. The trees are bare and at this time of the year – snowdrops apart – it is not the most interesting wood that you might come across. It will, of course, have its days of greenery and sunshine. The stones beneath the stream are brown with silt but the water becomes white and then takes on a bluish tinge, as do the stones as you follow the burn down the photo to the mini breakwater. I have never seen anyone in this wood while walking past it, but it was a peaceful haven on that day, with only the sound of a robin in a far tree and, if you put your ear close to it, the trickling of the water in the burn. So I was glad that I had taken the time to go off the main track and into this galanthian idyll.
Snowdrops, trees, water reflections and snowdrops
Out for lunch recently with my pal at The Last Drop pub in Edinburgh’s Grassmarket (good photos), we stopped in for a final pint at the Bow Bar, one of Edinburgh’s most iconic pubs, known for its range of real ales and its large whisky gantry. The photo below shows the sign outside the pub, with a drayman, his horse and beer barrels on the cart. A drayman was (and still is) the driver of a dray, which in former times was flat-bed wagon or cart, which was pulled by horses and used to transport all kinds of goods, but draymen were usually known for transporting barrels of beer to pubs. Today, draymen drive lorries or vans. The bar is in the intriguingly named West Bow where one of the city’s medieval gates would have been. The West Bow (good photos old and new) is a curved street which leads on to the Grassmarket, historically a centre of trade in Edinburgh but also the place where public hangings took place. The Last Drop does not refer to a final drink of ale but to the action which took place on the gallows.
The bar was busy with locals drinking beer and tourists trying out a whisky or two from the huge gantry. There is a fascinating range of mirrors and signs in the pub, dating back many years. While taking the photo below of the large mirror, with Younger’s India Pale Ale, which dates back to the 19th century, I inadvertently caught this lively conversation between two young men in the bar. This is a bar full of conversations, in a number of different languages. At the bottom left is an advert for pipe tobacco and nailrod is defined here as “hard-pressed and usually very dark tobacco made up in short rods or sticks”. Thomson and Porteous also produced Drifter Twist, Anvil X Roll, Best Border Thick Roll and Best Kelso Extra Thick which I am sure were appreciated by pipe smoking connoisseurs in their day, but none of which would have done their health any good. You might have thought that this old pub would have been wreathed in tobacco smoke in the late 19th century and up to the non-smoking ban BUT this site tells us that the Bow Bar has only existed since the 1990s. I prefer to think of it as an old bar.
Animated conversation and mirrors in the Bow Bar
The gantry of over 300 malt whiskies make this pub a go-to for expert whisky tasters as well as tourists wanting to sample Scotland’s national drink. The pub’s website above shows a photo of the gantry in an empty bar but the photo below shows a more authentic depiction of the bar, with its wide range of beers at the front, the imposing gantry behind and the customers at the bar. The pub offers old and new malt whiskies and a huge range of prices, depending on what you choose. For example, you can have a Linlithgow 1982 described as “A mouthwatering medium-bodied floral, heathery Linlithgow (aka St. Magdalene) distilled mere months before the distillery was forced to close” – only 1800 bottles produced – for £97 a dram (35ml) if you are feeling flush AND you know what you are drinking. For the non-connoisseur, an East Lothian produced Glenkinchie at £6 is an excellent drop. The Bow Bar tends to be a place where people pop in for one or two drinks – post or pre prandial – but it has a wonderful atmosphere, knowledgeable staff and superb beer. Put it on your list if you are ever in our capital city.
As this is the last blogpost of 2022, I am looking back over this year’s posts and making a fairly random search to pick out some highlights.
In February, I wrote “Every year I try to go somewhere different to take photos of the snowdrops which now adorn our woods and gardens. In 2021, I posted this description of the snowdrops at Smeaton Lake. I also remind you each year of Alice Oswald’s uniquely beautiful poem The Snowdrop – read here by Andrew Motion, accompanied by some elegant and graceful photos, including a close-up one of raindrops on the flower. I have just found another site in which you can look at and listen to – “The Snowdrop: An immersive exploration of the science, folklore, and horticulture of this first sign of spring”. Produced by Cambridge University Botanic Garden (good photos), this site is well worth exploration for its information, stunning photography and The Snowdrop – with lyrics – read by Sandie Cain, the garden’s Horticultural Learning Coordinator. I make no apologies for once again quoting from Oswald’s poem “Yes, she’s no more than a drop of snow/ on a green stem…. But what a beauty, what a mighty power/ of patience kept intact is now in flower”. The photo below gives a close-up view of a peaceful and sedate looking snowdrop community. As ever, the heads – gorgeous white bells – are bowed as the flowers maintain their private thoughts. The photo also shows the forest floor environment in which the snowdrops grow during their relatively short lives. Not only are there brown leaves from last autumn but the green, spiky, storm-blown mini-branches of the neighbouring fir trees. The sunlight adds to the aesthetics of the photo, emphasising the brilliant whiteness of the snowdrop heads.
