Saturday’s here!
So Saturday is here again. It has been a good week; some ups and downs but all manageable. Even the weather was a pleasant mix of sun and rain.
One morning it was particularly wet and I wrote this poem while riding to work. Not so much wrote it while riding … the words popped into head and I scribbled them the moment I arrived at at work.
Slippery grey
Slate tiles blend with the gloom
Heaven’s mystified.
The pictures I did later when the sun had dried up the rain … and we were considering watering the garden!
Friday library snapshot …
It has been busy in the library this week; rather doing stuff on the blog related to the library. Today’s post again prompted by a greetings card this time by illustrated by Margaret Potter (1917-1997)
I was immediately drawn to bright colours and good humour and didn’t waste much time in researching her works and it would seem we had several books written and illustrated by her and her husband Alexander; published by Puffin in the late 1940s and early 1950s.
Soon after Penguin books was founded by Allen Lane; Puffin Books was ‘born.’ Noel Carrington who was the editor of Country Life books designed a series of children’s non-fiction books rather like the brightly coloured lithographed books that were being produced at the time for children in the Soviet Union. Lane was quick to see the attraction and published some the following year. The name ‘Puffin seemed ‘natural’ companion and the books continued to be reprinted until the 1970s
Alphabe Thursday … K is for Keepsake Press
K is for Keepsake Press. What a lovely word! As usual I struggled to find good example; but am pleased with the result. Among the many publisher’s archives we have here at Special Collections we have a few that come from small private presses, one of which is the Keepsake Press. From this point my knowledge falters and I am reluctant to spout stuff that can easily be found ‘online’ if required.
It is Roy Lewis I am particularly interested in; he was born Ernest Michael Roy Lewis in 1913. He was interested in printing from a young boy; he sold his train set and tin soldiers to buy his first press. He began by printing letter heads, programs, tickets and even his own magazine.
Later, his father a chemist also interested in amateur printing gave him the money to buy better machinery, tools and type. Roy Lewis went on to become an accomplished and respected printer, remarkably in his garden shed. He never aspired to fine printing and was particularly interested in works, usually poetry that would otherwise not be published. His business was a one man band and a part-time operation. Also the publishing was only done at weekends and evenings; so it never interfered with his career as a writer and his travel schedule as an international correspondent.
He had what seemed an enviable lifestyle and others shared the view that he was ‘good company … and it was quite a mystery how he managed his time, because he never seemed t be rushing from place to place. He always had time for people and seemed to sleep his full eight hours. It is quite extraordinary how he never wasted a minute. I can’t think of anyone who enjoyed life as much as he did …’ Like I say what a man!
This little selection is from his early work in 1950.
Wisdom on Wednesday from last Friday …
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Last Friday I went on a bus-man’s holiday; well sort of. I am neither a bus-man or a Reading Room assistant though I do spend some of my time at work fulfilling this role. I am expected to man an information desk in the main library where I welcome students on the Life Science floor and direct them to their particular subject areas and try and answer questions regarding their studies. There is no way I can engage more fully; I am merely an interested and willing signpost.
In the Reading Room at Special Collections just down the road; the client group is much wider and the requests more diverse. There may be one person from the local community looking at a tractor drawings and another PHD researcher from Australia, reading the works of Samuel Beckett and 10 or 15 others in between . Again, I know little of the subject matter; but can always find someone or something that will allow the student to enjoy a good learning experience. This means; particularly at the Museum of English Rural life I do spend much time fetching and returning various items to the archive store. It is the reader who must do the the research, using the books, letters, documents and drawings to make his story, wagon, thesis or family tree. The student does all the hard work I am a signpost.
I have often wondered what it would be like to be the student. Although I am always making use of the materials at the main library and at special collections for my blog it is always secondary sources. I often promise myself that I will go back and and look more fully after I have published the post; but I never do.
However for the past few weeks I have tried to find fresh and new material. For my last birthday I received a lovely card by the artist Cyril Power; I looked for literary works about him in our catalogue and discovered very little; it was wasn’t until later did I discover more. While strolling in Oxford I came across a little shop and a gallery of his work was on show. When we got talking, I discovered the owner of the shop was Cyril Power’s grandson and that the artist had had a close relationship with a fellow printer, Sybil Andrews who went on to become a highly respected lino-cut printer of the Grosvenor School. It would seem she had a far more interesting tale to tell.
As we had nothing in our collections about Cyril Power, Sybil Andrews or the Grosvenor School, I would have to find someone who did. I didn’t take long to broaden my search and duly made a appointment to visit the Special Collections at Bury St Edmund’s Borough Council where Sybil Andrews had deposited her archives before emigrating to Canada in 1947.
So this is where I changed roles and became the researcher. It was a new and daunting experience and the result will, impact on the way in which I deal with students in the future. All I wanted, was to add some flesh to the bones that I had already about Sybil. I really didn’t want to sort through letters, archives, photos or boxes of stuff. In my heart I wanted to be told the story. Was I expecting too much? Had I been watching too much TV? Did I want to be spoon feed information? Had I become too dependent on Wikipedia?
