September 30, 2014
September is on its way out and I haven't mentioned daffodils.
Should I? you might ask, especially if you live in the Northern Hemisphere, and don't realise that this blog is also my garden diary. The daffodils in this garden are earthquake survivors: strange but true. They have been well and truly shaken up and over the past two years have flowered very shyly. One group of bulbs that I had transplanted three years ago during the Earthquake cycle, didn't even surface last year. They are back this year but without flowers. It's hard to tell whether the profusion of leaf blades in all my daffodil groups, are new seedlings (the old bulbs having died) or are just the old bulbs recovering their vigour. The flower above was a rare treat this year. For the record these bulbs grow here in heavy silt loam, which becomes boggy in wet seasons and bakes hard in the dry. The multi-headed, winter flowering daffodils, which I call jonquils, do not seem to have suffered at all. What blooms there were are going over now, but there is no shortage of yellow in the Secret Garden as early spring fades into late... dandelions, yellow archangel, Forsythia and Kowhai all light up green and homely places.
Daffodils Narcissus spp
Kowhai Sophora tetraptera (also microphylla and garden varieties)
September 15, 2014
Time for a break, time for a night away in Kaikoura...
No prizes for guessing that it was to hang out with Morris dancing friends.
Marlborough Fayre is a new and enthusiastic women's side with years of combined dancing experience, based in Blenheim.
Nor' West Arch is one of two Morris sides in Christchurch.
Although Kitty and I arrived early on Saturday afternoon and the dancing finished roughly twenty four hours later, the gathering managed to cram a lot into the time, including a dance workshop, dinner together, and public displays in town, at Donegal House, the Whale Watch forecourt, and the always poignant and delightful, historic Fyffe House on its whalebone piles.
Of course I keep my gardener's eye open especially with spring enlivening the landscape. I spotted this odd pairing of cold climate flowering cherry harmonising with the bold spires of pride of Madeira, which thrives in frost free conditions all along the Canterbury coastline.
Before setting off for home, Kitty and I discovered this viewing wall protecting an information panel in South Bay. The whole structure, which included a toilet block, was very stylish and pleasing to the eye.
Rather than taking the two hour route home along State Highway 1, we made a longer detour inland via Mt Lyford, new territory for Kitty and me. When I was child, droves of sheep on the road were a common sight around North Canterbury, but as lowland farming has turned to wine, venison, and dairy production, it's rare for us to see a sight like this. The sheep were only one of the spectacles along this route, which is threaded with mountain streams, wide shingle river flats, and dramatic gorges carved out of loess and rock. The kind of country that you feel needs another visit...
Flowering cherry Prunus sp
Pride of Madeira Echium candicans
Photo of sheep near Mt Lyford: Kitty Jamison
August 20, 2014
Growing older is not without benefits... The house has been full of whispering and secretiveness and closed doors for days now.
But this morning all was revealed as Bryony and Kitty indulged me with a light-breakfast tray and their gifts, which included Turkish delight, and handmade jewellery.
Then there was an outing with Ingrid to a new country garden and shop The Old Meadery, which sells old French country wares - all sorts of oddities and desirables. I desired an old iron day bed but instead we bought some desirable little soaps. The highlight here was the guided tour of the old garden that Anette and her husband Graeme, are making their own. I didn't get any photos there, not even of the charming little hen house, but when it was time for morning coffee I snapped Ingrid and Kitty at the counter of Soda. This cafe was set up in the countryside near Rangiora, after the February 2011 earthquake had driven its owners away from their high profile city bar and cafe.
Definitely Rangiora's gain with excellent food and coffee and a line in imported Italian delicacies. It's always a pleasure to eat here. My sister Ingrid, treated me and Kitty to coffee and cake (I'm wearing the lacy hand-made scarf that Kitty knitted for me).
Back home I found a mysterious posy of sumptuous anemones on the door
And Ingrid gave me a beautiful box full of more indulgence.
My girls and me, thought we'd brave the nip in the spring sunshine
And lunch outdoors.
Lovely to be able to eat in the garden again.
