Already two months have passed of 2003, and the third, March is half way through. It is only a rumour that I have been in hibernation, but at times it does seem as if I have. The past few days have been warm and bright, starting with mild ground frosts but later becoming wonderful, sunny and warm. A fairly high pressure system is situated over us, and according to the forecasters it is likely to stay put until the weekend. This will mean a whole week of sunshine, with clear skies at night, which of course will account for the very cold ground temperatures early in the morning, which account for the ground frosts.
Nevertheless, Sunday, 16th March will be the day that Spring started for me this year. After a cold start, the sun quickly took command of the situation and the temperature rose steadily, until by 9.30 am it was pleasantly warm. Whether it was because the Bishop of Salisbury presided over the communion service at St. Mary's on this particular Sunday, I know not, but what I do know is that after the service I was fortunate enough to see my first Peacock butterfly of the year, looking extremely glamorous and resting on a primrose. There is "Beauty in the eyes of the beholder", according to the old saying, but who would not or could not see the beauty there. When I saw this herald of the Spring, I was talking to a lady who I did not know from Adam. (In this case perhaps it should be Eve.) I was afterwards told it was the Bishop's wife, so you see it could have been his presence that was responsible for this being "My first day of spring". Later on that Sunday, Ron Wood told me he had seen a Brimstone near the church.
At first I felt rather put out that he had seen one when I had not, did his position mean that he had preference over me? So I decided that, that evening I would ask the "Boss". The reply came a few hours later, at 10.55 am on Monday morning, when I had my first sighting of the first of four Brimstones that morning.
Monday morning started for me at 6.15 am when I let the chicken out. I was greeted by the dawn chorus, clear blue skies and a ground frost. Later at 9.20 am I was seated at my desk, in the garden, (There just isn’t room for all my junk in the house.), quietly minding my own business, and thinking how hard done by I was, when it occurred to me that is was too cold to be sitting outside at that time of the morning; I am not a complete fool you see.
Anyway, I decided to go for a perambulation along the lane, westward towards Champ’s Farm. As I passed the last house on the right, there was nothing but open fields each side of me. The winter corn now well established, showed a very verdant green, with the sky a brilliant blue above, and a sun providing copious amounts of glorious, solar power. Even the tall lime, oak and ash hedge line with it's mature trees was unable to keep out the sunshine coming from the south-east. Then I noticed deer grazing away to the east, enjoying the sunshine and the protection afforded by the trees. Even out in the field, they were only a few metres from safety. My first idea was to stand and watch to see what they would do, but I soon realised that my vision was not good enough, I was not even sure how many there were. So I hastened back home, to collect my binoculars.
On my return, I discovered that there were five animals in total, all male. The one standing on guard duty was an older animal, possibly three to four years old. He was not the senior member though, there was in fact one considerably older, but he had been in the wars and presumably superseded by a more virile, stronger and younger buck in his own herd. The reason for this, being that somehow in the past he had lost one antler.
From what I could see of the remaining three, two were two year olds with the third a yearling. They were to remain in the same spot all day long, and I last saw them there at 5.20 pm In the meantime my attention was drawn to the presence of a family of three buzzards. They were soaring in circles immediately above the deer, shrieking away so that their proximity was in no doubt. This of course meant that every rook and pigeon for miles had taken to the air, all creating noisily. I remained watching the buzzards' graceful, aeronautical display; their graceful gliding followed by the powerful, slow wing movements, to regain height while showing off the under-side of their bodies to perfection.
Now it was time to return to my desk, the deadline for copy was approaching. Immediately on sitting down the noise of bumble bees could be heard, but capping this was the arrival of my first Brimstone. Obviously there was to be no favouritism after all.
Shortly after sitting down, Phil arrived with the milk and also with the news that he had just heard on the radio, that the weapons' inspectors had been withdrawn from Iraq.
How on earth can we reconcile the advent of war with the deer, the buzzards, the rooks and pigeons, the celandines, the primroses and white violets and the butterflies around us?
What can we do to help? Pray? Write? One thing we can all do is appreciate what we have. In the afternoon my day was completed by seeing a Comma butterfly in the churchyard.
Thank God for this wonderful world, and may all thoughts of war be quickly behind us.
May God Bless all the people of the world as we have been blessed.
Lucy is half-blue Persian, which gives her a certain cachet when I first introduce her to visitors. The other half of her is unknown, consisting of apricot streaks almost hidden in the blue. Her coat is very thick as befits her ancestry, but her less refined genes have given it a layer of a cotton wool quality. This makes grooming very difficult and she, quite rightly, objects to any prolonged ministrations. She is the sixth in line of cats "taken in" as the result of a trying compassionate love for all living creatures, which leads me to rescue worms from the drying hardness of asphalt. She is more fortunate than the previous five because she wasn't abandoned or unwanted. Because of this she is the gentlest, quietest cat of all. Her owner was elderly and had to go into a Home. She was more distraught about Lucy than about herself. My own Sam had just been put down and I had vowed he was my last, but Lucy was known to me and on one visit had shown remarkable prescience by suddenly climbing on my lap, dribblig over my skirt, and paying court a few weeks before her future became a matter of crisis. It was a one-off action, but in my now five years of having her I have discovered that she is a remarkably astute lady.
