3 Oct 2009 5:05 AM

Hi there to all blog readers, I have been out of commission for a few days due to having computer problems.  I have, due to my son sharing the computer, decided it would be best to purchase a new PC.  As with all these things, it takes time to work round all the new changes that are incorporated in the design of a computer.  The new system deems that we had some software to purchase, that we did not have to buy before, on the old system but the advantages, on the new set up far out wave the functions we had before. The random access memory (RAM) enables me to get started much quicker than the old computer and I am hoping that the new memory, which is huge at the side of the old one, will help my son and I keep abreast of things for a few years. 

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26 Sep 2009 11:30 PM

A quest for nature.

Today, in beautiful sunshine, my wife and I visited a nature reserve we have known from its infancy.  The first time we visited the reserve it was a small pond at the side of a main road.  On this occasion, we were going to meet friends who were members of the local U3A. (University of the third age.)

Since our first visit, the site has seen many stages of development and has now become an area to be enjoyed by all the family.  Pond dipping and nature trails seem to be high on the agenda depending on the time of year a visit is undertaken. 

From time to time, when visiting popular nature reserves, it is best to check to see if any changes have been made to the entrance rules.  Before going on site, on this occasion, a notice said we were expected to collect a free car park ticket, from the reception area, before venturing further. 

At reception, once the formalities were out of the way, for a 'group booking' and the 'parking ticket,' both items were wavered for us and we were allowed to  set off round the lakeside walk. 

As soon as we had entered the site, I felt the need to take out a note pad and start to record the birds we could see and here.  Other members of the group pulled out their books to identify flowers, butterflies, and dragonflies.

Later, when we arrived home, I found out that I had lost my notes and felt the need to write my blog from memory.

At every twist and turn, as we walked round the site and on flattened footpaths for easy walking, there were feeding stations.  Birds, while we sat or stood close to wooden barriers that had 'gape' holes in them, flocked to the nut filled feeders. 

The usual Sparrows and many of the Titmouse family were feeding and, while I was sitting looking, out over a lake, someone saw a  Green Sandpiper and I heard the 'waffle' call of a Green Woodpecker.

On this particular site, many of the trees consisted of Silver Birch that did not have a firm girth and were not sufficient, in size, to support breeding areas for birds.  In other areas, some with gnarled bark surfaces of mature trees, made ideal feeding and nesting sites. 

It was clear to me that the mature trees had been there long before the site had been declared a nature reserve and that hundreds, if not thousands, of saplings, like the ones I planted on a local nature reserve, many years ago,  had been 'heeled' in by enthusiastic lovers of nature. 

Mallards called from the safety of a small man made channelled stream, that appeared, at first glance, as though it had been allowed to get chocked and tangled with weeds and grasses.  In reality, the channel had been carefully 'staged managed' to look overgrown but the objective was  to provide ground cover for some of the many insects and plants that were on the site and to keep people from getting over inquisitive as to where the dyke was.

Crows called from an area of land which had been transformed from an old 'slag heap,' and had yet to be colonised by vegetation, and Lapwings noisily took to flight, at the side of a lake that was sheltered from fierce winds.  Teal, Tufted Ducks and Moorhens all occupied the various levels of micro biodiversity round and on this lake and, to one side of the water, that was probably the deepest water area, a Little Grebe, (Dab Chick) kept diving.

Walking up a steep gradient, where it was possible to see out over a sided valley that supported sightings of Kestrels, we walked on an uneven path that had backfill sub soils mixed in with 'hard core.' 

It looked to me, for water would have-before the intervention of landscaping-run down the hill and collected in the bottom, as if this part of the reserve was once boggy. 

Sometime, not long ago, I believe the area hade been filled with clay soils.  My guesswork was influenced by the sightings of Bulrush, Phragmitese and other pants that did not mind standing in marginal water depths. 

In this area, I also though the site had been used as landfill, for household waste, for there were signs of domestic garden plants coming to the surface to try and find, from a tangled web of low lying weeds, room to  photosynthesise from the sun's rays so that they could survive and grow. 

Some of our party walked a hill, to about half its distance, but did not linger due to a cold wind finding its way through clothing still used when warmer weather is notably settled. 

I wanted to walk to the top of the hill but, when the rest of the party turned back, I followed them so that I was still in their view. 

At this point, part of my walk had been 'front and back marker,' to make sure  the group did not stumble and get left behind, and some of the time I stood back so that I did not interfere with the intensity of their enthusiasm as they grouped and bent to examine something that had interested them. 

