This morning I sat quietly in Chapel, the back row today, as my normal usual seat taken by a visitor who had arrived earlier (this is good).  The sunlight was bright, low lying today and as I relaxed, contemplated the stillness and the beauty around me I happened to glance up.  And there it was - the Chapel’s wooden panelled roof I have seen so often before.  But today, because of the sun-stream, another feature I had not seen before stood out.

Let me share the roof with you: it is 14 panels long, rising 4 panels high either side joining above the congregation to the apex of the slow gothic arch that is the chancel arch at the front or the organ gallery window at the back.  Each panel (112 in total) - they are a dark mahogany stained oak, I think - comprises broadly 6 equally sized planks - all conjoined by a crossing link beam up and down. It’s simple, it’s fine quality and it’s solid. Reassurring.

Morning Run

Out the unlocked alarmed front door, turn left and go
An early morning run for me, nothing unusual there.
The skies clear, breeze low, nice, just right.

A low curving bend, over the road, down the hill,
Aware that I was picking up pace over ground
So I was not expecting IT then at all, not at all.

A sheet of golden riot, lacquered deep red gilded sun
Clouds fanning the splendour into warm flames
William Blake, master of the heavens, is awake this morn

Appreciating it over much, I turned and jogged on.
Slow, nice, puffing as the hill started to rise under me,
And what I had enjoyed down rose up ahead.

But now, just minutes later, the fight of gold and grey
Over, finished - cloaks thrown down and the sun free
To bathe all those few out to see it and smile

Clouds scattered, armed golden spears startling the birds
An extreme beauty for me and it seemed no-one but me.
So I stopped and paused and drank the view in

The home and town ahead, I pressed on, and laughed
Allenby Drive came first - Field Marshall Edmund Allenby
Entered Jerusalem, the victor 11th December 1917

The deep beauty of Blake's Jerusalem over Allenby's triumph
Was not and should not be builded here, please no!
For the morning natural perfection of sun, cloud and breeze
A welcome unexpected injunction of beauty for me to recall.

 

Southwell, 6th October 2016

My friend, and friend to many, Leonard Johnson, has boarded his last flight it seems and I'm struggling to fully comprehend what that means.

Lenny (as most of us knew him) stood out from the crowd and was very much a solitary friend. His turns of phrases, his quips, his jokes, his stereotypes, his questions that he knew were troublesome, his carefree casual charm, and above all his sense of friendship.

Being back in the town in which I went to secondary school I have made contact with a few friends from back in those days.  One such catch up was in a car in Spalding Town Centre.  As we sat down I commented how little it has all changed.  My friend looked about to disagree so I fell back in an adage I learnt at University: "Everything is different but nothing has changed".  On that we were able to agree.

He then said, and it's a fairly common first opening for folks who still live in the town, versus those of us who have left: "you won't recognise the town, its full of foreigner".  I smiled gently, having prepared, and said "you mean rather than Irish and Dutch they are now Polish and Latvian?"  To his considerable credit he laughed.

As I went for my morning run - it was my best distance yet.  Now I'm no natural runner, until now I haven't enjoyed it, but the long quiet flat roads here makes running a fun and thoughtful activity.  It clears my mind, enables me to think on things and develop new ideas or clear lists of things to action.

Having been gripped by an inability to finish things properly for some time - going running and the sheer exertion of the run is doing wonders to my desire to create lists, but also to write.  This is blog perhaps the most obvious output of that positive change.

It's been a sharp and aching learning curve (my back and calves bear testament to that), but it's fun and real and fruitful!  The pile of herbs, chutney and sauces and the bottles of fruit juice pay testament and will be enjoyed for some weeks to come.

But in addition I have been surprised by my broadening of understanding about urban/rural archaeology.  As I mentioned previously I was surprised at a pathway that has quite literally been over-run by grass and ivy, but yesterday I quite literally excavated a brick corner feature.

So in the course of just over a week I feel like I have worked in most parts of my parents fairly large and quite complex garden.

Indeed I have been surprised and slightly taken aback at the scale of variation of the jobs I have had to do.  There is a large tarmaced drive that has become covered in moss. This has required me to hoe off the moss that has got quite deep, then to sweep that up, take care not to rip up the tarmac and gravel stones at each edge of the driveway and then, on my hands and knees, I have, with a wire brush, manually brushed the whole thing and methodically worked up the drive to clean it completely.

So I'm interested in history: Roman Britain and the Empire at large, Saxon England fascinates me, the English Civil War is a particular passion and I am motivated by local history.

So what does this have to do with me being back in Pode Hole and taming my Mum and Dad's garden and learning what I have never learnt - about which flower and plant is which.  More than anything else I am actually taming the garden - my Mum has tended the nurtured the garden for years.  All I am doing is tackling the last few months of growth that has been this summer.

I'm beginning to get life into a bit of semblance, order, almost a personal ritual. First up is collecting the fallen apples and pears - today 6 apples, 4 pears - then the morning photographs.  Today is misty, very misty, a deep grey white cloak absorbing all with a light drip-rain drizzle.  And as I collect and wander round the garden to explore the weather change, I take care to dance and skip and tread round the slugs and snails who have not yet slumbered home after the evening feast of herbs, apples and shrubs.

 Just sitting in the open space that is the actual garden of my parents here in Pode Hole it's amazing just how quickly you make friends.  Not with people, you understand (though my parents are very grateful for the effort I'm putting in) but with the insects, birds and assorted other visitors.

Mum used to have a robin red breast - Wonky - that visited her garden.  Wonky went awol at some point not that long ago, but now there are two red robins back playing in the pear tree.  Also, we seem to have a dunnock - a small sparrow type thing.  It's tiny, but each morning when I'm out sorting the herbs there he is playing in the hedge and tree.

Well everyday should be a school day I'm told - so I'm learning a lot fast here in my Mum's garden - a blister on my right hand thumb and on my left hand thumb and finger joint bear testament to that.  But today was a particularly beautiful revaluation as I found that the Garden Studio Wall is showing off Passiflora Caerulea or Blue Passion flower.
It's not often that I am stopped in my tracks - I have travelled widely and seen much - but this flower is beautiful indeed.  I actually and genuinely could not believe that growing here in fenland Pode Hole was something so stunningly beautiful, complex and yet simple.  I quite literally whipped out my phone and crouched down to capture them and see closer.

So I'm at my parents house here in South Lincolnshire. I joke about it and laugh to my friends but sitting here as the evening drops I am reflecting on where I actually am.

Their house is a bungalow - it's not unusual - space for building property around here is not really a problem. The house is set back from the road and you drive off the road and you have a sense of levels. For south Lincolnshire is floodland - the full range of The Wash where the ocean of the Atlantic comb round East Anglia and supple up into the Rivers Witham and Welland amongst others.

The light of the dark

If falls and rises blanketing me
But the thing I notice the most
And only ever truly remember
Is the extremes of the light and dark
When it's night I look for the colour
When light I explore the dark
And so I'm not scared of one
Not over fascinated by the other
I can enjoy both to the full
And I save excess for laughter
To share with my friends and soul
In the darkness and in the light

#WorldSuicidePreventionDay

The oldest road in Britain - crammed with 2,000 years of history - a feast of famous people born and lived here and yet the story of Kilburn and critically the Kilburn High Road is one of the least known stories.

Next tour date: Saturday 9th July 11am meeting at Kilburn Park Tube Station.  All welcome.

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