Primrose Corner

This is the boy, Arthur Raymond Peacock, who signed up for the Northamptonshire Reserves on his eighteenth birthday, 6th January, 1909, to serve his King and country.

Certified copy of attestation - joining the Reserves for six years service.

Arthur Edward Raymond Peacock

This is the friend who had fun with his mates…. “we have to go bathing at half-past six in the morning and the waves dash into your face….”. played practical jokes and complained of six to a tent “…there’s hardly room to move…”

This is the son who wrote home to his Mum and Dad.

…”I can’t tell you when we shall come back, I don’t think it will last long, but I suppose we shall stop till it is done. Of course there’s nothing to bother about…..

… who sent love and kisses to his younger brothers. The reserves were amongst the first to go.

Like so many countless others this young man never came home from the fields in France where the poppies grow.

His were the parents who wept. His was the mother who never again locked the front door … just in case… in desperate hope that it wasn’t him.. her first born son.

These and many like him are the ones we should remember

Dearest husband does occasionally bring me presents….. little gifts of tenderness … an odd plum… a few grapes and his latest is this;

Any ideas? It isn’t one of these lovely little lavender bags from here and it isn’t part of these fascinating kitchen diaries many of you are participating in at the moment. No. It is a ‘tea temple’ from teapigs. How evocative a name is that? Does it conjure up wondorous, rich and exotic images of China, Japan the mysterious east?

It’s a beautifully made little thing for what is essentially a tea bag. Silky to the feel and the aroma is amazing. Just look at the light reflecting off of it. (Yes - we have sunshine. Horray!) I wish I should share it with you. (The tea and the sunshine.)

This is a herbal ‘tea temple’, ‘Super fruits’, and it could almost double as a herbal drawer sachet. But no, I’m compelled to do the cruel but rightful thing and pour boiling water over it to get the true benfits of this health giving tea. I quote “Good if you’re feeling: Slow and lifeless. The antioxidants in our super fruits will help stave off “Squashed Hedgehog Syndrome” (i.e. “feeling run down” – get it? Sorry).” (copyright - www.Teapigs.co.uk) Is husband dear trying to tell me something? Should I be offended or flattered by his concern? Yes, I’ve been struggling along this week, but how romantic is it to be accused of “Squashed Hedgehog syndrome”?

The entire Teapigs website has an informative, energetic and fun feel to it. It has it’s own blog for ‘tea fans’, where it all gets more serious and you should see the gadgets they have for making the tea in. Not just you’re Aunty Edna’s big brown teapot I can assure you.

(image copyright - Teapigs.) Eva solo teamaker - it comes with a wetsuit(?) For the pot you understand. Not the user.

The varieties of teas are intimidating interesting too. There are the usual candidates; jasmine, darjeeling, english breakfast type teas but are you brave enough for ‘chilli tea’ (”This tea looks light and innocent, but hiding behind the delicate Ceylon is a zesty orange and a surprising chilli kick” ( - from Teapigs)),or how about ‘chocolate flake tea’ ? The herbal teas sound just as enticing. This one smells good enough to be dessert.

The best news for me is that you can buy them online. So I may just treat myself, afterall who wants to go through life with something as awful as ‘Squashed Hedgehog syndrome”?

At the bottom of the garden is a tree, a very old tree ..
So who’s going to pick this lot up?

Behind the tree is a wall. A much older wall…

Over the wall is a field, an ancient field..

That field marks time…

The Romans must have walked this way down to settle by the river. The Normans too, signs of their harsh overlordship are all around. All gone now but the field remains.

Can you spot the tractor?

During the harvest the farmer toiled. Working late into the evening.

Now the field looks like this. But wait. What’s this? Now, the animals and the birds that live there are exposed.

The foxes trot behind the wall. The same route back and forth, hunting the rabbits, chasing the pheasants. Making unearthly screeches into the night. Muntjac graze their way across to the fields beyond.

Tawny owls hang out in the trees that line the field boundary and the wall. Busy, chatting and calling to their owl friends every evening now.

Hares bound along great ears flopping. Fascinating creatures.

The year turns ……

Autumn is such a beautiful time but alas the winter follows too quickly behind.

But, every autumn is the same once the harvest is in - the spiders, HUGE spiders with hobnail boots look for somewhere warm. Yikes!

Then there’s mice. They too seek out somewhere warm to hang out for a while.
“Husband dear have you , got your lunch, your bag? and have you got the trap!?”

What should a true country person do? Do they turn the little mice into kebabs and hang their little pelts over the fire place? Not much eating on a mouse is there?

So, the dear little critters get forcibly re-located over to the next county to build new lives for themselves.

