If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Once again I find myself visiting a familiar name from blogs of the past.  I guess that if you choose a certain career path then you are bound to meet people with a vision similar to your own. 

Although I’m not a big poetry fan, a line from a Shelley poem came to mind with the recent cold snap and snow fall that we experienced in London. The actual poem is Ode to the West Wind and there is a mural in Soho which is kind of like a dedication to the poem. Of course, the writer of the poem needs no introduction.

Mural in Soho - Noel St, London

Percy Bysshe Shelley who is credited as being one of the major romantic poets was born on the 4^th of August in 1792 near Horsham in West Sussex. Having grown up with sisters, when Shelley entered Eton he was bullied constantly.  He was slight of build and bookish, not having played sports or just done the types of things that other boys his age had. Shelley went on to Oxford, but due to his more progressive view (he was somewhat of a radical), they kicked him out which is kind of cool because not everybody can say they were expelled from Oxford.

Shelley eloped with his first wife Harriet Westbrook in 1811.  It seems that eloping was the thing to do back then because when that marriage fizzled he eloped with Mary Godwin.  From what I can gather, they used to rendezvous in the cemetery where her mother was buried which is kind of cool too. He actually threatened to commit suicide if she didn’t return his affections because he was madly in love with Mary. I probably would have just let him die, but Mary ran off with him and we all know what became of her.

Blue Plague on the house that they live in together in London

The Shelleys moved around quite a bit travelling through Europe and all the while he continued to write both romantic and political poetry. Most of the later travel was throughout Italy and in 1822 when he was sailing back from Livorno to Lerici, Shelley drowned in a storm.  There are all sorts of stories which tell that his death may not have been accidental, some say he wanted to die, others say he was murdered. It’s kind of sad to think that he was only 29 though.

Shelley was cremated on the beach where his body washed ashore but apparently his heart was snatched from the funeral pyre by his friend Edward Trelawny and is now buried with Shelley’s son in Bournemouth. Another account tells us that it is just the ashes of the heart.  I kind of like to picture someone reaching into the fire and pulling out his heart before it burnt so I’m going to ignore the latter.

When I think about the life of this particular writer, it makes me wonder what would have happened if he didn’t have the kind of mind that he had.  Would we still have the wonderful poetry that he has bequeathed to the world, or would he have gone through Oxford and chosen a more ordinary path? I guess I’ll never know, but what I do know is that Once upon a time in the 1700’s, a child that grew into a poet was born and from that day until he died, he remained the free thinker that produced some of the greatest poetry of his time.

 

‘If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.’

Frances Hodgson Burnett

I was flicking through the pictures that I have taken during my escapades and I came across some that I took in a forbidden garden in West London.  I say forbidden because it’s one of those gardens that have a wrought iron fence around and you need a key to get in. Anyway, on this particular day the gate had been left open and stupidly, I wandered in. After thoroughly exploring this forbidden paradise, I discovered that somebody had closed the gate and I couldn’t get out.  For a split second I thought that I might have to actually live in that garden but then reality kicked in and I asked one of the locals to let me out.  After seeing the pics and remembering that day, I’m prompted to think about a story of a girl that once found a garden like that and kind of made it her own for a while.  The story I refer to is of course, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

 

Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett was born on the 24^th of November 1849 in Cheetham near Manchester England.  Her father died when she was very young and her love of books came from her grandmother. After relocating to London, she spent time living in Islington and missed the country and the open places to play in.  Frances had an overactive imagination and she loved to make up stories and tell them to her friends and family.  She wrote her stories in notebooks, but unfortunately, the family moved to Knoxville in Tennessee to live with another relative and Frances was forced to burn all of her early writings before travelling.

The first of her stories was published in 1868 in a magazine called Godey’s Lady’s Book. At this particular time she wrote constantly to escape poverty and didn’t particularly worry about the quality of her work.  By 1869 Burnett had made enough money to move her family into a better home.

I could tell you about her marriage to Swan Burnett and their children and how she continued to write and travel, but I’d much rather skip to the time of her life when she wrote my favourite of her works. In Kent there is a manor called Great Maytham Hall where Burnett lived from 1898 to 1907. It was there that she discovered a door in a wall hidden by ivy with the help of a Robin.  Behind the door was a secret garden which was sadly neglected, but was brought back to life by Frances who planted hundreds of roses.  Does the story sound familiar? This was the inspiration for The Secret Garden which was fully published in 1911.

The garden that I stumbled upon in Chelsea

The Secret Garden is a classic story set in the delicious English countryside that the UK is renowned for.  Although somewhat gloomy to begin with, the beautifully written plot brightens as the garden brought to life by a child, brings to life inhabitants of the miserable Misselthwaite Manor.

From the information I have read about this inspirational writer, I can now finish this week’s blog by saying that Once upon a time in Kent, the discovery of a garden planted a seed which was nurtured and grew into an enchanting story that delights those of us who dare to venture inside.

Underground, Overground, Wombling Free….

Elisabeth Beresford

The other night I sat flipping through my sacred blog book wondering who I could bring to the blogger sphere this week.  I asked my son Warren if he had any requests and he reminded me of some characters that I loved when I was a kid.  I thought about the suggestion and started my journey into the life of Elisabeth Beresford.

