Blog Archives

Lady Day

26/3/2015

As a year-end and quarter day that conveniently did not fall within or between the seasons for ploughing and harvesting, Lady Day was a traditional day on which year-long contracts between landowners and tenant farmers would begin and end in England. And that was yesterday, March 25th. Farmers' time of "entry" into new farms and onto new fields was often this day. As a result, farming families who were changing farms would travel from the old farm to the new one on Lady Day. The date is significant in some of the works of Thomas Hardy, like 'Far from the Madding Crowd'.
"Now I loved that film, Gordon. Full of tragedy and romance and set in beautiful Dorset. Casterbridge was in fact Dorchester. There was a famous poem that Thomas Hardy wrote - 'In a Eweleaze near Weatherbury'. A eweleaze is a meadow Gordon, mainly used for grazing sheep. Thomas Hardy blended real and imaginary landscapes in his fiction and poetry. In his semi-imaginary Wessex, "Weatherbury" is the Dorset town of Puddletown."
Did Mum just say Wattlebury? Where on earth does she get these ideas from? Gordon xxx

Spring

20/3/2015

True to March, the east wind has been blowing over Wattlebury in various guises this week. There are many reasons for this chilly wind of course - for one it helps scatter the pollen from the long tassels of the catkin. And it blows its cold breath through the trees and bushes so as to move winter's withered legacy on and give the spring buds room to open in all their glory. As our prevailing wind is from the west it lifts and moves the accumulated leaves to give the ground a good airing in its dry and chilly path. The bare maize fields on the Wattlebury Estate are waiting for another month before they are ploughed and re-sown, but the wheat fields have already been ploughed and tilled - and will be seeded as soon as the ground warms up a little.

Catkins and shiny ivy leaves

The bare maize field waiting to be ploughed

The first flowers of spring are adapted to coping with March. The violets and celandines who seek the nourishment of the soft humus of dead leaves are well protected by the latter and the beautiful primrose will often be found with her roots in a decaying tree stump for added shelter.
The wild arum - 'cuckoo-pint' or 'lords-and-ladies' is a very strange plant. Its glossy green leaves spotted with purple are sprouting up willy-nilly and soon the purple spadex will appear, partially enclosed in a pale green leaf-like hood. The flowers are hidden from sight, clustered at the base of the spadex with a ring of female flowers at the bottom and a ring of male flowers above them. Above the male flowers is a circle of hairs forming an insect trap. The spadex has a temperature rather higher than the surrounding air and also a peculiar smell. Flies are tempted to come and warm their feet and then crawl down the spadex past the ring of short threads - and this prevents them from crawling back! Inside the bulb of the sheath they stay for some time, carrying the pollen from the anthers to the pistils of the female flowers that are at the base of the spadex. What a clever plant! In the autumn the female flowers form a cluster of bright red berries which remain after the spathe (the 'hood') and other leaves have withered away. These attractive bright red to orange berries are extremely poisonous.

A beautiful clump of primroses

The wild Arum

Our Friend, Robin is looking very dapper and we are sure that it will be no time at all before he is snapped up by a mate. Mrs Jenny Wren is hard at work making a most secretive nest in the ivy on the old damson tree. Mr and Mrs Blackbird have long been gathering nesting material and two fine Mallard drakes have been courting one rather sleek duck on the old pond. I wonder which one she will choose? High in our old Christmas tree patch the Jackdaws are making their infernal clattering as they repair and re-build their nests for spring 2015. The Jackdaw is a highly gregarious bird and males and females pair-bond for life and stay together within flocks. They congregate at dusk for communal roosting - all the squabbles over the best twig of the day long-forgotten.

Robin in his best bib and tucker

The Jackdaws nest-building in the highest ash trees

And each day as you take the path to Wattlebury village and look across the woodland floor the verdant leaves of the bluebells-in-waiting are turning the brown carpet of winter into the green luxuriant of summer.

By the old pond -

from brown to green

Well today is the March Equinox and there is also a total eclipse of the sun right now (09.30 a.m.) - so things must be looking up. And if it weren't so jolly cloudy, I would be too! Gordon xx

Harvey plays his Trump

13/3/2015

A brief update on the Crufts saga. Honey was being rather smug as her Daddy had won his class in the Veterans. We were all totally in awe of this naturally and when she next visited us in the farmyard, we bowed our heads so that our combs touched the chilly concrete. We felt she was deserving of such acclaim, even though it must have looked rather silly on reflection. Harvey meanwhile played his Trump card. In the nicest possible way.
"You see, there may not have been a class just for me and my kind," he went at great lengths to painstakingly explain. "But many of my forefathers were represented. The Greyhound - my heritage, a fine specimen. The Saluki - a top prizewinner. The Bearded Collie - 'Fayme'. The Whippet - my cousin. The Collie - Welsh kinsfolk. I could go on."
"But were you represented there Harvey? I mean an actual Lurcher?" Pauly asked tentatively. (Pauly is our largest representative. A Turkey. Harry the Peacock likes to think he's the largest - but he only actually is in the spring.)
We fell silent. We held our breath. It could turn nasty --- but luckily Harvey chortled and nodded his head in mock embarrassment - rather like Danny Zucco in 'Grease'.
"But of course Radiant Pauly. It was none other than my 'ol mate Stryder who won the Flyball for the Demon Dogz! A Lurcher of the fleetest foot - and as fine a specimen of our noble breeding as you could wish to meet!"
We duly scraped our combs along the length of the yard from the straw box to the hay box and back again.
Gordon xxx

The Celandine

7/3/2015

It was to be a Big and Exciting Day - at least for Harvey and Honey our Hounds. For a most important Dog Show is on - Crufts! Harvey had told us all about it earlier this week, and although a good 'ole Chicken Show is more our cup of tea, we could well appreciate his discomposure. Well different sorts of dogs have different days - Every Dog has his Day - as they say. And today is the Hound and Terrier Day. The day you find Top Dog, if you are of that kind. Not very well explained I know, but Harvey was gabbling and spinning around in circles as he was telling us and to be honest we lost half of the tail. And not that he has qualified. It probably is fortunate that we don't have to qualify to be entered in a Chicken Show on hindsight. So you have the crème de la crème of hounds and terriers on parade today and Harvey and Honey have reserved their chairs in front of the television for the programme tonight.
So he is one wild dog. Honey is more calm and matter-of-fact. But Harvey doesn't need much of an excuse to go Nutty Bananas.

