Lockdown Life in Lincolnshire

I am not quite sure how this is going to work out but, I am going to attempt to keep an occasional diary of my life during 'Lockdown III'.    Lockdown life is not too terribly different from my old quiet life, but it is different.   I am different.    Are these changes reversible?  Time will tell.

Here goes.

I walked Toby down the old railway line and out to the back of the village, skirting around the old gravel pit fishing lake then along the farm track to the next village.  Home through the fields.   It was cold but dry.  Underfoot was squelchy and slippery.   I had to 'jump' in several puddles to clean about half a pound of mud off each boot.   The day I don't enjoy washing my wellies in this way will probably be the day I hang them up for good.

Toby was so muddy that it was a two-towel job to get him clean and dry.   His reward was a handful of dog biscuits, my own,  a large mug of tea and a bowl of creamy porridge, perfect for a chilly morning.

The supermarket delivery was booked for 10am and he arrived exactly on time.   The virus has changed things, made this simple process so much more complicated. Masks, social distancing, disinfectant.  Nothing too arduous, just time consuming and tedious.

Having trouble with the internet connection again.  This kind of thing often happens here.   BT are sending someone out but s/he won't be here for almost two weeks... Great service.

My next small task is to write a postcard to my granddaughter.  Since Lockdown 1 we have been exchanging notes, letters and postcards.   The pace is entirely set by her needs.   These little notes of hers have filled me with delight.   Messages from her heart.   All the shades of emotion, light through to dark have been covered.   I often think they have run their course but then she lets me know that she is missing our exchanges.

The ones I have received have been tied with ribbon and are placed in boxes, along with old letter from my mother, father, aunt, great grandmother, to be kept safe until the day comes when she will come across them and remember the fun we had.

Kneelers

We have all missed certain things during these lockdown days, some things more than others of course.   I have missed being able to hug my grandchildren and family but, in general, social distancing is fine by me.  Perhaps that is why I enjoy the world of blog - good friends to chat to, interesting articles to read, but no one physically  close enough to be shocked at my wrinkles, the lack of makeup, or the bristly moustache worthy of a walrus...

I have missed my little jaunts out into the folds of The Wolds,  exploring the many beautiful rural Lincolnshire churches.    Pre-plague days many of them were left open during daylight hours so I would often take myself off to enjoy the church architecture, the medieval artifacts, stained glass, the effigies and to soak up the atmosphere.   

Some churches are empty, no matter how well furnished, clean and polished they may be, and there are others which are filled with warmth and welcome, in spite of having been declared redundant.

Folk art, creativity and love is also on display in some churches.   Simply look at the kneelers/hassocks.  Some are stitched to a set design or are done in regulation colours.  They look neat, but they seem very dull  compared to those  which seem to tell the story of someone who was loved and missed.

Maybe the one above was stitched in memory of Farmer X who was, perhaps,  often to be seen ploughing the fields in his little blue tractor.

Was this to remember someone who went wild fowling, or simply loved his dogs and ducks - perhaps his local pub was 'The Dog and Duck'...

In memory of someone who loved to fish, perhaps.

More country scenes, I like the simplicity and the little details which personalise and anchor them to a place.











One of the 'Tennyson'churches has this kneeler - when I first saw it I found it amusing and thought there had to be a story behind it.    There is, I found this in one of my local history books...

On the green, where Bag Enderby Lane leaves the road from Harrington, is the shell of an old elm of enormous girth.   John Wesley is reputed to have preached under the boughs of the tree.    The trunk of the old tree is decayed to such an extent that children used to play in it.   The Tennyson children (Alfred Tennyson, the poet, born in 1809, and his siblings) built a swing on a branch which conveniently spread out horizontally.  

At one time the bough jutted out across the lane, so that traffic had to make a diversion round.   It was long enough for the whole of the population of the village (an extremely small village, by the way) to sit on it at the same time.

I have plenty more images to show you, but I imagine that this must be almost as tedious as being obliged to watch someone's homemade holiday videos!