They don’t need a passport, they don’t need a work permit. (Will there be a border dispute with Bedfordshire?)

We’ve tried releasing them over the wall…… but I’m convinced that they ‘home’. Now, they get a car journey and a new field to explore. A second chance, they can’t stay here.

What terror lurks at the bottom of your garden ?

I have a lovely neighbour who lives at the bottom of the drive. That sounds a little grand but it’s just the way the houses are offset. Most weeks when the re-cycling has been collected she returns the various boxes to my front door. I return the favour when I can but she’s definately ahead in the ‘return the boxes’ stakes. I caught her in the act yesterday and went out to thank her. We chatted as you do. ‘Oh, she said you’re bit of a hippy.’ ‘Am I?’ (Should I be offended? Actually it made me smile.) ‘Yes’ she said ‘Just look at what you’ve got growing in your front garden.’ I turn around curious about what has crept into the garden that has earned me such a title. ‘Those are drugs you know!’ Points determindly at the garden… ‘Arhhhh!’ Now I understand….

It was these,

Echinacea purpura

She continued.. ‘I take them every winter you know - I swear that’s why I never get a cold!’ I wouldn’t have a clue what would you would have to do these plants to benefit from them? and she carries on…. “I’ve been showing them to people when they visit us.’ (!?) Do they extract an oil from the plant to make medicine or … ? I really have no idea. I just grow them because they fascinate me. When the flowers form they have quite flat centres and then as the flower itself ages a ‘cone’ grows upwards. (Is that why they’re called cone flowers? Duh!)

They look all soft but they’re got they’ve really got quite a spiky feel.

It’s confession time. I really grow them because the bumblebees absolutely adore them and I adore bunblebees. It’s no secret! I don’t care who knows. I just love they way they well ‘bumble’ between flowers sometimes you could believe that they were quite drunk. I love their fat, round fluffiness and to hear them when you’re out and about. On the echinacea plants you quite often find them seemingly asleep. Lovely little creatures.

She knows more about me than you do however and for her this ‘making stuff’, growing herbs and strange plants in my front garden and then this …….

… she’d found an empty wrapper in the re-cycling box…… oh dear! It’s only a little indulgence. See, you have to be careful about what you throw away people use it form opinions about you. You get labelled as a ‘hippy’. (I’m sorry that’s just so funny.) I’d better stay away from the next village meeting in case she has me burned for a witch. She hasn’t seen what’s growing in the back garden…..

This weeks mystery photo (there probably won’t be one next week) is this

Whatever was he doing?

and from this;

I now have ‘Permission to’……

…..Investigate. That might help me with the bag tutorial I suppose (It’s taking ages, as usual.) ….. think I’d rather have had the … ‘Wish’….. perhaps tomorrow!

and one last picture of pure, floaty pinkiness (just indulge me a little more.. pretty please!)
Simply gorgeous ….

Today is the first day of the school holidays and for us it’s been quite a few hectic last few weeks of term. So, when today dawned all lovely and warm well we just have to go out and enjoy it. (Please don’t remind me about the ironng I should be doing - I’ve managed to jam the door shut on it - it’ll be fine……)

So, Enid Blyton style we packed up a picnic, ham sandwiches, apples, nectarines and plenty of water but sadly no ‘lashings of ginger beer”, apparently it might corode number one son’s brace. (You wouldn’t believe the adventures we have with that brace. Mishaps with malt loaf, like you wouldn’t believe and I’ve had to cut him free from the duvet cover - don’t ask! But thank goodness for tiny, tiny sewing scissors.) Off we went to an extremely chocolate box pretty village not far from us called Wadenhoe.

It sits alongside the river Nene as the river winds it’s way up the valley. The church is set up above the village on the top of a small but steep (believe me it’s steep. I’ve climbed mountains with a more friendly gradient than this little thing.) hill.

Apparently, I have to forgive it for being steep because recent excavations have revealed the remains of medieaval buildings, possibly a manor house but probably not the remains of a castle.

Everytime I walk up here though I wonder how the elderly get to church on a Sunday or how brides navigagte the route in beautiful long flowing gowns dodging sheepie droppings or at this time of year the enormous evidence that cattle leave behind. Does someone walk ahead with a shovel? So, you’d need to add an extra roll to your wedding plans then? ….’Head shoveller’ ? perhaps. (Now, you just know that’ll cause arguments.)

Hunting field crickets…..
Down by the river in one direction narrow boats were moving through the locks and you could hear the whoosh of water either filling or draining out of them. (Ooh! I’m getting all sentimental.)

We walked up to the Mill house and through the fields a little way and we found these.

It’s haymaking time! Look at these ‘rolly pollies’.

Now hang on a minute - what you do mean you can’t get on it?

