TR 309 647
         51.33 N, 1.31 E
      51° 20' N, 1° 18' E

To download individual pieces of Yvonnes work included on this page click here
(All work here remains the Copyright of Yvonne Chapman and may only be copied for personal use)
To contact Yvonne please email: Reflections
To read the poem written by the library staff about Yvonne click here

Yvonne now has her own website at
Yvonne's Jottings
and all her later work can be viewed there

However please ensure you have a look at the work on this page. There are 140 pieces here that do not appear on the new site

Yvonne also has other pieces of her work on the Museum site at:-
http://www.minstermuseum.org.uk/reflect/reflect.html
which reflect her thoughts about the museum and its inhabitants. Please be sure to take a look

140/ August 3rd/4th – 2006 – 

Not a sound could I hear, but a sight in the night.
At the hour of twelve from my window;
The steeple shines bright.
Stars gleam in the Heavens;
My clock ticks on the wall.
It seems like peace reigns over all.
Well, it feels like it around here.
I am so grateful for this, as my eyes
reach the floodlit steeple tall.
When I on Thorne Hill did reside.
I could see the steeple across the countryside.
When I moved to Rivers Court.
To see the Church from my window,
 was a treasure for me, that could not be bought.
 

139/ From my Window

I am aware how clever they are
When I say they, I mean the Church Doves.
These feathered residents of the Church and surrounds of green.
When the wind is blowing from the East, they know just where to find shelter on the roof tiles.
Then when the weather vane shows the wind has changed, they fly to the opposite side, from the wind they can hide.
They love to sunbathe in the early morning sun, and perch on the roof when the day has done.
They always fly around the Steeple just before retiring for the night.
They roost in the churchyard somewhere, beneath the stars bright.
Great interest these birds to me bring.
They “coo coo”, but do not sing.
I think they enjoy it, like I do, when the church bells ring.

Yvonne
 

138/ The Bully

My heart rules my head, more times than it should,
My heart rules my head, which is not always for the good.
My head can rule my heart sometimes,
When I hear of evil, and hear of crimes.
My head tells my heart, the evil doer must be repaid.
Laws of the Bible, are clearly made.

“Do unto others, as you would have done to you”,
I know these words are very true.
Help other folks when you can,
Try to help children and your fellow man.
Do as you would be done by,
Try not to make people cry.

Everyone a “bully” dislikes,
Perhaps in their hearts. a “bully” fights,
Fights against hatred, or a jealous streak,
Something in their childhood, makes a “bully”, play on the weak.
Jesus said “forgive them, for they know not what they do”.
I try to understand the ways of an evil man,
But to be honest, this is not an easy plan.
 
 

137/ In 1987 a common Algarve sight.

The Potato Pickers

Seven little ladies, standing in a ring.
Seven little ladies, standing chattering.
Seven pinafores, seven pockets, seven pairs of legs.
Seven little straw hats, on seven little heads.
Seven ladies have worked very hard, collecting every one.
Every potato, now in the barrels at the side, these ladies I know, and they live nearby.
 
 

136/ My Biblical Scene

The panoramic scene that meets my eye, 
of Mount Cook, and the Southern Alps, crowned with white, beneath an evening sky, is something I will treasure in my heart for ever.
Pukaki Lake so calm, and the views beyond, if I live to be a hundred, I feel sure I will not ever see, a sight more wonderful than eventide at Lake Pukaki.
The mountains that shoulder Mount Cook, are shadowed by the taller crags, the setting sun caresses their peaks, and in the silence I expected to hear our Creator speak.
Michelangelo’s vision of Heaven is not as beautiful as this, Heaven on earth I see, transmitting ethereal bliss.
I will forever be grateful to have viewed this Biblical scene, I ask myself, am I in a dream?
I understand more and more the Maori beliefs of their land, Gods of the sky, the rivers, the mountains, the sun, the wind and trees.
Magic of eternity seemingly surrounds me, the skies change every second and send patterns on the landscape, almost too beautiful to describe.
All is enchantingly delightful to witness, and one has the desire to hold on to this sense of wonderment for ever inside.
Yvonne
 

135/ 1st August - 2006-08-01  -  Tuesday – ‘Who knows’ 

The leaves are falling from the trees. 
Some of the fruit on the brambles is black, if you please. 
Our climate is definitely changing, all across the earth. 
All parts of the world are finding this, around the globe’s girth. 
Will this change the migratory habit of the birds. 
Perhaps change so many things, and in the ‘winter’ perhaps the Cuckoo may be heard. 
Will the spring flowers bloom in January. 
Who knows, it is only a ‘maybe’. 

 

134/ Before July 2006 says goodbye,
I must point out the New Moon last night shone in our sky. 

July -  At the bottom of the garden, -  sent my imaginations in a whirl – I saw:- 

A Red Admiral butterfly, with outstretched wings. 
Blossom of white and blossom of yellow, the breeze had been a scattering. 
Fairy confetti, I began to think, had there been a wedding with posies of palest pink. 
Bellbind in the bush, would make the gown. 
White blossom would twist into a crown. 
Bridesmaids in Rose petals, soft as silk. 
With a promise, they would not wilt. 
I thought I heard the faint tinkle of a bell. 
Are there Churches in Fairyland, who can tell? 
The Broom bush of yellow, of course is the groom. 
Red Admiral, it was the plan, to act as best man. 
I imagine the guests would be Mr. Peacock, 
Mr. and Mrs. Tortoiseshell butterflies, Cabbage white and; 
Mr. Cock Robin with his red vest 
Mr. Linnet with rosy cap and chest. 
In the choir, Blackbirds, Song thrush, Chaffinch and Wren; 
White-bibbed Whitethroat, perhaps the usher of men. 
Mr. and Mrs. Blackcap, with hats so smart, and Commas and Yellow Brimstone butterflies, all playing their parts. 
 

133/ The Hare and the Woodpecker. 

When I walk a certain trail, 
The Hare and the Woodpecker, never fail, 
Always pop out to say, 
“Nice to see you here to-day”. 

I realise it is their aim, 
Just on me to play a game, 
The game of playful, Hide & Seek, 
As I walk, at me they peep. 

Although the Hare is silent, he makes me aware 
He suddenly appears, so that I know he is there. 
The Woodpecker of green or The Yaffle Bird, 
Laughs out loud, to be sure he is heard. 

He also wants me to know he is about, 
Or he would keep quiet, he would not shout, 
These creatures make my walk a pleasure 
Times like these, I will always treasure. 
 
 

132/ One evening this week 

Everything happened at once. 

As we reached the level crossing after treading the concrete path. 
The farmer’s right-hand man in his truck reached the far side of the track. 
Stopped to telephone the signal box operator to see if safe to cross. 
A tractor came up behind us with contraption for a job of work trailing at the back. 
A train with ten carriages, went one way, as a train with eight carriages paused a while, and then passed and travelled in the opposite direction, they had arrived at the crossing at almost the same time as we, of course always looking both ways, sensibly. 
We had previously watched dozens of Swifts in the sky, calling out as they do in flight, finding plenty of insects for food. 
Green Parakeets screeched up there with them, showing off in the way they do. 
To cap it all, a Weasel had run across the path in front of us, carrying its supper in its mouth, disappearing again like a dart from a gun. 
Somehow it seemed for a few moments like Piccadilly Circus out there amongst the corn fields, not a problem for us, in fact quite fun. 
To feel the cool evening breeze on your face, as I thought again Minster is such a fantastic place. 
The Thistles looked so pretty all gone to fluffy seed, I know they are a pest, and a weed. 
Yet the way they stood tall and straight rimming the field, I must honestly say an attractive scene they did yield. 
The corn is crying out, “I am ready for harvest and gathering in”. 
This evening at half past eight, now these lines are “fin" 
 
 

131/ Monday 24th July – just after half past eight in the evening.  Sunset’s Rays - 

The sunset’s rays across the marshes tinting the grasses palest flame.
So quiet, so still peaceful and calm, I wondered why in the world, people were causing alarm.  I saw Evening Primrose bells of yellow, shining like lights at Christmas time.
At the beginning of the day tomorrow, I will see the purple bells of the Morning glory.
Both these blooms tell a different story.
One opens up in the evening when the other goes to rest.
The  other works in the opposite way, which do you think is the best.
Both delightful in their own way.
To choose between them, I’d have a job to say.
 

130/ I thought to myself today 

I thought to myself today, why do not we hear the Nightingale in the trees around our home, we must have all the habitat he would need, and I remembered my words written in the Algarve Valley. 

1 a.m. (Algarve valley - 1993) 
I woke in the night around 1 a,m. 
The moon was full; I could see the face of the man. 
It was like day outside, no one could hide. 
Outlines were clear of the surrounding land. 
The song of the Nightingale echoed around. 
There was not another single sound, and I felt a 
sense of ethereal peace, almost Heaven bound. 
I know the perch from which this bird sings. 
I see him in the daytime, no need for his hiding, 
As he sometimes does, to me he is a friend, 
He sings all day through, from start to end. 
On top of a cane, high in the reed bed. 
He sits there, with his Rufus tail a-spread. 
Now only a stone's throw from his pulpit. 
There stands a tree, straight and tall, it's called a Rocket. 
In this tree Sparrows have their rest, have built in this tall hideaway, a nest, 
In this nest, babies lie. 
Last night in my head, I wondered, did I? 
Were these babies sleeping to this lullaby, with 
their eyes closed, were they asleep. 
I tell you, I would love to have peeped. 
Or were they lying awake, listening to the 
serenade the Nightingale did make. This bird sang, all night through, I know, I was awake, listening too., at 6a.m. he was singing still, and seven I could still hear its refrain,, but I did not complain. 

 
 

12/ Butterflies 

The fluttery visions of colour and grace.
Flit from petal to petal on each flower’s face. 
The butterflies have patterns so intricate, unbelievably so. 
Takes a Master to paint one, don’t we know. 
Every colour you can name, you may see on a butterfly, giving it fame. 
Tortoiseshell, Marble white, Red Admiral, Peacock Grand. 
The Comma, Painted Lady, and the tiny Meadow Brown. 
The Cabbage White so delicate, mustn’t be put down. 
There are so many, I have named some here for you. 
Many carry their titles on their wings, explaining their names for us to view. 
I have seen in other lands two butterflies that stay in my memory. 
Blue Moon and Swallowtail, to name just two. 
If I could I like to be able to show these all to you.
 

128/ The Sunflower 

In one of the avenues where I stroll around. 
I have seen a tall Sunflower, its flower head towering way above the ground. 
Here are two verses I have written about this wondrous  bloom. 
Looks perfect by the garden wall, but too large for your room. 

The Welcome Intruder. 