My relationship with Sybil Andrews after all wasn’t going to be a lasting affair. There were other fish to fry and other printers to find.
Also, I am certainly never in the position to spoon feed the students or readers; I cannot be expected to know everything in our collections.
So what was the outcome for me?
I was pleased I had done my homework; I had some good bones. I also have a good understanding of art history and how an artist might progress and develop; so I had a good start.
However the ‘Reading Room Assistant was just what I needed he pointed me to the letters, archival material and many examples of Sybil Andrew’s work and her development while she lived in Bury St Edmunds … needless he was a far cry from a reading room assistant of my experience rather more a Doctor and Head of Collections!
So, hats off to a very different reading room experience … the result of which will follow.
Weekly Photo Challenge … Masterpiece
Almost twenty four years ago to the day we moved into this house and the garden was a blank canvas. It, like the house it had been subjected to a thorough makeover. The tiny walled garden was a path, a lawn and a skinny border; planted with a few spindly half-hardy perennials.
From that day to this I have filled the garden with every perceivable plant; removing the lawn bit by bit. I don’t pretend to be a gardener; but try as I might I cannot think of an alternative ‘title’ Artist fits best as I try to bring colour, depth, shape, light and shade, mood, perspective and temperature to little more than a postage stamp with plants, shrubs and trees. To add to the effect I have added other structures like raised beds and mirrors. For the most part I have been successful and on the way developed some gardening skills; so I am more able to bring order to some of the artist’s rather outrageous implementations.
However, one plant has become a bit of a conundrum and caused some tension between the artist, gardener and now, would be environmentalist who has begun to play a part in the master piece.
In a bid to bring some wildlife into the garden, I planted some random seeds like foxgloves and teasels. Not the best choice as they are disproportionately tall for my small garden. So the environmentalist won the day and promptly forgot about them. While the foxgloves never appeared, the teasels have grown with a vengeance; growing taller than a nearby tree. Not aesthetically pleasing at all. Gertrude Jekyll and Monet I am sure are groaning in their graves.
However these strange prickly monsters that look so at home on the edge of the motorway do have some pleasing attributes. They have very prickly stems and where the mighty paddle like leaves ‘sprout’ a little well forms to hold water. As the flowers grow rather like thistles; tiny and a delicate green, so pale mauve petals appear and drop like like snow, into the little pools of water and spider’s webs.
Although the teasels have not yet attracted the finches as I hoped; they do attract other flying creatures.
As the ‘chucker’ of the seeds it gives me great joy but I don’t make any claims towards its creation and it aesthetic-ness
Masterpiece -ness like beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Yesterday I …
Yesterday’s walk at sunrise was quite different from previous weeks; especially as there was no sun. It was strange that I chose to take a different route; almost immediately I was disappointed. The walk began as normal in the streets that surround my house. If I walk south I arrive at the campus in minutes; a wonderful enclave of nature; while it is manmade, owned by the university it is not so densely populated. The surrounding area of green have been managed over the years and now it is a very attractive ‘natural’, place teaming with wildlife and because it is private property it is often free of the humankind more so when it is vacation time.
However, walking northward I will meet the Kennet and Thames, again a place of natural beauty and even managed but not in the same way, more for public health and safety. Sadly, the route is less desirable even at six in the morning. There is more human action namely Domino Pizza employees changing shift; left me wondering ‘Who would want a pizza a six in the morning?’
So this made me sad; as I would prefer have more edifying thoughts.
After a night of heavy rain the streets sparkled and the Reading brickwork glowed even though the rain clouds still hung low. There was a chill in the air I was pleased I had taken the time to put proper clothes on.
Getting over my initial grumpiness, I strolled through Palmer Park. Those not familiar with Reading will not know know about the Huntley and Palmer Biscuit Factory and the Quaker family who bestowed gifts upon local community during the 19th and early 20th century. Palmer Park was one of those delights that still provides a beautiful open space for me and the others walking running and merely waiting for the sun to peep through the clouds. While my thoughts straggle between litter, pizza and greedy pigeons; I hold my camera close and hurry on.
When I reach the Kennet, the sun has broken through and am surprised that already I have spoken albeit one or two words and about to have a full blown conversation. (thank goodness I was suitably dressed); Quite different to previous weeks when I rarely see a soul. Coming towards me a nice clean cut young man asked me ‘ If I knew where he could buy a single cigarette?’ He added politely (there is nothing like being accosted by a polite young man) ‘that it might seem an old fashioned idea; but he was gasping’ ..
Old Fashioned mmmm? I remember my dad at dawn, hunting around for some baccy to make a roll up; using dried up shreds from dogends he kept for such occasions. I wasn’t able to help; he hurried off. Later I turned back, gasping for a cup of tea; and wondering what I would do to get one? Not rape and pillage; but pretty close! I met my ‘friend’ coming back clutching to his chest a treasure as only a rollup man would (my dad) He smiled and showed me, in a tin enough tobacco enough to make a tiny roll up and a packet of green papers; saying, and still smiling ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ he went on his way. Leaving me wondering ‘Where on earth did he get that?’
