Mother Nature treated us to the most beautiful double rainbow over the Wattlebury maize yesterday afternoon. Little Josie tilted her head sideways and gave us a fine rendering of her loudest Call Duck call. Roughly translated it went something like this:

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There's a land that I've heard of once in a lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream,
Really do come true.

Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops,
High above the chimney tops,
That's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?

Gavin rather unkindly reminded her that she was a duck and not a bluebird. Quite unnecessary. Young Donna got out her colouring pens and notebook and starting drawing rainbows, whilst Sylvia sang the Rainbow song to her.

"But that's not right Uncle Gordon!" piped up Norman. "We were taught at school that Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain!"
A bright one, that one. I explained that Sylvia's song had all the right colours - perhaps not their technically accurate names - but in the wrong order - because if you had purple on the end of the line, it is a devilishly tricky word to rhyme with.
"You know Norman - because that is a double rainbow the colours are back to front on the outer arc." I added. Seeing that Norman wasn't going to be satisfied with this, I scratched my head and continued:
"In the first or lower rainbow, the arc shows red on the outer part and violet on the inner side. This rainbow is caused by light being refracted when entering a droplet of water, then reflected inside on the back of the droplet and refracted again when leaving it. In the double rainbow that we are seeing, a second arc is seen outside the first arc, and has the order of its colours reversed, with red on the inner side of the arc."
And with that Donna put her colouring pens away with an annoyed huff and muttered " First I get told the wrong colours and then I get told they are round the wrong way. I blame Richard of York!"
Gordon and Sylvia xxx

We have some friends at our farm who are much bigger than us. Very much bigger in fact. But not quite as big as Bruce the Brahma was. There is Gavin who gallops around. Bob who bobs around and quite a few others, including Prudence.
Prudence is extremely beautiful and ladylike. Nothing flusters her and she is very kind and gentle. Dad took Prudence in her special basket to a show on Saturday. And she won Show Champion! We all clapped our claws in delight when we welcomed her home.

Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play?
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day
The sun is up, the sky is blue
It's beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play?

(The Beatles 1968)

It had been a rather chilly start to the month. We have had heavy dews in the mornings and the warmest temperature that we have struggled to in the daytime has been a mere 19 degrees Celsius. The September sun has been bright and you can still feel the warmth under a direct beam, but the north-east wind - although light - seemed to keep the temperatures firmly under control. We feel a little sad now that autumn is definitely upon us. The days are much shorter - less time for grubbing - and we do like the warm sunshine of summer on our backs.
Today however is a bit different - the clouds are scudding from the west and it is warmer, but drizzly. Hey-ho. The plan for today is cleaning out a big stable. Now that Jeremy (formerly Jemima) has left for a new home, things are a lot calmer. With just Lucy and Josie to throw water around in the Big Chicken's quarters, it isn't quite so soggy. Time therefore to clean and freshen!
We all help of course. There is the muck heap to play on. Worms to dig for. It will be a day of great fun!
Mum cut the nettles down from the manure heap last week with her swap hook. We have a well-worn plank with a 1:4 gradient on the approach and had to hold our breath as Mum teetered and tottered up it with her hook in one hand and tall, dense nettles all around - looking a little like the Grim Reaper in a paddy. Will she have to put her free hand down to steady herself, we wondered? It would have been painful. But joy! She made it to the top unscathed and triumphant and set to lopping with a vengeance.
"Where does the name Swap Hook come from, Uncle Gordon?" asked my little nephew, Norman. An inquisitive one, that one. 
I explained that it was probably a Sussex name for a reaping hook or sickle and that a swap cuts shrubs and when your swap won't cut anymore, you get out your rubber and sharpen it.
"They have been around for donkey's years, Norman. The development of the sickle in Mesopotamia can be traced back to times that pre-date the Neolithic Era. Large quantities of sickle blades have been excavated in sites surrounding Israel that have been dated to the Epipaleolithic era. That's 18000-8000 BC."
Norman was not phased by this. Unfortunately.
"What other Sussex words do you know, Uncle Gordon?"
Oh dear.
"Well. The footpath on the way to school that runs between the tall hedges is known as a Twitten. Windog are the white clouds blown across the sky by the wind - like today - and Squatelings are female conversation. Oh and a Knuckerhole is a spring that rises in the flat lands of the South Downs."
With that Norman bounced off to join in the Squatelings that his sisters and mother were having. What a relief! Gordon xxx