Saturday, April 30

Morecambe Moments

The weather was splendid last time we were by the Bay.
The sands stretched out for miles and the sun baked the edges hard.
Some local lads rode their shining horses along the beach on the West End of the Promenade.
It made me think of that Irish Film about the boy and his horse as they rode off into the west....

......."Tir na nOg....tir na nOg...."

....or even the play ..."War Horse"....

There was obviously a great close relationship between these lads and their horse!

Thursday, April 28

The New Wall.

When we arrived at "the house a couple of weeks ago, the next door owner had knocked down the beautiful ancient wall at the back of the yard, and replaced it with a tacky cheap block one!

So I thought that I would give you lovely Frostie's wonderful poem....
"Mending Wall"

....not only because I love it, but because my beloved, the potter, decided to rebuild our wall.
Well the knocking down had weakened ours and anyway, that's the kind of thing that he just loves to do.

So poem and pics of wall and thoughts.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Wherevthey have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To keep the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbours.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd like to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbours.'

Alan lays the first trowelful of cement......

....and I am given the privilege of placing the first brick back on the foundations.

The glorious finished wall.

I think even Robert would be amazed....Frost that is!