Tall and slender, with large green leaves. 
Such a pretty thing sways in the breeze. 
A round bloom, like a sunny face. 
Peeps over my garden fence, from another place. 
I am pleased, and say "hello". 
For this Sunflower does not in my garden grow. 

(written whilst living on Thorne Hill) 

The Sunflower 

The Sunflower's face follows the sun by day.
Golden as the sunshine's rays. 
The flower is like the sun itself. 
It gives vitality and it radiates health. 
Like a stairway to Heaven, in the sky. 
Yet it lowers its head in respect, as it towers way up high. 
 

127/ The GRANDMOTHER 

A grandmother should give loving unconditionally 
A grandmother should be there to give care and sympathy.
To listen, to hear, perhaps wipe away a tear, always be near.
A grandmother must not take sides, beware of this, but it does not hurt to lend an ear, and perhaps a point that a parent might miss, and this, could come through to the experienced lady of years, and this might help to allow the grandmother, to quell a fear. 
Grandmothers have a great deal of knowledge to offer, many years of living, adds to their coffers. 
Yvonne 
Three little lines, I have read, thought I would add to my own lines here. 
God couldn’t be everywhere so he made grandmothers. 
And 
If grandmothers were flowers, I’d pick you.
And 
Grandmothers are just antique little girls 
My grandchildren are grown now, two with children of their own. 
And 
So it goes on. 

Yvonne 
 

126/  Is this Interesting ?  Friday 21st July 2006-07-21 – 2p.m. 

I thought I would take myself for a walk, even though it was so hot outside. 
Off I went along the Rivers Court trail, beneath the canopied trees and amongst the hedgerows, I felt I might be cool. 
I have to say I was greeted, before very long by, what seemed like blossom falling about my head, or confetti  at a wedding being scattered. 
In fact, reality was Butterflies fluttering all around, all species, so incredibly, I out loud muttered;  “Oh!, my goodness, how lovely”. 
There were Commas, Peacock, Red Admiral and the small Meadow Brown, and the Cabbage white, I just had to stand a while, and let the delicate fragile creatures amuse themselves, alighting about me in profusion.  Not just one of each but two or three, unbelievable. 
I climbed the two stiles and came to the fields, and saw that the  Rape crop had been harvested.  As I walked across the middle of the field, I crunched a few dried rape pods on the ground, and noted the tiniest black seeds, that give the oil. 
I also took note of the many clusters of Rosebay willow Herb – growing here and there, and as the breeze blew the flowers, they resembled more Butterflies, as the flowers grow on fine stems and tiny branches full of blooms of deep pink, were tossed around in the light wind that was blowing. 
 

125/ In answer to someone who asked me why I wear an ‘Almost Famous’ badge on my cap. 

I wear this badge upon my cap, I wear a fisherman’s cap, but I am not a chap. 
I have seen my work in many journals worldwide, as far away as New Zealand, Australia, Portugal, some on the world’s opposite side. 
Many works of mine, are framed and hang on peoples’ walls, works about this and poems about that, subjects covering all. 
Countless friends have read my lines, and they tell me, honestly, they like the work of mine. 
I have been heard on radio, and had many praises, the only thing I have never had, is the receipt of any wages. 
I have acknowledgements from Royalty and letters from famous men seen on T.V I have been told my work is fresh and agreeable, pleasant and relaxing to read. 
H.M. Queen Elizabeth and Lady Di., both sent me a thank you and to you I don’t lie. 
A publisher now to publish all my books, is really just what I need. 
I have a little book in some libraries, honoured I feel. 
All the lines I write are honest and real. 
It seems my work doesn’t fit into the scheme of things. 
It is more likely to be, you need to be in the know, then success this to one brings. 
 
 

124/ Everything is so beautiful 

A beautiful evening. – Tuesday 18th July 06 – 9p.m. 

As I sit and type at my computer, the sunset is fading. 
I can still hear the combine harvester working, across the fields. 
Bringing in the ears of corn ripened in the sun. 
The air is clear and still, nothing but peace, is my ears invading. 
I walked today at Pegwell Bay. 
I saw glorious Sea Lavender in the Salt Marshings, and across the way. 
I saw Waders and sea birds, and heard their musical calls. 
A huge white ferry was docking at the harbour, 
how does this enormous vessel keep afloat, buoyancy, conquers all. 
When you water the plants in the garden in the evening, you can almost hear them gasp. 
To be sure this watering with a water can is a necessary task. 
We have a large pot on our terrace with Jasmine divine. 
It sent perfumed aromas about me as I sat there ten minutes ago, and reminds; 
Reminds me of my Kefalonia holidays, where in abundance this plant does grow. 
I forgot to say I saw four Little Egrets, a miniature snow white Stork type bird. 
On the Sandwich flats at Pegwell Bay, the Nature Reserve. 
If we are lucky, we might see some stars tonight. 
In the Heavens shining bright. 
It is some time since I have seen Orion the Giant with his belt of three stars. 
His arm poised to shoot with his bow, an arrow, far, far, far. 
I have seen this constellation in the Southern Hemisphere. 
Although his dagger is on the opposite side of his form, and everything is the other way round, do I make myself clear. 
He shines in those skies not far from The Southern Cross. 
He is seen in both Heavens, North and South, perhaps amongst the stars Orion is the boss. 
We cannot spy the Southern Cross from our hemisphere, but if we are lucky, Orion will tonight be standing clear. 
 

123/ Passages in time. 

My feet took me passed the Nursery School for tots, then along to Monkton road, on my way to the top. 
The top of what was known as Prospect Hill back in the 1700’s and is known as this still. 
When my feet reached the summit, many thoughts invaded my head, 
I wondered if these lines of mine would perhaps in a 100 years or more, by an interested person be read. 
In around 1690, King William the III stood at Prospect Hill to enjoy the magnificent view. 
Our Church of St. Mary he could see also too. 
This King was son of William of Orange, who married daughter of Charles 1st, 
the king who was beheaded by Oliver Cromwell; the latter received his just desserts. 
As my eyes on the tower of Canterbury Cathedral gazed, I thought of other passages in time of bygone days. 
In 1597 St. Augustine the Cathedral founded, all my historic notes are very well grounded. 
Cross the borders of time, to the 12th century i.e. 1170, when knights from Saltwood Castle to the Cathedral did go, 
after listening to Henry II say “would someone rid me of this turbulent priest”, meaning Thomas-a-Beckett, this priest’s life the knights then ceased. 
Henry was so disturbed; he crawled through Canterbury, this I have heard. 
Then Pilgrims came to the tomb of Beckett from miles and miles around, after which in the early 1500’s Henry VIII destroyed all images of Beckett, and his tomb was doomed. 
Returning to the years 1239-1285, Prior Henry of Eastry was alive, he encouraged the building of the “Bell Harry Tower”, the sight of which can be seen from Prospect Hill, hour ‘pon hour. 
In the Cathedral lies the Black Prince’s last resting place, it is said he had a good looking face. 
Son of Edward III, the handsome price known by his armour of black, died of dysentery in 1377, I am sure he is now in the place we know as Heaven. 
I race across the years now to 1880 or when Edward Hasted wrote, and I quote, “that the view from the Prospect is unequalled anywhere in the Kingdom”, and to these lines I certainly agree. 
All these words of mine are from researched pages of history. 

Yvonne 
 
 

122/ Written Saturday evening 15th July 2006 – 20.00 hours or 8 o’clock. 

I have seen Old Father Time, with long beard and scythe, arrow and ball. 
On view at Lord’s Cricket Ground high above all. 
The weather vane moves slowly in the wind, this way and that. 
Where cricket is played that I love, especially when one of our bowlers calls out “Howzatt”. 
Sport is a leveller of man, brings people together of race, religion and creed. 
This for our future generations is a definite need. 
Thought on this when I sat watching Rugby last Saturday morning, played  on the other side of the world, televised on our t.v. screen. 
As I received an email from my Kiwi mates, saying that they were watching the same game, only it was on the Saturday eve. 
Exactly the opposite, their spring our autumn, their winter our summer-time. 
I think this is brilliant, so thought I would include this in my lines. 
This Saturday evening, I took myself out to get some fresh country air. 
I saw a carpet of gold, but to be honest and fair. 
I thought the crop would possibly not be ready for harvest until Full Moon. 
At the end of July, fifteen days time, I suppose fairly soon. 
We might see an orange coloured Moon then, because the planet is fairly low in the sky. 
Scattering of light in the atmosphere and particles of dust in the air might cause this, like a speck you might occasionally get in your eye. 
I saw a yellow ball fly from the corn as I took the concrete path. 
When it went tweet tweet, I knew it was a Yellow Wagtail, not a yellow tennis ball from Wimbledon’s aftermath. 
On my retracing path, I took note of beautiful Lavender in full flow, like a waterfall gracefully tumbling, a sight we all know. 
The Bees were enjoying their art of sipping the nectar,  I wondered where; 
They would fly off to in order to make their honey, perhaps in a hive, where the Queen Bee thrives. 
It is a work of delicate precision, the home of the humble Bee, and many health giving properties their honey provides. 
 
 

121/ St. Swithun’s Day – 15th July 2006   Winchester Cathedral 

I have read that St. Swithun desired to be buried in a humble grave outside the Cathedral gates, so that he would always be able to feel the rain pattering on the earth above his resting place. 
The powers that be thought it best to remove his remains inside the consecrated building, and from that day if it rains on St. Swithun’s day it is said that it will rain for 40 days and 40 nights. 
As it is a dry and sunny day today throughout our land, it seems we will not suffer his curse. 
 
 
 

120/ Cheerful Encounters 

I felt I would rather like to see these encounters in writing as if performed by my hand. 
Some say in the event of evolution, writing will become extinct by man. 
Could this be possible, well I suppose it could well happen. 
I love to write and scribble with my pen, on a piece of paper, even a scrap I write on. 
I have written on the reverse side of menus in a café, on the back of programmes at the cricket, on the reverse side of a supermarket ticket. 
Once a kind gentleman when I sat in the stand, in Adelaide, down under, tore out a sheet of paper from a special magazine he had bought. I felt quite honoured at this gesture, at this time one of our batsman was caught. 

Back to this instance, I have just returned from a visit to the Post Office, and this episode this morning made me feel great..  Therefore I scribbled the events down on a scrap of paper, and now decipher the words, which are here, and my theory – is that the Minster folk are nice, and if you feel in any way dreary, just walk along the High Street, you will soon feel cheery. 

 Must have said ten good mornings, on the way there, a few “hello, how are you”, as well.  A” thank you”, a couple of times, as someone stepped into the road, for me to pass, and when I replied my two words of gratitude,  “you’re welcome”, I heard. 

