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SOLSTICE!

The mid winter solstice is fast approaching, (21st December for those of you that have lost touch with their roots!). We will be celebrating with our usual sun downer walk and party.  As everyone seems to have gone video crazy on the site, you might like to see the one I made from photographs shot around last year’s shortest day in the National Forest. The words and photographs are mine, the music and vocals are my friend’s, Julie Holland. These videos are a great way of adding another dimension to your poetry. I’ve uploaded the video to Youtube as it is too large for our site.  If it had been small enough to go on Writelink, I would have clicked the video tab and got the code for the video and pasted into the blog in just the same way as the Youtube code.   <object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" width="425" height="350" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"> <param name="src" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QyHwJgf_LZg" /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QyHwJgf_LZg"></embed> </object>

SPRING EQUINOX – HOW WAS IT FOR YOU?

The first day of Spring was actually the 20th March this year which means it fell on Saturday.  I don’t know about your neck of the woods, but in my part of Leicestershire it was a wet, miserable day, not exactly cold, but certainly not very spring like!   Too wet to ride, I went for a four mile walk with Darling Daughter, her friend and little Annikins.   DD hadn’t seen her friend for a while so guess who got landed with the buggy for most of the jaunt!  Wouldn’t have minded so much, but I’d just done a five and half mile run the night before which meant my legs felt like lumps of wood.   It did give me the chance to think about the reality of the equinox though.  Day and night at this time are of equal length and the old ones celebrated by various rituals involving green men, eggs and ritual and not so ritual seed planting.   This may seem quaint and out dated in this technological age, but it doesn’t take much more than a country walk to get back in touch with our primal selves.  In spite of the rain, you could sense the awakening of the land and the signs of rebirth were everywhere.   Even our cattle, content for most of this over long winter to remain in the barn now sense the coming of summer and last night staged a mass break out.  Chasing bucking beast around a dark farmyard in my nighty wasn’t exactly my idea of an ideal end to a Sunday evening!   Have been thinking about updating <a href="http://www.sleetshootsandleaves.co.uk">Sleet, Shoots and Leaves</a> the poetry anthology I co-wrote with BF1.  Think it definitely needs some verse which reflects the more mundane aspects of country life!  Wonder if the Vernal Cattle Stampede is a bit too dramatic?

