Tuesday 30 June 2020

June: Darkness and Light

Infinite sadness is… the death of a good friend.

When I began writing ‘Losing Time’ in earnest, Derek was the first person outside the family to listen to an extract which I read aloud to him. He was writing some poetry – unstructured, but brilliantly funny. I chose a part from early on in my book, where Helen steps through an open door in a hotel in Ireland to find herself transported into the past, and facing her father as a young man. This has always been one of my favourite moments, and my many and varied edits have changed it little – so you can still read it almost as it was when I stumbled over the words, tense with nerves, as Derek listened. The minutes which ticked past as I read were serious and important to me. Derek’s reaction would be critical to how I progressed with the book. To my amazement, he listened in silence as the scene rolled off the paper, and after I finished, he seemed surprised that I’d stopped. More astonishing was his pronouncement that it had been like ‘listening to a story on Radio 4’ and that it was good.

‘Do I go on with it?’

‘Oh yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he affirmed with a sentence he so often used when he approved of something. And so, continue I did!

The photo shows Derek in 1983, rendering a cob wall on my cottage. Friendship is the mutual recognition of an easiness between people who can comfortably discuss and debate all manner of things. For thirty years we lived in the same village as Derek and his wife and family. On occasion he would drop in on us simply to air his views on current news events, or on something he had read or listened to which he felt needed discussion. Frequently an item of news would infuriate him, and he would rage in frustration for about half an hour, finally turning the whole thing into a joke, when we would all fall about laughing. Good humour was never far away from this kind man.

And now Derek has gone. The cigarettes (etc.) took their toll on his lungs in an aggressive and horrible manner as is so often the case, but which is always so totally undeserved.

*

June ends and 2020 is half gone. The garden is coping magnificently with these odd extremes of weather, although the high winds push some of the plants into a bedraggled tangle, they soon recover. Our walk continues now with a few views of plants which have excelled themselves in June, and most importantly the roses I was given for my birthday.


'Princess Alexandra of Kent' arrived about to flower, and has burst into some extravagant heads of a stunning pink, each as perfect as the photo.


Next to it I planted 'Gabriel Oak' whose blooms are a richer, darker colour and whose scent resembles the best of rose perfumes.

The poppies have gone over now, but other tall plants are replacing them. Here are Cornflowers and 'drumstick' Alliums.



Here, in today's drizzle, are a couple of views of the now-enlarged round flowerbed in all its glory, with the 'Annabelle' Hydrangea rapidly changing colour and the roses, 'Gabriel Oak' nearest to us, as well as the Dahlias.



*

Finally, a book recommendation. 'A Rising Man' by Abir Mukherjee will plunge you into the extraordinary world that is Calcutta, almost one hundred years ago. Highly recommended it's my favourite of the year so far!

I promise to show you the other side of the garden next month. In the meantime, I hope you are coping and keeping well, and that everything will improve as we move into the second half of this strange year.

Pam and Lucy: this is for you at this difficult time. x 




Note: this link should take you to a preview of 'Losing Time', if my post has sparked your interest.


Thursday 11 June 2020

BETWEEN SHOWERS

After several weeks of hot, dry weather we are being deluged with rain here today. I ran out between showers and caught this burst of sunlight – just before I had to run back in again! (Wish I’d managed to move the green recycling bag first...)



Luckily I managed to snap enough photos for this post, which was meant to continue our walk around the garden - now postponed. Here instead are some glimpses of how June moves the plants into new stages of growth and flowering.

First: the excitement of new Hydrangeas producing flowers. These are cuttings I took a couple of years ago. This one had been in our family for generations and will be pink when it achieves its full colour.















In contrast, this is a cutting from a blue Hydrangea purchased a few years ago, growing beautifully in a big terracotta pot of my late mother's. 















The heaviness of the showers is ruining my poppies, which I thought looked so splendid this year. Here is one managing to survive the wet.


And of course I couldn't post photos of the garden without a couple of roses, here still gorgeous despite the rain:


























At this difficult time I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to work and be in the garden. Its healing qualities for stress and depression are second to none. All of us have been experiencing moments of unhappiness and sadness in the past few months. The threat of serious illness hangs heavily, like an elephant in the room which we are all sick of. I fear this interval in our lives may continue indefinitely. There is a lethargy in the air, a kind of acquired tolerance of the situation, but also a longing for a glimpse of something more substantial, as though our lives have taken on a dreamlike quality whose mists we desperately wish to disperse. I cannot advise you how to react, but can only suggest that life tends to hold surprises - and if ever we all needed a positive, bold solution to this crisis, this would be a good time. 

My final photo brings us back to one of the most fundamental aspects of my garden: plants for the bees. Just don't ask me what this plant is, because I don't remember except that it is a rather obscure herb - and the bees love it! Look after yourselves, as ever...