"Public toilets have a duty to be accessible...poetry does not".- Geoffrey Hill. Many thanks to Jim at "The truth about lies". I'm on a winner here, even I don't quite understand what this one means!
We often used to travel back and forth from Warrington to Belfast via the Stranraer Ferry.As my brother was always interested in the maternal side of the family tree, being perverse, I decided to search out the beginnings of the McClelland clan my father's side. So we found Balmaclellan village on the map, as we knew that it was in the Galloway area.
We found an ancient castle, still standing, still lived in, all be it then by a Swedish Count.
He invited us in to look around once he knew that I had been born a McClelland.
The original tower structure was 12thC. and other parts had subsequentially been added in the 1700s. It was quite small as castles go, but impressed me and gave me a sense of generational history. My part of the family had left in the 17thC. and when I wondered how they could ever have left such a beautiful part of Scotland, I was told that they were probably thrown out as cattle thieves! Oh dear...then another in the village told me not to worry as they were all cattle thieves on the borders in those days.... a necessity of life.
So that is where this came from and the thoughts going through my mind at the time.
Balmcclelland
Birth and death still join their hands
with living in between.
And imperfection rides the land
like some Imperial Queen.
There, Warrington and Belfast
are mixed up in a stew,
And boiled together on the flame of life
'til each imbues
it's flavour on the other one.
For one is birth ,the other death
and one is death the other birth.
Those stories we were told
while small
and at the mother's knee,
Of black and white
of birth and death
No longer lie so easily
in regimented
orderly
created
homely grooves.
Now I have lost the meaning
of so many of those truths.
Hmmm... the place is up for sale and I feel a personal loss..just a bit far for a day out!
Thursday, September 23
Wednesday, September 22
Morecambe Goodies
We have another home...how good is that! Well before you think,"Ha to them!" let me tell you that it is in the "wild" west end of Morecambe, ex-guest house, nobody wanted them 8 years ago. When I told some of my friends that we had purchased this with the money Alan's dad Sydney left, and that it wasn't so much and fairly unexpected, they still grimaced and shook their heads!
Well boo- hoo to them! Over the years E.U. money came in, Urban Splash remade the Midland Hotel, and both young English families and Polish families took over a lot of the houses and the town started to change. It still has a long, long way to go in the West End. But most of it can no longer be called.."wild"!
Here are some of the people and happenings that make this one of the best kept secrets that I know!
Well boo- hoo to them! Over the years E.U. money came in, Urban Splash remade the Midland Hotel, and both young English families and Polish families took over a lot of the houses and the town started to change. It still has a long, long way to go in the West End. But most of it can no longer be called.."wild"!
Here are some of the people and happenings that make this one of the best kept secrets that I know!
Everybody knows about the beauty of the Lake District, but the best view of it is across the Bay on a sunny day, with a gentle ripple of white water on the sea.
And of course everyone knows about the stunning sunsets over the Furness peninsula. When these occur the prom is full of photographers snapping for a special one.
But even in the depth of winter the bay can be stunning.
Now I can already hear you say, "well it takes more than a sunset to convince me ."
So here is one of the lovely experiences from the last 12 months.
If it's early summer, then it must be the Great 50's Rock and Roll Weekend, so get on your gear and let's go dancing.
I'm so jealous as I can't really dance, certainly not like these folks. And even the kids get in the act.
With dad looking on and posing in that superb 50's gear! Look at those shoes...made for dancing!
50's moves!
Can't stop my feet tapping!
And you know that you're going to need some refreshment after all that. Who better to provide it ,than the gorgeous Kate. Really a graphic designer, one of the young southerners to come up and reside locally. She bought the old van and brought it back to life and sells at all of the special celebrations.
Gosh what a great outfit on that cool Teddyboy...well he will be cool after he eats the icecream.
So a little taster of more to come..in fact Morecambe!
look out for another taster soon!
Saturday, September 18
A poem for Thursday.
Well it should have been for Thursday, but you know how time slips away from you.
This is from the book, A Rich And Rare Land...Irish Poetry and Paintings.
Ode
We are the music -makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;-
World-losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Ninevah with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each dream is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
Arthur O'Shaughnessy
so I wonder...are we a dream that is dying or one that is coming to birth...or is that the dilemma of every time in history? Only time itself will tell!
This is from the book, A Rich And Rare Land...Irish Poetry and Paintings.
Ode
We are the music -makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;-
World-losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Ninevah with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each dream is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
Arthur O'Shaughnessy
so I wonder...are we a dream that is dying or one that is coming to birth...or is that the dilemma of every time in history? Only time itself will tell!
The Story of Ballyferris. Chapter Eight. The Second Field
The Second Field
*
I’m not exactly sure which family was first to arrive in the small field to the right of the lane. I suspect the Cathcarts were already there when we came in 1951. Along with their mum and dad, there were three Cathcart children... although I don’t remember much about their parents I always had a feeling that the adults in this field were extremely sophisticated. I couldn't put my finger on the reason for my feelings...maybe because I came from a fairly non academic backround and which had also a rather strait moral code.