Snowdrops in Lochend Woods (Click on all photos to enlarge – recommended)
In May, my wife and I went to Perthshire (now Perth and Kinross) for a short break. The blog post began “We recently had a two day break in Perthshire, staying at the excellent Grandtully Hotel, of which more below. The bonnie town of Aberfeldy (good photos) is 5 miles/ 8.1k from the hotel and is certainly worth a visit if you are in the area. It has an excellent bookshop – The Watermill (good photos) – and I would heartily recommend that you also visit its café (good photos, especially the food) downstairs. The town is best known for its glorious walk, known as The Birks of Aberfeldy (good photos). Birks in Scots means birch trees although part of the walk has mostly beech. The photo below was taken on the early part of the walk and you can see the Moness Burn flowing through the stones, as well as the newly-leafed trees, with their delicate greens. The stones take on various hues as the water passes over them and, at the bottom right, the stones which sit out of the water are moss-covered, adding yet another shade of green.
Flowing water in Aberfeldy
I also included this video of the rushing water further up the hill.
In August, we paid a visit to Berwick Upon Tweed and I wrote: “We have not been back to Berwick Upon Tweed (good photos) since 2019 – see this blog post. We walked along the promenade at Spittal Beach which is a long stretch of sand close to the town, which is usually just referred to as Berwick. The photo below shows the southern end of Spittal promenade and the end of the beach. There is a Lowry connection here as his painting Beach Scene can be viewed on the highlighted link. The beach can be seen from the top of the cliffs in the photo below in the second photo, which shows the extent of the beach and the railway viaduct to the left. In the second photo, the tide is further out. On the day of our visit this year, there were many families on the beach and quite a number of adults and children swimming in the water. On occasion, you heard the scream of a child as s/he first entered the cold water with feet warmed by the summer sun.
Spittal BeachView across Spittal Beach to Berwick
In October, my wife and I went on a short holiday to Porto and one of the main highlights was the visit to the Palacio da Bolsa (good photos). I wrote “The last room you visit is the one worth waiting for. This site (good photos) tells us that “The pièce de résistance of the Palácio da Bolsa is the Salão Árabe (Arab Hall) by architect Gustavo Adolfo Gonçalves de Sousa, who was inspired by the Alhambra Palace in Grenada, Spain”. The hall was restored again in 2009-2010. The style is faux Arabian and you can see in the photo below how the designer completely embraced the Moorish forms on the walls, the pillars and the ceiling. Note also the highly decorated pillars, with a different design at each stage going from the floor upwards. The floor is also very impressive and the site above adds “As in the rest of the building, here too, the floor is made from the finest woods such as mahogany, rosewood, satinwood, rosewood and maple”.
The Arab Hall in the Palacio da Bolsa
I took this video when in this magnificent and unique room.
So that was 2022. We had a bleak start to the year as Covid restrictions were still place and mask wearing was compulsory inside buildings, but there was a gradual improvement, especially during the longish, hot (for us) summer. As I write, we are 9 days beyond the shortest day of the year and already, there is more daylight. It only remains for me to wish you all A Guid New Year and thank you for reading this blog. May 2023 bring you good health, prosperity, love, luck and laughter.
Every year I try to go somewhere different to take photos of the snowdrops which now adorn our woods and gardens. In 2021, I posted this description of the snowdrops at Smeaton Lake. I also remind you each year of Alice Oswald’s uniquely beautiful poem The Snowdrop – read here by Andrew Motion, accompanied by some elegant and graceful photos, including a close-up one of raindrops on the flower. I have just found another site in which you can look at and listen to – “The Snowdrop: An immersive exploration of the science, folklore, and horticulture of this first sign of spring”. Produced by Cambridge University Botanic Garden (good photos), this site is well worth exploration for its information, stunning photography and The Snowdrop – with lyrics – read by Sandie Cain, the garden’s Horticultural Learning Coordinator. I make no apologies for once again quoting from Oswald’s poem “Yes, she’s no more than a drop of snow/ on a green stem…. But what a beauty, what a mighty power/ of patience kept intact is now in flower”.