I stopped a while, and listened to a tale, regarding a difficult place to walk on the route because of an obstruction, the story, a true one, was this. 
I quote:-  My friend, who is now 85, sadly, not too well at the moment, when she was a girl, was in a hurry to get to work, and because of an obstruction next to her home, cycled across the pavement, just a few yards. At the same time a policeman cam around the corner, and booked her.  She had to go to court and was fined seven and six pence. That was a lot in those days.”  My friend went on to say “today anything goes, pointing at the obstruction”.  She’s is right. 
We actually had a laugh at the story, and my friend said she always likes meeting me and stopping for a chat.  She has a poorly husband who cannot get out of his chair now, she cares for his every whim and wish with love, these people are the salt of the earth, aren’t they. 

As I went on my way and went to cross the road, a lady in a motorised buggy, a little nervously, said to me “I don’t want to run you down” – again we smiled at each other, I thought, you are brave, don’t know if I would like to manage one of those things in the High Street. 

My next stop was the Post Office, as I stepped inside the shop, I was the only customer, the two counters of the Post Office section were void of  queue.  I said “which one of you charming gentlemen wishes to take my order”.  Then I said “I know one of you can sell me a first class stamp, and the other can take my paying in book”.  They both laughed, and then the one who sold me the stamp, said “leave your letter with me, and I will pop it in the bag”.  “How kind”, I replied, leaving the cheery place,  feeling, quite chuffed. 

In the chemist, I was met with “hello, Mrs Chapman, how are you”, another pleasant interlude, chatting to one or two folk awaiting their prescriptions to be filled. 

I took the back route homewards, towards the children’s nursery and school, and I was thrilled to see the tree in bloom that I watch throughout the springtime, waiting for the flowers to appear.  It is a type of Magnolia, but the exotic bloom resembles a Water Lily so beautiful, I have seen these in Singapore growing, I believe they are a tropical variety, and rare in this country.  At the same time as I stopped to look up at this tree, opposite on a lopped trunk of a tree, sat a  Greenfinch, green as green could be, churring away, as they do, he was outlined by the bluest sky, a really charming picture. 

As I turned the corner by the Abbey wall, a little girl, clutching her daddy’s hand, gave me such a delightful smile, and waved her hand, she was dressed in a sweet dress and a sun hat on head.  I said to her, couldn’t resist it “oh” you do look a pretty little girl”, she said “thank you and daddy smiled.  This was a fitting end to my cheerful trip to the P.O. this Saturday in July, almost my 72nd birthday, Thursday coming, the 20th. 

 

119/ The Poppies and the Robin 

These two delights of our countryside, 
bring a sense of peace and tranquillity 
when they are near. 

Silken petals of red, and Robin Red-breast’s chest, 
bring to all who see them, sights of the best. 

To see the little chap as one draws the curtains when day begins. 
To see the wild flowers growing amongst the corn, 
To hear the little chap singing at dawning. 
To see the bright red blooms whilst walking, 
are two of life’s most pleasant things. 
 

118/ Three peaceful sites (sights) 

Firstly I passed through the iron gates of our Abbey, and stayed a while in the Chapel made of stone. 
I sat there thinking and contemplating in a way of my own. 
Then I walked through our church surrounds, behind the old Church itself. 
It is always so quiet and tranquil, see the weather vane on the top shelf. 
I walked beneath the Lych Gate frame, we know what this place is for. 
Then my feet took me along St. Mildred’s Road, with pretty gardens from door to door. 
I stood a while and looked at the Grotto Garden and the pretty statues within. 
Then I strolled across the recreation green, saw toddlers and mothers, on the little ones’ faces I saw a grin. 
When I reached Watchester Lane, my four legged coloured Pony snuffled it was pleased I had come that way. 
The pony wears protection for the sun on his nose and ears, well, he is out in the sun all day. 
I walked beneath the branches of the trees, it was cool after my Round-Robin-Trip. 
I think my journeys must keep me fit. 
I saw Hollyhocks growing tall of various colours in a garden. 
Now I will tell you this, if you will beg my pardon. 
The Hollyhock was known as a Holy Plant as it holds healing properties in its blooms. 
It grows so tall towards the Heavens, gosh now I will be back home quite soon.
 
 

117/ On a day like today – 

The few words above words are from the lyrics of a young group named Keane – their music was given to me by my son, and the words of the album are so true to many lives. The album is titled Hopes and Fears – try it pals. 

On the subject of music, one of my pet loves, I have many, do you remember the film Troy [It's actually about "Achilles'. Achilles was a warrior in the Trojan War. According to the myth, "When Achilles was born, ..., Thetis his mother, tried to make him immortal by dipping him in the supposedly magical River Styx. But she forgot to wet the heel she held him by, leaving him vulnerable at that spot." He was killed by being shot by an arrow into this vulnerable heel.
Hence the saying and idiom Achilles Heel (a vulnerable spot)]– the film was a little disappointing but at the end of the film Josh Groban, a very talented American singer sang Remember Me – the words are so beautiful I thought I would like to include them on these pages. Actually being at the end years of my life, so many elderly members of one’s family pass on, and when I was out walking last evening, such a lovely evening, I was peering through my binoculars, as I do, across the countryside towards Eastry, where in the village churchyard, my mother’s last resting place. I know it is Eastry, because the bulbous tower of Woodnesborough church is visible, and on the left of the church as I look would be the village of Eastry. 
I then began to think about remembering loved ones, and a loved one remembering me when the time comes. When you have faced a serious threat to your life, and are well again, these things often run through your mind, as many of you must know. 
I had already viewed through my glasses, St. Peter’s church Sandwich, Ash Church Steeple, and our own beloved Steeple, so things like this were on my mind. 
The ancient ruins of Rutupia Fort were standing clear in the evening sun, and I, as always, think of the Roman occupation of our land, so remember me, seems to fit in, somehow. 

Here are the words:- 

Remember me – when our love has ended 
Remember, I will still be here, as long as you hold me, in your memory. 
Remember, when your dreams have ended, time can be transcended just remember me, remember me. 
I am the one star that keeps burning so brightly, and the last light to fade into the raising sun. 
I’m with you wherever you tell my story for I am all I have done. 
Remember, I will still be here, as long as you hold me in your memory, remember me. 
I am that one voice in the cold wind that whispers, if you listen you will hear me call across the sky, as long as I can still reach out and touch you, I will never die – 
Remember, I’ll never leave you, if you will only remember me, remember me, remember,
I will still be here as long as you hold me in your memory, remember, when your dreams have ended, time can be transcended I will live for ever, remember me remember me – remember me 

I am sure, you will feel as I do, these words are worth recording. 

As I walked the concrete path homewards after my stroll a silver train was weaving its way from Sandwich towards Minster, resembling a snake in the grass, and soon it will be crossing the level platform of timbers where my feet just trod. The Swallows were skimming the fields, and it was a perfect evening. 

I say again, us Minster folk are so fortunate to have these open countryside walks about us in almost every direction, to enjoy freely whenever we desire, all seasons, spring, summer, autumn, winter, doesn’t matter when, I always see something to catch my eye, and inspire my pen. 

Yvonne

116/ How I Wish ! 

How I wish I had a magic wand, 
so I could wave it and puts so many things right. 
To help those in pain and who suffer stress and strife. 
Everyone, we know, seem to have their own cross to bear. 
Perhaps this is the theme of things, so we need to look everywhere. 
Just take a look, most probably you will find. 
Someone much worse off than you, and if you have the mind. 
Try to lend a hand, or just say a cheery “hello” 
A smile may be our magic wand – I wonder if this is so. 

Yvonne

115/  Sea Bathing and more 

Click this picture to see further images of the RSBH in its abandoned and sad state of disrepair

Today on a drive to Margate, we drove by The Royal Sea Bathing Hospital site, which is being demolished.  My dear late mother worked there, and I remember the patients in their beds on verandas outside their wards facing the sea, all covered with warm red wool blankets and hot water bottles.  Of course the only known cure for T.B. then was the sea air and baths in the sea water.  There was a pool in the basement of the hospital that was filled with water from the sea. 
I took note the tall statue of Erasmus Wilson still stands in the quadrangle at the front of the building, and I do hope they keep him somewhere important.  He actually paid for the Wilson wing himself, in 1881, the building having been erected in 1791, by a Dr. Lettsom, for which their was a ward named after him also.  Erasmus founded the original chapel, and the Mortuary chapel also, which I remember to be a beautiful place, was erected in memory of C .A. Swinburne, who contributed large endowments to the hospital.  I also remember the tales of the ghosts that used to walk the corridors, and the nurses told my mother, they often felt a cold sweat pass through their bodies whilst on night duty, walking the said corridors. 
I wonder if the ghosts will still walk the new buildings whatever they are to be. 

Now – On my walk today, I took note the dainty white flowers are forming on the plant known as Old Man’s Beard.  I am told this is a member of the Clematis family.  When the flower changes to the grey bloom we all know, it really does resemble an old man’s wispy beard. 
I also saw wild Oats growing at the edge of the beautiful golden ears of corn, I wondered how long ago it was when these seeds were planted.  It has been many years since I have seen a field of Oats growing in that particular area. 
I also saw a tiny little Shrew on the path, lifeless, still, and perfect in form.  Here again, I have read that these little creatures have a nasty taste and aroma, so the predators don’t eat them. 
I heard the little pale green warbler again, the Chiffchaff, calling his two notes that sound like he is calling his own name.  In my days in Portugal, we were in a migratory valley, and flocks of these little birds used to descend on our land.  They were perfectly silent, and I did not ever hear them call.  It seems they only call to attract a mate, so this bird must be a lonely one, because he has been calling since spring time. 
I saw three beautiful pale mauve wild flowers growing on my route, Rose-bay-willow-herb, really pretty enough to grace any garden flower bed, and wild Mallow, this too is so pretty, and the third plant of the same shade, the Thistles, also attractive, but not for your garden, of course. 

That’s all for now, my friends. -
 

114/ He is still singing 

7.30p.m. – As I sit here at my desk 
I see and hear a songster of the best. 
He is by the sky outlined. 
He sings and calls, somehow keeping time. 
He repeats his notes, three times in line usually. 
The owner of these pretty vocal chords is the Song Thrush. 
I think he just sang out “listen to me”. 

 

113/ The Abbey Wall  (A little tale (tail) waiting to be told. 

On the top of the Abbey Wall, that is made of ancient flint. 
I see growing there, a plant which I am told is quite rare. 
If you take look on the wall, fairly tall. 
You will see Colt’s Foot growing there. 
The name comes from the leaves, which appear after the flowers. 
The leaves are brightest green, and shaped like the name implies. 
When the flower heads are seen, 
they are yellow growing on stems with purple scales. 
This is another one of my favourite tales. 

