The Green Lane to Nowhere

I don’t plan on doing very many book reviews here -  it would be rather foolish since most of the books I read have not only been reviewed to death but often have whole books written about them.  The majority of the books I read are classics.  But I do have a few revered authors writing currently – Terry Pratchett, Bill Bryson, Jasper Fforde – and I do go on what I call ‘reading binges’ when I have a new interest.  Usually this is a historical personage or period.  I have done Henry VIII and the Bloomsbury Group to a fare-thee-well, and now I am in the middle of football/soccer with an emphasis on Liverpool FC.

However, I do have a nice little stack of books by my bedside, most of them non-fiction and none of them classics, that is almost out of control, so I am trying to get it down to where I don’t trip over it when I get up in the middle of the night to visit the bathroom.  Where did all these books come from?  Well, I am often given books by friends who support my love for all things English.  I have a weakness for remaindered books with shiny new dust jackets.  When I order from Powell’s (the best bookstore in the world) I try to order in batches that total $50 to get free shipping.  You can get an awful lot of used paperbacks for $50 so I usually wind up getting a few on spec to fill out my order.

The book I want to talk about came from one of these Powell’s orders, and what caught my eye was the comment that it was a “modern Akenfield”.  Akenfield: Portrait of an English Village by Ronald Blythe was also a filler in a Powell’s order and is a wonderfully readable book on the social history of Suffolk village life which was not only made into a movie but now has its own sequel,  Return to Akenfield by Craig Taylor.

I have just cheerfully broken all book review rules by writing three paragraphs without even naming the book being reviewed….so here it is….The Green Lane to Nowhere: The Life of an English Village by Byron Rogers.

Rogers writes about his life in and around a village in Northamptonshire in a way that is somehow timeless.  He weaves history and mystery, personalities and landscapes in a seamless series of extended anecdotes.  Yes, he is amusing, but it is the kind of humour that is so friendly and warm it makes you smile as you read.  When he reaches back, and sometimes he reaches a very long ways back, he gives you all the relevant information and still manages never to bore you with details.

I find his style brilliant, the kind where you sometimes stop mid-paragraph to admire his choice of words.  This book is so readable I do not hesitate to recommend it to non-anglophiles.  When I grow up, I want to write just like Byron Rogers.

Eau d'Elevator

An elevator in your average condo building is a small closed room.  If you are claustrophobic it can be a problem.  I am quite claustrophobic, but for some reason elevators are not a problem for me.  My problem is that I have a very good sense of smell.

Several months ago someone spilled a coffee/milk drink of some kind in the elevator, and of course, they didn’t clean it up properly.  For two days the elevator smelled pleasantly of coffee.  I don’t need to tell you where it went from there.  For another three days it smelled like the inside of your average kitchen garbage pail.  Then it was reported and the carpet was cleaned.  For weeks, that small closed space smelled like a garbage can containing a cheap air freshener ………….  It was awful.

Yesterday morning, as I stepped in the elevator, a pleasantly scrubbed man stepped out.  This was a man who clearly loved his cologne.  I did not.  I suspect his wife sent him out on an errand so she could breath.

Ah but last night, my neighbors brought home pizza.  I know because I saw them going in their door as I was locking mine.  It was sausage with onion and there was no green pepper.  Ask me how I know….

Slap Who?

View through the pines to Baby Island off Whidbey Island looking across to more Whidbey Island.

Imagine if you will, four woman of a certain age in a cabin, on an island, together for three days.  They’ve known each other for many years, there are sisters involved, so there was nothing new to be said about family or husbands, current or ex.  What on earth, you may well wonder, do they talk about?  The answer is neither as interesting nor as boring as you may think….

1)      Eggs: Just exactly how long are eggs good for cooking, when does one throw them out, and how well cooked must one be (the egg, that is) before you will eat it.  This was one of the many conversations stymied by a lack of computer access, and it turns out discussions like this are much more interesting when no one actually knows the answer – Google-free discussions can go on forever.  In case you are wondering, refrigerated eggs are good for 2-3 weeks AFTER the sell by date.

2)      Wildlife: We have over the years seen whales, seals, bald eagles (lots), osprey, herons, hummingbirds, wild bunnies, and this very strange guy living across the street.  The two main conversations are a) Did you see that? Did it move? Is it a seal? No, I think it’s just a big rock. b) Is it an osprey or a young eagle? Where? It’s too big to be a young eagle.  Where? But I think I can see white feathers on the head. Where? It’s gone.

3)      Hate: We talked for a very long time about the use of the word hate.  Although the conclusion was far from unanimous, we decided it was ridiculous to emphatically hate something inanimate – a waste of energy as well as credibility.  For the rest of our stay however, we were acutely aware of how often we did actually use the word – although three of the four are quite mild-mannered.

