Halloween

There are no ghosts or spirits on the loose and Halloween is a load of old bunkum. Witches, skeletons, scary scarecrows, spiders and suchlike - it is all what the Irish might call bollix.

When I was a lad, growing up in the heart of East Yorkshire, Halloween was hardly a thing. After all, just four days later we had Mischief Night to look forward to and on November 5th - one of the most momentous days of the year - Bonfire Night which is sometimes called Guy Fawkes Night. Compared with that, Halloween was a mere blip on the calendar.

When our kids were little, it was with much reluctance that we allowed the Halloween nonsense to seep into our lives. After all, the commercial hype had gradually become unstoppable. There were costumes to buy, parties to attend and scary films to watch. Halloween had got everywhere - rather like COVID19.

The presence of swollen pumpkins in our supermarkets was quite distasteful. Shouldn't farmers grow things we can eat and not orange orbs to be carved for Halloween and then discarded? It didn't seem right so I was a dad who never carved a pumpkin... until yesterday afternoon.

Partly, I carved it for the granddaughters but mostly  for my own creative satisfaction. I had bought the pumpkin from Sainsburys for a mere £1.75 (US $2.30). Bigger ones cost £2.

I wanted to give my pumpkin a happy face. He or she should not be scary. There is enough scariness in the world right now so why should I add to that climate? Besides, as I said at the beginning, there are no ghosts or evil spirits. That is pure poppycock.

I planned the face and used one of Phoebe's water-based felt-tips to mark out the features - knowing that I could later wipe those lines away. Phoebe got on a step to watch the pumpkin artist at work but, annoyingly, she kept leaning on me, threatening to jolt my right hand in which I held a sharp kitchen dagger.

The insides of my very first finished pumpkin's head were thrown out for composting. In that sense I felt rather like a lobotomist. I found a large tea candle in a tin container and lit it just before teatime, placing the head on a table next to the French windows in our dining room. It was already dark by then.

Phoebe and Margot were called to the unlit dining room to see the glowing happy face outside and of course they were as impressed by old grandpa's artistry as  Rembrandt's grandchildren were probably impressed by "The Night Watch".  Happy Halloween everybody - whatever that stupid greeting might mean to you!

Quiztime

It's that time again. Try not to get too excited. Yes! It's QUIZTIME! On this occasion, I am giving you ten random images but can you decipher them accurately enough to win the points? No multiple choice answers this time round. As usual, solutions will be given in the comments section.

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That's all folks! How did you do?

Traquair

Bust of Phoebe Anna Traquair in Edinburgh

At the risk of boring regular readers, I want to follow up yesterday's Thomas Wallis blogpost with a post about another obscure artist whose work I encountered on the way home from Louth.

For years, Shirley and I travelled along the A631 road towards Gainsborough whenever we were visiting her parents - Charlie and Winnie. They lived in a small village by the River Trent where Charlie farmed the same land this his father and grandfather had tilled before him.

In those days, there were never any brown signposts in the vicinity of Gringley-on-the-Hill and Drakeholes. In Great Britain, such signposts indicate a visitor attraction. Perhaps ten years ago fresh brown signposts appeared showing the way to "The Traquair Murals".

To tell you the truth I did not give these signs much thought and besides by then Charlie and Winnie had both shuffled off their mortal coils so we didn't head out that way very often. I imagined that the murals would be faded old medieval paintings in a country church.

Anyway, on Monday morning, as we headed home at our leisure, Shirley  suggested that we should take a diversion to find out what these "Traquair Murals" actually were.

Soon we found ourselves in the village of Clayworth and a sign in the churchyard indicated that this is where the mystery would be solved.

How charming is the historic Church of St Peter. We were the only visitors and there ahead of us were The Traquair murals - filling the walls of the chancel - colourful and surprisingly modern.

The paintings were commissioned by Lady D'Arcy Godolphin Osborne in gratitude for the safe return of her son from the Boer Wars in South Africa. The artist that Lady D'Arcy picked was quite well-known at the time and mainly based in Edinburgh. She was Phoebe Anna Traquair (nee Moss) 1852-1936.

The work was completed in the summer of 1905. Although religious in nature and informed by muralists of the past, The Traquair Murals at Clayworth have, as I said previously, a modern feel about them in the "arts and crafts" tradition that was active in this country before World War I.

In the first two pictures, I successfully snapped details of Mrs Traquair's work but I give credit to Geograph colleague Julian Guffogg for the last two images as my own attempts were too blurry.

Wallis

Though he was born in the city of Hull, Thomas Wilkinson Wallis spent most of his life in Louth, Lincolnshire. Born in 1821, he died in 1903.

He learnt the craft of woodcarving during a long apprenticeship in the city of his birth but as he grew older he demonstrated that his talent was extraordinary. Using single blocks of lime wood, he was able to carve  remarkable decorative pieces in  which fine tools such as scalpels  were used to create incredible detail. For example, his carved ivy leaves are as thin as living ivy leaves.

Some of his work is on display in Louth Museum and though the pieces are over one hundred and sixty years old, the skills that he possessed remain very apparent. He needed more than immense patience and a steady hand, he also required daring and vision.