I have found, over the years, that I can influence a walk, to get the best out of it, by blending into the background, when needed, and moving in close when there is an area to get away from danger. 

On this particular walk, for we were enclosed and in a controlled environment, I did not deem it necessary to move in and move them on.  I believe my observation powers, with this walk, were so good that no one suspected I was keeping an eye on them.   

Having said that, the group had their own coordinator and he was doing a very good job keeping members informed and interested in what was going on around them.     

Not all-oral interaction was about nature for, as we all know, other dynamics play their part in easing us into enjoyment, in our own way, and many topics were covered. 

The shape and structure of the land was discussed and so was the understanding of coal extraction and what it did to the landscape and the environment.  The way we lived and coped with the noise, the filth and the grime of the pit also came back to my memory.   

I remember, when I was a small child, I went to live with my aunt and uncle for a time.  The pit stack, or 'slag heap' was the dominant feature of the land; and wherever you turned, the heap could be seen. 

Coal and waste materials, which came out of the ground, were separated.  The coal went into wagons or on small stockpiles, and the waste was moved, sometimes by a conveyor system, to the top of a pile we commonly called a 'muck heap.'  On some of the conveyers, there were buckets attached and when the bucket reached its destination, it automatically tipped and the bucket's waste fell on the pile of waste. 

I say all this because, as the buckets went up and down the heap, they made a constant noise.  The noise is now hard for me to describe but it was a little bit like an intermittent clanging sound. 

One night, as I lay in bed at my uncle's house, listening to the noise the conveyer and buckets were making, for it was a warm summer night and I lay in bed with the window open, the sound of the buckets clanging seemed to get louder and louder in my head until I could stand it no longer. 

I felt the need to go down stairs, to tell my aunt and uncle, who were used to the noise, that I could not get to sleep.  Living with the noise was something that you had no choice in and when I broached my feelings, about the noise, my voice went on 'deaf ears.' 

Sometimes, the heaps, which would now be deemed to be dangerously close to dwellings, caught fire and the sight and smell, from the slag, when it caught fire, was chokingly strong.

Years later, after relentless and unprecedented rain , a Welsh town's slag heap turned into slurry and the slurry began to move .  Anything in the path of the slurry perished and I was, like all the people of that time, saddened to learn that the slurry engulfed a school and many children's lives were lost. 

After the tragic events of the slag movement, pit waste had to be stored differently and all slag heaps, from that time on, were regularly checked for movement. 

Stories like these, only come back to my mind's eye through listening to other people speak and, of course, one topic of conversation, on this walk, did exactly that.           

On our way down the hill, we came to a place where a Kingfisher frequented and a 'standing board,' with viewing slats, had been strategically placed for people to look through.  There was no sound, like that of a quiet mouse, to be heard, so I knew the kingfisher was not going to be seen and, while some of the party stood and hoped to see the small azure coloured bird fly low over the water, I moved on and suddenly found myself a lead walker again.

I stopped, to lean on a fence, and was joined by one of our party's members and he was kind enough to show me a wonderful looking Dragonfly. 

From there, for my tummy was beginning to grumble and rumble, my wife and I meandered towards the reserve's reception area, after completing our looped walk, and, as I stood looking out towards a feeding station, I saw what I believed to be a Field Mouse. 

The mouse had channelled a tunnel between two ill fitting paving slabs and, every time there was a lull in our conversation, the mouse's head came out from between the paving.  My wife, not wanting to stand too close, moved away from where the mouse was and only ventured back when we were joined, in conversation, by a wonderful mature friend. 

Our friend loves everything about nature; I tell a lie, he loves everything about life and nature.

Within no time at all, the three of us were soon engaged in conversation that was both interesting and stimulating.

Not long after leaving the mouse, we were on our way home and reflecting on the wonderful time we had just had but all was not going to go our way. 

We had entered a 30-mile an hour zone and, in the zone, I had to make a tight 'left-hander.'  Half way round the corner of the tight bend, two seven-maybe eight- year old schoolchildren decided to walk out in front of our car and dawdle across the widest part of the road as if their conversation was more important than their safety. 

It was no trouble to take evasive action, for we were only going slow, but I was not prepared for  the spoken word, (straight from the mouths of babes, as they say) that came into the car from an half open window.  One of the little boys looked us in the eye and shouted 'You're too old to be driving.)  I must have looked ancient to him.