4)      Cheese: I think there was only one meal in which cheese did not play a part and that was a breakfast.  We had a substantial cheese plate for one lunch and ate the remains on our last day. (We plan no meals on the last day, we simply try to eat up the left-overs to minimize the amount of food we have to haul back home.)  No matter how well we plan, there are always a few items brought by everybody: coffee, cream, biscuits (the kind the English consider cookies), and cheese. Although for some reason, this year we had an abundance of avocados also.  And so, as we munched away, we discussed the various cheeses we had known. 

5)      Slap yo’ momma!: This was by far the most heated conversation of the stay, as we tried to come up with a clever ‘Name this Dish’ entry for a cooking magazine.  The southern expression, evidently a favorite of Paula Dean, is used to emphatically describe the goodness of something, in this case food.  As in: “that Extra Cheese Macaroni & Cheese with Bacon, Sour Cream, Butter, and More Cheese Added was slap yo’ Momma good!”  Some of us thought ‘Slap Yo Momma Spuds’ was a good idea.  Some of us did not feel it was appropriate - perhaps the fact that we were all Mommas had something to do with it.  I have a feeling this conversation will resurface for years to come.

6)      Gin and Tonics:  One of the funniest conversations ever as we tried to figure out what had gone wrong with the anxiously awaited ‘perfect’ G&T’s – they were decidedly NOT perfect.  Was it the gin, which had been carried up in a possibly tainted glass jar?  Was it the tonic, is there such a thing as bad tonic? Was it the plastic glasses they were served in?  Was it the lime, bad lime or too much lime?  We were a perfect bunch of Miss Marples as we tested and eliminated, remade and retasted.  We were quite serious, although someone watching us would have been ROFLing.  For the record, we finally decided it was too much lime.  Maybe this is why I personally prefer bourbon on the rocks – so much easier.

Usually, we spend much of our time on these annual weekends discussing England.  It was two years gone since our trip together to England and none of us had a trip in the planning stages.  Any one of us planning a trip to Old Blighty is grounds for endless conversations, listmaking and collective magazine-combing.  I think next year I will pretend I am planning a trip just to change the conversation, I am pretty well cheesed out.

This guy lurked out on the deck the whole time.  Yes, those are raindrops on the rose petals, it is the Pacific Northwest so of course it was raining much of the time.

Thanks Sweetie!

So many of the negatives of growing older are countered by positives if you just make the effort to find them.  At this point in my life, I have trouble remembering the names of people I don't know well or see very often.  However, I am also at the age where I can call anybody under the age of 40, male or female...Sweetie.  It works for me.

Tying It All Together

At this point in my life, I read fiction and non-fiction pretty much equally. I also listen to quite a few books as read on BBC4 and BBC4Extra.  It is such a lovely thing when they all come together.

One of the convenient things about reading is that we can read through an unknown reference without even realizing it was a reference.  For us ‘know-it-all’ types there is nothing more satisfying than catching a reference we assume most readers have missed.  This alone is a good reason for re-reading books after 20 or so years – of course this is on the assumption that you have learned something in that period of time.

So here is the set-up:  I have an abiding interest in the famous Shakespearean actress, Ellen Terry (1847 – 1928).  After having spent much too much time listening to me talk about her, my friends are always amazed at how often they come across references to her – someone they previously didn’t know existed.  Rarely, even in the age of Wikipedia, do we take the time to look up someone only briefly mentioned in a book.  In 1913, she wrote a book on the Russian Ballet.  I have always wondered how this subject came to be of such interest to her; something not really covered in her autobiography or the various other biographies I have read.

I just finished reading The Victorian Visitors: Culture Shock in Nineteenth-Century Britain by Rupert Christiansen.  The first half of the book was pretty slow reading.  I was surprised at how much was devoted to the life stories of the visitors: Theodore Gericault, Richard Wagner, Ralph Waldo Emerson - fully half of the book to these three, with precious little about their actual time in England.  The last three chapters were about an assortment of spiritualists, the early Australian and New Zealand cricket teams, and ballet dancers.  This was much more interesting to me as it delved into the changing tastes of Victorian and Edwardian society.  It’s always cheering to find that society a century ago was just as susceptible to hype, sham and glamour as we are today.

Now I understand.  The entire face of ballet in England changed after about 1880 and in 1911 the Ballet Russe arrived in London and completely took it by storm.  High society fought to entertain Nijinski, Pavlova, and even Bakst – the stage and costume designer. Even royalty attended the ballet, which until then had been very much a second class entertainment.  Ellen Terry, who traveled in the highest literary and artistic circles, would have been as caught up in this as everyone else.  And so, as she was pretty much retired from the stage at this point, she wrote the book.

There were two more enlightening bits.  Although I may have heard it before, in the chapter about cricket, the origin of the The Ashes was explained - I won’t spoil it for you, just in case you have any interest.  The first teams of natives from Australia and New Zealand also visited England at this point.  And so today, while listening to the newest chapter of Lord Peter Wimsey (Dorothy Sayers) on BBC4Extra, when Lord Peter begs off a boring chore by saying he was on his way to Lords to see the New Zealanders, I got it.  It was more than just a passing reference – it was a fully fleshed out reference to the sporting interest of the times and a perfectly good excuse.