I will leave you with just one more.    A  tractor which could well have been the symbol I would have picked to put on a kneeler for a farming friend.   She was rarely seen anywhere without her little red tractor.

You should be able to 'click' and enlarge any you can't see very clearly.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend!
x

p.s.  Sorry, I never could count accurately. 😉

Frumetty, Frummenty, Frumettie, Firmetty & Furmenty

Every year I try to eat slightly more frugally throughout the first few weeks of December, and by that I mean consume slightly less food than normal.     It works for me, although I do know that other people think "what the heck..." and decide to eat what like through December and make January the time for a fresh start, and that works, too.   

I prefer to regard the Christmas feasting, as a reward for being 'good'(ish!).

Why am I telling you this?   To set my food experiment into context.    I knew that I wanted to try cooking some of the many variations on Lincolnshire foods - and goodness knows that there are lots to choose from:

Lincolnshire Cheeses  (Stamford and Gainsborough used to hold Cheese Fairs)
Lincolnshire Plum Bread - Yeasted and Non-Yeasted
Lincolnshire Rich Plum Bread & also Plum Puddings
Lincolnshire Ginger Bread
Lincolnshire Curd Cheese Cakes and Cream Cheese
Lincolnshire Stuffed Chine
Lincolnshire Sausages
Lincolnshire Hazelets/Haslets/Haselets
Lincoln Monkey
and let us not forget the mighty
Lincolnshire Pork Pie.

Henry VIII may have had a low regard for Lincolnshire, which I believe he once described as 'the most brute and beastly of the whole realm', or words to that effect.   But what did he know of this glorious county and our local dishes.

Of course I wanted something to fit in with my sensible eating, but also something I could have a bit of fun with.    Plum bread, Gingerbread and Lincoln monkey would have been fun, but very calorific.   I settled on Frumetty, Frumenty, Frumettie, Firmetty, Fermety, Furmenty, Furmety - or however you wish to spell it, I have come across all of these, and more.

The basic dish remains the same though.   It has been eaten since man cultivated grains.   Some make it with wheat, others with barley, while some recipes call for groats or pin head oats.    There are poorman's versions, rich ones, creamy ones and special festive recipes (which I will make nearer to Christmas). 

It was once sold by stall holders at country fairs and the basic recipe remains very much like the pottage which the Roman soldiers made over their camp fires.   In the Lincolnshire Wolds it was traditionally eaten at sheepshearing time, at harvest time, and was also a traditional Christmas Eve dish.

It is, in essence, a kind of porridge.   Now porridge is something which I do eat almost every day.   So with a little bit of planning I can try out the many variations on a theme which my old recipes books have to offer - and I can eat them without any sense that I am over indulging before the official feasting begins.

Perfect!

The first problem I hit was that I didn't have any whole wheat grains in the pantry.   Never mind, I did have barley, so I made Barley Pudding instead.    It was so delicious that my husband pinched most of it, and he had been pretty scathing about my experiment to begin with!

Barley Pudding

2 tbsp pearl barley plus water to cree*
1 pint milk
Honey or Sugar if you want sweetness
A knob of butter if you want to make it slightly richer (I didn't)

Cree the barley in water until soft - approx 2 hours - you can drain off any surplus water to make barley water, if liked.    Put the barley into a saucepan, or your slow-cooker, with sugar, butter, milk and cook very gently for about an hour.   



To *Cree:  Cook the wheat/barley in water in a slow oven for several hours or overnight - I used my slow cooker on a low setting - until it more or less forms a jelly.

Winter Reading...

The weather has been cold, crisp, frosty and very beautiful.   A nice change from never-ending rain and flooded fields.

I should have taken advantage of the fine weather to get outside and rake the leaves from the lawns, or to continue cutting back some of the shrubbery.    Instead I have taken extra-long walks with Toby, visiting some of the places which were inaccessible due to the poor drainage of the clay soil around here.

We have walked miles through the fields, skirted ancient woodland, and I have pondered about the countless feet which have walked these pathways since the days of yore - the people, their daily lives, clothing, footwear. 

