"What I did on my holidays"

..... by Charlie.

Hermann the German

“They call me Hermann the German,” he calls

in an ever-so-slightly falsetto stage voice. 

I wonder if this is because

he’s introduced himself that way to ‘Them’, too.

His once-perfect English deteriorates now

and German and French (we are all in France) creep in

to his conversation, which is more anecdote than dialogue. 

As usual, the stories are peppered with the Big Car Smash

and the Plane Crash and the piece of metal in his arm,

which has been taken out again.

Last year no-one saw Hermann and no Christmas cards

arrived for those who expected them.

We all thought we’d seen the last of him

but now we learn he was in hospital.

He invites me to feel his head (I’m not keen)

where they cut him from here, right down here

and down to here (somewhere in the chest area.)

It’s not clear to us what they did, but

“they took away my driving license!”  he chuckles,

“But it’s ok, I still have a Swiss one!” - punchline laughter.

So we have been blessed one more summer by

this genial Europhile historian with impeccable timing,

turning up to camp in our yard just when we are here.

No longer searching for flint tools or taking aerial photographs,

now he is giving away all his positives and negatives,

he tells me.  Giving away his flints.  Everything.

Everything except his campervan. 

Maybe it is better for him to travel hopefully,

believing he’ll find someone to drive him next year,

than to arrive at the knowledge that he won’t,

but I think this was our last meeting

with Hermann the German.

Photographing wildlife

Followers of this blog and other friends to whom I send links to photos will know that I became a little obsessed with photographing insects last year.  I had planned to concentrate on landscape photography but although I did take some good autumn landscape shots, most of my time was spent on insects.

Well, here I am again in photographer mode and I've still got the bug.  (Sorry about that.  You can stop groaning now.)  This year we seem to have even more butterflies than ever and I have been snapping away.  Actually,  one or two pictures are rather promising.  But then, just as I think I'm doing ok with the butterflies, along come some fledgling kestrels.  They're not there all the time, of course.  And when I go out to find them, the dog inevitably decides he must come too and I think it is he who disturbs them.  We had a fantastic view of them flying low just over us when we came back in the car the other day but I haven't been able to get that close.

So - this is perhaps one of the clearest of the batch.

I'm not sure it's my favourite, though. I rather like the ones I captured when two of the young kestrels decided to descend on a crowd of pigeons I hadn't even noticed.

You can see the rest of the photos here.

Camouflage

Eventually today was the day to return to my set of three landscapes that were begun last September, interrupted for lots of irises and sat around patiently waiting for me. I've been trying to face up to the challenge of continuing something that was already in my head without the sketchbook where I had recorded my ideas (which unfortunately I have left at home in my studio.) Things did not go well at first.

Taking a drink (and a chocolate eclair) outside, I suddenly found myself taking photos of creatures keen to camouflage themselves.

This chap is small - head and body about 8cms long. Being rather dull and plain light brown colours you'd think we couldn't miss him in the lush green grass, but in fact every time we looked away it was quite difficult to spot him.

At first glance I wouldn't have said the plum tree offered much cover to a camouflaged creature unless it was green but then suddenly two things appeared which were surprisingly different from my idea of a plum tree and yet kept losing themselves as soon as I took my eyes off them.

The swallowtail flew off too fast for me to capture his open wings but eventually the goldfinch (kept typing goldfish by mistake!) moved out into the open and I was rather pleased to get a clear shot of him in all his finery.

The same but different

It's been a long time ...

... since I posted any poetry here.

This one is new and is, in particular, for M and for S, A, J & P, A & N, who were here with us last year but alas, not this.



Sometimes there are sparrows
chattering in groups, sometimes
woodpigeons coo to their mates,
never too far away from company.
Swallows, or swifts, I’m never sure,
swoop about one after the other
and we have redstarts here,
singing from the trees
severally and together.

And then there is the lark,
flying solo, no need for crowds.
This wide French sky is filled
with his solitary song.
Plunging to earth to begin anew
such melodies that seem to have no repetition,
touching my heart like no other bird.

There is something magic here
encapsulated in this small bird
of midsummer. 
Above the bustle on the ground
his hymn to freedom
is the anthem of this place
where weary spirits are renewed,
hopes revived,
and we are regenerated.

There are not many shepherds off the coast of northern France ...

... so I had no worries about this lovely red sky at about 5.30 UK time today.  We had already finished our breakfast and I hadn't got to sleep until about midnight so, as the modern saying goes, do the math.  And yet here I am fourteen hours later still capable of conscious thought.  Spending five months here last year has changed the place forever for me.  As soon as we found ourselves sitting with 'un demi' talking with P in the cafe, I felt as if I hadn't been away.  And this evening, as M was feeding Charlie, I thought, "should I water the vegetables now?"  Of course there are no vegetables here this year and as we are only able to stay for four weeks there aren't going to be.  But even the unpacked boxes, furniture still covered with polythene, to say nothing of the nine and a half months intervening, didn't stop the feeling of continuance.

We have been so fortunate today.  Fingers crossed and perhaps tomorrow I will be eating my words,  but we have hot and cold water and no leaks.  In case this doesn't sound anything very much, I should tell you that M reported that this is the first time this has happened on his return after the winter in the fourteen years he has owned the house.  It's fair enough: last September he stuffed old cushions and duvets and loft insulation in bin bags round every pipe he could find, even those which are empty over the winter.  We haven't checked the cottage yet, but in the house we use all is well. Not only do we have hot and cold running water and electricity, we have phone and, obviously, internet.  No delays this year.  I can connect with the world and report that tonight I feel lucky.