Derek was at least in his early twenties, Brian a few years younger and Jill was around my age. Their caravan was closest to the beach and was a commercial one. If not already, then very soon afterwards Derek had his own caravan. Of which much more later. The McKee family were next to them and their site was up against a hedge that ran along the edge of the lane. This family lived near us in south Belfast. In fact, I went to the same primary school as the four daughters. June the eldest, about the same age as Derek, then Paddy [Patricia], Carole and Valerie. June eventually also had her own little van. Of this, I was in great awe as that meant that she was very grown up indeed!
I've already mentioned the Pollock abode. It wasn’t a caravan as such but an amazing reuse of a workman's trailer. The outside was painted forest green and the wheels were black. Three or four wooden steps led up to the front door and like many of the caravans it was a barn door with the top left open to let in light and air, while keeping the bottom closed giving the family some privacy .
Inside the wooden hut was divided into two areas. To the left the sleeping quarters once again split into two small thin rooms. Each of these rooms had bunk beds fitted on to the wooden walls rather like the alcove beds of Irish cottages, or those I’ve seen in magazines in Breton homes.On the right of the door was a kitchen area and opposite it some comfortable chairs. At the far end the dining table was raised on a plinth which meant you had to go up a step to get to it. Oh how exotic !
I have a vivid memory of being there... when I was perhaps fifteen... watching Mrs. Pollock frying a mound of onions in a large cast iron pan. The smell was wonderful as she stirred them around until they turned golden brown and glossy. But I think that apart from some potatoes, that was their dinner. Now I had never had a meal like that. There was always bacon or lamb chop or even chicken with potatoes and in a very odd way that I could never share with mum I longed for something as exotic as fried onions! Silly child!
Mr. Pollock had very strong views about table manners, which although we were not allowed to be rude at home seemed to me to take a lot of joy out of eating. Hands placed together on the edge of the table...no talking and sitting up staight...my family would have found that very hard to obey...we liked discussion around the table...especially big brother Ian. Outside the van and up against the perimeter hedge was an elaborate sun trap. Until I meet Vicky I had no idea that it was very desirable to get a good overall tan in the summer. This contraption was basically a large piece of wood placed at an angle of forty five degrees facing due south and at the bottom a strip of wood nailed so that your feet could have a resting place to stop them sliding off the end. They also had a white painted board to reflect the sun's rays in order for them not to miss a single one. The Pollocks were also the first people I knew to hold their arms above their heads sometimes... as they sunbathed... to make sure that the tan was really even! Needless to say, by late summer each year, Mr. And Mrs. Pollock were as brown as berries and as the years went on I would even go so far as to say rather leathery!
I've already mentioned the Pollock abode. It wasn’t a caravan as such but an amazing reuse of a workman's trailer. The outside was painted forest green and the wheels were black. Three or four wooden steps led up to the front door and like many of the caravans it was a barn door with the top left open to let in light and air, while keeping the bottom closed giving the family some privacy .
Inside the wooden hut was divided into two areas. To the left the sleeping quarters once again split into two small thin rooms. Each of these rooms had bunk beds fitted on to the wooden walls rather like the alcove beds of Irish cottages, or those I’ve seen in magazines in Breton homes.On the right of the door was a kitchen area and opposite it some comfortable chairs. At the far end the dining table was raised on a plinth which meant you had to go up a step to get to it. Oh how exotic !
I have a vivid memory of being there... when I was perhaps fifteen... watching Mrs. Pollock frying a mound of onions in a large cast iron pan. The smell was wonderful as she stirred them around until they turned golden brown and glossy. But I think that apart from some potatoes, that was their dinner. Now I had never had a meal like that. There was always bacon or lamb chop or even chicken with potatoes and in a very odd way that I could never share with mum I longed for something as exotic as fried onions! Silly child!
Mr. Pollock had very strong views about table manners, which although we were not allowed to be rude at home seemed to me to take a lot of joy out of eating. Hands placed together on the edge of the table...no talking and sitting up staight...my family would have found that very hard to obey...we liked discussion around the table...especially big brother Ian. Outside the van and up against the perimeter hedge was an elaborate sun trap. Until I meet Vicky I had no idea that it was very desirable to get a good overall tan in the summer. This contraption was basically a large piece of wood placed at an angle of forty five degrees facing due south and at the bottom a strip of wood nailed so that your feet could have a resting place to stop them sliding off the end. They also had a white painted board to reflect the sun's rays in order for them not to miss a single one. The Pollocks were also the first people I knew to hold their arms above their heads sometimes... as they sunbathed... to make sure that the tan was really even! Needless to say, by late summer each year, Mr. And Mrs. Pollock were as brown as berries and as the years went on I would even go so far as to say rather leathery!
Spanish holidays in later years with me, Rosie and Alan on hot beaches enjoying the sun ...and I realised that this was the norm.
