Back to the forties.

We went to Yorkshire for a week, leaving behind the short spell of hot 'summer' weather in the West Country and disappearing into northern hill mist and drizzle. What a headache this year is for the farmers. We drove to the nearby market town of Leyburn, passing herded sheep, a common sight on the local roads.

In town we found the shops decorated with 1940's memorabilia in preparation for a forties weekend. The pet shop had printed sheets displayed in their window.
There are no plans to knit with dog hair, although Maisie certainly sheds enough!

What to wear?
I did the best I could to become a land girl with the aid of a tea towel and my gardening clothes.
And guess what? I met Churchill! (He was somewhat shorter than I had imagined.)

Other women were far more elegantly dressed.

The men were also putting on an excellent show. The 'spiv' (black marketeer) had the insides of his jacket lined with watches and I saw him about town 'in character' all afternoon.

There was a lot of interest in the period vehicles, lovingly restored.

Himself had a long conversation with the owner of this beauty until I eventually dragged him away.

There was great attention to detail - serious stuff!

There was singing

am dram

with an emphasis on the 'am'!

Sideshows

and excellent music and dancing.

(Himself wants to join the cavalry.)

The highlight of the afternoon for me were these two singers, who perfectly captured the sounds of the era.

"And now, from the Savoy......"

More photos of forties fashion to come!

Celebration

Our wedding anniversary falls on St. Swithin's Day and the saying goes that if it rains on that day it will continue to do so for the next fourteen days. Does it still count even when it has been raining for the previous fourteen weeks?

My roses had balled and rotted,

my haphazard staking proved hopelessly inadequate,

and the day did not promise well for an outdoor celebration.
And then the sun came out!

Himself walked round the garden to find the most sheltered spot

and friends came to help us celebrate our forty-fifth wedding anniversary.
At four o'clock, Tony took a piece of cardboard out of his pocket, attached it to the collar of his purple shirt and became a vicar - or was it  a canon?

"Did you, Rosemary Isabella, forty-five years ago promise to love, honour and OBEY....."
I needed a drink before replying, (i.e. stating my defense.)

Himself came out with the old chestnut, "Never a cross word.... from me."
Ha, ha.

Stylish Janet brought stylish fizz.

We ate cake.

Lea and Lyndie brought a beautiful orchid

and Linda made an anniversary cushion!

Recipe for a perfect celebration-

friends and sunshine.

Oxford, the Ashmolean and the Botanic Garden.

In July we went to Oxford because a friend was giving a talk at the Ashmolean relating to a current exhibition, 'The Capture of the Westmorland'. He is an historian and authority on the history of the Arundell family of Wardour Castle.

At midday on the seventh of January 1779 the British ship, 'Westmorland' was captured by French warships off the Spanish coast. The cargo was the luggage that travellers had acquired on the Grand Tour; a hodge-podge of goods, varying from prints, paintings and carvings to barrels of anchovies and large parmesan cheeses. The exhibition is fascinating, not so much for the quality of the work on display but for the insight that it gives into a specific moment in history. The goods were sold, some to Catherine the Great, and these remain in the Hermitage. Most of the remainder was bought by the King of Spain for the new Real Academia in Madrid. The only item to be returned to Britain was a group of saint's relics, as these were not considered to be spoils of war by Catholic Spain.

When preparing the exhibition the museum did not know the whereabouts of the relics until some detective work and careful research by our friend found them to be where always intended, in the chapel of the Catholic Arundell family at Wardour.

Last time we were in Oxford it was bitterly cold and we spent most of our time indoors. In the covered market you may recall that I photographed this building as a cake!

The streets were busy with tourists and summer students. We avoided the walking tours and headed towards Rose Lane and the Botanic Gardens.

The University of Oxford Botanic Garden was founded in 1621 and was the first botanic garden in Britain to grow plants for medical students. Almost half the prescribed medicines that we use today come from or were inspired by plants.

It was quiet and serene in the garden, several gardeners were working on the beds. The borders were very well staked, something that I always intend to do and never get round to actually doing. I studied their handiwork, cages of fine intertwined twigs and was given the good advice of using birch twigs as they are strong but also very pliable. Remind me next spring to put this advice into action!

There was a bit of messing about in the pond - it looked good fun!

The gardens abutt the River Cherwell.

I've punted along here on a number of occasions.

I LOVE the lily house.

In the palm house

 there were some lovely flowers

well labelled

which is what I like about a botanic garden.

A very large urn!

We finished the day with a cake from Patisserie Valerie.

Now that's what I call a good day out!

At home  we've made a small circular bed for an urn that Himself has cobbled together from broken pieces. Nothing like as grand as the urn in the Botanic Gardens but it enlivens an area where nothing much was happening and the lawn, shaded by trees, was very scruffy.

It gives a point of interest when glimpsed from the front lawn.

Dear deer!

This is proving to be a troubling year for deer. After our daily walk the dog is now resigned to a careful body search for deer ticks. Oh, the relief when she can escape the inspection unscathed! Unfortunately all too often I have had to go to the cupboard for a tube of "Tick-off", a jar of Vaseline and a pair of tweezers. Maisie lies abject and cowed in her basket while I do my best to rid her of the beastly things. I'm not as worried when I find them on her body but they are  a concern when they are near to her eyes or her ears. She is an inquisitive little dog, pushing her nose into the wayside verges and hedges, so inevitably she is prone to ticks attaching themselves to her head. She is regularly dosed with Frontline but it doesn't seem to be very effective.

The roads on either side of our hamlet are home to many wild deer and a couple of times one has darted across the road before us when we have been driving home in the early hours.
We set off for Yorkshire last month and had been traveling for several hours when, on a quiet stretch of the motorway, an enormous deer leapt the central concrete barrier and with another great leap landed in front of our car.
It was heart stopping, literarily for the deer, and also, momentarily, for us. We felt lucky to be alive. The RAC brought us back home on a truck. I phoned Yorkshire to say we wouldn't be coming. The farmer's wife, ever the animal lover, asked, "Is the deer alright?" My brother said, "I hope you've filled the freezer." Friends gave what I felt was the most appropriate response, "You were lucky. Thank goodness you're alright."

The insurance company took their time to approve the repairs and we waited several weeks for the car to be returned. Four and a half thousand pounds worth of damage.
Dear deer indeed!