WHAT THE ENGLISH DON’T KNOW ABOUT ST. GEORGE’S DAY

Sad but true, but ask most English men or women to name the day of their patron saint and most would be hard pressed to give the correct answer.  In fact, many wouldn’t be able to give you his name!  In a recent survey, only one in five people correctly gave St. George’s day as the 23rd April while just a quarter were able to identify him by name!  So much for national pride and cultural identity!  In an effort to redress the balance here are a few interesting facts about our unsung hero! 1.      Contrary to what you might expect, St. George was no English warlord galloping out of the dark ages to rescue the oppressed!  He was actually a Roman soldier born of a Turkish father and Palestinian mother who was martyred for his stance against his superiors over the torture of Christians. 2.  St. George’s emblem is a red cross on a white background and is now our national flag.  It was first brought to England by Richard the Lion Heart, (another furriner who spent very little time here!).  Richard ordered his soldiers to wear it during the crusades to mark them out during battle which must have pleased Saladin immensely and just goes to prove that we are not only ignorant about our national saint, but extremely good at shooting ourselves in the foot! 3.   Just to clarify, we have a Turk for a national saint and our royal family descends from the French.  Given that it is very doubtful if St. George ever set foot on English soil this might account for our inbred suspicion of foreigners and lack of historical interest in our multi-racial heritage.  On the other hand it could be the result of the current comprehensive educational system which insists our children learn about the socio-political causes of the second world war at the expense of their historical roots. 4.      If few people know that St George is England’s patron saint, even less know that he also heads up the Scouting movement. Expect to see on the Sunday nearest to the 23rd April thousands of kaki clad, woggle wearing mini-troopers marching through the streets of our towns and villages to their nearest church for a special service. 5.  He is also the patron saint of archers, which Shakespeare makes good use of in these rabble rousing lines from Henry V, Act 3 … “I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge Cry God for Harry, England and St George!” <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"> <li class="MsoNormal">Talking of Shakespeare, he was obviously destined for greatness as he was born on 23 April 1564 and he died on the same day in 1616.  (St. George’s Day for those not paying attention).</li> </ol> <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"> <li class="MsoNormal">What about this ‘ere dragon?  Well if you are over the age of eight and still believe in dragons I respectfully suggest you get some help.  Dragons didn’t exist during the middle ages which is when this story originated.  Plenty of devils though and the term was used extensively as a substitute for “he who must not be named” by the pious God-fearers of Tudor England.</li> </ol> 8.  If we’ve largely forgotten our red-crossed Knight, our medieval ancestors were not so remiss.  Many mummer plays feature a St. George/King George character often opening with the lines … I am King George that valiant knight Who lost his blood for England's right … 9.  How do we celebrate St. George’s Day?  Until very recently, not at all!  In the past, for most of us the day went by without comment and if by the remotest chance we came across anyone sporting a red rose in their button hole, we’d assume they were off to a wedding!     However, the times they are a changing!  The English are not symbolised by the bull dog for nothing!  Strength and tenacity were ever our watch words!  The past few years has seen us rouse from inertia, shake our jowls at the cynics and disbelievers and through the spittle of indignation, dust off the old dragon slayer for an annual spring airing! Don’t expect July 4th fireworks or a St. Patrick’s day booze up, but each year more and more organisations are running St. George’s day celebrations and events.  From extravagant local authority displays designed to lure shoppers into the malls to home spun affairs on village greens the old warrior rides again!  In various shapes and sizes you’ll find him wielding sword and lance, afire with virtue and righteousness and slaying the evil dragons of anger, greed and hate with all the understated courage of a true, stiff upper lipped Englishman … except he isn’t! (I’ve posted a list of <a href="http://www.folkonthefarm.co.uk" title="Folk on the Farm St George's Day events">St. George’s Day celebrations on Folk on the Farm</a>.  Please feel free to add any more you come across.)

Having Your Cake And Eating It

I could never under stand this saying when I was a child.  Why should you want your cake if you were not allowed to eat it?  Even when it was explained to me in words of one syllable, I still found it difficult to get my head around!  Be that as it may, there is one cake I do not want and have no intention of ever eating again!    I’m talking about Simnel cake which is traditionally served on Mothering Sunday which in 2011 falls on April 3rd.  Back in the mists of time when there was no such thing as an over indulged Vicky Pollard stroppy teenager, most working class girls of around eleven, were sent into service and taught the niceties of wielding a tea tray without breaking the family china and curtseying when the vicar came to call.   They also had their upper body strength developed from daily blacking of the range and scrubbing front steps and plenty of knee bending through laying fires and alter kneeling at Sunday service.   As you can imagine, this kept them from hanging around bus shelters and off-licenses and more or less anywhere else for that matter.  The one thing it did encourage was a fertile imagination which came in very handy when clandestine meetings were needed with unsuitable barrow boys and feckless soldiers which many seemed attracted to.   Anyway, I’m digressing since we’re talking cake here and that awful Simnel cake which I so detest was made by these serving girls on their yearly day off.  This was known as Mothering Sunday and occurred on the 4th Sunday of Lent.  Girls in service were allowed to go home to see their mothers on this day which I’m sure was the last thing many of them wanted to do after a childhood spent sharing a bed with ten siblings, shivering in underwear on wash day while only frock is being washed, suffering endless cast offs from better off relatives, saving boots for winter and no doubt enduring a few clouts from heavy handed fathers.   Back to Simnel cake.  Made from fruit, but not as heavy as a Christmas cake, it should contain almond paste or marzipan inside and out.  (Yuk!) and if that wasn’t bad enough, it should also sport twelve balls of the stuff on the top which are supposed to represent the twelve apostles.  There are quite a lot of variations though so don’t quote me on this and the one my Aunt Edith used to make was definitely a one-off!   It looked impressive enough!  An impossibly vivid yellow with a tiny Easter chick perched on each apostles head.  If I had been older I would have realised from the expression on my mother’s face that looks are nothing to go by.  Aunt Edith, although a staunch W.I. member was culinary challenged, especially in the cake making department.   The main problem seemed to be the discrepancy between the portions of cake and marzipan.  The latter seemed about six inches thick while the cake part was no more than a nail paring, due according to Ma, through Auntie’s propensity for cremating anything which needed more than a flash under the grill.   You would think, hearing my mother talk, that she was up there amongst the Fanny Craddocks, (we’re talking fifties and sixties), but alas no!  Ma, bless here, belonged to the boil it to mush brigade and then give it another twenty minutes.  Her biggest fear in life was we’d all go down with “salmon-ella” which incidentally, gave rise to another spot of confusion on my part as for years I thought this was a disease contracted through eating fish!   I’ve never really had a weight problem either as a teenager or when reaching a “certain age,” well briefly I did, but less said about that the better.  I attribute this mainly to the gut wrenching fear induced by some of Ma’s meals which didn’t involve the use of a can opener.  Until I discovered the joys of cooking, this induced me to approach anything which didn’t have Heinz or Frey Bentos on the packet with great caution as the combination of flavours was often startling to say the least or even worse, entirely absent.   Fortunately, I have lived to tell the tale which is more than can be said of some children.  Not all mothers are the loving, nurturing souls we would have them.  You’ll find a few of this type on my Folk On The Farm blog!  <a href="http://folkonthefarm.co.uk/folk-articles/it%e2%80%99s-all-right-ma-i%e2%80%99m-only-bleedin%e2%80%99-%e2%80%93-bad-bad-mothers" title="Mothers Day, Bad, Bad Mothers">Mothers Day, Bad, Bad, Mothers!</a>