Little Gemma meanwhile was scratching amongst the leaves on the verge and uncovered some beautiful, bright yellow Celandines. So dazzling and radiant in the March sunshine. So brave, given the unpredictability of the March winds and icy showers. She breathlessly hopped and skipped back to us.
"Uncle Gordon - they are so pretty! But I didn't even see them there yesterday!"
I told her that they are very clever at protecting themselves on inclementine days.
The first verse of 'The Small Celandine' which William Wordsworth penned in 1804 came to mind:

'There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine,
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain;
And the first moment that the sun may shine,
Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again!
When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm,
Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest,
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm,
In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest.'

" What's that you say Young Gemma?!" Harvey whistled and chattered, his ears pricked to their full height and his head tilted as he strained to hear.
"The little Celandine, Harvey. So sweet - a real Darling!" enthused Gemma.
"I know a song about Celandine too!" And in a true Huckleberry Hound off tune key we were (like it or not) treated to a rendition of Harvey's Song.

"In a cavern, In a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Dwelt a miner forty-niner,
And his daughter Celandine.

Chorus:
Oh my darling, Oh my darling,
Oh my darling Celandine,
You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry Celandine.

[Join in with the chorus please, Chickens]

Light she was and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine;
Herring boxes, without topses,
Sandals were for Celandine.

Repeat chorus

Drove she ducklings to the water,
Every morning just at nine;
Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine.

Repeat chorus

Ruby lips above the water,
Blowing bubbles, soft and fine;
But Alas! I was no swimmer,
So I lost my Celandine.

Repeat chorus [Sing up Pauly!]

When the miner forty-niner,
Soon began to peak and pine,
Thought he 'oughter join his daughter,
Now he's with his Celandine.

Repeat chorus

In a corner of the churchyard,
Where the myrtle boughs entwine,
Grow the roses in their poses,
Fertilized by Celandine.

Repeat chorus [I can't hear you Gordon!]

In my dreams she still doth haunt me,
Robed in garments soaked in brine.
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead, I'll draw the line.

Repeat chorus

How I missed her, how I missed her
How I missed my Celandine.
So I kissed her little sister,
And forgot my Celandine.

Repeat chorus

Now you Chickens, there's a moral
To this little tale of mine.
Artificial respiration,
Would have saved my Celandine.

Repeat chorus"

"Oh you are funny, Uncle Harvey!" said Drongo. "It should be Clementine! Everyone knows Huckleberry Hound was singing about an orange!"

Excuse me while I take a nap. Gordon xxx

The Hoax

6/3/2015

We never had a Power Cut. It was a hoax.
"What is a Hoax, Uncle Gordon?" piped up young Sindy.
"A fabrication. A falsehood. A darned nuisance and a disruption." I have to admit to being clear on this one. Slight anger sometimes makes long and infrequently used words - like fabrication and falsehood - come to mind more rapidly and with a conviction that can take even the normally mildest-tempered cock himself, by surprise.
"But the Electricity Board eventually tracked down the offending person - one Robin Goodfellow - all a bit of a mistake it seems."
"I see," said Sindy, looking puzzled. "Strange word though, Uncle Gordon. Hoax."
I could empathise with that. A jolly strange word.
"C'est magique," dibbled Harvest, the Rouen Duck. Harvest is extremely old and knowledgeable and has French roots. "It comes from 'Hocus Pocus' - les mots magiques. And Hocus Pocus was probably derived from Ochus Bochus - a magician and demon of Norse folklore."
"Where did the name 'Ochus Bochus' come from Harvest?"
Honestly, these chicks - so inquisitive. I could see Harvest slowly close one eye as she gathered her thoughts. She sleeps like this we have noticed - one eye open and the other closed. During this form of sleep, called “unihemispheric slow-wave sleep” (USWS), half of her brain (the one opposite the closed eye) gets a rest while the other half remains on duty, keeping us safe from predators. The eye opened and as with one so wise and learned, she very soon replied:
"Well Ochus Bochus himself quite possibly had a name which came from the corruption of Bacchus - the god of conjuration who turned water into sacred wine. One further speculation is that Hocus Pocus is derived from the Welsh term Hovea Pwca, a hoax perpetrated by a hob-goblin or will o' the wisp called a Pwca, Pooka, or having the personal name Puck. This creature was a shape-shifter whose name recurs throughout Europe as a name of the devil, inclusive of Ochus Bachus."
At last Sindy fell silent as she tried to take all this in.
"Thank you Auntie Harvest."
And as we all know only too well - Puck's euphemistic "disguised" name is non other than "Robin Goodfellow". Gordon xx

About Us

Hello! My name is Gordon and I am a Gold Sebright and my best friend is Sylvia. She is a Silver Sebright. We live with our foster parents on a small farm in the country. We thought that we would put our take on life and what we get up to through the year into a diary for you. All the characters are real and the events are a true record, interpreted with a modicum of poetic licence. We hope you enjoy it. Love Gordon and Sylvia

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