I have often seen a Squirrel scampering along this wall. 
There are pieces of sharp glass on the top, and as he runs along 
up and over the glass he hops. 
Its long bushy tail, follows on behind. 
Perhaps to this little creature, the glass is kind. 

 

112/  The Outpost 

As I gaze up at the Moon, peeping through its dark shroud, 
amongst the clouds; being hurried across the night sky by the wind, 
I thought to myself, just think that is the same Moon that shines 
down on the desert sands. 
The same Moon that shines on the outback of Australia, and 
gleams in the New Zealand's sky, and which looks down on the 
jungles and icebergs of the wide world's span. 
Now, if I could reach this Planet, somehow, and hang out a banner so all the peoples of the earth could see, I would write "please love 
thy neighbour". 
Would this stop the evil hatred that is spreading itself across our world, and perhaps prevent more horrific events that are leaving us 
all in such tragic turmoil.
 
 

111/ A different subject this Sunday – 9th July 

I expect a good many of you have been watching the World Cup Football, in part if not totally.  When the three presenters, are sitting in the studio discussing all – they have a ‘backdrop’ of The Brandenburg Gate, Berlin.  On top of this 65ft high, with twelve Greek columns stands a chariot and horses.  I have wondered about this chariot.  Bassil was in Berlin in 1949 for his National Service in the army, and he said it was just in ruins like the rest of Berlin. 
He went on to say there certainly was not a chariot anywhere to be seen. 
I decided to look this subject up, and it seems the gate was demolished in World War Two, and only a horses head was left un smashed  This is in a museum in Gemany. 
The story of the gate is astonishing really, as it was commissioned by Friedrich Wilhelm II as a sign of peace and built by Carl Gotthard Langhans from 1788/1701. 
The chariot above is known as The Quadriga, consisting of The goddess  of Peace, driving a four horse chariot in triumph, rather like our Boadica in London.   As well as being so tall it is 213ft wide and 36ft thick – and as I say 6 columns.  This allows for five roadways, only ordinary citizens were only allowed to use the outer two. 
Napoleon took the Quadriga to Paris in1806 after conquering Berlin.  When it returned to Berlin in 1814 – the statue exchanged her olive wreath for the Iron Cross, and became the goddess of victory. After the war the gate was restored by the East Berlin and West Berlin governments. 
On June 12 President Regan delivered a speech to the people of West Berlin at the gate and said (Tear down this wall) 
Finally when the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the gate symbolized freedom and unity of the city.  It re-opened in 1989 when the West German Chancellor walked through to be greeted by the East German Prime Minster. 
It seems that Friedrich Wilhem II’s dream of peace, perhaps has come to pass at last. 
I read, there is some controversy  in Berlin over the fact that there is a Starbucks (famous coffee house) within a few yards of the gate.  It is seen as a corporate intrusion upon a national treasure. 
During our 7 day, 7 country trip a few weeks ago, I must say the German nation are a friendly people, and their land is beautiful – I pray we will never more have war within anyone.  It is such a sad waste of life to whichever or whatever nations involved. 
 

110/ Five Jays 

Five, yes five Jays flew from a small tree, into the farmer’s garden near me.  I think mum and dad and three immature young. 
These most colourful birds, are a joy to encounter, look into any bird book, and you will be amazed at their plumage. 
As the bird takes off his white rump is conspicuous, blue and white wing patches, black tail, black and white feathers on crown can be erected to form a crest, and they have pinkish feathers all over. They also have a black moustache marking.  Its call is a scolding “skaak skaak” -  In flight have wide wings and seem to fly with outstretched wing tips, to me, anyhow this is how I recognise them at a distance when flying. 
They love Acorns which they collect and bury for hard times, nuts also. 
Sometimes you may hear a tap tap tap and believe it to be a Woodpecker, often it is a Jay pecking to retrieve its treasure buried in the bark of a tree. 
 
 

109/ Two walks already 

The time is only 2.47 – or should I say 14.47, and I have had two walks already. 
I have watched The All Blacks play The Wallabies in the Tri-Nations Cup 
The All Blacks won – now in between sitting at my desk, I watch the Wimbledon Ladies Final, and push button action shows us cricket, we love it all. 
Tomorrow we will see the Men’s final at Wimbledon, which chap will hold aloft the trophy and which one’s hopes will fall. 
Now back to my walks, I have much to tell – for I see so much, I note the corn is turning golden, and wild Mallow grows wild. 
I see many Lavender bushes around – how the Bees love this plant when in bloom. 
Our grannies loved this, and liked to take it into their rooms. 
On the dyke, still covered in dense green weed, I saw a mummy Moorhen and her brood, four tiny wee creatures, only a couple of inches in size, if that. 
From where I stood they looked like little swimming dots of black. 
On a tall telegraph pole, a Thrush was singing, he called out “look at me, look at me, look at me”. 
He was so conspicuous up there, one could not fail, him to see. 
After lunch, I decided to take my afternoon walk, where I knew I would see nature that one to one to me talks. 
I noticed that the Clover at my feet, was growing lush, Rabbits love this to eat. 
A four leafed plant I did not find, but then if I am perfectly honest, to me life has been kind. 
Thistles growing high, and Brambles are meeting – Butterflies flutter about me, they present a happy greeting. 
Buzzing Bees, know their craft, 
To spread pollen from one plant to another, and now a Comma alights close by, I see its white punctuation mark with my eye. 
One could say it made a full stop, when it landed on my hand – I am sure this line you understand. 
The beautiful fragile creature folded its wings, just so I could spot, the white comma marking , I for a while did stop. 
Two Red Admiral butterflies, their wings touching and Cabbage White Butterflies on the silk skirted Bellbind, same snow white and silky appearance they give, beautiful scenes on the wild bramble bloom of pink, so much to see, not time to think. 
This way is canopied by trees almost the whole way through, until the last stile I climbed and I now tell you, the wind generator’s sails are standing perfectly still, I remember when they used to turn, perhaps again soon they will.
A Whitethroat just flew into the Rape, he is hiding, but I know the call he makes. 
His chin that matches the Cabbage white and the Bellbind bloom, will be warbling, as he sings his hurried notes. 
From the place I stand now, I can the tall chimney pots view, and beyond them the clouds, I do like it out here, away from crowds. 
Back along the wooded track, Long Tailed tits, flit above my head.  They are like little balls of fluff with lolly stick tails, pink and black and white, they have such a pretty round face, their presence brings pleasure that never fails. 
What variety I have seen, I think as a Pheasant cackle comes from the thicket – when I get home, we will be watching the cricket.  (could not resist this rhyme, then I am like this all the time). 
I, my steps retrace, and another glorious sight I behold, a Red Admiral Butterfly spreads out its wings wide, on the flower that will one day be a Blackberry – I expect the butterfly is sipping nectar, will it make this delightful creature merry. 
The sun is out, the breeze is warm, here and there clouds the sky adorn. 
Soon I will be indoors, where I shall write out my notes, and I sincerely hope you like them folks. 
 
 
 

108/ Friday afternoon – 7.7.2006 

During the rain a little while ago. 
I felt this would be welcome by all. 
I imagined the little birds and the larger breeds too. 
Thinking, “oh! This is great”, as the raindrops did fall. 
One could almost see the flowers and trees, saying just this. 
A look of relief on their blooms, almost perfect bliss. 
Moderation is what it is all about. 
Not too much of this or that. 
This can bring contentment, a definite fact. 

 

107/ A delightful stroll along Marsh Farm Road. 

Just after nine this morning, the air fresh and clear. 
The Moorhen and family were making their way, 
making clear trails in the green Duckweed, actually a pretty display. 
The Turtle Dove was calling its soft purring sound. 
The Bramble bushes, I took note, were covered in flowers. 
Telling us much fruit later in the year will be found. 
I was accompanied on my walk by my spouse. 
A Wren followed us all the way in the hedgerows, tiny as a Mouse. 
Its call as loud as any larger bird. 
Of course you all know this, for many times his song heard. 
On reflecting on the Blackberries, and the delicious fruit. 
I recalled a few words I wrote some years ago, I thought rather cute. 
At the time we were on the River Stour in our little boat. 
Bassil was fishing, we were cast a-float. 
The Blackberries were ripened and hanging low near the water’s rim. 
Bassil said “fishes like Blackberries”, and my thoughts within. 
Were to imagine the fishes in little pinafores and baskets, held on their fins. 
Gathering the Blackberries and bringing them in.
Of course, Bassil went on to say. 
When the fruit drops into the river, the fishes gobble them up, right away. 
This lane that leads to Marsh Farm, is so special. 
Why will dog owners let their dogs foul the path. 
Directly in the centre, couldn’t care about the aftermath. 
Also another person left a broken down cycle on the side. 
How sad, for this trail is so natural and peaceful, leads to country scenes wide. 
We measured 4,500 paces from start to fin. 
Good exercise for a chap just recuperating from a hip operation. 
We should say “three cheers”, to him. 
 

106/ One more thing 

One more thing I must just say. 
The Song Thrush is singing in its beautiful way. 
On the apex of our roof, dusk is almost with us. 
I can hear the beautiful clear notes of the Thrush. 
Can there be a more beautiful sound. 
I think as the song of this bird echoes around. 
(21.54) – or six minutes to ten. = Wednesday 

 

105/ 5th July - Wednesday 

Around four in the afternoon. 
A walk through the field of crops took I. 
The Rape is nearly ready for harvesting, gathering is nye. 
As I made my way, thinking I was alone. 
A young Fox suddenly hopped out of the dense stems. 
Looked at me, and then 
Popped in to the Rape once again, hidden from view. 
I only saw him for a minute or two. 
Then as I reached the water inlet, I call a pond. 
The Grey Heron took off on his wide wings, to see him I’m fond. 
I am not so sure if he feels the same way about me. 
Perhaps I am a nuisance if he was trying to catch his tea.
I had already had a pleasant sight watching a family of Linnets in exactly the same tree. 
Where I have seen them in their glory, certainly great to see. 
Their pretty musical twittering notes, I recognise easily. 
I saw mother and father and young, one, two, three. 
Would you say my walk was beneficial, and worth my while. 
I’ll say for sure it was, and it made me smile. 
Not that far, not more than a couple of miles. 
So now I have written another page, for my file. 

104/ July 

As July makes it way across our year. 
I think as I do, we must make every day count. 
Even if it just saying “hello”, to a lonely soul. 
Then at your bed time, you can say, 
Yes, I have not wasted this day, on the whole. 

As I stepped outside at 22.40 hours last night. 
It was so silent, so quiet, a pin drop, might; 
Frighten a Mouse, perhaps scampering by. 
I looked up to the Heavens, not many stars did I spy. 

I could not hear a sound, not one bird was singing. 
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if in our ears a Nightingale’s melody was ringing. 
I have heard these birds in full song, and they are a delight to the ear. 
I wonder why they are now-a-days nowhere near here. 