One Morning In May

A white walled pub, the scraping strains of an old fiddle and the merry jangle of bells welcome in the May and the new maid queen. <img src="http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/images/mayqueen.jpg" border="0" alt="Packington Morris men with the may queen" width="361" height="240" />    Bright sunshine streaming in green and gold bands over rolling combers of grass, breaking around a small white island.  Say new born calf for island and down on the farm, spring has truly arrived. <img src="http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/images/cowandcalf.jpg" border="0" alt="cow and calf" title="Cow with her spring calf" width="355" height="453" />    Annie and Dolly in the garden.  Grass, green and growing and a new delight under tiny feet. <img src="http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/images/annie.jpg" border="0" alt="annie" width="240" height="361" />    A game of sticks.  Glossy shine on shaggy backs, paws dry and white on sun warmed grass.  Does life get any better? <img src="http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/images/dogsandstick.jpg" border="0" alt="dogs and stick" width="361" height="240" />    Ever and anon, the dance goes on ... <img src="http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/images/packingtonmorrismen.jpg" border="0" alt="Packington morris men" width="361" height="240" />    These fine May mornings! <img src="http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/images/morrishat.jpg" border="0" alt="wellies and morris hat" width="240" height="361" />

Mischief A foot!

It’s strange how real life has a habit of mimicking art.  I’ve spent the last few days working on a couple of folklore articles featuring the Summer Solstice which I’m sure you all know occurs on the 21st June! This is the time of year when nature is at its most powerful and strange forces are at work.  Well they certainly were yesterday!  As per usual, I went up to the yard to check the cattle and bring in my horse, who should have been quietly grazing behind closed gates two fields away! Instead he was calmly standing in his stable watching me through the open door!  The mystery is how he got there!  No 2 son and at least three others were all working on the yard and claimed not to have seen him arrive in the yard or noticed him standing in his stable. He had obviously been there some time as we’d had a sharp shower of rain, but he was bone dry!  The second incident concerned a spray of St John’s Wort.  This flower is associated with Midsummer’s Day and I’ve been researching it for said articles.  It grows wild around here, but I never pick it as it can be dangerous to grazing animals and I don’t want it in our fields.  Imagine my surprise then at finding a spray of the stuff at our garden gate!  The small hand gate isn’t used by visitors very often as they prefer to use the vehicle assess.  I can only guess a passer-by picked some while out walking and tossed it onto our path, or has that wretched Puck been playing games with me!  I’ve written more about this jolly fellow and the Midsummer Solstice here: <a href="http://folkonthefarm.co.uk/?p=361">What You Didn’t Know About The Summer Solstice And Mid Summer</a>

WHAT ABOUT THAT FAT KID WITH WINGS AND A BOW?