When we returned to the car these gentlemen were sitting outisde under the trees playing a squeeze box and singing good old folk songs, and doing it very well. A cross between the Dubliners and Kate Rusby with a deeper voice.

This was one of those special days that can’t be planned and have to be enjoyed for what they are - golden.

Looking out across the valley.

This is what I collected from school today!

I detest this part of the school year. I know that seems a bit strong but my daughter left primary school today. I can’t cope with the whole saying ‘goodbye’ thing. As a child I’d just walk away and avoid the situation as an adult I’ve had to learn to deal with it. So, it’s been a day full of goodbye’s and leavers services in church and tears and having to recognise that those next steps are into that near adult world. A world where you have to start to let go a little more and hope that you’ve taught them well enough.

No longer can wrap you wrap them up safely away from the world because time is urging them on and life is beckoning them forward. I’ll stop now. It’s all getting too sad. I suppose it’s not just a big change for her but for me and all the other Mum’s of year 6 children. No more ‘walking bus’, chats in the morning, struggling with guitars, cello’s, P.E. bags and the latest class project. Now it’ll be just waving as you pass each other in car parks waiting for the various bells to ring and release the little darlings.

In church they were each presented with a year photograph and a dictionary plus a DVD of excerpts from their school life. The bit as parents you don’t get to see. All those school disco’s and trips out, goodness only knows what that’ll be like. Will I need a box of tissues to catch tears of sadness or laughter? It could go either way. I think I’ll wait ’till she comes back from her friends party so that we can watch it as a family. (umm! Is that a good idea - big brother doesn’t need feeding more ammunition)

But joy, it must be the summer holidays. Panic!!!! I wonder how long it will be before one of them decides that there’s nothing to do…… Ahh! Remember the allotment - that’ll keep us more than a little occupied and then we’re away for a while. I’m sure we’ll have more than enough to do.

Happy Summer (school) holidays everyone.

Yesterday was a funny old day. It began innocently enough, depositing the children at their various schools and returning to quietness, solitude and a much needed cup of coffee. I was busy, busy, busy writing the *** tutorial (Am I just slow or something? It seems to take me ages. I’m sure other people have a magic wand or some such.). A gorgeous little blue-tit had just got murdered in front of my eyes in an explosion of tiny blue feathers (Yes, we have a sparrowhawk! Nature red in tooth and…. but it could have waited until I’d eaten my toast. Honestly!), all was normal.

Then I got Flickr mail. A company wanted to now if they could use a photograph of a crochet hook roll I’d made. Oh! fame at last, well obviously the photo must be just so extraordinarily fantastic ….. but hang on a minute…. who are you? why do you want this?

They appeared to be quite legitimate as a company and I did check them out but they wanted the photo to illustrate a crime story about a police officer being attacked by someone with a crochet hook! Now, I know flickr sets are about showing what you do, networking with others, and sharing ideas etc. but do I want to have my ‘creations’ associated with such a horrible thing? I don’t think so.

That particular crochet hook roll was made for my mother’s eldest sister. She’s must be about 76 years old now. I could just see her turning up to her crocheting/knitting group with her crochet hook roll which she assures me she’s very fond of and someone saying “Hey, isn’t that ‘roll’ the same as the one that that woman had? You know the one who attacked that police officer? That was nasty ……” She’d be absolutely mortified.

You never know what’s going to turn up do you?

Note to self……

Remember to finish this and post tutorial!

Remember to take son to orthodontist. (You want a red brace? Are you sure?)

Remember to take daughter to guitar lesson - before school.

Remember to volunteer to drive children to end of term rounders match.

Remember to prepare picnic for family to take to daughters Open Air concert tonight (PS. Remember umbrella, groundsheet or something similar to sit on. (It’s raining cats and dogs out there. What can I make that doesn’t go soggy in the rain?))

Remember to go shopping for the picnic. (Thermos flasks plus soup - anyone?)

Remember to collect all said children from the other school including son and transfer back to the first school by the end of the day.

Remember to collect daughters’ uniform for new school, which is at the school where the rounders tournament is but you can’t collect it before 4:30p.m. (Two journeys then plus queue!)

Remember to fill in all the appropriate consent forms for both children’s extra curricular activities.

Remember to buy end-of term disco tickets for daughter upon pain of death by extreme pestering.

Ring ………

Aaahh! Don’t panic! Just breathe deeply - inhale the lavender bag (well not the whole thing - just the perfume).

Go make a cup of tea and find something to sew!

Hope your end-of-term is less frenetic!

