Roominating

I looked at the clock this morning and saw the time was 8.25.  No, I was not just falling out of bed, I had been up some time.  But what if I had been only just getting up?  I'm retired and, having no place of work where I am expected at a prescribed hour, what time I get up is my business.  If I want a lie in, I shall darn well have one!

Anyway, the time was 8.25.

Now, many people these days, especially the younger generations, would say the time like that: "eight twenty-five".  Others might well say, "twenty-five past eight".  I, however, am from an older generation to whom it comes quite naturally to say, "five and twenty past eight".  Ten minutes later I would call it five and twenty to nine.

I suppose there was a time when it was normal to say things like "three and forty" instead of "forty-three" but nowadays the only time one hears a number expressed that way is at twenty-five minutes past the hour or twenty-five minutes to the hour.  Except in that nursery rhyme:

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie."

Now I come to think of it, that nursery rhyme has a couple of words one rarely - if ever - hears today.

"The king was in his counting house" while "The queen was in the parlour".

I suspect that the only time one hears of a counting house these days is when a building once used as a bank is turned into a pub and called "The Counting House".  But I think it is a great shame that the word "parlour" has fallen into disuse.  I suppose it came to mean the front room of a house that was kept "for best", used only on very special occasions.  The chairs would be rather uncomfortable and all the furniture highly polished.  There would probably be an aspidistra in the window.  Actually, that could almost describe the front room of our house when I was a child, although we didn't call it the parlour.  To use it was just the front room.

But despite what I say about the room being uncomfortable furnished and reserved for special occasions, I think the word "parlour" has a snug, comfortable ring to it, quite possibly a small room in an old country cottage.  Or the "bar parlour" in a pub, called "the snug" in some parts.  "Parlour" is a much better word than "lounge", which implies that people are expected to flop around, or "sitting room" which is just too prosaic.

We - the Old Bat and I - don't have any of those rooms.  We have just the one reception room running from the front of the house to the back.  We call it the living room.

By the left, quick march!

It is, I am told, a convention that there are three subjects not discussed at dinner parties; namely money, politics, and religion.  Whether or not that convention still holds true is something about which I am not qualified to comment since it is quite a few years since I last went to what my have been described as a dinner party.  But it is a convention which, as a general rule, I try to observe on this blog.  As a general rule.  But, given that it is my rule, I feel comfortable about breaking it if I so wish.

Yesterday, the Labour Party elected a new leader.  Well, the result of the election was announced yesterday.  The new leader, one Jeremy Corbyn, of whom scarcely anyone had heard only three months ago, is supposed to be an old fashioned socialist, far, far to the left of any leader of the Labour Party for the last thirty years or so.  He has declared that if the Labour Party wins a general election and he is appointed Prime Minister, there would be renationalisation of railways and electricity, gas and water companies, Britain's nuclear deterrent would be scrapped, we would possibly (probably?) pull out of NATO, the Bank of England would be told to print money, there would be an end to austerity and the recent welfare reforms would be reversed.  He is a declared 'friend' of Hezbollah and Hamas and would be willing to enter into discussions with Argentina over the future of the Falkland Islands.  This, we are told, signifies a return to Old Labour and the end of New Labour.

It always seemed to me that under Tony Blair, the Labour Party was not all that far to the left of the Conservative Party.  Both the main political parties seemed to occupy the middle ground, the Conservatives having moved in from the right and the Socialists from the left.  There were differences between the parties and their ideas, but the country was, by and large, comfortable on the political front.

But I am concerned that, by electing such an ardent left-winger, the Labour Party has thrown the political scene in this country into turmoil.  If the Labour Party has really moved so far away from the centre, will the Conservative right-wingers pull their party away as well?  What will all those one-time members of the Shadow Cabinet who have already refused to serve under Mr Corbyn do?

I seem to recall that there was a split in the Labour party some years ago, a split that led to the formation by Roy Jenkins, David Owen, Bill Rodgers and Shirley Williams of the Social Democratic Party.  (I have just checked and discovered that this happened back in 1981!)  Some years later, the SDP merged with the Liberal Party to form the Liberal Democratic Party.  Could there be a similar happening in the near future?