By, for now,

John.

                                 

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19 Sep 2009 11:45 PM

My wife, on returning home from one of the meetings she goes to, had a twinkle in her eye and I knew, at some point, she had something to tell me.

She took off her coat, settled in a seat and sipped on tea I had just handed to her.  She looked over to me and said.

A man went into a bank and asked for a £50,000 bank loan so that he could have a month's foreign holiday.

The bank manager said that he would have to have collateral and the man asked if his Rolls Royce car would suffice.  The bank manager rubbed his hands in glee and said that would be fine.

The man went out of the bank and while he was on holiday, the bank manage did a ratings search on the new bank' s member and found out that he was a multi million air.

When the man was due home and ready to pick his car up and pay of f his loan, the bank manager was there to greet him and asked the holidaymaker why he wanted to borrow from the bank when he had millions in the bank.

The reply that came was 'Where else could I get secure free parking for a month.!'

My wife thought it was very funny but it was 'old hat' to me.  Never the less, I went along with the joke.

Joking aside, yesterday, I received a note from a lady who lives in England, telling me that she had, for a couple of days, last week, been looking out of her bedroom window to catch sight of meteors; something I have never been able to see, but told me she was out of luck due to there being cloud formations. 

All was not lost though for there had been a slight down pour of rain and there was a smell of peat in the air coming off the garden soil.  Bats were flying around here home and, in the distance, she could here an owl calling. 

I wrote back to the lady and told her, if only once in her life, she and her husband should go out at night, when there was a full moon, and stand by the side of a calm lake.  The ray of moon light, in front of her, as she walked the side of the water, would allow her to see all the ducks that were on the water.  Ducks, when not feeding, react differently and if they call, at night, in the thin night air, they sound differently too.  The night air seems to magnify the night sounds.

I love to be out at dusk and, over a two year period, IU decided to do a project on foxes. 

After a lot ofsearching, making sure no one could see me, I found a foxe's earth, picked my time to sit and watch, when I knew there would be no one around to watch me, and waited. 

Before undertaking my solitary watch, there were several things to do first.  The most important was to have the breeze of wind in my face, so that the foxes could not smell me; being down wind would be disastrous.  I had to position my body so that it could stay in the same spot for a long time for the slightest movement would frighten the foxes off. 

I made sure that I had on extra clothing, in case there was a quick change in the weather at a crucial time on my watch, and I had made sure that any traces of aftershave were gone too so that the fox's keen smell would not be able to trace me being in it's territory. 

I sat, in silence, for a couple of hours and, on this occasion, there was no sight of a fox. 

I was not going to be put off and, after work, night after night, I took time out to try and get a good look of the fox.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and still there was no sighting of the foxes.  One evening, quite 'out of the blue,' a Vixen popped her head out of the 'earth.'

My heart began to race for I expected the dog fox to appear next.  The Vixen, on high alert, looked this way and that-sniffing the air-then darted down the hole as if something had disturbed her. 

Minutes later, she was out of the hole again and, now holding my breath in case I could be heard, I saw a small snout sniffing the air. It was a fox cub and it eventually came out of the hole and began to run round the feet of its mum as if in playful mode. 

At that time, I did not have camera but, if I had had one, I would not have been able to take photos for I would have frightened the animals off.  Never the less, for what was about to happen was a photographers' once in a lifetime shot.

The cub fox was followed, as they came out of the  'earth,' by more cubs and I think there were three or maybe five cubs at the mouth of the fox earth. 

I was now to become one of the most privileged sightseeing people for the cubs played, rolled and nipped one another, in a playful manner, for quite some time.

Now and again., the vixen's head went into the air, as if trying to listen, and the cubs were quickly sent down the hole. 

Time and time again, the cubs were allowed to come to the surface and go into their playful pastime. 

To see the animals, in their world, rather than one contrived in a zoo or some other form of controlled sighting, was, for me, the most wonderful thing. 

After a long time, again to my great surprise, the vixen took the cubs, by the scruff of the neck, and put them down the hole.  When the good mum had done her duty, she ran off and, although I did not know it at that time, she had gone to look for supper.  There was no sign of the dog fox and I wondered if it had been killed. 

Later, the vixen came back, with some food in her mouth, I think it was a rabbit, and I hoped that she was going to give the food to her children at the top of the 'earth' but I was out of luck because something disturbed the family and I did not see them again that night.