Thomas Wallis was acclaimed in his own lifetime and received numerous commissions - including one or two from America. He was also invited to send examples of his work to  The Great Exhibition of 1851  in London and to The Paris Exhibition of 1855 where he won medals.

Rather tragically, in 1858, Wallis damaged his eyes while observing an eclipse through inadequately smoked glass, and fear of permanently losing his sight caused him to finally abandon his career as a carver in 1874. He went on to become the Borough Surveyor for Louth and was also involved in public health inspection.

Until last Saturday I admit that I knew nothing about Thomas Wallis but having seen examples of his work, it seems to me that he was a genius. Not so much a wood carver, more a sculptor in wood and a true artist. It is nice to sing of a forgotten hero but instead, let two of his creations sing for him...

"Trophy of Spring" 1851

"Partridges and Ivy"

Weekend

Phoebe insisted on calling our Lincolnshire lodge a hut. It was perfect. So clean, so well-maintained and so warm and comfortable. Twenty five yards away there was an indoor swimming pool attached to Kenwick Park Hotel. On Saturday afternoon, your intrepid correspondent donned his skimpy red speedos and dived in with the rest of them. Phoebe was a like an eel as Margot relaxed in the water like a basking shark.

We really struck lucky with the weather. Mostly there was bright autumnal sunshine with a little chill in the air. On Saturday morning, we mooched around Louth, had lunch in a nice little cafe and visited the local museum. before Margot had to get back to the hut for her middle-of-the-day nap.

St Helen's Church, Little Cawthorpe

On Sunday morning, I was up bright and early, walking on a public footpath that headed south over the golf course to two villages that sit on the very edge of The Lincolnshire Wolds - Legbourne and Little Cawthorpe. The walk took just over two hours and then we set off for the coast - to the unsophisticated little resort of Mablethorpe.

We enjoyed a light lunch in Gerardo's on the high street. Beforehand, we had walked half a mile along the seafront. After visiting the lifeboat station, Phoebe was keen to write her name in the sand.

A motorcycle racing event was about to take place further along those broad sands as the tide receded. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of bikers in town. 

In Jacksons amusement arcade, Mablethorpe

Mablethorpe is a tacky, working class resort and I had not been there in many years. The majority of visitors stay on sprawling caravan parks and hanging outside one high street souvenir shop I was amused by a T-shirt that read, "What happens in the caravan stays in the caravan". That is so Mablethorpe.

Stew and Margot

Back in Louth, we had a very late Sunday lunch in "The Woolpack Inn". It was excellent apart from the ridiculously long wait we endured before the arrival of our  desserts. Not good when you have two little girls with you and it's almost their bathtime. Ah well.

It was a great weekend that will live long in our memories even though we had to sleep in a hut.

On Kenwick Park's golf course

East

 

East? Please do not worry about my sanity. I have not been painting the word "EAST>>>" on the wall at the front of our house or anything like that. No. Let me explain.

Yesterday afternoon we headed sixty miles east with Frances, Stew and the little girls. We are staying in the lodge shown above and this my friends is another "scheduled" post. It feels a bit like cheating.

We are here for three nights on the other side of the Lincolnshire Wolds - an official "AONB" - Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. The lodge is on a country estate close to the town of Louth that I blogged about two years ago.

Yes folks - we are roughing it. The primitive frontier lodge has four bedrooms and three bathrooms and below you can see pictures of the open lounge area and the off-shot kitchen...

I expect that we will survive the experience. Back home on Monday afternoon.

Triumph

The National Theatre's Olivier Award-winning smash hit, "Dear England" has arrived at Sheffield's  Lyceum Theatre in a highly  praised national tour. And last night, Shirley and I went along to see it.

The promotional blurb said this: "It’s time to change the game. The country that gave the world football has since delivered a painful pattern of loss. The England men’s team has the worst track record for penalties in the world, and manager Gareth Southgate knows he needs to open his mind and face up to the years of hurt to take team and country back to the promised land.

Football and non-football fans alike will be brought to their feet in this joyous, five-star ‘new stage epic’ (Telegraph). From multi award-winning writer James Graham (Sherwood, BBC) and director Rupert Goold (Patriots, Cold War), Dear England tells the uplifting, at times heart-breaking, and ultimately inspiring story of Gareth Southgate’s revolutionary tenure as England manager.

David Sturzaker (Doctors, BBC) plays Gareth Southgate in this gripping examination of nation and game. He is joined by stage and screen actress Samantha Womack (EastEnders, BBC; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) as team psychologist Pippa Grange."

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At the end, following a rapturous standing ovation, Shirley and I dashed out of the theatre  onto Arundel Gate and managed to clamber on board a Number 88 bus that took us homeward straight away. We chuckled with delight about our good luck.

I had laughed and cried during the performance. It was brilliantly staged and though not what you might call "high drama", "Dear England" was certainly very entertaining - especially for somebody like me who loves English football and cares a lot about it. 

Somewhere in our recent past, England football supporters began to sing Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" at international matches and at the end of last night's  show, the entire cast and audience sang along and danced to that familiar song. Tears ran down my cheeks.