No.16

Three Paintings by Bruno Liljefors 1860-1939

Partridge with Daisies
1890

Swans 1920

Swifts 1886

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A JOG-TROT PAIR
 Thomas Hardy

Who were the twain that trod this track
So many times together
Hither and back,
In spells of certain and uncertain weather?

Commonplace in conduct they
Who wandered to and fro here
Day by day:
Two that few dwellers troubled themselves to know here.

The very gravel-path was prim
That daily they would follow:
Borders trim:
Never a wayward sprout, or hump, or hollow.

Trite usages in tamest style
Had tended to their plighting.
"It's just worth while,
Perhaps," they had said. "And saves much sad good-nighting."

And petty seemed the happenings
That ministered to their joyance:
Simple things,
Onerous to satiate souls, increased their buoyance.

Who could those common people be,
Of days the plainest, barest?
They were we;
Yes; happier than the cleverest, smartest, rarest.

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In my young day some fathers, clever with their hands, were able to make things like stilts for their children and “bogies” constructed out of a wooden box and four pram wheels.

I doubt if my father could have managed anything like that, although he once made a kite which succeeded in staying airborne for a couple of minutes.

A few boys in our street went to the local blacksmith who made a “girr” (hoop) and “cleek” (iron rod) for them. There was very little traffic where we lived and so the place was ideal for running with those toys.

Searching for good chestnuts was a popular pastimes in autumn. I don’t think I ever played conkers and although I had a collection of marbles I can’t remember playing “bools” with them.

My Saturday penny often went to buy another toy soldier for my tin fort. Made of metal, about 4cm in height, they were brightly painted - black busbies, red jackets and dark blue trousers. Unusually the fort was also home to one or two cowboys and a red Indian.

Like most boys at that time, I had a number of Dinky Toys. Modelled on real cars, vans, lorries and buses, those were much more expensive than the soldiers, and so it was only occasionally that one was added to my collection.

When playing with toys, I had a vivid imagination. While my pals all knelt down and pushed their little cars along the pavement, I remained standing, holding my car at eye level, for I could clearly see the imaginary road along which my car was speeding.

Both my sister and I were pretty good at “make believe”. When very small, she would sit for ages on the floor playing with sheets of old papers and telling stories aloud to herself. As for me, a couple of clothes pegs (not the kind with metal hinges) could become people, the little round bit being the head and the two prongs their legs. Also if one of the pegs was fitted in to the other at right angles, the result was an aeroplane.

When I was very young, I could content myself with an old biscuit tin full of discarded buttons, arranging them in different patterns on the carpet.

Who needs toys if you have a good imagination?

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THE LETTER
1879
Auguste Toulmouche 1829-90
Nationality - French

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LAST LESSON OF THE AFTERNOON         
D.H. Lawrence 1885-1930

When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?
How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart
My pack of unruly hounds: I cannot start
Them again on a quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt,
I can haul them and urge them no more.
No more can I endure to bear the brunt
Of the books that lie out on the desks: a full three score
Of several insults of blotted pages and scrawl
Of slovenly work that they have offered me.
I am sick, and tired more than any thrall
Upon the woodstacks working weariedly.

And shall I take
The last dear fuel and heap it on my soul
Till I rouse my will like a fire to consume
Their dross of indifference, and burn the scroll
Of their insults in punishment? - I will not!
I will not waste myself to embers for them,
Not all for them shall the fires of my life be hot,
For myself a heap of ashes of weariness, till sleep
Shall have raked the embers clear: I will keep
Some of my strength for myself, for if I should sell
It all for them, I should hate them -
- I will sit and wait for the bell.

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ONE PERFECT ROSE
Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose. 

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AFTER A ROMANTIC DAY
Thomas Hardy

The railway bore him through
An earthen cutting out from a city:
There was no scope for view,
Though the frail light shed by a slim young moon
Fell like a friendly tune.

Fell like a liquid ditty,
And the blank lack of any charm
Of landscape did no harm.
The bald steep cutting, rigid, rough,
And moon-lit, was enough
For poetry of place: its weathered face
Formed a convenient sheet whereon
The visions of his mind were drawn.

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THE GORGE, APPLEDORE
c.1912
Childe Hassam 1859-1935
Nationality - American

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UPDATED EVERY FRIDAY

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