Roses and Gooseberries

Having started a Garden Group for my WI, I've had to up my game in this area. I've learned a bit but of course still have miles to go. I deliberately didn't call it 'Gardening' as I thought some would be put off by this: taking pleasure in someone else's garden or in visiting a garden centre counts in my group!

I knew some time ago that the least harmful way to fight aphids on one's roses was to wipe them off with a rag and soapy water - bathe them in a manner of speaking. Up until now I've left it with Bill who sprayed them with some sort of chemical, with only moderate success. So I did the bath thing a couple of times and it's worked a treat. 

Another thing I read somewhere was to soak banana peels in water and pour this on the roses' roots. Apparently this feeds them potassium, which they crave. I've no idea if this is fact or fiction but I've done it this spring and now have loads of buds.

My roses seem to come out much later than most, but they do hang about for quite a while. I see loads of potential there and just the first few pink blooms.

Also, I kept reading that gooseberries came in June but we saw none on our two youngish gooseberry bushes, in spite of having had a small crop last year. Then one day I lifted a branch - prickly things they are - and saw a neat row of pale green berries underneath! But they were tiny, no bigger than peas. So I did some internet research and found the advice to pick alternate berries and leave the remainder to grow and ripen into July and August. So that's what I've done.

In a very old book, Every Man His Own Gardener, by John Abercrombie (published in 1782), I found the advice to prune gooseberry bushes in the shape of an umbrella. I can see how this would make everything a lot tidier, which is very useful when dealing with something as prickly as this.

I found this book at Berrington Hall a few years ago when we were down sound for Simon's wedding. I have been working at indexing my digital photos of late. This is a wonderful way to re-discover what you've done with your life, also to find new topics never before blogged about. 

Knitting Fish

 

I can't believe I haven't shown you my knitted fish - it's a herring, to be more specific. Others who have been knitting fish all seem to feel compelled to give them names that begin with H. I must admit I've felt the same pull but have thus far resisted. 

Why on earth might one take up such an activity? We have a local museum, The Old Low Light, which requested that the community do so for an upcoming display about women's work on the Fish Quay. For this they want loads of herring - they don't care what colour - and they provided a pattern and even offer if it was needed.  

At the end of the pattern using the normal wool, the author suggests knitting a fish out of plastic. I'm currently cutting up bags to make 'plarn' (plastic yarn). In the meantime, I stuffed my fish with plastic. I know that some of the members of Tynemouth WI craft group are knitting fish as well as the Age UK knitting group I belong to. The display will be quite interesting, I think, and surely all of us who have contributed will want to see it.

This heritage centre is all about the fishing industry which has played a significant role in this coastal area. Up until Brexit, the North Shields fishers was Europe's main supplier of prawns. I've no idea what has happened to that since given the difficult customs arrangements that delay the delivery of fresh seafood. 

The name Old Low Light refers to a building that formerly was the lower lighthouse. In the old days, ships coming into port needed to line up the high light and the low light in order to navigate safely. The high light is now a private home. 

We are fortunate to live in an area with such rich history - and to be given the opportunity to knit fish!

Murder on the Home Front

I first met Murder on the Home Front as a Netflix programme, which I really enjoyed. It plays up a potential romance between the author and her boss, which isn't mentioned in the book by the same name, memoirs of Molly Lefebure. These stories take place in London during WWII. I was lucky enough to get the book from my local library. While it took a while to get used to her writing style, by the middle of the book I was hooked. Bill even read it since it met his criteria for 'Very British' and 'not too sad'. Mind, the story is pretty sad for the bodies involved, but not for the main characters. 

