Gilbert White’s tenpenny nails.

A flint wall in Kent, fastened with our version of ‘tenpenny nails’, smooth pebbles from the beach or riverbed.

18th Century scientist and clergyman Gilbert White included in his Natural History of Selborne a survey of the local area around his home village in Hampshire, a chalk and limestone area like Kent. Hampshire is on the South Downs, Kent on the North.

In Wolmer-forest I see but one sort of stone, called by the workmen sand, or forest-stone. This is generally of the colour of rusty iron, and might probably be worked as iron ore; is very hard and heavy, and of a firm, compact texture, and composed of a small roundish crystalline grit, cemented together by a brown, terrene, ferruginous matter; will not cut without difficulty, nor easily strike fire with steel.

Being often found in broad flat pieces, it makes good pavement for paths about houses, never becoming slippery in frost or rain; is excellent for dry walls, and is sometimes used in buildings. In many parts of that waste it lies scattered on the surface of the ground; but is dug on Weaver’s-down, a vast hill on the eastern verge of that forest, where the pits are shallow, and the stratum thin. This stone is imperishable.

From a notion of rendering their work the more elegant, and giving it a finish, masons chip this stone into small fragments about the size of the head of a large nail; and then stick the pieces into the wet mortar along the joints of their freestone walls: this embellishment carries an odd appearance, and has occasioned strangers sometimes to ask us pleasantly, ‘whether we fastened our walls together with tenpenny nails.’

“The Natural History of Selborne” by Gilbert White

This old wall in Kent is made of a quite different stone: flint, but it will be seen that Kentish builders, too, liked to fasten their walls together with tenpenny nails!

10 July: Seeing Calais and France for the first time

In 1660 it was clear that Oliver Cromwell’s son Richard did not have the confidence of the Parliament, the people, nor, crucially, the Navy and Army. Charles II, son of the executed Charles I, was on the Continent, hoping to return in peace, without fighting. A large contingent of the Navy was at anchor in the Downs, sheltered water opposite Deal, near Dover. Samuel Pepys, a young and talented civil servant was on board the Nazeby with Lord Sandwich, a senior official involved with the delicate negotiations to bring the King home and restore civilian government.

It was not all work and no play:

“This afternoon I first saw France and Calais, with which I was much pleased, though it was at a distance.” (from “The Diary of Samuel Pepys” by Samuel Pepys, 9.4.1660.

I still get a thrill to see France, here at Dover Castle evidenced by an horizon that is thicker where the hills and cliffs of the Pas de Calais stand tall.

We pray for peace in Britain and Europe, and we pray that the thrill of going to new or old holiday destinations becomes the enjoyment of the company of our dear ones, an enjoyment that passes over into the coming months back home.

Behold the sea itself!

Here is the beach at Pett Level, Sussex, a few miles west of Brighton. Today we have a Londoner’s reflections on the seaside and walking around Sussex, up to 15 miles a day. Mary Lamb was in Brighton with her brother Charles and a friend. She is writing to Dorothy Wordsworth up in the Lake District. Seaside holidays 200 years ago! A little taste of her summer in our winter.

I resolved to learn to look out of the window, a habit I never could attain in my life, and I have given it up as a thing quite impracticable—yet when I was at Brighton last summer, the first week I never took my eyes off from the sea, not even to look in a book. I had not seen the sea for sixteen years.

Mrs. Morgan, who was with us, kept her liking, and continued her seat in the window till the very last, while Charles and I played truant and wandered among the hills, which we magnified into little mountains and almost as good as Westmoreland scenery. Certainly we made discoveries of many pleasant walks which few of the Brighton visitors have ever dreamed of—for like as is the case in the neighbourhood of London, after the first two or three miles we were sure to find ourselves in a perfect solitude.

I hope we shall meet before the walking faculties of either of us fail. You say you can walk fifteen miles with ease,—that is exactly my stint, and more fatigues me; four or five miles every third or fourth day, keeping very quiet between, was all Mrs. Morgan could accomplish.

God bless you and yours. Love to all and each one.

I am ever yours most affectionately M. LAMB.

From The Letters of Charles and Mary Lamb, 1796-1820, Edited by E. V. Lucas

Sol Invictus by Frog

My friend Frog shared these wintry photos, I found them so calming that I’m passing them on to any reader feeling festivally frazzled!

Sol invictus (2)

Respecting the neighbours

Mrs T eventually got to trimming the ivy hedge that grows over our garden wall and helps keeps intruders out. It will never be a masterpiece of topiary, but it is held in check with annual or biannual trimmings.

The main reason for delaying the trim is shown below: the birds nest in it. This blackbird’s nest does not have its lining of mud. Was it abandoned unfinished for some reason, or was it impossible to find the right sort of mud in this driest of summers? For sure the blackbirds raised two broods in the hedge this year.

Here is a fledgling from a few years ago, quite convinced he is invisible.

We recommend respecting the neighbours, they will repay you with interest — plenty of interest as you watch them go about their business.