This year, on the advice of my wife who had seen the snowdrops emerge and spread while out running, I went up to Dunbar’s Lochend Woods. As you enter the woods from the east, there are small clumps of snowdrops scattered about, but these are a mere smattering of white and some are barely visible. If you walk towards the end of the woods to the south, you come across the heavily populated area – like going from the countryside into a large urbanised area. The photo below gives a close-up view of a peaceful and sedate looking snowdrop community. As ever, the heads – gorgeous white bells – are bowed as the flowers maintain their private thoughts. The photo also shows the forest floor environment in which the snowdrops grow during their relatively short lives. Not only are there brown leaves from last autumn but the green, spiky, storm-blown mini-branches of the neighbouring fir trees. The sunlight adds to the aesthetics of the photo, emphasising the brilliant whiteness of the snowdrop heads.
Snowdrops and leaves in Lochend Woods (Click on all photos to enlarge – recommended)
One of the pleasures of walking through the woods at this time of year – on a sunny day as I did – is not only the sun on the snowdrops but the shadows cast by the trees. The sun highlights the snowdrops’ glistening white heads and verdant green stems and produces long, pipe like shadows stretching effortlessly across the forest floor. The photo below shows a group of snowdrops at the base of the tree and other patches spread across the ground. The huge base of the tree trunk has some dead ivy branches which still snake around the tree, sending out smaller stems in a criss-cross pattern. The shadows to the right of the tree are solid and tunnel-looking, temporarily darkening the earth around the flowers, before moving on during the day.
Snowdrops and shadows in Lochend Woods
I took this video of the wider area of the snowdrops, the trees, the shadows and the sunshine.
I recently listened to a podcast of Melvyn Bragg’s In Our Time which focused on the poetry of Thomas Hardy. My particular interest in this podcast was my memory of studying Hardy as a student – many years ago at the University of Edinburgh. I bought the book of Hardy’s Selected Poems (cover in the photo below) as a first year student, but I have dipped into it many times over the years, reading in particular the section entitled Poems of 1912-13 which are featured in the podcast. There are some outstanding poems here, with many memorable lines. The problem with the poems comes in the question of Hardy’s personal background to the poems. Hardy’s wife Emma died in 1912 but the couple had been estranged for many years. Hardy then married Florence Dugdale, with whom he had been in a relationship before his wife’s death. The poems represent an outpouring of grief on Hardy’s part, as he remembers his younger wife and their happier moments. Some have questioned whether Hardy genuinely grieved his wife’s death but Tim Armstrong suggests that the sequence of poems “remains one of the greatest and most personal elegiac sequences written in English” and “a uniquely honest image of the poet struggling with his own grief and remorse”.
It is the language of the poems and the images in them that interests me most, rather than how genuinely or not Hardy grieved his wife. Here are some examples of my favourite lines. From The Voice “Thus I; faltering forward/ Leaves around me falling/ Wind oozing through the thorn from norward/ And the woman calling” – note the wind oozing as opposed to the usual blowing. From Beeny Cliff “O the opal and the sapphire of that wandering western sea,/ And the woman riding high above with bright hair flapping free” – here we see expressive use of colours of the sea – opal and sapphire – and alliteration in wandering western and flapping free – Hardy almost paints a scene for us here. In the same poem, the waves are “engrossed in saying their ceaseless babbling say” – listen to the sound of the waves next time you are on a beach and think about Hardy’s onomatopoeia in engrossed, ceaseless and say. From We sat at the Window “And the rain came down in silken strings/ That Swithin’s day. Each gutter and spout/ babbled unchecked…”. This is a superb image of the rain as silken strings and the gutters are – like the sea above – babbling. You can read many of Hardy’s poems e.g. Beeny Cliff here on the Thomas Hardy Society website. You will not be disappointed.