Well for a start, he isn’t a child, but the Roman god Cupid, who governs erotic desire and sensual passion.  His youthful persona implies mischief which he happily unleashes with his golden (and leaden) arrows.  Cupid’s cherubic image is one of the most iconic symbols of Valentine’s Day and is currently plastered all over the high street.     Along with sickly pink balloons, eye-wateringly bright tinsel and a whole range of other cheap tat bearing extortionate price tags, all this stuff is pushed in the sure knowledge that the majority of the populace adhere to the principle that material manifestation of love is beyond price.   I’m happy to say that Nearest & Dearest isn’t one of them.  If he presented me with a glittery, heart shaped balloon sporting a naked Cupid I would either faint or puke or probably both!   N & D is not one of the great romantics, in fact, after I’d been enticed into matrimony, he announced on the eve of Valentine’s day that he hadn’t bought a card as there didn’t seem much point now we’d tied the knot!    Contrast this with my first boyfriend who had something of a fruit fetish.  Understandably I suppose as he lived on a farm with an orchard full of apple and pear trees.  We were both five years old and met in Mrs Buckstar’s infant class.  His name was Frankie and he wore an iron on his leg due to polio from which he was still recovering.    He was a very gentle little boy who brought me an apple or pear every morning which we would eat during playtime, sitting on the wall beside the lavatories like a pair of diminutive bookends.  My older cousins teased me unmercifully about him as he was undersized and couldn’t run about like the other children.  I’m ashamed to say I dumped Frankie at the earliest opportunity and still suffer a twinge of conscious when I think about it!   Not so Laurence!  I was about fifteen or sixteen when he appeared on the scene.  I really couldn’t stand the sight of him!  Strangely I remember his friend better, Steve who was severely myopic and had a weight problem which was accentuated by his short stature.  Laurence on the other hand was exceptionally tall and seemed to sway in the slightest breeze.   He was also very shy and used Steve as a go between.  As we all had to catch the same bus to school I could hardly avoid either of them.  If Steve wasn’t around I’d find notes from Laurence stuck in my school bag!   I can’t really remember how I got rid of these two, probably started work and caught a different bus, but their attentions were nothing as to the unwanted gropings of Anthony.    He was in my class and can only be described as a geek.  He was an expert in building radios which was his major passion.  His minor passion was me who he was forever trying to kiss in the corner of the library!  As we were both library prefects and at our school the library was an under used resource, he had frequent opportunity! I wouldn’t have minded so much, but he had really bad breath and far too much testosterone even for a boy that age.  I subsequently found out he’d also tried it on with two of my friends, also library prefects!   I’ll gloss over Clive and Ken, both of which only added to my belief that I’d got some kind of secret tattoo on my fore-head which said, “Geeks and Weirdoes welcome here!”   I’ve no doubt I performed a similar role to the young men that brought my colour up.  Fortunately for me, they never spared me a second glance as most of them were very bad boys which my Pa would have escorted from the house at the end of a twelve-bore!   I was eighteen when I met N & D who was neither, a geek, weirdo or a bad boy!   Neither was he a fat kid with wings, but he was pretty good with a bow!

Did You Know Today Is National Poetry Day?

Well I didn't either until I happened to stumble across it while surfing the ether.  In defence I've been off-line for the past couple of days and not seen much TV or radio either.  Fortunately my week long pilgrimage walking the Cotswold Way proved very a huge source of inspiration as I wrote not one but FIVE poems! Not quite the one a day which was the target I'd set, but not too bad considering most were composed on the hoof with the aid of a pencil stub and a minicle note book!  Here's one of the better ones and a bit of video to go with it which I made from some not very remarkable photographs. Wonder how many poems we can get on the blogs by the end of the day? <object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" width="425" height="350" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"> <param name="src" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qbyCnw6nzEE" /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qbyCnw6nzEE"></embed> </object>  Belas Knap   Be still! Let silence speak and tell of ancient feet which took the long and winding way to this place, hallowed blessed where long dead warriors rest.   Listen! Their names are whispered in the breeze which hints of long past deeds that raised them from the common kind to lay forever in stone enshrined.   Pause! And if you’ve the mind, gather flowers of the sweetest kind and lay them gently on the stone so they shall know they’re not alone.

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