Down Memory Lane

The Thin Blue Line

The blue bell is the sweetest flower

That waves in summer air;

Its blossoms have the mightiest power

To soothe my spirit’s care.

Emily Brontë

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child....

1 Corinthians chapter 13 verse 11

King James Version

And also when I was a child I rode my bike as a child, played in the woods as a child, climbed trees as a child, and loved the world around me as a child.....

And much of that time was spent in the Chilterns, roaming free in the countryside and the woods, watching the seasons roll around with flowers, leaves, trees, birds.....   Those were carefree days; little bothered me (as far as I can remember) but they were long ago.  Time has evaporated.....

And in the passing of time, so have family and friends passed away, and life has had its excitements and its depressions. So much has changed, so much has developed...... But, If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.....

We retrace my steps.  In the gardens of Ashridge House Queen Elizabeth I had walked as a child.  I was following a thin blue line back into the past, but I am reminded that life goes on, that flowers grow again and again, that trees stand their ground, that without the interference of despots and tyrants the world can be a beautiful place.....

So, If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing....  These words, in various forms, keep coming back to me, echoing over the decades (my brother Simon read them as we gathered at the end of one school year). 

Or as Deon Jackson so gently hinted in 1963:

Without love, flowers wouldn't grow in spring

And without spring, yeah, the birdies just couldn't sing

Yeah, everybody needs love

though some might add:

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz.

I wonder where the birdies is.

They say the bird is on the wing, but that’s absurd.

I always thought the wing was on the bird.

Hey....

Ho!

So, back in the Chilterns, in Ashridge, walking in Dockey Wood, the air fragrant with bluebell dust, the wind scintillating the fresh green beech leaves.... It is wonderful. I love it all.  And it is love that makes the world go round.....

The carpet so rich, so fine, so evanescent. A week or two and it will be gone, lost to the pollinators and the onlookers for another year, unless captured by an artist......

We move on. The next morning Tring Park is fresh and airy, the sap spiralling out into the new leaves as the temperature rises and the days lengthen:

Then we wind back to the Dunstable Downs and to the Whipsnade Tree Cathedral, created by Edmund Blyth to commemorate his friends who lost their lives in the First World War. This is an enchanted place, and we lie under the flowering cherries in the Easter Chapel, the sun scattering its rays through the petals:

I will not mention the unmentionable, and I am not one to quote biblical phrases lightly, but, given the unnecessary and unimaginable suffering unleashed by the ignorance and greed of certain men, the words of the damascene convert hover above me in the glorious light that (almost) blinds me:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres....

1 Corinthians chapter 13 verses 4-7

New International Version

We walk around and over Ivinghoe Beacon, the start of the Ridgeway, and a splendid viewpoint over the Vale of Aylesbury, where cowslips gloriously flourish:

Then dive back into Ashridge Forest for a last wonder at the thin blue line:

And a surprise encounter with an earnest badger, doing the housework at the sett's back door, another reminder that the world is diverse and wonderful:  

I am told that Badgers eat hedgehogs, and that therefore they are not to be loved, but please read this piece from the website Hedgehog Street:

Hedgehogs and badgers share what’s known as an asymmetric intraguild predation relationship. Badgers can affect hedgehogs in one of three ways:

Competition; the two species compete for many of the same food sources. These include soil invertebrates such as earthworms and beetle larvae.

 

Predation; badgers can predate hedgehogs.

 

Avoidance; hedgehogs will avoid areas where badgers have been active. Where there are many badgers, hedgehogs are likely to be less common.

While badgers do prey on hedgehogs, this is natural predator-prey interaction. Although badger numbers have boomed in recent years, there is little evidence that suggests they are the main reason why hedgehogs are in trouble. Indeed, hedgehogs are struggling in rural places where we know few badgers live, like East Anglia. Where conditions are favourable and invertebrate food is readily available, the two species can co-exist.

The two species have co-existed for thousands of years, which suggests that recent human activity has been a more prominent factor in the decline of hedgehogs.