The day before the thaw after the recent cold spell, we went to Smeaton Lake which is about 6 miles/10K from Dunbar. I wrote about this interesting place two year ago on the blog. The conditions between then and our recent visit could not be more contrasting. Most of the ground below the trees was covered in snow and the lake was frozen solid. The snowdrops had emerged before the snow but, being the hardy plants that they are, ignored the freezing conditions and put on a display. The photo below shows the delicate green stems and perfectly formed heads of the snowdrops. Alice Oswald’s words are very appropriate here. “Yes, she’s no more than a drop of snow/ on a green stem…. But what a beauty, what a mighty power/ of patience kept intact is now in flower”. This graceful flower – Galanthus Nivalis – is also known as February Fair-Maid (Tennyson) and Candlemas Bell in this interesting article in The Independent.
Snowdrops and ice at Smeaton Lake (Click on all photos to enlarge – recommended)
As you walk along the path – mostly clear and ice-free on our visit – there are little clumps of snowdrops huddled together. Then you come to an open area where there is a plethora of white bells on display. The photo below – from 2019 – shows what you can normally see. The photo below that shows that the snowdrops were surrounded by snow and you did not get the impression of a white blanket of flower heads as in the 2019 photo. In fact, you were more aware of the greenery on the snowdrops than in the snow-free photo. In the second photo, I like the way that the remnants of autumn and winter can be seen – the brown leaf on the far right apparently partially wrapped around the snowdrops, as if it is protecting them – and the skeletal remains of a dead fern, collapsed on to the ground as if felled by lightning.
Snowdrops at Smeaton Lake – no snowSnowdrops, leaves and dead ferns at Smeaton Lake
The lake itself was almost completely frozen solid, apart from a few spots near the edge. One consequence of this was that there were no reflections from the trees, apart from where you could see narrow strips of water. Two years ago, it was different. If you compare the two photos below – the first from 2019 and the second from 2021 – you will see that the vibrant colours of the trees and the sky reflected in the water in 2019 have been replaced by a fairly colourless grey and white. Of course, there is beauty in both photos – in the verdant green of the overhanging fir branches in 2019 and in the bare, entangled branches in 2021.
Tree reflections at Smeaton LakeFrozen surface on Smeaton Lake
Further on along the south bank of the lake, looking across the ice cap on the water, you could see (photo below) what look like the footprints of an animal which has crossed from one side of the lake to the other. Also in this photo, you can see the thicker ice in the middle of the lake and the greyer, presumably thinner ice below the trees. Here we were sheltered from the east wind and well rugged up, so it felt less cold, despite the snow on the bank and the smooth, glide-able, skate-able but utterly frozen layer if ice on the water.
Footprints on the ice at Smeaton Lake
At the end of the walk, I turned to take the photo below, looking back down the lake. It is an uplifting view, with the tall, multi-variety trees on the far bank – a mixture of evergreen and deciduous; the shiny green, middle-whitened leaves on the left, the snow on the bank and as before, the contrasting grey and white ice. I wondered what would happen if I had stepped on to the white ice. Could I walk – or slide – across to the other side i.e. the ice would be thick enough to take my weight? Needless to say, I did not take part in this ice-stress test.
Looking back over Smeaton Lake
Once again, if you contrast the view above with the view below – taken from the same point – you might be mistaken for thinking that you were in another place altogether. The tall, bare trees on the opposite bank were more frost-laden than this year and cast ghost-like reflections in the water. It was as if the strict Puritan ice had taken over and forbidden the appearance of the more gaudy Cavalier reflections. You could walk around this lake – and do take the opportunity if you are in the area – a thousand times and never have exactly the same views or the same experience. That’s why we will come back.
Following on from last week’s visit to Smeaton Gardens, I returned this week to walk around Smeaton Lake, which was created in 1820 by the local laird George Buchan-Hepburn. The woods around the lake are part of the National Tree Collection and there is a larger variety of trees, which are outlined in this leaflet. The trees range in size from the huge Giant Redwood to the more delicate Common Lime. There are two entrances via what used to be called kissing gates, the origin of which is not necessarily romantic. At each entrance there is an informative board (photo below) designed by the National Tree Collection which tells you about the importance of the trees.
Information board at Smeaton Lake (Click on all photos to enlarge)
The board has an inset showing the original Smeaton House (good photos) which was demolished in the 1950s. The enlarged inset is shown below.
Smeaton House near East Linton
At the moment, the lake is still partly iced up but the recent milder weather has seen the ice recede into the lake, leaving clear water at the side. One consequence of the icing is that the normal reflections of the plethora of trees in the lake is obscured to some extent. The first reflection below is taken from the north side of the lake. You can see where the ice starts about half way across the lake and while the top of the trees opposite are beautifully reflected in the clear water, the rest of those trees can be seen but only fuzzily, because of the ice.