It seems to me we have every type of habitat. 
To entice these birds to nest somewhere around. 
However, there must be a reason; 
They are on the decline, if I found out why. 
I will let you know the information I have found. 

As I listen to the T.V. and news. 
I am sadly bemused. 
I imagine Jesus must weep. 
As at our world he downward peeps. 
For all he ever did seek. 
Was to help the oppressed and meek. 
He wanted us all to love one another. 
We are, without doubt, all sisters and brothers. 
Every woman and every man. 
Came from Adam and Eve, well that was the plan. 

Dawn breaking is a wondrous sight for any eyes. 
Birds singing, the world is awakening. 
The Heavens gradually lighten, making stark outlines by the sky. 
Seagull flies on flapping white wings. 
All the birds of the air begin to sing. 
It always to me much pleasure brings. 
You need to look, look, look and look. 
You’ll find pictures unfolding as from an open book. 

 

103/ Minster’s Treasures. 

In our village, we have so many treasures, 
that bring joy to our five senses, and delight and pleasure. 
To begin with everywhere one treads, you are reminded of historic deeds, 
you can find about all this from our Neighbourhood Centre, where help can be found, 
for all of your needs. 
All the gardens are tended with care, 
in springtime you’ll find blossom and flowers everywhere. 
Trees bloom with bluebells on their branches growing sweet, 
and in all the shops, post office, chemist, garage, and places to eat. 
The assistants always show friendliness and welcome you with a smile. 
Ah! yes, and Minster is surrounded by countryside, you can see for miles. 
We have a recreation ground where many sports are played, 
and just take a walk along the High Street, you’ll find many friends are made. 
We have Ponies and Horses, where you can learn to ride. 
Jump on a pony’s back, ride with pride. 
Of course I must mention our wonderful Churches and Abbey fine, 
as well as the Salvation Army, began by William Booth, in the past’s time. 
Our Churchyard is so tranquil and calm and quite beautiful, 
and we have doctors to help mend our body or mind, so dutiful. 
Thought I might highlight our Minster Museum, where one can spend a wonderful day, 
to see the way we used to live, and see various animals, and watch in flight birds of prey. 
Have a cup of tea and a piece of cake, 
when you leave, many happy memories, away you’ll take. 
You will have felt a sense of peace within the Museum gates, 
come and visit Minster, and stay until late. 
Then you will see our floodlit steeple of St. Mary’s Church, 
for this scene, you will not need to search. 
We have a tiny Church named St. Mildred’s with a grotto in the garden there. 
A beautiful religious theme spreads itself around, simple and fair. 
So an ideal Saturday, I believe, would be to visit our village and see all I see. 
Morning, noon and night, you’ll find much to amuse, to hear, to see, 
to smell, and to feel the aura of the Museum and Nature Park, 
I know it will touch all your hearts. 
I’d like to mention our tiny tots nursery, they have a delightful area in which to let off steam, 
and a beautiful tree, under which, in summer they can stay cool. 
The children are happy at Minster Primary School, they even have a swimming pool. 
Minster runs a “streetwise club”, for after school care, working mums love. 
We have a place where we can take our motors to be mended, 
I think perhaps, it is time this work ended. 
Though I must add, we have a splendid superstore, and a bakers and a places to stop. 
To have a coffee and a sandwich, easy to inside pop. 
In fact if the weather is fine, and warm, sit outside and enjoy your break, 
on a pleasant afternoon or morn. 
I really could go on and on, 
so just take my word as gospel, come and visit Minster-in-Thanet – by bus or car, stay for a while, you will find us residents a pleasant lot – and make a visit to see the wide open prospect at the very top. 

Yvonne 
 

102/ Yvonne’s Aim 

Live each day as if its your last. 
Live for the future, not in the past. 
Make every moment worthwhile, hold fast. 
Try to make things a pleasure not a hard task. 
Don’t let melancholia envelope your soul. 
Let contentment, for what you have, be your goal. 
Make sure you face each day with a grin. 
Accepting the good things as well as the knocks on the chin. 
Try not to let troubles mean a thing. 
Just listen to the Robin sing. 
Don’t worry if the skies are grey. 
One day soon, they will drift away. 
 

101/ Nature's colourful match. 

I thought today about the Jay's wing patch, 
a most beautiful blue, and a colourful match. 
With that of the flower that carpets the forest floor, 
every springtime in England, the Bluebell we all adore. 
Then my thoughts travelled onwards, as they often do, 
to all the other colourful birds, that wear the shade of blue. 
To match the Forget-me-not and the Alkanet, the Ceonathus shrub, 
shown us on the feathers of the birds we all love. 
The Blue Tit. Of course, comes to mind, 
the Great tit also, wears blue of a kind. 
Now I see in my mind's eye, 
many other colourful birds flying by. 
The Linnet, Chaffinch and Bullfinch all such cuties, 
matching rosy blossoms of perfumed beauty. 
The Yellowhammer and the Wagtail of yellow, 
equal many blooms, that wear this shade, some bright, some mellow.
Primroses, Daffodils, Celandine, the Buttercup, such a handsome fellow, 
pop up above the earth after the winter's cold, to greet us with a warm "hello" 
Our little friend the Robin and the bird that wears a scarlet tail, 
his name the Redstart, and this bird never fails.
To give much joy on sight, 
flashing on take off his red tail bright. 
Now these two aforementioned birds, 
match the Tulip and the Rose, you must have heard. 
Also the scarlet Poppy and Geranium red, 
this latter plant seems at home in our garden flower beds. 
The Greenfinch matches all our bushes and trees, 
the gold flash in his wings copies the Dandelions, the weed that does not please, 
the gardener, when it appears in the lawn. 
This bright golden yellow the Goldfinch also adorns. 
The Green Woodpecker's feathers match items three, 
the Yellow of the Celandine, Red of the Poppy, and green of the trees. 
Now Mr. Blackbird's bill and eye rim matches the Dandelion's shade, 
his black coat gleams like coal, that is found beneath the earth, from minerals made. 
There are many birds that share the colours of black, white, brown and grey, 
like the Cuckoo, the Spotted Woodpecker, the Kestrel and many birds of prey. 
Sparrows and Sparrowhawks, Mr. Heron, the Dunnock and the Wren, 
and Warblers that visit in our warmer months, seen in sedges, field and fen. 
The Thrushes and their cousins, wild fowl and waders of the shore 
all can find a match out there, now all this I adore. 
Everything is free, not a penny need be paid, 
just take a walk and open eyes and listen, all will be displayed. 
Just one more thing, the fisher king - bright as a jewel, 
yes, the Kingfisher, seen by the river as a rule. 
Greeny/blue, a wonderful iridescent hue, brushed with sunset's flame, 
his coloured feathers, his personal fame. 

Yvonne 
 

100/ Still 1st July 2006 

I have walked twice along my extended garden. 
I consider the Durlock trail, this as I have named. 
Not quite sure where to begin, as have so much in my head. 
Wonderful sights, aromas, touch, not quite senses five. 
For I did not taste anything, but my ears did derive. 
Songs of birds, buzzing of Bees. 
Silence from the Butterflies’ wings, but beauty conceived. 
Noted once more the Chiffchaff calling out loud. 
Whitethroat, Blackcap, both did me proud. 
Then to add to my pleasure a bird I treasure. 
Linnets so beautiful, a family. 
Red breast, red, cap male on the tree. 
His mate, little dowdy compared with him. 
Though sweet and demure, I saw through bins. 
The Linnet has such a pretty song. 
They used to be kept in a cage, in years far gone. 
They wear a forked tail, which is white and black. 
To be sure, the male is a most handsome chap. 
The Dog Roses of pink, seem to the Linnet’s colouring match. 
It seems the Latin name for this Rose spelt dog in Italian. 
The reason could be, the book goes on to say. 
The root was a cure against rabid dogs – could be, possibly may.
Tiny Meadow Brown Butterflies – pretty markings 
Brown and orange with two little eyes on forewings. 
Wild flowers brush my arms, Ox-eye Daisies, have certain charm. 
Mallow, Bindweed, others too. 
Oh!, this is great, I can tell you. 
Comfrey grows in profusion, in my herb book it says. 
In Latin means, join together. – so good for wounds, get the point. 
Yes on wounds, the medication anoint. 
An old marker stone, tells me I am on a Public footpath. 
This old stone, I have many times passed. 
Has a nice look about it, nicer than modern signs.
Well, I think, so in this head of mine. 
Perfumed white Laurel bushes, so pretty I can smell. 
Red admiral Butterflies flit about me, by their markings, I can tell
Just who they are, red stripes and white. 
To be honest, a most beautiful sight. 
I sit a while on the far stile, looking across the countryside, many a mile 
Silence about me, except for nature’s sounds. 
I almost believe I am on hallowed ground. 

Yvonne 
 

99/ First of July 2006 

Turn the page over in the calendar, I see Sunflowers in a vase. 
These beautiful, yet simple flowers, like to in the sunshine bask. 
I have seen fields and fields of these growing, resembling a spread for a bed. 
Supplying oil that can help our hearts, and spread for our bread. 
Then as I listen to the T.V., a number of things run through my head.
Memorials of the First world War, where so many fell dead. 

When I walk to the top of Tothill to stretch my legs. 
I always say “hello” – to many young lads, not lived enough life to have been wed. 
I read their names etched on the stone.
By many in our village known. 
I say under my breath, ‘a  thank you’ lads. 
Without folk like you, a different future for us all, would have lain ahead. 

On a brighter note, today looks like being a truly English summer day. 
All the birds in the countryside having their say. 
Be thankful for what you have, and always remember. 
Someone is worse off than you somewhere, and it’s a long way off to December. 

Yvonne 
 

98/ 29th June 

At 9.45p.m. or 21.45 hours on the twenty-four hour clock. 
The New Moon shone brightly in a pale blue/grey sky. 
Directly above the illuminated Church steeple. 
The sunset was beginning to tinge the western Heavens. 
Birds singing their evensong, a background chorus to it all. 
Swifts were flying high, and Swallows too. 
As a Robin on to the nearby fence, did hop. 

It was light before four o’clock, this 30th June. 
The Blackbird lets us know day time is here, singing his tune. 
There was not a single star in the sky, at this time. 
The air was calm and still, seemingly today’s weather will be fine. 
I thought on words I had written some years ago. 
Regarding the subject of why the stars in the morning, no longer did show. 

Have you ever wondered, who turns out the light. 
So all the stars no longer shine bright. 
Possibly it takes ‘one almighty blow’
Up in the Heavens, where the stars brilliantly glow. 
As a child may blow out the candles on her birthday cake. 
Perhaps six, or seven, candles, or maybe eight.
In my imagination at daylight, when the skies’ diamonds no longer gleam. 
I think on these things, when these jewels of the night sky, can no longer be seen. 