Let the hedge grow till August, when the last chicks are fledged. Make sure they can get to water for drinking and bathing; ours like the tiny pond opposite the hedge. It gets plenty of shade and is full of oxygenating plants, mostly self-invited. We wish we had more frogs, but our last cock blackbird had been watching the kingfishers, I think, because he had learnt to catch tadpoles to feed his offspring. This year it seemed as though more survived to grow legs and make for dry land. Let’s hope so.

Changeable skies and uncertain seasons

Winter’s Afternoon, Old Ruttington Lane.

Come and visit the eighteenth century in the company of Doctor Johnson and James Boswell.

In The Idler, No. II, Johnson shews that ‘an Englishman’s notice of the weather is the natural consequence of changeable skies and uncertain seasons… In our island every man goes to sleep unable to guess whether he shall behold in the morning a bright or cloudy atmosphere, whether his rest shall be lulled by a shower, or broken by a tempest. We therefore rejoice mutually at good weather, as at an escape from something that we feared; and mutually complain of bad, as of the loss of something that we hoped.’

Boswell for once is quoting from Johnson’s written words rather than conversation. I found this text on the same day in winter that I took the photograph. My father called the piercing of clouds by sunbeams such as we see here ‘The Gate of Heaven’. A saying worth recording, as Boswell would no doubt have agreed.

I am reminded of the line of Chesterton: ‘The gates of heaven are lightly locked.’ But do we look up to see them? Dare we set a toe over the threshold, pausing even for a moment, to catch a glimpse of glory? What does the voice from the cloud tell us? I found myself hurrying the next moment, as my grandson’s school bell had rung and he would soon be out and scanning the playground for his adults. But the moment stayed with me.

From “Life of Johnson, Volume 4 1780-1784” by James Boswell

Nuts in July

Usually I am cycling when I pass this tree, so despite going by for decades, I never till now looked, nor noticed the nuts forming, probably a week behind in size.

We’ll probably refrain from foraging here, as this tree grows near the top of the city wall. Nuts are accessible from the wall path, where there is exposure to traffic fumes day and night. Those protected by the wall from pollution will be beyond our reach!

But we know where to look!

Gilbert White’s reflection on the crocus

The crocus sativus, the vernal, and the autumnal crocus have such an affinity, that the best botanists only make them varieties of the same genus, of which there is only one species; not being able to discern any difference in the corolla, or in the internal structure. Yet the vernal crocus expands its flowers by the beginning of March at farthest, and often in very rigorous weather; and cannot be retarded but by some violence offered: — while the autumnal (the saffron) defies the influence of the spring and summer, and will not blow till most plants begin to fade and run to seed.

This circumstance is one of the wonders of the creation, little noticed, because a common occurrence: yet ought not to be overlooked on account of its being familiar, since it would be as difficult to be explained as the most stupendous phaenomenon in nature.

Say, what impels, amidst surrounding snow,
Congealed, the crocus’ flamy bud to grow?
Say, what retards, amidst the summer’s blaze,
Th’ autumnal bulb till pale, declining days ?
The GOD of SEASONS; whose pervading power
Controls the sun, or sheds the fleecy shower:
He bids each flower His quickening word obey;
Or to each lingering bloom enjoins delay.

 Letter XLII from The Natural History of Selborne by Gilbert White.

Gilbert White’s New Year Reflection.

Scabious, common on chalky land, as around Selborne.

Gilbert White, Anglican clergyman and pioneer naturalist, is writing to his friend, Thomas Pennant, reflecting on his studies and writing. Enjoy the XVIII Century prose, but reflect: what observations should I be sharing that might induce any of my readers to pay a more ready attention to the wonders of the Creation, too frequently overlooked as common occurrences? Dip your (metaphorical) pen!

If the writer should at all appear to have induced any of his readers to pay a more ready attention to the wonders of the Creation, too frequently overlooked as common occurrences; or if he should by any means, through his researches, have lent an helping hand towards the enlargement of the boundaries of historical and topographical knowledge; or if he should have thrown some small light upon ancient customs and manners, and especially on those that were monastic, his purpose will be fully answered. But if he should not have been successful in any of these his intentions, yet there remains this consolation behind—that these his pursuits, by keeping the body and mind employed, have, under Providence, contributed to much health and cheerfulness of spirits, even to old age:—and, what still adds to his happiness, have led him to the knowledge of a circle of gentlemen whose intelligent communications, as they have afforded him much pleasing information, so, could he flatter himself with a continuation of them, would they ever be deemed a matter of singular satisfaction and improvement.

Gil. White.
Selborne, January 1st, 1788.

 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE: LETTERS to THOMAS PENNANT, ESQ.

from “The Natural History of Selborne” by Gilbert White)

By The Way

Literally ‘by the way’, these impressive soft bracket fungi caught my eye. Without a Polish Babcia to advise me, I thought I’d best leave them for whichever creature has been eating the one at the right. After all, the birds eat yew berries that are poison to us.

A feast for my eyes, at any rate. Praise him!