Overhanging branches and tree reflections at Smeaton Lake
The next photo is taken from the south side of the lake – there is a circular walk around the lake, enabling visitors to experience a different range of trees but also different views across the lake. If you enlarge the photo, you will see more clearly that there is a clear reflection on both sides of the lake and a more hazy reflection in the middle. I think that this adds to the quality of the photo and it appears that the trees become slightly bent when seen reflected on the ice. I like the many different lines in the photo – of the trunks, the branches and the reflections.
On the blog, I have featured snowdrops at Pitcox House before, but I only discovered the snowdrops at Smeaton Lake this year. As you walk to the top of the lake, you pass clumps of snowdrops like the ones in this photo. Snowdrops are not showy flowers and keep their elegant white heads facing down. Alice Oswald describes the snowdrop “A pale and pining girl, head bowed, heart gnawed/ whose figure nods and shivers in a shawl/ of fine white wool” and “Yes, she’s no more than a drop of snow/ on a green stem…. But what a beauty, what a mighty power/ of patience kept intact is now in flower”. I see the snowdrops in a more positive light, as they may be of limited stature in relation to later spring flowers such as daffodils and bluebells, but there is an elegance to their straight-backed stance and their bell-like heads. I think they are singing joyous songs which we cannot hear.
Close up of snowdrops at Smeaton Lake
Once you go further into the woods, you come to a large clearing and it’s here that you see the large swathes of snowdrops as in the photo below.
Masses of snowdrops at Smeaton Lake
The trees above being reflected in the lake are an uplifting sight and when you see the snowdrop spread beneath the trees, as in this photo, it is another eyebrow raising moment. The trees themselves – mostly still bare but showing off their elegant trunks – are enhanced by the white tablecloth of white below them.
Elegant trees and snowdrops at Smeaton Lake
I did a wee video of the wide spread of the snowdrops in these enchanting woods. Click on full screen for the best effect.
In local parlance, going to or down to the harbour in Dunbar is known as going “doon the herber”. I was looking out to sea last week and saw 2 fishing boats approaching the harbour, so I went along the road with my camera. I saw only one boat, which was unloading prawns. The boat itself was covered in at the sides, presumably for protection, but for a photographer, this is disappointing as you can’t get a shot inside the boat. The prawns were on the quay in boxes. As the photo below shows, these prawns are heaped together in what some might think is an unseemly fashion. They are orange on the top and pink on the underside, with tails which fan out and they have spindly legs. If you did not know what a prawn was, you might look at this and imagine them to be an invasion of maggots or an underground nest of newly merged orange caterpillars.
Newly landed prawns at Dunbar harbour (Click to enlarge all photos)
As ever, when a boat comes in to Dunbar Harbour (good photos) and to harbours the world over, the seagulls are out in force, looking for an easily accessible meal. In our harbour, the majority of gulls in winter are herring gulls. In the first photo below, you can see both adult and junior gulls. The juniors are rather drab looking, with dull necks and spotted grey outer wings. In comparison, the adult gull (2nd photo) is sparkling white and has the distinctive orange spot on its yellow beak. It also has rather spindly, arthritic looking legs and feet. Herring gulls can be nuisances in inland towns when they tear open food bags. They also occasionally steal ice cream cones from unsuspecting tourists who have come to see the sights in Dunbar. When they are at the harbour, they are more in their proper context, as in the 3rd photo, coming in to land on the fishing boat, hoping to find food trapped in the nets or trawls. These big, bold birds are opportunists at work.
Herring gulls on the Dunbar Harbour quayside
Adult Herring gull on Dunbar harbour Quayside
Incoming seagulls in Dunbar Harbour
I’ve featured the early snowdrops at Pitcox Farm, which is about 4 miles (6.5k) from Dunbar, on the blog before but it is two years since I did so. On a cold winter’s day, the spread of snowdrops under the trees is a welcoming sight, when you see their white and green patches on the grass, part of which is streaked yellow by the afternoon sun in this photo.