We shall, I suppose, just have to wait and see.

Stuck in the car park

We are due to be heading over to my elder son's this afternoon for a family get-together and barbecue and are just waiting for our daughter to arrive from the Midlands.  She has rung to say she will see us in Hangleton (at my son's) as she is stuck in the car park.  In other words, she is on the M25.

Stanmer

One of these days, when I can find the time to do the job at least half properly, I will write a post about Stanmer.  Right now, though, I will content myself with saying that Stanmer is a village on the edge of Brighton, set in a park that was once known as the Stanmer estate.  If I had a shilling for every mile that I have walked through the parkland, the woods and the fields of the estate I would be a rich man!  Anyway, here is a picture of what I always think of as the back lane to Stanmer.  I rather doubt that this lane has a name at all, but if it does, I don't know what it is.

That's a pretty large dog sitting in the field!

The wrong side of summer

As is so often the case, now that the children have gone back to school the weather has decided to give us what may well be our last taste of summer.  The blackberries are ripe, the rose hips glowing scarlet and the autumn fruiting raspberries are starting to come into their own.  The grass is wet with dew in the mornings and the night air almost has a chill to it, but walking over the fields with the sun on my back in the afternoon is bliss when I'm sheltered from the wind.  And there seems to be something special about the evening light.

Long to reign over us

(For those who are unaware, the title of this post is a line from the national anthem of this country.)

And she has been.  In fact, today she becomes this country's longest reigning monarch.  Ever.  She became Queen in February 1952, a month I can always remember as that is the month when my paternal grandfather died, the first death of which I had ever been aware.  So, Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, has now held that position for 63 years, 7 months and 2 days.



By the time of the coronation in June 1953, some 16 months after she had actually become Queen, I was away at school on the Isle of Wight.  Most of the excitement of the event passed me by but I do remember that I had a cardboard model of the gold state coach in which the Queen rode to Westminster Abbey.  A film of the coronation was shown at the local cinema and we were taken to see that.

I suppose it might seem somewhat anachronistic to have a monarchy in the 21st century, although there are others in Europe   But I am sure that the vast majority of we British are happy with the status quo.  Our head of state is above party politics and doesn't divide the country in the way that so many elected presidents do. We have been so very fortunate that the Queen has served her country so dutifully.  Long may she continue to do so.

Bosham

Photo: Alastair Cunningham

I have in the past told of Sussex legends concerning the Devil's Dyke and the Long Man of Wilmington.  Today my story is set in the picturesque village of Bosham.

Bosham lies on a small peninsular jutting into Chichester Harbour, a favourite spot for yachting.  The village dates at least back to Roman times and tradition holds that Emperor Vespasian maintained a residence there, although there is little evidence of this.  The legend I am about to relate concerns the king who ruled England from 1016 until 1035.  This was the Dane, Cnut - or, as he is known in England, Canute.

King Canute had a palace at Bosham, probably (according to Wikipedia) where the Manor House now stands.  He converted to Christianity which he took to Scandinavia where he was also King of Denmark and Norway.

There is a common story that he had his throne place on the shore and tried to stop the tide coming in.  However, the truth is thought to be that he did this to prove to his over-deferential courtiers that he was not that powerful, saying, "Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings, for there is none worthy of the name, but He whom heaven, earth, and sea obey by eternal laws." He then hung his gold crown on a crucifix, and never wore it again "to the honour of God the almighty King".  It is said that this took place at Bosham - or maybe Westminster - or maybe Southampton.

Anyway, a daughter of King Canute is reputed to have drowned in the nearby mill stream and was
buried in the village church.  In 1865 a coffin containing a child's skeleton was discovered, buried in the nave, and this was thought to be the daughter.

There is a legend that Bosham Church was plundered by Danish pirates, who stole the tenor bell. As the pirate ship sailed away, the remaining church bells were rung. The tenor bell miraculously joined in, destroying the ship. The bell is still said to ring beneath the waters whenever the other bells are rung.