Of course, being set in the 1940s and British, I did run across some words and phrases I didn't really know. So I've looked them up for this:

fruit & junket - according to Wikipedia this might also be called fruit & curds & whey. Made with sweetened milk and rennet. Not high on my list of things to try, but apparently quite a common dessert in the past.

dimity posy - couldn't find this online. Dimity is a type of cotton fabric woven with cords along the length (warp). It was generally used for household items such as bedding or curtains. Originally made from silk or wool, since the 1700s it has been made with cotton. A posy is a small flower bouquet (aka tussie-mussie, or nosegay - particularly if flowers are scented). Doilies were traditionally used to wrap the flower stems. My guess that a dimity posy is a nosegay wrapped with dimity instead.

prie-dieu - a type of prayer desk used for devotions. Wikipedia talks about these being found in churches and sometimes used in part of a wedding ceremony, but I recall that this referred to one seen in a murder victim's house. 

rexine - is a trademark name for a type of artificial leather, used in upholstery and for book covers, car dashboards and, for a while, teddy bear paws. It must have been widely used during the war as the author refers to it as 'the inevitable rexine'.

Bakst - probably refers to Léon Bakst, a painter and costume designer in Russia. 

Imagine an ornate alcove, rather than an actual room, with a big window for the said relatives to look through at ... ah, yes, at poor old Joe, or Liza, or Harry, stretched out on a magnificent bier between two giant standard lamps, against an exotic backcloth reminiscent of Bakst. Dramatic concealed lighting heightens the effect. It is certain that Joe, Liza and Harry never lay in such splendour all their lives; rickety old beds, seedy bedrooms, were no doubt their lot, damp and uncomfortable. But now that death has robbed them of all feeling and all pride here they lie, in the most sumptuous style imaginable. The relative of the deceased invariably express immense gratification.

The Dun Cow and Father Time

I'd not appreciated Durham is a World Heritage Site, though I have visited Durham Cathedral and appreciated the view from its rooftop.

On our recent family walk there was a big metal cow with a stone marker mentioning footsore monks, a cow and a couple of milk maids. So I took a photo to look it all up later. 

Apparently Durham Cathedral is built on a shrine to St. Cuthbert, a local 7th Century Christian hero of sorts, having converted a lot of Danes to Christianity,  The story goes that several monks - this is in the 11th Century - were moving his coffin back to Chester-le-Street (sort of a suburb of Durham) when the waggon carrying his coffin stopped and refused to move. After a three-day fast and prayer session, it was revealed that the coffin should be placed a place called Dunholm, but they didn't know where this was. About this time one or two milk maids came along (the story varies), searching for a misplaced dun (defined as a neutral grey-brown - I'd call it taupe) cow. She/they directed the monks to Dunholm and there they built a white church which eventually became the site of Durham Cathedral, a Norman structure that replaced it. 

I always forget what a really big guy Martin is. 

Also, the word 'dun' is old English for 'hill' and 'holme' is Norse for 'island'. (So my house, which is named Seaholme by the builders, means I live in Sea Island?). In medieval times this word was Latinised to 'Dunelm'. There is a chain of department stores called Dunelm around here. Somewhere in Norman times, Dun Holm was changed to Duresme. No one seems to know when it became Durham. The name Dunelm is apparently hallowed by those associated with Durham, it being the official name of the Bishop of Durham and it refers to any degree earned from the University of Durham. 

So the cow represents the lost Dun Cow - and I believe there is a coffee shop in Durham by that name.

A bandstand with an interesting weathervane grabbed my attention from across the river. Fortunately our walk took us past it on the way back and I got a better photo. Bill knew all about it, having lived in Durham for several years during his childrens' early years. 

The weathervane is a copy of one at Lord's Cricket Ground, London. It shows Father Time removing the bails from the wicket. The quote below is 'Lest Time Bails You Out'. This has something to do with one of the rules of cricket: "After the call of Time the bails shall be removed from both wickets".  I gather there is a cricket ground near this location in Durham. And one can buy a copy of the Father Time weather vane from the shop at Lord's for £400. I wouldn't even attempt to explain one thing about cricket, as everyone I know says it is terribly complicated. Also the games last for days. All I know is that the players wear white.

I take it that this is another of those upper class signifiers of Conspicuous Leisure, having the time to understand and enjoy cricket.