Snowdrops and trees in the afternoon sun at Pitcox Farm
Alice Oswald’s now famous poem Snowdrop was chosen by the Council for the Protection of Rural England in 2016 to celebrate National Poetry Day and you can hear Sir Andrew Motion reading the poem here (video). The poem (words here) views snowdrops as “pale pining” girls with their heads bowed, and “with no strength at all”. Looking at the snowdrops close-up below, you might agree with Oswald and see the flowers as similar to the downtrodden women in The Handmaid’s Tale (see picture). On the other hand, these flowers emerge in the depth of winter and withstand snow, ice and frost, so maybe we should view them as the Terracotta Warriors of the winter flower world, as they stand strong together in ranks.
Snowdrops at Pitcox
The final photo shows the snowdrops, along with the elegant birch trees beside the newly roofed cottages which are being renovated. Pink clouds in the afternoon sky can be seen through the trees – a beautiful setting.
Snowdrops and red roofs at Pitcox Farm
PS The blog is likely to be less than weekly this year as I’m starting a new writing project, of which more later.
The Poetry Book Society Choice for Autumn 2016 was Alice Oswald’s new book – Falling Awake. This is an astonishing book of poems and has won some literary prizes. In the book, Oswald is not just close to nature, but inside it, and she demonstrates how elements of nature are interlinked, and how nature affects our lives , but also has a life of its own. The first poem A Short Story of Falling begins “It is the story of the falling rain/ to turn into a leaf and fall again/ it is the secret of a summer shower/ to steal the light and hide it in a flower”. These dramatic images – a shower stealing the light – continue in all the poems. In Fox, the narrator hears ” a cough” in her sleep and it is ” a fox in her fox-fur/ stepping across/ the grass in her black gloves/ [which] barked at my house”. In other poems, we hear of a badger “still with the simple heavy box of his body needing to be lifted” being “hard at work/ with the living shovel of himself”. In “A Rushed Account of the Dew”, there’s an amazing image of water on a plant, as the poet imagines the dew “descend/ out of the dawn’s mind”, and affix “a liquid cufflink” on to a leaf. In Shadow, the poet describes the shadow as having ” a flesh parachute of a human opening above it” – as you see, there’s a vivid imagination at work here. There are many more images of falling in the subsequent poems. I’m only half way through the book and will return to it in the blog. I agree with the Guardian reviewer that “I cannot think of any poet who is more watchful or with a greater sense of gravity”.
“Falling Awake” by Alice Oswald
This week, we’ve had cold, but very bright days, especially in the morning. Having cycled past Seafield Pond (good photos) on Monday and seen a gathering of ducks on the grass verge, I ventured back there on foot on Tuesday – in the morning sunlight. The ducks were gone, but over the wall on Belhaven Beach, there was a scattering of seagulls, some oystercatchers and curlews, but also 2 little egrets (photos, video and bird call). As I got my camera ready, there was a sudden squawking, a brief flurry of wings by both birds, and one took off for the pond. I managed to get two photos of the constantly moving little egret. They are not the clearest of photos and maybe, I should have used a sports setting on my camera. However, they do show the elegance of this bird, with its long beak, tiny eye and large yellow feet, which help them to steady themselves on the slippery sand below the water.
Little Egret on Belhaven Beach (Click to enlarge)
In second photo, I like the shimmering reflection of the bird’s body in the water, its shadow (with flesh parachute of a bird opening above it, as Oswald might have put it) and the corrugated sand.
Little Egret and reflection on Belhaven Beach
While the egrets and oystercatchers are nervous birds and will fly off if you get anywhere near them, the swans on Seafield Pond simply float towards you. OK – they are looking for food, but I also think that swans are narcissistic birds. They glide toward you, inviting you to photograph their haughty serenity. They move slowly, like elegant models on a catwalk, then dip their heads in the water. The first photo shows 2 swans coming towards the bank, where I’m standing at the water’s edge. There are other birds, such as coots, but these have swum away in panic and have hidden behind the tall reeds (2nd photo). See the causal elegance here, with the swans more interested in their own reflections than the presence of a would-be photographer.
Elegant swans at Seafield Pond
Coots behind the reeds at Seafield Pond
The first swan pushed its head under water a few times and after several attempts, I managed to get a shot with water dripping from its beak. Look at the perfect outline of its body, the giraffe like neck and its body like a small iceberg. You can watch swans all day.