Now there may have been other occupants in that field but these are the ones who influenced me for better or worse and I have more to write about the main characters in future chapters. Then some friends may tell me that in those days I was the influence there and I like to think that I may have had a little of that at times... in this idyll called Ballyferris.
Now there may have been other occupants in that field but these are the ones who influenced me for better or worse and I have more to write about the main characters in future chapters. Then some friends may tell me that in those days I was the influence there and I like to think that I may have had a little of that at times... in this idyll called Ballyferris.
Monday, September 13
Prom Art grange-over-sands in August.
I missed out on the July PromArt as life became too busy.
You always think that come the summer all will slow down, but that's not how it usually happens!
So here is the report for the August Exhibitions.
I'm putting up a selection of photos of the gardens. Some are from July and some August, but as usual the show is amazing. And it's all credit to the people of Grange and the different organisations who tend the gardens..
You always think that come the summer all will slow down, but that's not how it usually happens!
So here is the report for the August Exhibitions.
I'm putting up a selection of photos of the gardens. Some are from July and some August, but as usual the show is amazing. And it's all credit to the people of Grange and the different organisations who tend the gardens..
At the top of the hill up from the prom is a pub with this great painted sign.
It's always busy on Sundays .
I just love the sign.
Every month we take a walk and buy some cake goodies from this fabulous tea room.
Having just come back from Padstow and the joy of fish and chips from The Rick Stein shops, I couldn't resist a photo of this in Grange.
The August flowers were just as lovely as any other month. I often used to find that in my own garden by August most of what I had was greenery,
but recently I seem to be a bit more clued up on what will bloom on into the autumn. Well we live and learn, as they say!
August was the first month that Brian Herald brought his work.
A graduate of John Moore Art College Liverpool he has been in the graphics world until he retired.
brianherald.co.uk
07505 744 211
I had some really good feed back re.the new wind break and covers this time! Also we sold
well.. which is always very nice!
We are always to be found on
pottershousepenkethblogspot .com
01925 727590
I try to bring a good picnic
to have and usually a little bottle of wine. There's no point sitting there and watching the world go by and the seagulls swoop with an empty stomach!
Four Seasons Glass Ware
is the work of
Alda Willacy and Loraine Mason.
Kiln Formed and Copper Foil Glass
Askam-in-Furness
0781 7023489
Alison Frost
photography
07790 293 253
Landscapes
Lynne Frost
Jewels of the Caribbean
01539 731600
Russel and Shelley Walker have brought a touch of India in the beautiful jewellry that they create with silver and semi-precious stones.
Just Jhana
07624 498316/07986 996934
Every month we are given a taste of jazzfrom the people who call themselves
Solar
jazzsolar.co.uk
01539 735612
September is the last opportunity to catch any of the artists that I've written about through the season of 2010.
but if you are interested in their work the websites and e-mail addresses are all available.
Running for the Poetry Bus..Donegal Summer.
I've been away and just got back to find I nearly missed the bus. No time table in my pocket. What can you expect from an Irish woman!
Donegal summer
Soft weather since Monday
A skylark sings
Every morning.
Four or three grey-jacketed rooks
Sit on posts
Facing the rain
And
Craw.
You couldn't really call grey a colour could you? more of an absence of it!
Donegal summer
Soft weather since Monday
A skylark sings
Every morning.
Four or three grey-jacketed rooks
Sit on posts
Facing the rain
And
Craw.
You couldn't really call grey a colour could you? more of an absence of it!
Friday, September 3
Cornwall III The Eden Project.
I've wanted to go to the Eden Project for as long as I have heard about it in the media.
Lots of friends and family have already been and drooled over the amazing concept that it is.
Thanks a lot ...I want to see it for myself. [ little pout!]
So off we set from Looe on the Monday morning. All three cars. All eleven people.
I don't quite know what I expected, but I was blown away by the sheer size of the place.
That was one big quarry in it's day and goodness how it's changed.
From bare stone to lush and full planting!
Lots of friends and family have already been and drooled over the amazing concept that it is.
Thanks a lot ...I want to see it for myself. [ little pout!]
So off we set from Looe on the Monday morning. All three cars. All eleven people.
I don't quite know what I expected, but I was blown away by the sheer size of the place.
That was one big quarry in it's day and goodness how it's changed.
From bare stone to lush and full planting!
I thought about what we had done those 30 years before at the Potters House, when we took what had become an unofficial rubbish tip for the local neighbourhood. That was a mere drop in a big ocean compared to this.
To have the vision and to, "put your money where your mouth is", needs long term commitment to the land and the people who will support you.
Being in the equatorial dome reminded me of my school and college days when I regularly walked through the Botanic Gardens in Belfast.
We often had a meander through the glass houses on the way home after school. They were some of the earliest to be constructed in the British Isles. Sadly they got smashed in the years of the Troubles, but more recently they have been completely renovated and restored to their original splendour.
The favorite place however was the den building tent.
Not many children got a look in there!
Serious constructing went on with fathers and grand fathers and mothers and children were consigned to being goofers!
Den building has gone on even since we all came back up north. This is the real thing folks!
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