I get lost in my thoughts but, luckily, one part of my brain keeps a look out for wildlife and things of interest.

On one occasion I saw an enormous flights of geese making their raucous way to somewhere else, a common enough sight around here, but what made this particular group special was that they had a flock of much smaller birds flying with them, inside the 'V' formation.  A sight I have never seen before.  They looked sparrow-sized, but could have been a little larger.   I wondered whether they were 'hitching a lift' taking advantage of the aerodynamics provided by the motion of the much bigger birds.

Home again, home again.  Rub-a-dub-dub-dub/paddy-paws/paddy paws.    Good boy Toby.  Sit!  Have a biscuit...
Good boy.
All gone.
Off you go!

Time for a cup of tea and a quick read.

None of that Marie Kwondo (or whatever she calls herself)  nonsense around here. 

The old piano stool makes a handy table/repository for my current books/research material.    I should work at my desk, down the other end of the house, but Toby and the cats are not allowed down there and they hate being left alone when I am in the house.

Duty calls, I need to get on with housework and also with writing a few more Christmas cards, but all that can wait for half an hour.

Old recipe books and books about the history of food await.

In many ways I would rather dig and delve into the books than cook.   However, I cannot deny that I like trying out new (to me) recipes from these old volumes.       At the moment I am particularly interested in old Lincolnshire food, though one would really need to be a meat-eater to do full justice to all the local dishes, many of them require pork, for country folk depended on the pig to keep them fed. 

Luckily I have found a very traditional dish which has so many variations and traditions associated with it that it will keep me happily occupied until Christmas.   No meat required.   Thank goodness.

More in a day or two.

Feel free to ignore my ramblings, I know it won't be of interest to many, but the blog will help me to keep a note of my various attempts.

Enjoy the week. 
Keep warm, be safe, be happy.
x




 

Ley Lines? Full Moon? Gas Leak? Electrical Problems?

This post will make my younger brother smile.     I know he has many a tale to tell of the times when he stayed here and similar things happened.      We used to grumble, then have a laugh and call it the "*** Effect", the asterisks standing for the name of the village.

I must state here and now, the house is not in the least bit spooky or scary, it just has a few strange happenings now and then.

I went to bed at 9pm last night, I was tired, tired with a capital T, so I fell asleep almost immediately.  I woke at just a few minutes before midnight and decided that I may as well check to see whether both cats were indoors - they like to go hunting in the evenings, but often roll up late expecting to be let in.   Sparky, the old one, will often drum on our bedroom window until someone gets up and lets her into the kitchen.

I don't often bother to put lights on, and I didn't last night, until I reached the kitchen.    Yes, both cats were in their baskets and Toby was curled up on his chair.    All was well, except that I could hear what sounded like a radio and weird music!

I opened the pantry door, and found that the gas detector was sounding a klaxon and announcing "Emergency, gas leak" over and over.       The new gas pipe comes through the pantry.

I whizzed back down to the bedroom, woke a bemused and sleepy husband, who finally cottoned on to what I was telling him.      By the time we returned to the kitchen, the alarm had stopped and he looked at me a bit disbelievingly.     

He tested the alarm, it was up and ready, but not sounding, there was no smell of gas (but there hadn't been any before, either) decided to turn the gas off until morning, anyway.    Of course he couldn't quiet his mind then, whereas all I wanted to do was go back to sleep, as long as I knew my animals and the house were safe.

This morning, he told me that he'd picked up his laptop computer, so that he could do a bit of reading about alarms, LPG etc but, when he lifted the lid, the computer went "wheeeeeeeeeeeee" and died on him, almost as though it was empty of any charge.    When he plugged in the charger it showed that the battery was already fully charged.   

The gas has been checked again this morning, nothing wrong - thank goodness.   The computer is also working perfectly well. 

These little happenings are typical of what goes on in this house.   Over the last 12 years there have been hundreds of similar incidents.     Things stop working, but are not broken, lights which go off and on.   

It is not old or faulty wiring because we had the place completely rewired when we came here, and all that has been checked thoroughly.

We accept it now as a quirk of the place.   It can stop this midnight malarky though, we need our sleep.

Lincolne Shyre and Weather Lore

This is a very early map of Lincolne Shyre/Lincolnshire, dating from around 1600.

The original is beautifully coloured (I have seen a copy) but this image is taken from a black and white photograph in a very old magazine.

Beautiful as it is, I'm glad I don't have to use it to navigate my way around the byways and tracks of Lincolnshire.

For that I print relevant sections of the OS Explorer map,  which is just as well, because sometimes public footpath markers mysteriously disappear. 

Today was was a case in point.    I came over the hills, through fields with spectacular views punctuated by copses of ancient trees.     We were following a plethora of public right of way signs, down a steep hillside and out onto a quiet village lane.  No signs in sight.     Luckily,  I knew I had to turn left, so I did.

I passed a small handful of very quaint cottages with outbuildings, but then the lane disappeared and became a beautifully mowed green swathe bordered by a neatly clipped low privet hedge on one side and a cottage on the other.

I went back along the lane, tried a few other lanes and footpaths, none of them felt right.

Returning to the original grassed lane I decided that it had to be the correct one -  took a deep breath,  then ventured into what is really the cottage garden.   I fully expected an irate cottager to tell me that I was trespassing!

Thirty yards further on, round a bend, there was a public footpath marker.  I had followed the correct path.   Phew!

This photograph was taken when I was even further along the footpath, if you look to the right, middle height, you can see the neatly clipped privet hedge and the green sward of the garden.  The land beyond the hedge is also their garden, they have a public right of way and bridle path running right through it.

This village was listed in the Domesday Book as having 21 households, it has a few more these days,  but not too many.   

The original village church was yet another one which was destroyed by Henry Vane, back in 1658.   He also had the church dismantled in the village I live in, he used the stone to build the manor house. 

The path led through a glacial overflow valley and a site of special scientific interest, because of the soils, habitats and flora.    All I know was that it was muddy after all the recent rain.   There was a chalk stream running through the bottom of the valley, lovely old trees, and shelter from the worst of the cold breeze.

Once through the valley we skirted some more old trees, then found ourselves back out on a lane, a lane which would lead us to Henry Vane's old estate.  Just a few fields more then home.

We had walked about 6 miles.


There is a countryman's saying, found in another old magazine(!), 

"If cold sets in on February 22nd, it will last for fourteen days."

Today is the day.   The garden is heavily frosted and the weather men are burbling on about some cold weather settling in for the next ten days or so.    

These old countrymen knew a thing or two!

Nooooo... You can't Make Me

This poor dog of mine really doesn't like to get his feet wet.  He flung himself backwards and dug his heels in, tail lowered and between his legs.   

A passerby could have been forgiven for thinking that I was being mean to him.

In his opinion I was being very cruel, after all, I know that he doesn't like water, don't I?

The local fields, which we normally walk, are wet, wet, wet.   The rain has come down and the local clay soil is very slippery and awash with muddy water.

I have a tendency to go base over apex in such conditions, so for both our sakes,

I was trying to be kind by walking him along our quiet lane to a much drier, local bridle path on slightly higher ground.

A short walk down to the watermill, up the hill and branch off to the right

along a green bridle lane.

Simple!

We finally made it this far, perhaps two or three hundred yards, it was hard work.      I stopped and had a chat to the mill owner, and a local farmer.       They were highly amused at the sight of me having to coax and cajole a dog to take a walk, their grins said it all.    I'm used to it, I have been coaxing and encouraging Toby dog for over four years now.   It is just as well that I am patient.

The mill itself looks as though it is sitting in a huge pond of weak tea and the water is very high, much to the delight of the wildfowl.

Soggy, boggy and gloomy.   Can't blame Toby for being less than enthusiastic really. 