I had forgotten about this sighting and was pleased to have had the chance to re live the experience if only in my mind's eye and was grateful to the lady who had written to me to tell me of her late night experiences when she was trying to look for the meteors.   

I hope you enjoyed reading about the fox family.

John.         





     

       

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10 Sep 2009 1:10 AM

When I was at school, more years than I like to think of, I used to be in the school quires.  Well, that was until I attended my senior school.  At this school, where all the senior female students seemed to be the majority of singers, I went for an audition and I was ardently reminded of what it feels like to be the underdog.  The music teacher took one look at me and asked me where I came from, and his body language told me that I was not going to be part of his team.

At the audition, to become a member of the choir, I sang my heart out and after the trial, or should I say ordeal, was over, I remember one of the senior girls speaking up for me but it was all in vein.  I was not wanted in the choir.

The following week, I went back to the music teacher again after he had advertised that he would be starting up and orchestra.  I wanted to play the drums but he said that the drummer, who I later became to know when we were teenagers, had already been picked.

I was not going to be put off and said that I wanted to play something.  I finished up with a cornet and had to pay for my own music lessons.  To do that, my father worked a Saturday mornings so that I could have private lessons. 

I am not sure if other people had to pay for their music lessons but I do know that I did not get to play in the band.

I have always loved singing and when I was able to attend �Folk Singing� nights, I found it easy to get into the choruses and rattle off some room shattering bass notes.

This year, now 64 years of age, and fifty something years later than my school singing days, the U3A (University of the Third Age) have started up a quire in the area I live.  Still thinking, from my school days, that my voice would not come up to scratch, I hung back from joining the choir but, in the end, I plucked up courage to make a phone call to the �choir master.� 

I went to the place where rehearsals were due, it happened to be in a church, and when I met the conductor, I was shaking like a leaf; the old rejection fears crept in. 

The conductor, asked me if I was a bass or a tenor and I could not tell him so he asked me to trial with the bass section.  I did not know it at the time, but he had put me close to a wonderful singer who would eventually assess my voice quality. 

At that time, I would say there were about 30 people in the choir and men were in short supply so I resigned myself to thinking that I may have been accepted into the singing group purely as a means of boosting the male singing numbers.

On the first week, I sang my heart out and did not look at the music in my folder; I �winged it!�  I enjoyed the sing and when I was able to get home, I collapsed-in a pile-on the settee for I was totally exhausted. 

The second week came, to go to the sing, and I was having second thoughts as to whether or not I should go to the sing again but I went and wished I had not for I panicked when the conductor asked us all to refer to something on the music sheet. The singer I stood next to asked questions about the dots and lines, on the music sheets, that I thought was like learning a foreign language.  If I was expected to know how to read music then I may as go home. 

Has it turned out, I waited until the interval, where we broke for a cup of tea.  It was at this point I saw a retired work colleague and told him of my doubts and concerns about the choir.  To my surprise and relief, he told me that he too could not read music.  I began to settle a little. 

On my third visit to the sing, I realised that I was not singing properly and was actually doing myself harm and �coasted�� a little.. 

Our choir master, every time we go to rehearsals, spends a lot of time getting us to breath from our diaphragm.  This type of breathing is something the hospital  encouraged me to do to help control panic attacks.  The panic attacks started when I  was going through a rough time in my life.  I found the new breathing method to get easier and easier, as the rehearsals have gone by, and I can now sustain note lengths that I would have always thought to be impossible before going to the choir. 

On several occasions, when I kept turning up at the sings, we were given new sheet music to learn and because the music cannot be photo copied, we have to pay for the music but this expense is nothing compared to what it would cost us if we were paying for the choir lessons.

On one occasion, while standing with the man who had a beautiful voice, he asked me to sing, in the interval, with him to find out if I was a bass or a baritone singer.  My new friend thought I was a baritone and went on to say that I had a very good singing voice.  I had waited, for these words, for over 50 years.

Now settled, I began to sing better but not for long for the good singing man brought me a music book to read and although he went through it with me, there were areas, in the book, that were as clear as mud. 

I am now pleased to tell you that I am starting, after all these years of not knowing, to understand what all the dots and squiggles stand for. 

Every time I went to a sing session, something new seemed to be introduced and one week our ideas were sought for uniformity of dress.  When that was sorted out, a bombshell came my way for I learned that we had been booked to sing in front of our first audience. I was filled with stage fright fears. 