We’ve been trying to get hold of an allotment for YEARS! We’re surrounded by fields here. You’d think that somone would have a piece of spare land we could use. Our local authority says that once there are 6 (I think that’s correct) people on a waiting list they have to source more land. Maybe they do. What seems to happen is that as the waiting list gets longer the council writes to people to check that they are still interested and ask for written confirmation of their interest. I’m guessing this doesn’t happen - so it takes forever and nothing seems to happen. Meanwhile, I’m told that allotments change hands between families and that as long as the rents are paid noone checks up on who is actually paying it. So, I suppose it comes down to who you know and I obviously don’t know the ‘right’ people. Such is life!!

Desperate times demand desperate measures or whatever that saying is so…. we’ve adopted part of a previously uncultivated field. At least, it hasn’t been cultivated since at least the second world war! A while then.

Part of this field is being used for other purposes but there is a strip down one side which we can have. The drawback is it’s not going to be easy. (I/we must be abolsutely insane. I mean I like a challenge but flippin heck.) You just have to look at the pictures to see that.

trailer anyone?

The strip I’m talking about goes beyond that hawthorn bush you can see at the back. I don’t like the idea of taking it out - but at least leaving the work until late summer means that we won’t be disturbing any nesting birds. We’re only going to tidy up the perimeter leaving the trees and bushes as they are.

The field stretches away behind this bush and borders onto horse paddock.

I’m sooooo excited. I know that it looks daunting and impossible and …. and…. but if we do a bit at a time, I’m sure we can get to do something with it. My daughter loves growing stuff and my son’s always ready for a bit of demolition (and eating) - a great project through the summer holidays.

In the meantime we can enjoy the blackberries, apples and plums that are growing there. So, we will have a kind of harvest to enjoy - even if it’s not one we planted.

I am the sometimes proud, sometimes impressed, frequently exasperated mother of a 6ft 2 inches son. Yes, I know people tell me it’s lovely to have a tall son but …he’s thirteen. Oh! did I mention that he’s beanpole like, although he’s beginning to fill out a bit. (Aaaargh! That usually means he’s going to start growing again!)
(Dandelions - ‘cos he grows like a weed)

The reason it’s particularly winding me up today, is that I’m sitting here trying to work out how on earth to write a letter to school explaining/getting their permission for having a properly badged school sweatshirt custom made. The only style we can get in the appropriate school colour (maroon for goodness sake!) has a different setting of the sleeves. Does it really matter? The ‘uniform man’ , suggested that I should write to school to get permission in order that my son didn’t get disciplined for having a non-standard sweatshirt. Can it really be that much of a issue? If the only difference is that his sweathshirt has set -in sleeves as opposed to raglan ones, how exactly is that an act of rebellion? I mean come on … aren’t there more serious issues in secondary schools. I mean I’m trying my best.

Perhaps I should scream ‘discrimination’, on the grounds of height. That always gets attention. Not really my style though and he’d be absolutely horrified. I mean make a scene, he couldn’t bear it. I might enjoy it though.

The American lady who lives down the road from me adores the whole school uniform thing. How much simpler it makes life. No arguments about what your child wears to school. Less expensive than buying all outfits you would otherwise need. Fantastic. You have to agree with her. I’m sure that if my daughter had to make a decision about what to wear each day we’d have to be up at five. She’s a wonder to behold when confronted with a wardrobe full of clothes.

Uniform, (well, clothes in general to be honest) have always been difficult for him. It’s the problem of being ‘non-standard’. Going into adult sizes is making it easier because you can get different height/width combinations. (Best not to think about the extra cost.) Uniforms don’t seem to work this way.

My son just wants to blend in. He doesn’t want this fuss and attention because he’s tall. He’s fed up with being asked if the air is thin up there or told that he’d have a good career in basketball. Especially as the only sport for him is cricket. I’m fed up with being told to feed him more. Have you seen the size of my food bills?

I’ve always felt a little sad for him because his height has excluded him from a lot of things. (I’m talking maximum height limits on fair rides and at activity centres where friends where having their birthday parties.) Sad, because it’s going to be a few years before some of his peers begin to catch up with him.

So, how do you think I should begin this letter?
………
Dear Sir,

My son needs new sweatshirts for school. The XL size is not long enough in the sleeves (did I mention our orangutan ancestry) and the body would drown a ’sumo wrestler’ (no offence meant).

The ‘uniform lady’, suggested tumble drying the XL size on hot to reduce the body size but experience tells me the arms would shrink too and at between £15-£20 each I’m not willing to experiment…
………..

Not quite the right tone is it?

Sorry! This turned into a bit of a rant. I know I should be grateful that that he doesn’t give me more to worry about and believe me I am. This is just frustrating! Think I’ll go and ……. no! If I finish this letter so that I can forget about it. (Yeah! Like that’s going to happen.)