Or, as the British Hedgehog Preservation Society says:

Pointing the finger at a single cause, such as predation by badgers or road casualties, likely misses the bigger, more complex picture.

Before we leave we pay our respects to Bob's Oak, a four hundred year old tree that, despite the weariness of age, is still sprouting fresh foliage from the tips of its twigs. A youth in the reign of Charles I, this veteran reminds us that peace and love can transcend the foibles of the mad and the vicissitudes of wind and weather.

This spring, and especially these last few days, has/have been glorious. Yes, I have been wandering down memory lane, but nothing is as important as the infinitely expanding present. As Alan Watts (in Become What You Are) said: Life exists only at this very moment, and in this moment it is infinite and eternal. For the present moment is infinitely small: before we can measure it, it has gone, and yet it persists forever....

There is a silent eloquence

In every wild bluebell

That fills my softened heart with bliss

That words could never tell.

Anne Brontë

*********

For CJ

If you walk, just walk. If you sit, just sit. But don’t wobble.

Yunmen Wenyan

*********

The Ridgeway National Trail

 Walking, Just Walking....

It was grey, and wet, and slippery, and not a great day for an 87 mile trek.

Though it could have been worse.  It could have been hot, like two weeks ago.  Or thundering, like a week ago.  

Nothing's ever right.

It's all a compromise.....

Anyway, yesterday, we made it to the top of Ivinghoe Beacon at the northern end of The Ridgeway National Trail, looking into the murk over the Vale of Aylesbury.  Amanda held her umbrella to shelter our daughter Hannah and her husband, Cameron, while I took some pics of the occasion.

So, all geared up, and carrying packs with a tent and sleeping bags, food and 'stuff' here they are, smiling, and raring to go.

This was not a mercenary mission; it was something they had wanted to do, and with the relaxation of lock-down, the plan had been finalised.

But it seemed a good idea to ask for sponsorship to raise money for the National Brain Appeal as this charity manages Rare Dementia Support (Rare Dementia Support is a fund held by the National Brain Appeal. Registered Charity Number 290173) which we benefit from in caring for Amanda, who has the semantic variant of Frontotemporal Dementia.....

Dementia is currently incurable, and it is a one-way street. It is no fun for the sufferer, but is also hard for the family and carers, as memory slips away, recognition and language disappear, behaviour becomes unpredictable and sometimes problematic if not dangerous. But thanks to the researchers at the National Hospital for Neurology & Neurosurgery, Queen Square, London, and their associates, progress in understanding is being made, and support is offered to sufferers and their carers.

(Which is good, as there is very little on offer from this government.....)

A few weeks ago we did a little reconnaisance, and walked to Wayland's Smithy, a two-phase Neolithic tomb originating from about 5,500 years ago. According to English Heritage, Wayland’s Smithy has been a recognised feature of the historic landscape since at least the 10th century AD. The name of Wayland’s Smithy has been linked to the long barrow since at least AD 955, when it was referred to as ‘Weland’s Smithy’ in a Saxon charter. It appears to be a name handed down from a time when metalworking was remembered as a potent, even magical practice.

It is a magical place, surrounded by mature trees and resting largely undisturbed by the masses.....

It looked pretty much the same when I first visited, (shortly after it was built.....) which is reassuring in a way.....

It's not the only piece of prehistory upon the Trail (and that's apart from me.....) The Ridgeway itself is an ancient pathway, trodden by innumerable human feet over at least five millennia.  Some of it is now on metalled tracks, 

some on muddy footpaths,  (and this is Hannah, yesterday),

I walked it about twenty years ago, when I was a lad of fifty or so, but it has been a National Trail since 1972.

It is part of a longer route which connected the coast of Dorset with the Wash and the North Sea.  In this section it follows the chalk ridges of the Wiltshire Downs and the Chilterns, so it is well drained and allows for fair visibility all round.

Along the way there are sites such as the Bronze Age Uffington White Horse, and the Iron Age Hill Fort known as Uffington Castle, where Amanda inspected the Trig Point at 261 metres above sea level.