So maybe this walk was not quite so close to nature; maybe there wasn’t every species of tree known to man … ok a selection of. Perhaps there were no carefully maintained lawns and meadows and oh so marvelous architecture. There were no bejewelled herbaceous borders or sculpted lake with every wild fowl bar the duck billed platypus. There was plenty of human nature, kindness, pigeons, ducks and swans doing what they need down where the Thames meets the Kennet. As the trains to Paddington trundle over the top every twenty minutes or so and the Gas Works … ‘work’ with a monotonous drone that one begins not to notice.
So while I started the walk with doubts and gloom; I soon found that I enjoyed a very different experience. Walking on the campus is wonderful but it is passive; peaceful perhaps, neither party having to make an effort, it all happens like a well oiled machine. Walking to, along and back from the Thames demanded action, there was a powerful exchange; everyone and thing plying for attention if we didn’t make the effort a nod, a smile, a question or two, the rumble of the trains, even as the rivers met there was a turbulence.
Well I could go on making profound comparisons …
Silent sunday
Saturday … is here
It has been a funny week; it might have been good or very bad. My mother has been very ill, a colleague at work with whom I had worked closely left for a new job and I learned that a close relation had a brain tumour. Also , I had a day off work; even a day off is an oddity and could go one of two ways. This was a going to be a nice occasion, but was fraught with decision making while mother was so ill; nonetheless the trip did turn out well and very fruitful. I will tell you about it later.
These events could have taken me in a myriad of ways … and they did!
However, dotted in the week were some occasions that might not have been noticed on the big screen and I have discussed at least one … the pink pigs were a joy.
Also I did find time to be creative; not works of art but they will mark times when the curtains on the big screen can be closed.
Tea … I begin
Matte
not recommended I hear
as first in the day.
White is prefered
and I agree.
But I learn that Matte
has cheering properties.
And I agree
So reluctant to give up too soon.
The paper boy
Each morning a boy
cycles up our street.
Laden with broadsheets
and such.
Fifteen minutes later,
he freewheels back down.
He wears a Brazilian football strip.
Friday library snapshot …
As a continuation of Wednesday’s post about the Brazilwood trees; I did find the book referred in A passion for trees ; a legacy of John Evelyn by Maggie Campbell-Culver; Sylva ; a discourse of forest trees by John Evelyn. I was disappointed that there were few images; but the text was in English rather than in Latin so it was quite easily understood.
Our copy doesn’t have the original binding; I romantically thinking that, by its very nature it would have been well thumbed.
The author as the royal adviser addressed the book to the King [Charles II], and then the readers not just the members of the Royal Society but those he suggests in the glossary; ‘not ordinary rustics but for the more ingenious, for the benefit and diversion of gentlemen and persons of quality, who often refresh themselves in these agreeable toiles of planting, and the gardens …’
So, this book I hope, remembering the ‘romance’ was never far away from the potting shed or conservatory and subject to all sorts of harmful elements; while a fine literary work might have been kept in a gentleman’s library.
Alphabe Thursday … J is for Joy
As you probably know I suffer from depression; although at present I seem not to be ‘clinically’ depressed. I am fairly comfortable with life and able to cope. This is a good state when I can recognise the fragility of life and really appreciate the highs and lows. I can see the joys and despair and the stuff in between without having to grab my wild array comforting tools, that help when the balance tips and life appears not so good.
I will not enter a discussion here about depression, I was kindly and gently reminded last week that some people suffer from chronic depression and psychological disorders and have to resort to very drastic measures to alleviate the pain and how my methods are not always practical or even valid.
However last week I did find myself in a place where I did think the depression had returned; quite frankly my tools were not helpful. My mother was taken suddenly very ill and as we speak still very poorly in hospital. This affected me in a way I didn’t recognise; these were not the symptoms of a woman upset by her mother’s malady. This was anger; outrage of great proportions … without detail; I received professional advice and suffice to say it would seem I am suffering from ‘complex grief’ as the name suggest it is complicated and a cure is not easily defined.
Nonetheless without a ‘cure, need for some sort of relief was required. So without fear of repetition, my methods are not failsafe but over the years I have found that sometimes the tiniest thing has ‘un-cocked’ the pistol, or ‘dis-alarmed’ the hand grenade. Also I am not foolish enough to realise that the joy is lasting … I am working on that one!
The turning point came yesterday with a kindly gift and fond words after a few months of doing a ‘project. The gift, of some chocolates in the shape of a pink pigs, a bar of soap and an attached card of an illustrator (not yet but soon to researched) and good wishes for the future. What more could I ask? Joy for the moment is a pink pig!
Coat Hanger Doll's House 