A delay in the blog this week as we were in London for a few days. We both went to the outstanding Victoria and Albert Museum to see the exhibition entitled You Say You Want a Revolution? Records and Rebels 1966 – 1970 . This is a fascinating exhibition, particularly for people who remember the 1960s and the bands such as The Beatles, The Animals and The Who, amongst many others. When you go into the exhibition, there is a free audio provided. This is not your usual audio guide to exhibits, but is a soundtrack (list of songs here)of the music of the middle and late 1960s. Some people found this distracting e.g. looking at John Lennon’s written lyrics to Help while the soundtrack is playing Barry McGuire’s Eve of Destruction. The exhibition covers the 1960s revolutions in music, protest, fashion and consumption. It has a vast number of exhibits, perhaps too many to take in during one visit, including photographs, letters, TV coverage, film, clothes and consumer items. It is a very stimulating exhibition, taking in the trivialities of some pop music to the horrors of the Vietnam war and civil rights violence. The V&A of course is always a pleasure to visit, with its numerous rooms and hallways full of statues. Even if you only visit the ornately decorated tea room (good photos), with the William Morris room adjacent to it, you are assured a superb aesthetic experience. No photos were allowed in the exhibition but I took one on my mobile phone’s (not very good) camera of the entrance.
The Beatles’ at the entrance to the V&A
My treat on Sunday evening was to go to the Royal Festival Hall for the T S Eliot Poetry Prize readings. The competition for the best collection is worth £20,000 to the winner. One of the best things about this event is that, while the 10 poets read from their collections, the winner is not announced until later – no annoying Masterchef pauses here. The readings were compered by the irrepressible Ian McMillan whose amusing but very perceptive introductions to each poet added much to the occasion. In one introduction, he referred to his Uncle Harry who had “sticky-out false teeth – like a pub piano”. He also summed up the quality of the evening by pointing out that despite the vast hall and the hundreds of people in the audience, when each poet spoke, it was like being in a small room with only a few people. Two of the poets, J O Morgan and Alice Oswald (the favourite to win) recited their poems from memory and made a substantial impact on the audience. The winner, announced on Monday, was Jacob Polley’s collection Jackself which the judges called “a firecracker of a book” in which the main character can change into different shapes and things. I intend to buy this book, so more on this later.
A delay in the posting of this blog as I’ve been in hospital for the past week after a bizarre accident. I tripped and fell down the steep slope of our back garden while bringing in the washing and toppled over the 1.5m wall at the bottom of the garden. I broke 10 ribs and punctured a lung. I was rescued by golfers leaving the nearby golf course and some neighbours and taken to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary where I was treated by world class staff in the High Dependency unit and the Cardiothoracic ward. The attention and care given to me were truly outstanding and a real credit to the often criticised National Health Service. It’s a strange experience being in hospital as (in my case) you are taken there and transported into a totally different environment. Suddenly, your world shrinks to a hospital ward and you are severely restricted in your movements. You lose your privacy, your ability to make decisions (mostly) and cook for yourself. You spend your day in your pyjamas and slippers but it all seems natural, as your key concern is to lessen the pain. So, a few weeks to fully recover and get back on my bike again. I’ll get there.
Before the trauma, we drove up to the village of Stenton to take photos of the hawthorn trees which are just coming into flower. The hawthorn tree is very common in the UK but it at its most spectacular when the blossom arrives in the spring. Around here, the trees are referred to as haws although strictly speaking, this refers to the berries which appear later in the year. Siegfried Sassoon refers to the tree in his poem The Hawthorn Tree and writes “I know my lad that’s out in France/ With fearsome things to see /Would give his eyes for just one glance/At our white hawthorn tree”. The photos below show the lane in Stenton where there are numerous hawthorn trees and also a close up of the blossom.
The haws at Stenton
The haws at Stenton
Hawthorn blossom
My garden has come into full spring colour again with a lovely spread of yellow daffodils but these are outshone by the polyanthus and primroses. These two plants look very similar but there are differences, outlined in this article. The following photos are of polyanthus although I think that the second one could be a primrose. On my bookshelf is Alice Oswald’s wonderful book Weeds and Wildflowers which has exquisite greyscale etchings by Jessica Greenman.The poem Primrose begins “First of April – new born gentle./Fleeting wakeful on a greenleaf cradle./Second of April – eyes half open,/faint light moving under the lids. Face hidden./Third of April – bonny and blossoming/in a yellow dress that needs no fastening”. I’m writing this on 1st April, so a nice coincidence. You might look at the third photo differently now.