The route is not all consistently well surfaced, but some stretches, as here near Uffington Castle, have been made good for wheelchair users, and, inevitably, cyclists.  When I walked it, however, much of it was uneven and in places badly rutted by off-road motor bikes, which made the going pretty tiresome.

I walked it in high summer, though the first two days I got pretty wet and my boots rubbed and I felt quite sorry for myself (as you can see.....)

But it warmed up after crossing the Thames at Goring Gap, and by the time I got to the White Horse my brain was scorched and I had to lie down.....

But I survived, and didn't wake up to find myself entombed, so I carried on......

And after another day or so I passed Barbury Castle, another Iron Age Hill Fort, 

And then, finally, after some five days of hard walking, I hobbled down to the World heritage Site of Avebury, where a lot of stones live in a circle.  

It was a wonderful feeling, and the stones were so welcoming!   

This is where Hannah and Cameron will be in a few days time, footsore but happy, with a great sense of achievement, after their 87 miles of backpacking. And, I hope, having inspired donations to help a seriously good cause.  Please support them, if you can, by donating something via JustGiving via: 

http://www.justgiving.com/Richard-GIBBS14

Well done little goblin!

Ain't talkin', just walkin'

Up the road, around the bend

Heart burnin', still yearnin'

In the last outback at the world's end

Ain't Talkin'

Bob Dylan

Contact Rare Dementia Support

For information relating to a specific dementia diagnosis contact the RDS Direct Support Team at contact@raredementiasupport.org or by telephoning 07388 220355 or 07341 776317 and we will refer your enquiry to the most appropriate team member.

Please note that phone calls will not be answered immediately, so please leave a voicemail message with your contact information if you would like to speak to somebody on the telephone. 

For regional enquiries please email Roberta McKee-Jackson at r.mckee-jackson@ucl.ac.uk.

For more information about our work or to share your stories and feedback please email: contact@raredementiasupport.org.

The sound of thunder

A Butterfly Mind

I find it hard to believe that it is August already.  On July 31st it was still July.....

We went to Ivinghoe Beacon to walk.  It was a beautiful day - warm and sunny, and summery, and just like July ought to be, though I have no recollection of any other July 31sts - my mind is a wasteland when I search for details of how it might have been.

Anyway, it was a beautiful July day and I was happy to be wandering through woods, with the sun streaming through the grasses,

and backlighting the still fresh leaves,

I have recently discovered an interest in butterflies.  I suppose that I have always been interested in them - I remember occasionally collecting some when I was a kid, etherising them then sticking a pin through the thorax.  But was that interest?  Or was it vile vandalism?  I cannot be sure.  But I stopped doing that some sixty odd years ago, and have not noticed a change in the spelling of signs (pace Ray Bradbury).....

Brimstone

It's a summery thing.  Last year (though on August 18th, and certainly not on July 31st) my buddleia was suddenly attacked by a plague of Painted Ladies, swarming like locusts on the purple flowers.  It won't happen again though, I am relieved to say, as I punished the buddleia by replacing it with a rose.

By the way, in case you needed to know, Linnaeus - the Swedish botanist otherwise known as Carl von Linné - named the butterfly-attracting plant after the English botanist and rector Reverend Adam Buddle (who died in 1715 at the age of 53). 

Anyway, I noticed that these winged creatures seem to prefer sunshine and warmth, and who, with the exception of the rapidly declining polar bear, can disagree that these two words make life almost worth living?

So I have been trying to photograph these curious flying things, and learning their names. I have even taken up membership  of Butterfly Conservation (saving butterflies, moths and our environment)

July 31st must have been a good day for all, as I found several varieties on our walk, including what I think is a Silver-washed Fritillary (Argynnis paphia) - though it could be a Dark Green Fritillary (Speyeria aglaja).....

By the way, if any of my identifications are incorrect, please do contact me......

Silver-washed Fritillary (female?)