Having said that, as the weeks went on, my singing confidence began to grow and I began to come to terms with there being nothing to worry about for we had now grown to about sixty in numbers. 

This Monday gone, I awoke at about 4 a.m., full of trepidation, (how can I put it) with several trips to the bathroom.-sorry about mentioning this- but, as the day wore on, I found myself settling and, by the time we were due to go to the sing, all nerves had gone.  My wife went with me, to have a good laugh-she said jokingly-and once inside the hall, the choir was subjected to waiting for a hour long meeting before we were allowed to perform.

We were told, from a committee member, that the audience figures were the highest since the U3A branch had been set up in the area I live; many of the audience had come to see the choir. 

Our time came, we sang our first song, to much applause, the second and third songs were received by some members rising to their feet and as they clapped they called for an on chore. 

I am pleased to say that the nerves held well for me and although I really enjoyed the audience participation, the thing that really touched me was when I heard a man, in the crowd, calling out my name then giving me the thumbs up sign.  He said he had really enjoyed the choir�s songs.

Later, I received lots of good comments, about our singing, but there is more.  A few weeks, probably associated with the fall on the ice I had earlier in the year-when I broke my ribs and injured my shoulder-I have had a tooth that has been rocking in my mouth.  The tooth did not hurt so I did not bother going to the dentist.  While we were singing, I felt the tooth vibrating but thought nothing of it.  Later, when I went home, the tooth fell out of its socket and came out of its own accord. 

This Tuesday, for there is no �let up� due to the choir having more venues to cover, we were back to rehearsing more music.  My shoulder, which has caused me pain for several months now, has not been good enough to do the pre sing relaxing exercises that we undertake before doing any singing and I have felt the need to sit down while the rest of the team do all their exercises. 

The team had finished exercising and I leaned forward, with my arm at an angle so as not to take up any room from the other members of the choir, and a sickening cracking sound, that consisted of two movements, came to my shoulder.  I felt sick with pain but held back from shouting out.  A few minutes later, the pain had gone and although I still had lots of pain this morning, I can now effortlessly get my arm up my back, an have not been able to do so since my accident.

If there is anyone out there, who wished they had done something, in their youth, that they did not have chance to do when they were of working age, I would day, if you now get the chance and you feel that there is no danger involved, have a go.  You never know where it will lead to.

P.S.

The confidence I seem to be receiving, from being a choir member, also seems to be giving me more confidence with my art work.

By for now,

John.         

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6 Sep 2009 2:29 AM

A few days ago, my wife and I went to one of the U3A's art appreciation meetings.  In the main, the members are female and many of them are older than my wife and I.

One lady, who we have met several times now, used to teach me when I was in my senior school. Old habits die-hard for I still feel as though I should not call her by her Christian name.

On this occasion, I plucked up courage to tell her how awkward I felt by not calling her 'miss.' She said she understood my dilemma but I should not bother myself with it and that I aught to call her by her first name.  I tried, found it difficult but, now I have broached the matter, I feel I may now be offending her if I call her anything else other than her usual name.

Once my problem was out of the way, there was little time tokeep on talking for the meeting was about to take place.

The coordinator, for this meeting, is a fantastic explainer but, when his title went up on the white screen, I though 'what has the topic to do with art?'

The title was about the 'Tonic Sol-far' or, if you prefer, the Doe, ray, me musical scale. 

Some time ago, it was one man's wish to try and teach as many people, as he could, to sing and as things progressed, the Curwen Press was formed, and the book went on to teach 186,000 people all over the world. 

The booklet changed, over the years and, in the beginning, it was wordy.  At a later time, the pictorials became ornate and graphic and, latterly, the booklets were both wordy and ornate.  The attention to detail made the books expensive and this was to become the demise of the book.

Sales plummeted and the 'company' was eventually 'wound up' and many of the printing blocks were sold off or went into museums. 

Eventually, the building used for the 'Press' went on to be used by artists. 

It has taken me a long time to get to the art bit but I feel it has been well worth waiting for. 

Before writing this piece, I thought it best to ask my friend if he minded me using some of his information in my blog.  He had no problems but I have given him anonymity and left out some of the major points he has taken time and trouble to research. 

In November, one of my favourites, my friend will be giving a talk on Mackintosh and I cannot wait for the meeting to begin and to be able to share with you what new knowledge I have gained.

By for now,

John.

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