No.29

“She was sitting in a garden more beautiful than even her rampaging imagination could ever have conjured up; she was being serenaded by trees.” ― Lynn Kurland

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The Sayings of Lao-Tsu

Live a simple life, be free, be yourself and be close to nature.

Do these things and you will be wise and happy

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THE SIESTA
1892-4
Oil on Canvas
88.9 cm x 116.2 cm
Paul Gauguin
1848-1903
Nationality - French

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Three Poems by Thomas Hardy

A HOUSE WITH A HISTORY

There is a house in a city street
   Some past ones made their own;
Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet,
      And their babblings beat
   From ceiling to white hearth-stone.

And who are peopling its parlours now?
   Who talk across its floor?
Mere freshlings are they, blank of brow,
      Who read not how
   Its prime had passed before

Their raw equipments, scenes, and says
   Afflicted its memoried face,
That had seen every larger phase
      Of human ways
   Before these filled the place.

To them that house's tale is theirs,
   No former voices call
Aloud therein.  Its aspect bears
      Their joys and cares
alone from wall to wall.


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A TWO-YEARS' IDYLL

Yes; such it was;
   Just those two seasons unsought,
Sweeping like summertide wind on our ways;
      Moving, as straws,
   Hearts quick as ours in those days;
Going like wind, too, and rated as nought
   Save as the prelude to plays
   Soon to come--larger, life-fraught:
      Yes; such it was.

      "Nought" it was called,
   Even by ourselves--that which springs
Out of the years for all flesh, first or last,
      Commonplace, scrawled
   Dully on days that go past.
Yet, all the while, it upbore us like wings
   Even in hours overcast:
   Aye, though this best thing of things,
      "Nought" it was called!

      What seems it now?
   Lost:  such beginning was all;
Nothing came after:  romance straight forsook
      Quickly somehow
   Life when we sped from our nook,
Primed for new scenes with designs smart and tall, 
  A preface without any book,
   A trumpet uplipped, but no call;
that seems it now

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WAGTAIL AND BABY

A baby watched a ford, whereto
A wagtail came for drinking;
A blaring bull went wading through,
The wagtail showed no shrinking.

A stallion splashed his way across,
The birdie nearly sinking;
He gave his plumes a twitch and toss,
And held his own unblinking.

Next saw the baby round the spot
A mongrel slowly slinking;
The wagtail gazed, but faltered not
In dip and sip and prinking.

A perfect gentleman then neared;
The wagtail, in a winking,
With terror rose and disappeared;
The baby fell a-thinking.

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DREAMING DAISY
Sophie Anderson
1823-1903

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SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER’S DAY?
William Shakespeare 1564-1616

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
     So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
     So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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A young offender is apprehended by a London policeman in Trafalgar Square in August 1919

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I REMEMBER when I was very small I was afraid of the black-faced coalman who used to tease me about a girl in the next close.

I REMEMBER the lamplighter with his long pole. I thought he had a great job.

I REMEMBER that every so often buskers would appear in our back-court and sing one or two songs. Housewives would open their windows, throw down coppers and the singer would move on to the next tenement. Sometimes one of them would play a tin whistle or do a dance, and I’m told that before the First World War German bands toured the country entertaining in back-courts.

I REMEMBER the horse-driven vans which visited our street, and the occasion when the horse which pulled the baker’s van fell down. Someone sat on its head as it lay flat on the street, while the baker undid all the belts and straps. Only when that was done was the animal able to get up, unharmed.

I REMEMBER message boys on bicycles. They were usually employed by food shops, and they had the job of delivering what housewives had ordered.

I REMEMBER that in the wintertime we went to school wrapped up in layers of clothing. Boys always wore caps and in those days we had to wait till we were 15 or 16 before we got long trousers.

I REMEMBER the old lady who lived in the top floor. It seemed to me that she always wore the same clothes, a long dress down to her ankles and a shawl. Half a dozen times a day she would climb down the stairs with an overweight Scotch terrier under her arm. She would let it wander around the back court for a few minutes and then struggle back up the stairs.

I REMEMBER seeing American comics for the first time. They were the size of broadsheet newspapers and had lots of pages. And the content was so different from our “Tiger Tim” and “The Rainbow.”

I REMEMBER that cigarette packets each contained a picture card. Many subjects were covered including sports personalities, film stars, dance band leaders, comedians, cars, locomotives, birds, animals, fish and more.

I REMEMBER that the best room or parlour in houses was used only on special occasions. That’s where the piano would be kept and the instrument was generally kept locked. (Did they keep it locked to prevent a burglar stealing the keys?)

I REMEMBER that, when drivers parked their cars on a hill (even on a slight hill), they would place a brick or a large stone at a front wheel to prevent the vehicle moving off by accident.

I REMEMBER that, at primary school, if there was torrential rain in the morning, the school would close at lunchtime and we got a half-holiday. In such weather the boys would cram into the playground shelter at the morning interval, stand up on the long wooden bench and stamp their feet in time to their repeated cry of “We want a hauf!” (a half-day)

Yes,this is me! My daughter named this photo "Happy Dad."

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THE ASH GROVE
Anon

Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove,
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash grove.

'Twas there while the blackbird was joyfully singing,
I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart;
Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.

Still grows the bright sunshine o'er valley and mountain,
Still warbles the blackbird his note from the tree;
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain,
But what are the beauties of nature to me.

With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden,
All day I go mourning in search of my love.
Ye echoes, O tell me, where is the sweet maiden?
She sleeps 'neath the green turf down by the Ash grove.

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LADY IN A GARDEN

Edmund Leighton 1853-1922

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