I don't know that I have seen one of these before, certainly not on July 31st, and I marvel at its details.  This one may be old in butterfly years as it seems to be a bit chipped at the extremities, but it is active and agile and is enjoying the juice of the bramble, so I lower my gun, and travel on.

Now here's a pretty Speckled Wood (Pararge aegeria) from the Brown family.  This one also likes brambles, and is unusual in that its numbers have increased significantly in recent years - probably due to global warming. It's a bit like a Ringlet, in that it can be seen on dull and cloudy days..... though this one likes sitting in sunny spots.  I have learned that most butterflies like warmth and sunshine, but I haven't yet worked out how they spend their time in bad weather.....  Do they just doze under a leaf somewhere?  They must get awful hungry!

Ringlet

Next I chance upon another bramble lover, one of the Whites. This, I think, is a Large (Pieris brassicae), the one I think we used to call a Cabbage White, whose greenish caterpillars could destroy our vegetable patch in a matter of seconds.  I load my blunderbuss and aim, but he's too quick for me and darts off to hide amongst the prickles.....

Large White

Very soon I spot another White, this time, I think, it may be a Green-veined one (Pieris napi).  I think I used to think of white butterflies as uninteresting, but now I know there are several different ones it becomes more fun, and anyway, if you look close their markings are often individual. I also love their furry shoulders, and their trembling antennae.  This one looks as though someone has taken a couple of bites out of the left wing - surely not a political move?

Green-veined White (female)

Trouble with the Whites is that they are pretty similar, especially if you don't see them together. Here's one that could be a Small (Pieris rapae) as he appears roughly the same size as the Ringlet (Aphantopus hyperantus) next to him (they both have a wingspan of about 48mm, whereas the Large White can get up to 70mm, or in excess of the size of a widescreen picture like Ben Hur - but I digress.... NB I thought Ben Hur was shot in Cinemascope, but a younger brother of mine corrected me as it was in fact shot in MGM 65 Camera.... The Robe was shot in Cinemascope, and The Fall of the Roman Empire was shot in Ultra Panavision 70. As I say, you learn something new every July 31st!)

On the other hand he could well be the same one I shot before, thinking he was a Large White.  I should really give up.....

But there is one White which is unmistakable, which is this one. The Marbled White (Melanargia galathea).  The trouble, however, is that this one doesn't belong to the Whites and Yellow family, but to the Browns!  

You learn something new every July 31st.....

Marbled White

And in the Brown family there is also this very brown chap, the Gatekeeper (Pyronia tithonus - another name to conjure with!)

Gatekeeper

You can see here how those circles on the wings work.  It could almost be a weasel staring at you, or a cat of some kind.

Then, passing through the gate my friend was keeping, we emerge onto the chalk grasslands leading up to the Beacon, and here the flowers shimmer in the breeze and thistle down drifts across the airs. Little blue butterflies chase away from me, busily avoiding my shots, until I catch this one sucking hard at some Knapweed. I think he is a Chalk Hill Blue (Polyommatus coridon) but there is a possibility he is a Common Blue (Polyommatus icarus - I love that hint of bravura in the name).  Look at his glorious fur!

Chalk Hill Blue?

As far as I can tell these two engaged in a bit of social proximation are Common Blues, but as a beginner my identification skills have yet to be honed.....

Common Blues

My last sighting before returning home is this wonderful Brimstone, whose scientific name (Gonepteryx rhamni) is not only a mouthful but also somehow reminds me of dinosaurs.  Here he delicately tips the floret towards him as if it is a flute of champagne.  

It is appropriate that I finish here, as the Brimstone may have given us the name Butterfly, as the buttery colour of the male's wings is said to have inspired someone to call it thus.  

And with that thought I gaze into the distance of the Vale of Aylesbury, stealing the thoughts  of the couple before me, thoughts that perhaps should have stayed in July, wondering where the sound of thunder is, and whether the clapping of a butterfly's wings really could have caused the chaos that flaps around us now.....

And now.....  

It is August!  

The Harvest's in and the summer is soon to be over.....