Then as I watched a jet ascend in the skies, 
 From Gatwick or Heathrow, I surmised. 
The passengers have been up all the night; leaving their home. 
To be sure to catch the early flight. 
All have seat belts fastened, and possibly a drink to hand. 
Given them by the cabin staff, all worked to plan. 
To enjoy a holiday on distant shores. 
An orange glow lights up the mechanical bird. 
The time now 0.500 hours, to be awake this hour, is quite absurd.

Yvonne
 

97/ For what more could I ask 

A stroll around our village avenues and streets. 
Allowed for my eyes to seek. 
Some of my favourite flowers growing delightfully. 
I shall tell you about them here, so you will know as well as me. 
Actually, that last sentence is not correct grammar. 
I should have said ‘as well as I’ – still I am sure you understand. 
Poetic License is the term I can use, regarding the blooms I did spy. 

Love-in-a-Mist – lacy, blue and sweet. 
Californian Poppies, golden as the sun. 
Morning glory, violet/blue trumpets, growing on a vine. 
Evening Primrose, yellow, tall and elegant, has health giving properties. 
Cornflowers, blue as a summer sky. 
Red Poppies in the fields, all to delight anyone’s eye. 

What more can one ask for, our village is a miniature Kew. 
Well, I think so, what about you? 

Yvonne 
 

96/ On T.V. 

This week on T.V. I have been listening to a documentary about the memories relating to the Battle of the Somme. 
My grandfather told me such sad and horrific truths about this First World War.
He was at Somme and drove a Donkey and Cart to collect the dead bodies from the trenches – he said pictures that stayed with you forever.  He was one of the lucky ones who returned, although suffered from having been gassed. 
My words on this site published earlier, a song by Andrea Bocelli kind of connect up somehow for me.  Perhaps read them again – and if you get the chance listen to the music Tremo E T’amo. 

Yvonne 
 

95/ King of the Chimney Pot. 

The Herring Gull chuckles from the roof top. 
He thinks he is ‘King of the chimney pot. 
“Ha ha ha”, you can hear from this rather comical bird. 
He also has a call like a Cat’s “Meeow”, you must have heard. 
This noisy, rather greedy bird owns a cloak of white feathers. 
A grey mantle and yellow bill and legs, really a splendid fellow. 
We have a mated pair who on our roof tops nest. 
When they are outlined by a clear blue sky, they pass any beauty test. 
To be honest they are noisy, but interesting nevertheless. 
Although in some quarters they are considered to be rather a pest. 
I remember at times I have seen them drop down into a meadow for their early morning feed. 
They move quite gracefully, on the damp grass of green, performing an amazing deed. 
They walk around in a circle, making sounds that travel below. 
Then the Worms pop up to see if it is raining, clever, wouldn’t you say so.
The Gulls gobble up their breakfast, and they take off on their grey wings. 
All I can say is about the Worms, “poor little things”. 

Yvonne 
 

94/ Some words I wrote about the feeling I had about a trip to New Zealand - 

“Not frantic sight-seeing tours on hot crowded coaches, but leisurely drives around azure lakes, and majestic mountains, stopping in quaint townships for a delicious muffin or an enormous New Zealand ice cream, flavoured Blueberry, Gold Rush, Hoki Poki or many other flavours, all as scrumptious.  Meet the locals in their daily lives, feel the peace and therapeutic properties of the clean, clear fresh mountain air, visit the unspoilt and non commercialised part of the world, to unwind and hold back time for a while.  Take leisurely walks along by quiet rivers, spotting the delightful local bird life.  You will feel the strain of living in this modern fast moving society, fall away from your shoulders as you gaze up at the most beautiful Mt. Cook’s twin peaks.  At a farmstay, such peace, surrounded by wonderful horses in the paddock, and sheep and cattle, and being hosted by the farmer’s wife and taken to see the real New Zealand, the pioneer’s New Zealand and their descendents.  Sheep Dog Trials, Country Fairs, meeting the characters that have style of dress and lives that have stayed the same for years.  No need for designer labels here. 
This holiday will also take in some time spent at Rakaia, at St. Ita’s a most warm and welcoming lodge that was once a girls’ Convent School.  The host and hostess here Ken and Miriam are the friendliest people you could ever wish to meet, and at their table you will be fed with delicious meals, everything you could possibly desire. 
Those who just want peace and quiet, beautiful scenery, no crowds, friendly people, generous hospitality, food just great, special treats.” 
Perhaps I might also say – “Fishermen’s wives or just anyone who fancies a break from the mad rush of daily life.  The place is South Island, New Zealand.  I can show you what it is like to be situated in another world, where time has stood still for a while, see stars so bright in the night skies, you feel you could reach up and pluck one from the Heavens.  See The Southern Cross – unbelievable. 

I could write so much more, but will stop here.  - Yvonne 

 

93/ The Farmer’s wife’s tea.
(In New Zealand they call dinner ‘tea’.) 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE 

We try to keep it shrouded in mystery. 
Where we catch a Trout for a “certain someone’s tea” 
We do not mention where or why.
Just say “in a stretch of water beneath the New Zealand sky”. 
If we are fortunate a fish from the lake to take. 
We feel proud to give this treasure to “The Lady of the Lake”. 
This gives us great pleasure a “thank you Ma’m” 
If this task is achieved, things have gone to plan.
I write these words for Bassil, my Fly Fisherman. 

  Yvonne 
 

92/ My Binoculars Saturday 24th June  - 11.a.m. 

I begin by mentioning one of my most important possessions. 
To be sure in my life, worth a mention. 
They not only give me a better view of ‘passarines’ (birds) 
I thought you might like to know the Portuguese word; 
for the feathered creatures of this world. 
Who for their little fledglings, work and toil.
They also bring in the far landscapes to my eye. 
Like the North Sea, the English Channel, and makes it easier to spy. 
The wonderful panoramic view at the top of Tothill and the Prospect there too. 
Also the top of Laundry Hill and Way Hill, so much for me to view. 
From the peak of Thorne Hill, near where I once did reside. 
I can see for miles and miles not much can hide. 
This morning, Saturday, I thought I would try. 
To walk the Rivers Court Trail, but my efforts denied. 
For the track is all overgrown with Nettles and Stingers. 
When the volunteers come to cut back these spiteful plants, to me they will be winners. 
On the ground I noticed heart shaped white petals. 
They had fallen from the Field Roses amongst the brambles. 
So many lovely sights, to add to my ramble. 
Also I picked, just one pure white flower from the Hedge Bindweed. 
In the centre of this perfect bloom, I added a flower from the wild Mallow of pink. 
Then in the centre of this a Buttercup, and this made me think; 
There could not be a prettier combination of wild flowers one could hold. 
White, with pink centre, then golden centre – in my hand a delightful three-fold. 
A Chiffchaff called his name to me from the trees, hiding somewhere. 
This pale green Warbler, sounded happy, perhaps not a care. 
I picked a Dock Leaf to rub on where the Nettles stung my legs and arms. 
Even these spiteful plants do more good then harm. 
The Peacock Butterflies, in particular lay their eggs on these leaves and stems. 
I think, for the sake of Ray, my website wiz kid, I had better now, bring this tale to an end. 

Yvonne 
 

91/ A shock to the system 

I realise when I walked to the Post Office, when someone steps off the path for me. 
This must be one of my bad days, I must look like a poor old soul, I think to myself secretly. 
Other times, I am ignored, and the person walking towards me, just keeps going. 
Then I think to myself, I must look younger, this is my way of knowing. 
It is all very well being ‘still young at heart’. 
But when the faculties begin to depart. 
Things become a problem, but must keep smiling. 
Be nice if one could buy new parts at the D.I.Y. 
Fix all the wearing out bits, well be nice to try. 

Yvonne 
 

90/ I remember 

These words came to my mind after being visited by our 50 year old son and 48 year old daughter, and offspring, on father’s day. 

I remember when I was 39 years old, 
 the thought of being 40 years, made me feel cold. 
Gosh, I thought, I am over the hill 
I remember these feelings, always will. 
Now I also remember that when each decade came near. 
I realised, without doubt, I had nothing to fear. 
For as long as the ones you love, still love you. 
There is nothing at all to worry about. 
I have found this out at almost 72. 

Yvonne
 

89/ An Unusual Combination  (seen Thursday 22nd June 2007) – 3p.m.) 

Young Cock Pheasant, immature for sure.
Not many tail feathers yet, will grow more.
Together with a young Hare, known as a Leveret.
Both seemed bewildered to me, lost, I’d take a bet.
This is a saga, just me alone.
Watching these two creatures, here on my own.
It is something special, well I think so.
I’ll tell you in my lines, as they move to and fro.
This opening in the fields, void of crops.
Plenty of ears on the corn growing on the top.
The track is fairly wide, so a tractor can travel along easily.
Therefore each side of the track, corn grows thick and healthily.
These creatures at times now moving slowly and stealthily.
The young Hare stops, the young game bird pauses too.
They peer into the stems, perhaps thinking, is this where I pass through.
They hesitate and both move in their individual style;
Along the track, which measures about half a mile.
The game bird following the Leveret, nose to tail.
I definitely think they are lost, as they are seemingly fail;
To find their way, after a while the bird took flight.
Then the young Hare moved into the corn out of sight.
Then he appeared again, me he did not see.
Hopped and stopped, hopped and stopped, agitatedly.
The end to my story, is that the Hare hid for a while.
Although I could see his black and white tail, I did smile.
His little form was protruding from the edge of the crops of green.
Then he entered the forest of stems, and was nowhere to be seen.
I will just add after this distraction from my exercise, I spied.
Poppies of palest mauve, and Poppies of red.
Chamomile flowers, Daisy like, good for pains in the head.
Green weed, growing in profusion, I call this, River Bed Weed.
For I know it grows beneath fast running water, like maid’s tresses of green.
I saw Red Admiral butterflies, Skylarks on high and Swallows below.
Mrs Blackcap with chestnut cap, prettily on show.
I kicked a piece of blue and white flint, ages old.
Saw many pieces of red Terracotta brick, Roman era, I have been told.
Water lilies on the pond with dark red leaves.
Mr. Heron takes off on his huge grey wings, from this water inlet, where he feeds.
Out here has a sad touch, though I can’t tell you why.
If I did, I know it would bring a tear to your eye.
We should thank the farmer very much for letting us walk freely on his land.
I personally feel so at peace out here, I am sure you understand.
Always feel, I have nothing to fear.
Plenty of work going on about me, but nothing too near.
I am not in the way, know I will not come to any harm.
Out here on this land belonging to Minster’s Abbey Farm.
I take note the Rape has now turned to seed.
Resembling miniature bean pods, or perhaps more like peas.