Eventually she came to me complete- with toys, brushes and combs. She was ten but she still liked to play, even though her frail owner had not been able to do so for a while. I discovered that my close co-operation, in this play was required, even though I wanted to watch television. There were balls to be thrown, strange creatures to be dropped on her widely-exposed tummy, and later on (my own fault) a cloth mouse to drag around the room. Five years later she can't be so active and likes the mouse to be moved around above her prone body as she lies on the carpet, gently patting it and occasionally clawing it down for a chew. I take great care not to make this too easy for it would meet with clear contempt. She has no room for any kind of deception.
She had things to learn when she came to me. Being allowed on the bed convinced her that she had made a good choice. She had never used a litter box, but she consented to use this in bad weather after I explained that this was the only alternative to a stormy wind or a severe frost. Explaining that I would get up at night in the summer to let her out at 4am in the morning, but no way was it on when autumn came she showed great gallantry and delicately entered in when I wasn't there to look. Occasionally she forgets routine and uses it when returning from her last outdoor visit and then goes out again. This she finds is impossible to explain.
She had also never used a cat flap, and still finds it too frightening. If I tie it up open then she jumps through with great aplomb, and seems quite unaware that this method means I suffer from a considerable draught. Should I forget to fasten it open a small indignant face peers through the transparent flap and a tiny mouth opens and closes with no sound coming out.
She is an indoor cat inasmuch as she likes to go out only for a few minutes at a time. She is rather afraid of the unknown, unlike my cat Sam who was once seen chasing a fox across the garden in the dark. When she decides, to come in, she sometimes likes to do it with a wildly waving tail and the speed of a bullet from a gun, and then races around the house and hides away, inviting me to play "chase me behind the furniture" .This complete change of character is always so surprising that it brings a chuckle. She loves my lap no matter how inconvenient it is for me not to be free to get on with my life. However, she has learnt to get off when the phone or door bell rings.
Like all cats she constantly changes her place of sleeping. Shop-beds bought at great expense can be suddenly rejected, and strong words from me on the cost of living are met by a rapidly disappearing body and apparent deafness for several hours. The most inconvenient (pardon the pun) place she has chosen has been the warm cover on top of the loo seat.
I have explained that this is my throne and not hers, but even so she remains curled up in a tight ball confident of my soft heart. At first I found myself wondering which of my neighbours would accommodate me until I realised that this was bordering on the ridiculous. She was removed manually for many a day until she surrendered. She now has a very luxurious igloo which looks like being permanent-or will it? I have a tiny suspicion that she knew Christmas was coming.
She is not only a female but is a lady. She eats in small amounts with great delicacy, is very particular about which flavour it is, and stalks away with moving indignation if it's not to her present taste.
Unfortunately for her, I have discovered her creeping back to eat it later when she thinks I'm preoccupied and hunger proves too strong. When I become over anxious about her poor appetite and consult the vet, I am told with a twinkle and firm voice that Lucy is winding me up round her dew claw.
Because she is a lady of gentle ways she disdains martial arts and sits watching baby birds with what can only be described as a benevolent air. Parents may agitate their wings at her and shriek to protect their young, but she half closes her eyes in that superior way in which cats show you that there is absolutely no one quite so perfectly made as a cat.
We have been so close in our now five years together that we can anticipate each others thoughts, and we understand each others tone of voice.
Now she is 15 years old, has cataracts growing, and is becoming a little confused. She has a night light which the vet recommended to stop her waking up at night, forgetting where she is and calling out for me in piercing meows. I know that it will be very hard when a furry body no longer slumbers on my lap whilst I wait to do my chores, when an upright body on the window sill no longer lifts a soft mouth to give me a kiss as I bend over to stroke her, when I greet her early morning jump on the bed with a touch of my hand and loud purrs come, when she walks towards me in the sunlight and the silver blue coat gleams with such beauty; after five of her much longer years left in my care by someone else who laughed and loved her.
At a ceremony at Furze Hill on 20 March, Robert Jesse was presented with a well deserved Community Service Award by the TV Presenter Lars Tharp from the BBC's Antiques Roadshow.
Robert Jesse has given a tremendous amount to the community of Sixpenny Handley for more than 15 years. He not only re-established the village Cub Pack with great success due to his personal leadership, he has also, tirelessly, raised funds to support the Village Hall during a period of major upheaval. Through his personal leadership and involvement, he has turned the fortunes of this vital part of community life round so that now it is well supported and healthy. All this has been done during Robert's spare time from his job as a postman, where he serves the community in so many other ways.
Robert was also singled out for one of the Special Awards presented by the Dorset Community Magazine.
Mr Brian Hansford, Clerk to the Parish Council since December 1980, retired from this particular job at the end of March. The Parish Council would like to take this opportunity to thank Brian, on behalf of themselves and the village, and to express their appreciation for his expertise, advice and guidance given so freely over the past 23 years. He has been instrumental in many of the changes in the village, with the new recreation ground foremost amongst them. Brian will certainly continue to be involved in many other areas of village life – bowls, football, the flower show and the allotments to name a but a few, and the council wish him many happy years with these activities.
At a ceremony after the Parish Council Meeting on 20 March, the Chairman, John Curtis, paid tribute to Brian and presented him with a pair of plates produced by local artist Jan King.