We'll talk more about Ellen Terry at a later date............

More Winchester

As promised, I'm going to revisit Winchester....

BUSKER WARS:  I'm an early riser, especially when traveling, so in Winchester I would get dressed and get out on the streets.  One morning, on my way back home, I sat down on a bench in High Street and watched a busker with his guitar settle in.  He was sitting on a bench across from the Butter Cross, close to the gate which came through from the Cathedral - a perfect location.  He was quite good, both as a guitarist and as a vocalist so I sat and listened for a while.  Just as I was about to leave, I looked up High Street and saw a young woman all in white walking toward us.  As she walked, she held up her long skirts with one hand, which displayed her red and white striped tights, and in the other hand she held a bouquet of sweet pea.  When she reached the Butter Cross, she climbed to the top step and struck a pose.  Ah, I thought, a mime, more street performance.  Oh no, thought the guitarist, competition.  While he called across to her, in no uncertain terms that she was poaching on his location, she tried to keep in character.  Clearly, he was not giving up, and so she tried peacemaking.  She walked down the steps, walked across to him and sweetly offered a stem of sweet pea from her bouquet.  He wasn't buying it and although he was quieter when he stated his position this time, he was no less emphatic.  And so she tucked the stem back in her bouquet, picked up her skirts and moved on down the street.

SMALL PLEASURES:  A punnet is a term used in Britain for a basket used for displaying produce, usually in a farmers market or grocery store.  It's usually one of those green plastic mesh baskets.  Because my reading leans so heavily on British authors, there are quite a few words that I read here, but can only use over there without sounding like an idiot (not that I let it stop me).  So I took great pleasure at the farmer's market in purchasing a punnet of small tomatoes.  I figure I managed to use the word punnet at least four times during the transaction...and several times more when I got home

DOOR TO THE PAST:  In England I take a great many photos of doors and windows.  I love the varied architecture and the rose climbing round the door.  But some doors and windows are very special because someone special walked through that door each day, or looked out that window to check the weather.  It is even more special when you can actually walk through that door, or stand and look out the window.  As we walked past Jane Austen's last home, someone approached, knocked on the door, introduced themselves, and was welcomed in.  Obviously, they had made special arrangements with the caretakers as the house was not open to visitors.  I watched enviously, and I saw someone pull the white curtain aside to peep out the window.  Looking out is so much different than looking in.

CHARACTERS: The week in Winchester was really lovely...and interesting...and sometimes very funny.  One early morning, after watching the Farmer's Market setting up, I sat on a bench at the entrace to the Cathedral Close.  A woman came up, sat down, and started talking.  She obviously was lonely, although she was very cheerful.  She didn't stop talking for at least twenty minutes.  She told me about her uncle that went to America, her son who rarely came to visit her, her upbringing in Manchester, what her bedsit looked like and finally about the surgery removing her right breast - including the fact that she usually wore her artificial breast but had decided not to bother on this morning.  At that time, my daughter arrived and joined the conversation - she also lit up a cigarette.  The old ladies eyes sparkled, "Oh" she said, "I am out of cigarettes, could I buy a couple from you?"  This was followed by the 'discovery' that she had left her purse at home and had no money with her.  Of course, she was given several cigarettes, and by the way she lit up and took that first drag, she had obviously been out of cigarettes for a good while.  I took her picture, we said goodbye, and walked back home.  Much later, looking at my photos, I saw quite clearly that she had indeed left something at home.

DETAILS:  They have such wonderful downspouts in England!  I have a nice little photo collection of them and this was one of my favorites.  But I can't help feeling a little sorry for the pigeons.

Flickr Mosaics - Winchester

I do love making photo mosaics on Flickr, I do mine on bighugelabs.com  Here are several I recently made from photos of my visit to Winchester, Hampshire in 2007.  We spent a week in Winchester, a really lovely small city with loads of history, architectural gems, lush gardens, and a cathedral.  It was June and everything was in bloom.



High Street, the photo in the center, is so beautifully preserved that you can't tell if it's 2007 or 1907 if it wasn't for the omnipresent trashcans...Winchester is very big on trashcans,



Even in a week there was not enough time to begin to capture all the lovely details.



These photos are from Queen Eleanor's Garden at the castle (home of King Arthur's supposed Round Table).  It was just coming into bloom, but was so lush and green and amazingly full of ideas for such a small garden.



All cathedrals are wonderful in their own way, but Winchester Cathedral has to be one of my favorites.

Bollards in the heart of the town were painted in the style of famous artists, it felt like a treasure hunt as wandered around town and stumbled on on of them.  It also felt like a pop quiz as the three of us sometimes struggled to identify the artist.

Looking back at these mosaics, several things come to mind that aren't represented here, but deserve to be mentioned in any conversation about Winchester.  I'll save them for a later post...maybe even tomorrow.