Born in Paris in 1926, Elisabeth was the daughter of J D Beresford the English writer. She struggled as a journalist until an idea came to her when she was visiting Wimbledon Common with her family. Her daughter mispronounced Wimbledon as Wombledon. That very moment led to the creation of those amazing characters with the cute pointy faces and the outrageous outfits known as the Wombles. Of course she had other books, but The Wombles are the more well known of her works.

Toy Orinoco in the rangers office at Wimbledon Common

The first Womble book was published in 1968 and there are more than 20 in the collection. The characters were based on Elisabeth’s family members and the exquisite names are taken from obscure places, such as towns and colleges they had visited or attended. The Wombles are recyclers and their motto is ‘Make good use of bad rubbish.’ After the first book was broadcast on the British television show Jackanory, the BBC thought that an animated series might be worth a shot and they were right.  Children everywhere were able to enjoy the antics of the furry characters and who could forget the theme song.

Windmill Museum Wimbledon Common

So as London prepared for the first snowfall of 2013, I put on my coat – and an extra pair of socks, embraced winter and set off in search of the lovable recyclers. I’ve read somewhere that some of them enjoy playing in the snow, and having those lush fur coats, I figured that Wombles would be slightly more equipped for the outdoors than me and that I might just see Tobermory picking up things that had been left behind by everyday folk. I walked all over Wimbledon Common but there was not a Womble to be seen. There was a camera shy rabbit who was adamant he wouldn’t be photographed, and a German Shepherd with a punctured football in his mouth, but definitely no Wombles. I can’t say that I was disappointed though because it is a beautiful common and I did get some nice pics to share with you. Incidentally, it’s quite muddy this time of year so if you’re planning a visit in the winter, wellingtons are a more preferable choice of footwear.


Wimbledon common

Elisabeth Beresford was awarded an MBE for her efforts and I understand that the Queen herself is a bit of a Wombles fan. I for one enjoy their antics and take pleasure in telling you that Once upon a time in Wimbledon, a mispronounced word brought to life an underground culture which invaded children’s lives everywhere. So if you’re ever on Wimbledon Common, keep your eyes peeled because you might just see a Womble.

http://www.thewomblesbooks.com/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sI1x8ZrBrY

 

 

It’s Not the End of the World.

After all of the speculation of the finish of the Mayan calendar and the world coming to an end in December last year, I thought I’d start the year off with The Domesday Book. I stumbled across this when I was researching holiday places in the UK.  There were references to certain places being listed in this book so I thought further investigation was required. As I’m more of fiction reader and live in a dream world, I didn’t quite know what I would find.

The Domesday Book was commissioned by William the Conqueror and is the compilation of a survey that was completed in 1085 and 1086. There are two volumes to the book. The Little Domesday Book covers Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex and the larger of the two volumes, or Great Domesday Book which includes the remainder of England and some parts of Wales. So why would you do such an astronomical survey and why is it called The Domesday Book? Let me explain.

One of the main reasons for the survey was to determine who owned what land and stock and the taxes that they paid under Edward the Confessor. The book also showed your status in the community. As you would imagine, the judgement of the assessors that completed the survey was final and there was no further discussion to be had on the subject. If the book said that your material worth was 50 quid, then that’s what you were worth and nobody had the right to appeal the outcome.  Hence the name Domesday or day of judgement. Of course, the book was written in Latin and I for one don’t read Latin, so I wouldn’t have known what was in the book anyway.

This ancient book is kept at the National Archives in Kew and you can visit any day except Sundays. I set off this morning for a nice 10.5 mile stroll because there were other things on the way that I wanted to take pics of – all blog related of course, and I needed the exercise after a somewhat hearty Christmas.  When I reached Hyde Park Corner I discovered that I’d left my sacred blog book at home with all of my notes in. So, I continued on the way through West London to Kew and probably would have kicked myself if my feet hadn’t been so sore from all of the walking.

National Archives Kew, West London.

I was quite impressed with the building and the grounds. Although, there was a rather angry swan swimming in the water near the entrance and I don’t think he liked having his picture taken.



The angry swan

 

The replica of the Domesday Book

The book that’s on display at the National Archives is a copy as the original is fragile. They keep it in the dark at a certain temperature to preserve the delicate sheepskin parchment and the handwritten text. The book is apparently starting to wear considerably – so the guys in reception told me. The contents are now available on line in English thank goodness so it’s accessible for anyone, but I’d really like to hold the original, just for a few seconds.

The Domesday Exhibition

Keeping with the tradition of supplying plaques to signify just about anything in the UK, there have been Domesday plaques issued to towns and villages included in the book. What’s more, if you go to the National Archives website, you can actually enter a town or village to find out the names of the families that lived there at the time of the census and how many houses there were and so forth.  I’ve included a couple of links on the bottom of the page for you to play with, just in case you’re overcome with curiosity.

So having visited the National Archives and looked into The Domesday Book so to speak, I find it fascinating that Once upon a time in merry old England, a survey was commissioned, compiled, and is now available for everyone. Check it out.

http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/domesday/

http://domesday.pase.ac.uk/