Yvonne
 

88/ Summer Solstice

As it is Summer Solstice today - when the sun stays still in the sky. 
Then proceeds to retrace its steps, I thought I must just say a 21st of June "hi". 
This year of 2006, has had weather so far, of 'pick and mix' 
This morningif it wasn't for the flowers, it would be dull and grey. 
I just wish to say to all, "have a nice day"   - 

Yvonne
 

87/ New Britain 

New Britain is full of amazing people, descendants from tribes from all corners of the world. 
Blood runs through our veins from way back in the past, Roman, Viking, Norman, Saxon, historic ancestry that forever lasts. 
Folk from many varied nations live in New Britain today, from North, South, East and West, making New Britain a land of the best. 
From way back in time, it has been written, "we are all related", how wonderful to know. 
This tells us we are all brothers, so to each other, our kindnesses must show. 
We can then live in harmony and peace, and I would like to scribe on the surface of the Moon for all the world to see. 
"Love thy neighbour, unconditionally". 
 

86/ Is The Lord Impartial ? 

As the World Cup progresses, and I watch competitors look to the Heavens for support I recollect my words written some time ago. 

My question – 
Is the Lord impartial? I think as I see. 
A sportsman looking Heavenwards, on T.V. 
Thank you for my century, a cricketer might pray, 
Or, a footballer say "thank you for my goal", when a soccer match is in 
play. 
 The same I have seen in the game of golf, and athletics and a running 
race. 
When the competitor crosses the line, and says "thank you Lord", 
with relief spreading across their face. 
God cannot possibly choose, who shall win. 
Do you think he has a smile on his face, or perhaps a grin. 
Thinking, now who shall this day, accolades win. 
I have seen competitors from every land on earth 
They pray for their good luck, when you come to think of it; I suppose the 
Lord would know their worth. 

Yvonne 
 

85/ Watchester Way – 

This morning my feet took me along the way known as Watchester. 
This route has much history attached to it, I have read. 
This morning a Skewbald pony snuffled at me and snorted. 
“Good morning”, in Pony language, I am sure he said. 
Then I listened a while to the Sedge Warblers. 
The Reeds were alive with their mutterings. 
They stop and become silent, when you stand to see and peer. 
They are rather shy, it seems, don’t venture to the top, unless all is clear. 
A tiny little bird, with distinctive eye line. 
A pleasure to have as a visitor, here in summer time. 
Then, another pony, a Piebald, black and white, stopped munching grass. 
He looked up and snuffled, as my feet took me passed. 
White Columbine is blooming and entwining among Dog Roses and Vines. 
I like these flowers, some term as weeds, but perhaps not blooming in a garden of mine. 
In the hedgerows and along the banks, for all these wild flowers, we must give thanks. 
Although I saw the two beautiful dogs, that live by the pond. 
They were relaxing down on the grass, and could not find the energy to get up on all fours. 
Just raised their heads, in a nonchalant sort of way, then went back to sleep again, as they were doing before. 
I did not see the ducks this morning, I expect they too were resting. 
Of course is it possible, that they were nesting. 

Yvonne 
 

84/ Minster Notes 

Whilst living at Thorne, my route each day would either be to Minster or Cliffsend, or Ebbsfleet to the nature reserve.  Whichever direction I might decide to take, my feet walked on history and towards history. 

The walk to Cliffsend took me past the actual spot where St. Augustine spoke to his first converts.  At Pegwell Bay, where the Vikings landed, history in abundance.  Ebbsfleet and Sandwich, Richborough Fort, all steeped in Roman history, and events during the forthcoming centuries.  The Saint Thomas-a-Beckett sailed from Sandwich to escape his persecution by Henry II.  Queen Elizabeth 1st visited Sandwich many times.  Henry VIII visited Fordwich and Chilham and Canterbury of course.  When I lived in Eastry, my home was almost next to Eastry Court, where Thomas-a-Beckett hid before fleeing to Sandwich.  History follows me around. 

Now living in Minster itself, I was surprised to learn that it is said St. Augustine actually baptised his first converts in the waters at Durlock – unbelievable, where I live. 

The foundations of the vast Roman Villa, lies under the soil in a field, a few hundred feet from where I lay my head at night.  The Roman fort not far away across the marshes.  The ancient Abbey – just across the road where such horrific events have taken place, yet now, it is a haven of peace, where gentle Benedictine Order Nuns live and work and pray.

Yvonne 

 

83/ Alive with life 

Saturday and Sunday, Minster Village is alive with life. 
Couples walking hand in hand, of all ages, I hasten to add.
Visiting the gardens, all so neatly tended. 
It is quite reassuring that in the world of rush and tear. 
Here in this village, tranquillity is there. 
As I strolled the avenues and streets, people all to me speak. 
“Hello”, or “hi”, “nice day”, I hear, and I reply. 
The weather so kind to all, makes such a difference to everything. 
You can eat Ploughman’s in the Old School Hall. 
Or everywhere, so much open, to all. 
Nothing is expensive, nothing costs a lot. 
In some cases, just put a copper in the pot. 
Oh!, not a chap in blue uniform, I mean an old penny. 
Then I am from the age of shillings and pence. 
I hope to you, my lines makes sense. 
The Museum busy too, with mums and kids. 
In the recreation ground, a boot fair, to make your bids. 
Garage Sale, also, I see the sign.
Even in the churchyard, I am sure the residents think “welcome”. 
Stalls and artefacts on sale of all kinds, 
as I say I am sure those that inhabit the sacred place, really do not mind. 
In fact I think in Minster, this weekend, 
Everyone had a very fine time. 
To cap it all, above our heads, the old and new, flew past. 
Red Arrows, show off their skills, and the Lancaster and the Spitfires 
(I hope the memories these latter aircraft bring, last and last). 
For me, the sight of them all, sent shivers down my spine. 
I adore to see the Red Arrows that send patterns in the air. 
I congratulate the pilots of all these aircrafts, wherever where. 
Wherever they come from, or wherever they live. 
Without doubt to us in Minster, all those who did all the work, 
 and organising all events, much pleasure to many did give.

Yvonne 
 

82/ The Obcordate Heart 

It is such a pleasure to see the Robin’s visits becoming so frequent again, after their breeding. 
This morning I watched one of our dear little feathered pals perched on the Elderflowers, my many words I have written about this bird, ran through my mind. 
Do you realise the Robin displays an ‘obcordate’ heart.  For those who are not sure of my deductions, I will explain that the word ‘obcordate’ means, something shown in the inversely, in a direction or manner contrary to the usual. 
When I lived in a remote valley in the Western Algarve, the peace and tranquillity was unbelievable, and I really was one to one with the birds.  I studied  mated Robins closely, and noted the red feathers formed a heart shape on their breast, in upside down fashion.  Hence the word ‘obcordate’. 
This brought to mind the old tale that this little bird was present at the time of Christ’s crucifixion and was splashed by the Blood of Christ. 
The sadness of the occasion or the perching site of the bird, reasoning that the heart shaped red feathers be upside down. 
How my imagination runs riot sometimes, but I like it. 

Also whilst living in Portugal, where in 1987 many Donkeys were still being used by my local pals to work their small pieces of land, I noticed that this patient and hardworking animal does indeed wear a mark shaped like a cross across their shoulders and back. 
Of course the Donkey having carried Christ many times. 
People say, “oh the poor Donkey” when they see him loaded at the end of the day.  I used to think, but the animal has been grazing all the time his master has been cutting all the crop, now seen on the donkey’s back. 
Hope these words interest you, my friends - Yvonne 
 

81/ On the terrace;  -  Friday 16th June 2006 (my grandmother’s birthday) remember her so well. 

The Church bell chimes Noon, twelve dongs. 
The Blackbird on the railing calls his note of warning ‘tuc tuc tuc tuc’continually, 
as he looks about him. 
He is in contact with his mate in the density of the green hedge. 
When all is clear, he joins her with a beak full of food, to fill the mouths of  his own special brood. 
“Gosh it is hot”, I say to myself, relaxing after my Marsh Farm road walk. 
This route reminds me of a dear late pal, his name was Bill. 
After this I was invited into an olde worlde garden, which to me was wonderful, flowers bushes 
and shrubs, and bowers with comfy seats in every corner, built with the loving hand of Vic. 
Again I remembered a dear lost pal, her name was Kit, I know their partners on earth, 
who live with their memories every day, Vic and Peggy, in their very own special way. 
As I write here outside my little home, a cheeky Cock Sparrow flits down 
by the chair on which I sit. 
I heard a Cetti’s Warbler whilst on my walk, his song sounds like his name, ‘chettee chettee chettee – chettee chettee’. Rather loudly rendered, once heard always remembered. 
He  has brown upper feathers, greyish white below and a distinct white stripe over eye, 
but his song is the recognizable thing about him, if he happens to be nearbye. 
Then to include in this morning’s lines, the hand bell from Abbey rings, the notes reach my ears, 
the sun very hot, the sky, part cloud, part clear. 
The bell tells the Nuns, it is time for prayer, these kind folk pray for all of us, 
especially for those in fear. 
Wafting through the air, songs of the birds, and the perfume of aromatic herbs. 
Ah!, I have forgotten to mention the Butterflies, that fluttered about me, 
their colourful wings caught my eye. 
I have softly playing music coming from indoors of my choice, nothing intrusive, 
just adds to the ambience, and the outside’s voice.
My morning has been quite special, remembering three very dear people, 
and as I raise myself from my chair on the terrace, I view our ancient Church Steeple. 
 

80/ One May morning -  -  1998  -  Thorne   6.45a.m. 

In the evening, they silently graze. 
In the morning, they lazily laze. 
Peace and contentment, a tranquil scene. 
The sheep in the meadow on new grass of green. 
On this still, calm morning in May, a thank you I say. 
For sights like these, that my heart and eyes please. 
For in this world of such sad and tragic events. 
My words to the farmer of gratitude are truly meant. 

Oh! tiny creatures, what a peaceful life you live.
Oh! little Lambs, such a peaceful scene you give. 
Oh! woolly off-springs, from your woolly mums. 
You rest by their sides, this morning at seven-0-one. 
 

79/ Wednesday early evening – 6p.m.  – (In the rain) 

I am not a fair weather walker 
I walk whether the weather be in complement or favourable. 
I imagined I heard the flowers and the trees, sigh. 
“Ooh, this is lovely after the days being so dry”. 
Aromas from the flowers and shrubs seem stronger in the rain.
I, for one will not complain. 
For it would not be fair to deprive nature’s world. 
From a nice drink of rain, after all of their toil. 