To finish off the day Bryony took us out for dinner
to our family's favourite restaurant in Amberley: Nor' Wester Cafe.
The cafe has recently changed hands and maybe didn't quite meet our expectations, but maybe the something that was missing was Elwin. As an end to a lovely family - and food - focussed day it was the icing on the cake (my de-constructed birthday cake is bread pudding!).
August 16, 2014
With the success of this year's Trelawnyd Flower Show I can't help remembering our visit to North Wales last year.
The flower show was the draw card. Since I'd entered the Trelawnyd Flower Show from afar in 2012 with a home made greeting card, I felt that my trip to Britain last summer just had to include a real-life visit.
The route that Kitty and I took to Trelawnyd after a family visit in Stourbridge just happened to pass the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. Elwin and I always meant to visit it in our narrow boat but there were so many canal features that we never did get to see, travelling at 4 miles an hour. A group of our fellow Morris dancers had a trip booked on the Shropshire Union Canal and I didn't quite hear that there was a spare place on the boat until it was too late! Apparently they navigated the aqueduct within a day of our visit. My first glimpse of the 208 year old bridge was from our tea table
in the delightful Fron House Tea Room and Garden.
Fortified with tea and cake we made the crossing on foot and no... I don't like heights.
Kitty and I spent ages moseying around the wharfs at each end of the aqueduct driving down into the valley for more photographs, which meant we didn't arrive at Trelawnyd and our accommodation until late evening.
John had recommended Golden Grove Bed and Breakfast and it really made our stay in Wales complete. Homely and historic with tranquil formal gardens and a productive kitchen garden. I particularly appreciated the effort this family goes to in order to make a living from their home, maintaining the gardens and supplying breakfast needs from their garden and hens.
One of my non-Morris focussed aims during last year's trip was to visit as many of the great gardens of Britain as I could, and here we were, a short drive from Bodnant Garden. We popped into Conwy, intending to stroll around, but after being caught in a claustrophobic traffic jam under one of the town walls, which brought back latent Earthquake panic, we left the crowded town for the calm of Bodnant. Interesting to find a house from the same period as New Zealand's colonial settlement, similar in style to a lot of older Christchurch homes, just much bigger.
My favourite feature was the terraced rose gardens overlooked by the little Pin Mill.
But other garden feats were beckoning... Trelawnyd and its Flower Show called. An intense little, afternoon event abuzz with the colour and personality and endeavour of local people... there's John chatting across the baking table (and well done with that boiled fruit cake this year John).
Later in the evening after we'd eaten at the pub in Llanasa, we visited John at home and had a little tour of his allotment where the poultry and animals were settling down for the night - a perfect end to a perfect stay.
So many elements of this couple of days came together to make a harmonious and memorable whole.
August 6, 2014
It's always sad deciding that a big shapely tree has to go, but after last year's September 'blow' this one felt a bit too threatening for our neighbours. Although the strong winds that toppled so many gum trees that night, would potentially knock this onto my property, the root plate would pull up the corner of the house in the background.
An up side to the felling of this gum tree is that the garden will now get more sunshine through the winter months. Oh, and there's a lot of firewood in there...
This is a stack that I prepared earlier: plum prunings.
During the autumn, loggers worked for weeks felling plantation pines in the river bed beyond the stop bank. Thankfully they left this attractive wind break of poplars. I photographed them early one frosty morning as the sun was rising.
Heralding spring, the wild plum blossom is beginning to bloom around the countryside and in the Secret Garden. I photographed this delicate tracery on 1st August.
August 2, 2014
New Zealand Morris dancers and musicians frequently visit and dance in England, often teaming up with fellow Kiwis for mini 'tours,' all of which are memorable for those involved.
But as a national body we had not travelled further than Tasmania. That was a daring thing to do in 2009, when our Tasmanian fans felt they ought to host us for a change. It was during that very successful annual Tour, that my friend Helen and I mused on what else was possible.
The obvious next step was England and we set out to make it happen, she and I. Somewhere along the way her circumstances re-directed her energy elsewhere, but she and her husband, Richard were still able to join The Lammas Tour. Thirty six New Zealanders - some from the Western Islands (Australia) - were joined in England by camp followers for a week of dancing and sight-seeing.