It’s February again, so my annual trip to Pitcox House to photograph the snowdrops and aconites. Pitcox is a hamlet about 4 miles from Dunbar and is on one my regular cycling routes. The big house (aka big hoose) is a feature of farms in Scotland and is the place were the (usually wealthy) farmer’s family would live. In contrast, the workers’ houses would be much smaller but this would depend on status. Across the road from the big hoose in Pitcox is the Grieve’s Cottage and opposite is the Gardener’s Cottage. The grieve was the farm manager or farmer’s right hand man and was the chief employee. The origin of this meaning of grieve has nothing to do with sorrow but is from the Old English graefa reeve. A reeve was an officer or King’s representative in a locality in medieval England, so graefa reeve was presumably a senior officer. If you know different, let me know.
Pitcox House
The snowdrops are in profusion here. As I’ve noted before in this blog, lovers of snowdrops are called galanthopiles and, as the highlighted site shows, it is a very serious and often very expensive hobby. On the literature front, my favourite snowdrop poem is by Alice Oswald, and it’s simply called Snowdrop. The full poem can be found here – I hope this blogger asked for permission. Oswald sees the snowdrop as a sad girl and “One among several hundred clear-eyed ghosts/ who get up in the cold” but although the girl may be grieving (that word again!) she is “a mighty power of patience”.
Snowdrops at Pitcox House
The other splash of colour – this time yellow – in the garden at Pitcox House comes from the aconites. These perennial plants are lovely to look at but most species are poisonous and shouldn’t be handled. They look like large buttercups and provide a nice contrast with the dazzling white of the snowdrops.
Aconite at Pitcox House
At the weekend, we travelled north to the city of Aberdeen (good photos) for a wedding reception on Saturday but we made a weekend of it, driving up on Friday. We used to live in Aberdeenshire in the bonnie village of Kemnay and I taught at The Robert Gordon University in the 1980s. On Friday evening, we went to an old haunt, Poldino’s Italian restaurant in the city centre. We shared the Antipasto Vegeteriano – a very tasty ” selection of marinated and grilled vegetables, salad, olives, cheese and grissini”. I learned that grissini are breadsticks. I then had Panciotti Cappesante e Gamberi : “Scallop and prawn spherical pasta parcels through a fennel and smoked salmon sauce” which were light, with a delicate taste and an excellent sauce. My wife had Sogliola Certosina : “Fillets of lemon sole pan fried with, prawns, lemon, dill, cream and tomato”, which came as a very good sized sole fillet with a sauce that complimented, but did not overwhelm the fish. We finished by sharing a dessert – Montenero “First we drench sponge in Marsala then we add vanilla ice cream, over this we pour our own rich chocolate sauce” and this has not changed in 30 years with high quality ice cream and a delicious chocolate sauce. So, a nostalgic evening and a very enjoyable one. If you are in Aberdeen, this is a fine place to eat.
Poldino’s restaurant in Aberdeen
On the Saturday, we were picked up by friends outside Marischal College. This magnificent building has recently been cleaned up and the granite was sparkling in the sun when we were there. When I looked up at the numerous spires, it reminded me of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, although Marischal College’s gothic design is more traditional. Outside the college is a statue of Robert the Bruce who was King of Scotland in the 14th century and the 5.6m high statue adds grandeur to the impressive college building behind.
Marischal College Aberdeen
Gothic spires of Marischal College
Statue of Robert the Bruce at Marischal College Aberdeen
After lunch, we went for a walk with our friends to the nearby Brig O’ Balgownie which in past times was the main entrance to the city. Further on, we visited the historic St Machar Cathedral, a 12th century building. The very helpful guide gave us a history of the church which was a catholic cathedral until the Reformation in Scotland. It’s an unusual building because the walls are made of rough granite, which was gathered from the fields and this is different from usual cut granite or stone you see in other large churches. The pillars are cut granite and of a smoother appearance. Another distinctive feature is the flat, heraldic ceiling whereas you might expect a vaulted ceiling in such a building. The large organ dominates one side of the kirk where this is a different ceiling. This is another of these remarkable buildings which were erected with little available technology and often in hazardous conditions, and you have to admire the work of the stonemasons and labourers who built it.
Twin towers of St Machar Cathedral Aberdeen
Interior and heraldic ceiling in St Machar Cathedral
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