I noticed there is a lot of rubbish strewn along the road between the railway bridge and the turn off to the watermill.   I intended to go back with my little grabber gadget and a couple of bags - one for recycling, the other for rubbish, but the heavens opened and I decided to save that little treat for another day.   Lucky me.

Instead I went to visit a couple of local friends and this little chap, Bill.

Other than that, I did a little baking ready for when my grandchildren come back from school (we have them for a couple of hours, until their parents come home), tried to do my best Florence Nightingale nursing for my husband, he's got bronchitis again, and that pretty much sums up my day in soggy Lincolnshire.

It rained heavily through the night.

I expect another less than sparkling day.   Thank goodness for books and a warm fireside.
x

A Lincolnshire Tale

Once upon a time, Mavis Enderby and Mablethorpe went with Ancaster to Chapel wearing their Great Coates, but the weather turned so warm that they wished they had worn their Somercotes.

When they left Chapel, waiting outside to Greetham was Old Bolingbroke with his silk Hatton.  He walked Witham down to the seashore, where they had the Holbeach to themselves.  But soon a Rippingale blew up and they had to beat a hasty retreat, making a Halton the way back at the sign to Temple Bruer, where several other village worthies were congregated.

Here they decided to have a Little Hale.  Everyone declared it was a Great Hale and as fast as they emptied their glasses, the landlord kept Fillingham.  Eventually they reached a stage where they began to Bicker and Wrangle, and it was very easy to Nettleham.

Someone bawled "Anymore of your Sausthorpe and I'll give you such a Belton the bean that you may Well wish you had never been Bourne."

The landlord was afraid that there was Gonerby a rough-house, so he knocked on the bar and asked everyone if they Woodhall be reasonable and Stow it.   But then he lost his temper and started Hameringham.   In the melee, his barrels started to Leake, and most of his bottles and glasses had Binbrook.

Many of the participants were Horbling about and poor old Aby could only just Crowle.   His clothes would require more than a Little Steeping if they were ever to be clean again.

But here we must draw a Kirton on a village drama which began so Apley, but whose characters appear to be of so Littleworth.



Lincolnshire is home to many wonderful place names - and this is a tale which I have poached from a 1965 copy of Lincolnshire Life.  

There are lots of these and I'll post others as I come across them.   I particularly like this one as the real name of our village is included...because Parsonage Cottage is not in Little Bunting at all, nor is it called Parsonage Cottage, shock, horror!
x

Teapot Hall

This is Teapot Hall.  

Unfortunately it was destroyed by fire, possibly arson, about 70 years ago.   All that remains are a few photographs and an ever-diminishing number of memories of this charming and quirky cottage.

Rowland Wright Alston painted this rather romanticised view, which can now be found in the Museum of Lincolnshire Life.

Teapot Hall was a simple crook construction, with a straw thatched roof and just one room.   Access to the upper floor was via a ladder.     It is believed to have been built in the seventeenth century.

This is the other side of the cottage which shows that it had been added to at some point.   Just as well, because the 1901 census shows that there were nine members of one family living there.   Very cosy.

Over the years it has been variously known as Teapot Hall, Teapot Cottage, Teapot Lodge.

It was more or less derelict by the time it was destroyed in the fire, having last been fully occupied by a family in the 1920's.

Finally, this made me smile...

It is one of those dreadfully twee Lilliput models, but it is quite definitely Teapot Cottage.

This one really is the final photograph.

My thanks to those people who posted their photographs on the internet, I have shamelessly borrowed them in order to keep the memory of Teapot Hall in circulation.x

"You're Fired!" and 'Digging for England'.

They were hired to keep our home free from rodents.

They have failed.

They're fired!





Between them, and the electronic rodent repeller, we haven't had a rodent in the house for years,   which is why it was so shocking that as I rummaged for some cleaning cloths, a large brown mouse jumped out of the box and ran over my hand to disappear into the dark space between the Rayburn and the saucepan cupboard.

These two snoozed on, unaware.

Their attitude seems to be that they deal with the vermin outside, anything indoors is for me.

I'll cut their rations if they don't deal with the problem soon.

Meanwhile, humane mouse traps have been set.   Mousey could find himself going on holiday.

Max, under the watchful eye of Dobson, has been digging up the old fruit garden.   Nasty, spiteful, gooseberry bushes and assorted spikey things have been dug up and rehomed.  

The area will be returned to grass and we'll be planting another apple tree, along with a plum tree.

The rhubarb will be left in situ, it thrives there, probably because of the septic tank, although we won't talk about that one!



Meanwhile, over at The Old Parsonage, the attic bedrooms have been invaded by a swarm of hornets.  Pest control have been called to deal with it and the top floor has been sealed off.     Perhaps one little mouse in the kitchen isn't so bad after all.

flissandmax
xxx

Saturday at Parsonage Cottage

(This post is for Miles and Poppy in Shanghai.)

While I stayed home and tried to get on with a few household chores,  Max went down to your cottage to check on things - all was well down there.     No sooner had I got the hoover out, than Alice brought young Merry across, to borrow some eggs for making a cake...  which was not a problem as the hens keep us well supplied.  

The problems was that Merry decided she'd rather stay with Gran than go home!

How could I resist?   The housework won't run away, but little girls grow up and change.

After lunch Max and I went out to pick our first batch of elderberries.   We got two large carrier bags full.   That's plenty to get going, we'll get more through the week.  

Can you see the large plastic bowl on the table - that's about half the haul, they have been cleaned and stripped from the stalks.  Max is busy working on the rest.

Ha!   Just looking at that photograph of the kitchen shows me that I really should have a tidy round next time I decide to post a picture.    Poppy, can you see Miss Pinkerton?   She is curled up on my chair, next to the Rayburn.    It has been another cold day - cold, as in there is a very cold wind blowing.

This is where we went to pick the elderberries, right up on the Lincolnshire Wolds,  just across the A16 and around the corner from these old ruins..

another mile down the road we passed this wonderful church..

which has a fascinating churchyard and also has a door which was rescued from the ruined church.    I'll tell you the story and share the photographs some other time.

There was one more wonderful surprise for today.   As I was photographing the beautiful old ruins I became aware of the sound of an old aeroplane.  

I grabbed a couple of quick shots.   Max identified it for me, it's a Dakota.   Perhaps there was an air show on somewhere.  

Right, enough for today.   I have to get sterilising some bottles and brewing some rob.   Recipe to follow tomorrow.
fliss&max

My Kitchen in Autumn

Come on in and see my kitchen.   This is the cooker, it also provides endless hot water and heats the radiators.   It is a real workhorse and I love it - although it does have some quirks as it is fired by solid fuel.    This means that on days when there is little or no wind, it often struggles to draw properly. Max is pretty adept at getting it going though.

The weather today is much cooler than of late and I have felt cold, so Max lit the Rayburn.  Now the  kitchen feels warm and welcoming.  

A change of weather means a change in my cooking habits.   We both really like simple meals - home made soups and home made bread being a favourite.     So, those two enormous saucepans have been brought out of the pantry, one has a ham shank simmering within, the other has onions, celery and some potato softening.

Max adores pea and ham soup - I love pea soup, but I don't eat meat.   So I'm making both.    I have an enormous bowl of dried peas soaking,  I could use garden peas, but we prefer the old fashioned dried sort  

Traditionally, these dried peas had to be soaked overnight, nowadays you can buy quick-soak ones which are ready for cooking in only two hours, which makes for slightly more spontaneous soup-making!   Even so, the soup won't be used until tomorrow evening, by which time the flavours will have developed and melded.

I'm also roasting some bulbs of garlic ready for making roasted garlic bread.   I use an Andrew Morton recipe which recommends leaving the dough to prove in the refrigerator for 12 hours.  Then I'll continue with the bread making tomorrow.   Last time I made it, it got the thumbs up from everyone who tried it.

I'll also be making a couple of apple and blackberry pies with a soft crust.   This is a bit of an experiment, it's a recipe I haven't tried before.   I hope it turns out okay, because the second pie is for our dear old neighbour, Oscar.   He is 98 years old and still going strong(ish).