Ideas - dreams - start big:
they are broad in scope; limitless. But there have to be limits. Early on, Helen and I knew that we wanted to base this tour on the way our group already does things here in NZ. A week at the most meant dismissing long-distance travel. Elwin's and my connections with Oxford made a starting point for a Cotswold Morris pilgrimage teamed with historic and cultural excess.
By the time we had settled in to the Centenary Lodge, at Youlbury Activity Centre on Boars Hill, this Welcome meal was welcome in more ways than one. But the over-riding sentiment was wonder that we were all here together on the other side of the world.
Dancing began that night with a dance from the Bucknell tradition, Saturday Night On in the Bucknell Village Hall.
I only remembered once we were all there, with extra visitors along as well, that this wasn't just a four year old dream realised but had been a whimsical thought when I used to practise with Bucknell Morris (now defunct) in that hall over twenty years ago. New Zealanders take liberties with the dance but often begin a get-together with it en masse. Well it wasn't just me that felt the rapture: Saturday night set the vibe for the rest of the week.
Wolvercote Green, and the hospitable Plough inn are not as far as I know, associated with a Cotwold Morris tradition, but Wolvercote does have it's own current Morris side,
I have such a strong memory of the English summer being hot and dry, but there was plenty of rain over our week,
This was the day that I realised that the Tour was becoming bigger than the sum of its parts. People from all over Britain joined us at Wolvercote. All of them had at some time danced in New Zealand including Celia Briar. We don't usually dance to harp music but having the harp felt like a blessing on us all. And since our official musicians were thin on the ground - Aaron under umbrella, er I mean on accordion, Keith, and also Gay on recorder, Andy on melodeon -
it was a privilege to find that so many people were prepared to tag along and play for us including Roger on fiddle and Ross, who joined us from Jersey later in the week.
If Wolvercote was bucolic bliss, Blenheim Palace the following day, was a breathtaking stage set, its arcades and repetitive lines of windows and columns echoing our dance groupings.
invigorating our step
and providing shelter from the rain!
What with all the thunder and lightning and rain, we were grateful to be able to retreat inside the Palace for a spot of viewing. By the time our scheduled dancing was finished the day had dried out enough to explore the grounds.
That evening we met our first deeply traditional Cotsold Morris side with ancestry dating back 500 years - Mr Hemmings Traditonal Abingdon Morris Dancers.
It seemed that at every turn, whether that was literally through the gates onto the magnificent lake view at Blenheim Palace, or in meeting illustrious Morris personalities, many of us were constantly weak at the knees. I was no exception, in spite of spending six weeks beforehand schmoozing with the various Morris sides. Here at The Greyhound in Besselsleigh, I was star-struck to meet Keith Chandler (on the melodeon below), author of 'Bells, Ribbons and Squeaking Fiddles,' my favourite Morris history. Others were star struck at having the locals playing for them to dance to!
And if I look like the cat who's got the cream as I crouch between the Squire of Mr Hemmings and Handy Andy, I was pretty giddy at meeting a real live Mr Hemmings; all that weight of tradition in his family name. Actually I was pretty giddy with the whole damned thing!
I hadn't managed to arrange the same reception at Headington Quarry on Tuesday - but had received the local dancers' blessing to dance on their patch. This little village on the edge of Oxford is significant in the history of the Morris revival initiated by the folklorist Cecil Sharpe. It was here on Boxing Day 1899
that he first saw Morris dancing and set about recording and teaching it further afield. Our own Britannic Bedlam Morris Gentlemen originally modelled themselves on the Headington Quarry Morris Dancers. William Kimber, dancer and musician became Sharpe's ally in spreading the dance, and his grave in the
Holy Trinity churchyard pays homage to his musicianship. Star-struck again we barely registered C S Lewis' grave a few yards away. We also met a retired Headington Morris man who, at the age of eleven, had been trained by Kimber!