Yvonne 
 

78/ New Zealand Barbecue 

The Trout was caught in a sporting style. 
Then taken home to be cooked for tea. 
The fish was large enough to feed us all. 
On the barbecue with sawdust from the Manuka Tree.
The aromas as the Trout was slowly grilling, 
was unbelievable and the eating was just as thrilling. 
I feel certain the fish would feel quite proud. 
That he had brought much pleasure to such a crowd. 

Yvonne 
 

77/ Believe Me 

I saw a mated pair of Cuckoos today – they skimmed the field of crops. 
Flying low, just about touched the top; 
Of the corn that has not yet ripened, to its golden hue, and I think to myself, have I this information, told you. 
A mated pair in the language of the Portuguese, is known as a Casal. 
Cama meaning bed – makes the phrase, Cama da Casal – bed for a mated pair. 
The male was calling in flight, his mate just babbles a gurgling noise. 
I have read about this in my books of birds. 
That only the male calls ‘cuckoo’, so a male bird I heard. 
I also saw tiny baby Moorhens, dear little creatures. 
On the dyke alongside Marsh Farm road. 
They are fairly shy, but them I did spy. 
Noisy Jackdaws I saw on my way back. 
I think they are so called because they call a nasal “jack”. 
They were arguing with each other, beneath the eaves of the church. 
I could see where they nest, my eyes did not need to search. 
Again I say as I walk about this village of Minster-in-Thanet, I see 
How pretty are the gardens everywhere, colours of every shade on view, 
Which makes it a pleasure for all, and particularly me, and I don’t doubt, for you too. 

Yvonne 
 

76/ The Connection 

As I walked through our peaceful churchyard this Monday morning. 
All the birds were awake, been singing since dawning. 
I felt as I often do, a connection and aura around me. 
A feeling of warmth that comes from feeling at home. 
Strange thing to say, perhaps, but I didn’t feel alone. 
Even though there was nobody but me, I wasn’t on my own. 
It does not matter where these beautiful Churchyards may be. 
All across the world I have found this happens to me. 
I believe all the souls of those lost and loved. 
Like time travel on wave lengths can journey above. 
At the top of Tothill, or on a mountain side. 
I can say “hi, how are you today”, and I sense a reply. 

Yvonne 
 

75/ One to One 
 

Whitethroat 

One to one with this dear little bird. 
His presence I saw and his voice I heard. 
A rather hurried little song is his. 
From in the midst of a bush, 
Stand still a while, and him you won't miss. 
His head and forehead are grey, slightly raised in a way. 
His white powder puff chin protrudes as he talks. 
A pretty little creature to see on a walk. 

Yellow Wagtail 

One to one with the Wagtails of yellow.
He calls out to me "isweep isweep", high pitched. 
"look at me", "stay away from my nest". 
He flits about my head, to be sure he thinks I am a pest. 
Brightest yellow you see perched on the green corn. 
He makes sure you see him, afternoon, evening or morn. 
Only this time of the year, later he disappears and goes away. 
Back to his homeland, comes back another day. 
Cleverly just before harvest time. 
The Yellow Wagtails will be gone, just like magic - 
next year, when the corn is sown and growing. 
The Wagtails come back, 

Blackcap 

One to one with the Blackcap 
Wears a black cap on head. 
Has high pitched musical notes. 
Pretty to hear, as across the countryside it floats. 
Delight to see, is he. 
His mate wears a cap of brown. 
Together they make a perfect pair. 
Seen on a bush or tree, or in fact anvwhere. 

 

74/ Saturday early evening – 

Just a short drive in the car, takes us to an ideal place. 
Where the sands and the sea, one does face. 
As we strolled along the cycle and walkers path, amongst the foliage. 
We spotted something very worthy of mentioning, on the subject of courage. 
Tank traps still standing there, built in the year 1940, 66 years past. 
Concrete and local shingle they were built with, by young men, perhaps they did not think their work would last. 
Not to out live them, possibly, but this we do not know. 
Bassil said his father was one of them, so this could be so. 
These were built to stop the possibility of invading troops having easy access from our shores. 
Also two Pill Boxes left standing, I  believe there were more. 
These to house the anti-tank guns and the men who operated these huge things. 
How on this rather lovely evening, these concrete standings, so many memories to our feelings bring. 
All could tell a story, now hidden by Fennel, Cow Parsley, Ox- eye Daisies, so sweet. 
Do other people think on these things, as these ordinary looking concrete blocks, their eyes meet. 
Perfect evening, warm fresh breeze coming from the sea, little birds flitting here and there, delightfully. 
Folk picnicking and others walking hand in hand, 
some with doggy on a lead, and one lone gentleman. 
He said as we walked by “I expect all the young English football supporters are blotto by now”. 
It seemed rather s strange thing to greet us with, but we had to agree, sadly, somehow. 
As we gazed across the peaceful scene of the Sandwich flats, and the wild life area, the English Channel looked calm and serene. 
France so close, so near, no wonder there was a time, an invasion we had to fear. 
Bassil remembered as a boy, this was the local place for shooting wild fowl and geese during the winter months. 
This the way of life then, to help to keep their lives up trumps. 
Bait diggers way out on the flat sand, the tide far away, digging hard for worms, their two doggies having time for play. 
Redshanks heard and seen in the salt marsh, Shell Duck so smart on the wet sand, aroma of Fennel so strong as you walked along, not a thing do I miss, an evening like this is perfect bliss. 
Back home sitting on the balcony, sun still hot, time a quarter past seven – balmy evening, just right, been a lovely day, sun been shining bright. 
I have experienced peace, for which I thank my lucky stars. 
How I wish this could be so for all – near or far. 
White star Jasmine, Pink Jasmine Stephenense, two climbing Roses, one pink, one yellow, Clematis  of two varieties, and two Honeysuckles as well, Bas has planted in large pots on this terrace,  quite soon it will sure look swell. 
The Cuckoo is calling, white Doves canoodle on the tiles, and the aromatic perfume of sausage scented smoke wafts up from a barbecue, in the garden over the hedge. 
Then to cap it all a friendly Robin perches on the edge, on the railing that surrounds this pretty terrace where I scribble my notes. 
I think I will stop now, “that’s all folks”. 

Yvonne 
 

73/ Saturday afternoon  (first World Cup Game) 

Not that I am disinterested in football, but the countryside called me. 

Country Pie 

The first ingredients that I had in my country pot 
Were Skylarks in the blue and the delicate elder flower, my eyes did savour.. 
Then, without delay to add to the flavour. 
The Yellow Wagtails tweeted to me from the ears of the corn, still green. 
A red Poppy showed its head, above the ears, only one at that moment seen. 
Dog Roses of pink, entwined in the hedgerow, to thicken the gravy, there was such a lot. 
My country pie was growing in profusion.
The green weed that grows amongst the Rape, that tells me the sea used to flow here, and I do not mean for confusion. 
For we all know that the outer fields of Durlock were once beneath the sea. 
I believe my favourite item of this recipe, were the Elder Flowers, pretty as can be. 
You can deep fry these lacy flowers and eat them, when they cool. 
Then when the berries are ripe, one can make elderberry Wine, delicious, and take it from me, I am no fool. 
All the other birds, I speak about with affection, all said “hello”, to me, and added to this afternoon’s country pie recipe collection. 

Yvonne
 

72/ These words are sung by Andrea Bocelli, to a beautiful piece of music. 
When I played this and read the words, I felt that many would like to read these touching lines. 
If anyone wishes to borrow the CD I would only be too happy to loan it. 
Email me. 

Tremo   E  T’amo  T’amo e tremor  Disse la donna  Al suo saldato  Che non tomava  La sua voce  Nel venta correva  Sopra la neve  Dove lui combatteva  Tremo a t’amo Disse e piangeva  Nel buio salo  Qualcuno rideva  Per far torto alla paura  A questa amore che gia finiva  Il Ricardo tradisce la mente  Il soldata non sente piu niente D’improvvisFu preso alle spalle  Dai suo nemico  Che strano parlava  Deile rose, del vino e di cose  Che un’altra vita gli prometteva  Ma quante spose  La Guerra toglieva  Daile braccia deila prima sera  Tremo e ho freddo  Disse il soldato  Al suo nemico che to  guardova  Lp sua voce nel vento restava  Sulta plate ache muta ascoltava

I love you and I’m trembling  Said the woman  To her soldier  Who wouldn’t be coming back  Her plaintive voice  Was carried by he wind  Across the chilling snow  To where her solider fought.  I’m trembling and I love you  She whispered as she cried  And in the darkness of the room  Somebody laughed  In conquest of the fear.  That this love was about to end  But sweet memories can betray you  The soldier doesn’t feel anything anymore  Too late, his enemy strikes  Suddenly  From behind  Who, strangely, was speaking  Of roses, of wine, of life’s other joys  That were promised him in another life  Oh, how many brides Will war take away from that first night’s embrace.    I’m trembling and I’m cold  Said the soldier  To his enemy, a man, just like himself.  His voice hung motionless in the wind.  Heard by the silent audience of those that fell before him.

71/ Aussie Barbeque 

At the oncoming of the barbecue season whilst sitting out on our balcony here, watching the antics of the Seagulls, the Doves and the other birds of the garden, my thoughts returned to a visit to Australia, to see my family there a couple of years ago. 
My dear cousin and aunt had arranged for all my other cousins and their families to attend a barbecue in the local park. Everything you need for such a gathering in the Aussie parks, and of course the sunshine. 
Well, can you guess what happened, it rained and it rained, with thunder and lightning, and also a power cut so that the barbecues run by electric where you put a dollar in the slot, did not work.  This dollar normally allows you time to cook some sausages etc. 
Well, my reason for telling you this, is that my dear aunt, who sadly has passed away since I last saw her, sang to me that day, the song entitled “The Aussie Barbecue.

Here is the song:-  The Aussie Barbecue  - 

When the steaks are burning fiercely. 
And the smoke gets in your eyes. 
The sausages taste like fried toothpaste. 
And you’re driven made by flies. 
That’s the Aussie Institution.
It’s the natural thing to do. 
So come on mate, grab your plate. 
For an Aussie Barbecue. 

(what we would have given for sunshine, blow the flies.) 

70/ The Tasman Delta – South Island, New Zealand 

Across the way a lone figure is fishing. Shimmering bands of heat from the stones rise. I could be forgiven for saying the scene resembles the surface of the Moon. 
We are surrounded by rivers and lakes, but very few flowers bloom. 
Sparse vegetation grows on this flat delta of quite a size. That at the foot of the King of it all quietly lies. Mount Cook looks down from his height in magnificent glory 1 feel 1 have said sufficient, so I'll end my story. Oh! this is foolish, because there are things omitted. To tell you everything I'm committed. The Tasman River runs from a glacier melt and ice plateaux. Towards the Pukaki Lake, that has an iridescent blue glow. But there is anot