Max had to take him to the dentist today, so I took the opportunity to pop round to see Benedict, the old horse who lives in Oscar's paddock.    I haven't seen him for a few days, which means that no one has been there to give him his treats.

He was decidedly grumpy with me at first.   However, the juicy apple, followed by three peppermints soon had him eating out of my hand.

Oscar had urged me to pick the blackberries along one side of the paddock - there wasn't much on offer though, so I took a detour on the way home to supplement supplies of them.

Tomorrow I'll make two pies,  one for Oscar and we'll have the other one.  Benedict will no doubt be happy to make do with apple and mints.

Now, had the weather been milder, I would not have felt like doing any of this cooking and baking.  I love seasonality and I like to ring the changes.

This enthusiasm won't last long!
fliss&max

Muffled hobnails and hushed echoes...

On the edge of the Lincolnshire Wolds there is a small green sandstone, limestone, and red brick church.   It is plain and simple, much altered over the years.

There has been a church here for almost a thousand years, although this building only dates from the 15th century.     It was restored in 1780 and re-modelled in 1804.    The size has been reduced over the years, windows altered.       As you can see, the walls are like a patchwork of different building materials, but I like that.   At one time it was painted white, that is now fading and the history is revealed.

I was lucky enough to find a poem about this church.   It had been left on a pew and was written by Francis Robinson.  I'll just quote a few parts.

...Bereft of fancy stained glass windows

....Uneven old bricks line my floor

...hushed echoes of the children....muffled hobnails from the labourer's boots, the rustle of skirts....

The Victorian box pews are painted a surprising blue, but it works very well, once you get over the initial shocck.

It is a simple place, a peaceful place,  inside and out.

I always like to take a little look at the vestry of an old church, whenever possible.   This church is entirely open, so this is what lies beyond a simple curtain at the back corner...all the detritus and occasionally useful bits and pieces.  

The old strongbox is very typical of other churches in the area.

Later, I realised that I hadn't seen the ancient stone basin which is used as a font.   A treat for next time, perhaps.

The church is hidden away behind a lot of beautiful old farm buildings.    Hidden away it may be, but it has had an interesting past.

The most noticeable Rector to have served the little church was Simon Islip who went on to be Archbishop of Canterbury 1349-1366.   He was educated at Oxford and was regarded as one of the outstanding ecclesiastical lawyers of the time.  

His three predecessors for the post of Archbishop had all died in succession, from the Black Death.

Fascinating stuff.  

I much prefer to sit there and think about the hobnailed boots, the rustle of skirts and the hushed echoes of children.
fliss&max

Misunderstandings...

The warning signs were there and I ignored them.  

I'll start at the beginning, we met on a blind date, a meal out with some mutual friends -  Steve and Rhona, we have a lot to blame thank you for.

On one of our early outings, we took our much younger brothers to a funfair.    Max won a prize at some stall or other and was told that he could   "Choose any prize you like, between the yellow light and the green light".

Max replied "I'll have the yellow one, please."

The stallholder thought he was taking the mickey and the rest of us were no use, we were curled up in laughter.     Max had misheard.   I found it funny and endearing.

The humour wears off when it happens on an almost daily basis, the laughter becomes forced.   We can have whole discussions, get things clear, and then still find out that my black is his white.

It improved a little when he got hearing aids, a few years ago.


Yesterday evening,  I was down at the far end of the house,  flicking through a book.   I could hear the owls hunting; the windows were open and they almost sounded as though they were in the room with me, so loud and clear was the sound.

Max came into the room and I told him that there was a lot of owl activity in the garden.

Max "I wonder why?  It's a Bank Holiday Monday tomorrow".

Silence.

Then I hooted with laughter, probably scaring the owls off.    He thought I was talking about cars driving along the lane.

(I know, it loses in translation.)

Our whole life together has been filled with these surreal conversations.  Some are downright dangerous, some are frustrating, this one really got me laughing.  Only Max!