Later that day we tempered the glut of tradition with a visit to Restore: this mental health, support charity operates a garden, shop and kitchen to help people return to work after illness.
After dancing, and touring the facility we took our time strolling through the remarkable sculpture garden at Restore's Elder Stubbs site in Oxford.
There was no let up at the end of our days as this was the best time to meet the local sides at their summer evening dance-outs. Ducklington Village fields a revival side, and invited us to dance with them at the Bell Inn. Then, following a day away to Kennilworth Castle - that was my day of rest - we joined the Oxford City and Oxford University Morris Men for an unexpectedly high energy night in an alleyway, Far From the Madding Crowd. It was pretty crowded that Wednesday night!
Thursday morning found us taking tea and cake at Aston Pottery. Butterflies in the garden were a distraction in the lovely herbaceous border,
but we had a date with tradition in the next village: Bampton.
Most of the villagers including the Morris dancers were just heading to a funeral at the church as we arrived at the Morris Clown, but we enjoyed a small audience and plenty of dancing in the pub's garden.
On then to meet Icknield Way Morris Men in Wantage, and what a turn-out considering it was the middle of a working day. I'd enjoyed their company and guidance over previous weeks so getting together to dance on their home patch was great fun.
After lunch, when we'd worn the locals out and bought up their supply of delightful wyvern-decorated badges, we moved on for some sightseeing: to the Uffington White Horse overlooking its Vale, followed by a walk along the Ridgeway to Wayland's Smithy.
Driving back to Oxford at the end of this hot, glorious day at the beginning of August, I noticed that the harvest had begun in the Cotswolds. Kitty and I had been watching the cereal crops developing in the fields, since we arrived in England in early June, and now we had reached the seasonal event, that Helen and I had named this Tour for so long ago. I couldn't quite believe that the timing had worked out!
That evening we were beginning to show signs of flagging. A gathering with Cry Havoc and Old Speckled Hen at Shippon was not quite as lively as previous nights, but we still had two days to go... Friday was a fill-in-the-gaps day: Jump in the vans and whip round some of the villages that we hadn't yet visited, but whose names we use all the time when we 'call' or describe our dances back in New Zealand.
At Eynsham, one of the Morris men, left his shop counter to come and watch while our Palmerston North contingent stepped a very passable version of the Eynsham Morris dance Feathers. This is a great show-off favourite in New Zealand and often done with more vigour than precision. I've noticed how we generally dance everything much faster than the English do, but for once the New Zealanders appeared stately, as Eynsham Morris do their dances at top speed and with precision!
At nearby Stanton Harcourt, where the village shop is tucked into the Harcourt Arms, there was the distraction of ice creams as well as beer. After lunch at Appleton - because we had two (quite unrelated) Appletons on tour - the group managed to get to Bledington and Leafield. Our dances use the old name for Leafield, Fieldtown, to describe their tradition.
Friday night was a quiet night in - or out at the Fox Inn - in preparation for our final day of dancing in Oxford. Local mixed (as in gender) side Cry Havoc helped organise the dance spots at Oxford Castle
and The Head of the River pub.
Then it was time for a very personal surprise appearance for a bride and her groom on the Broad Walk. Her father had been one of Elwin's contemporaries with the Oxford City Morris Men, and Elly had been a little girl the last time I saw her. Our troupe pulled our wedding repertoire out of the hat and below, you can see the Auckland dancers doing the Headington dance, Haste to the Wedding. (Getting Upstairs comes next...)
The wedding dance marked the end of our formal programme but Eynsham Morris, unable to dance with us during our visit to their village, had invited us to join them for the Mock Mayor festivities at Woodstock. I had a feast to finalise so headed back to camp while the others made the most of that last opportunity to mingle with the locals and experience crazy English customs.
And then it was time for our Lammas Ale.
Held at and catered by the Wootton and Dry Sandford Community Centre, the Ale was a time for feasting, drinking
and dancing to suit ourselves and our guests: a grand finale to four years of planning and a week of unforgettable Morris memories to take home to New Zealand.
Links to Morris Sides we danced with during The Lammas Tour in order of appearance: