Cornflower

In the limelight

This post began life in the 'Baking' category but has migrated  - of its own accord - over to 'General'. I made another chocolate chunk Drizzle Cake yesterday, but this time using two limes instead of the lemon. I think this version is even better than the original.

As I was photographing the one remaining lime to illustrate the piece it struck me that for a shy, retiring person like me, making so much of myself and my life public on this site is rather out of character. I am essentially asking for attention and scrutiny, courting an increased readership, laying myself open to criticism, even, all of which is a little daunting when I come to think about it.

So why do I do it? Why actively seek the limelight? Doubtless the reasons are too complex to be gone into here, and perhaps I don't fully understand them, but let me invite comments from all you fellow-bloggers and ask you why you do it.  And if you're an avid blog-reader (with or without your own site), tell us what you look for and why you choose to visit blogs generally.

I've hinted here before that the true motive behind Cornflower is world domination - but mine will, naturally, be a benign dictatorship, artistic and sensitive, aesthetically pure and domestically driven!  (E.g. WMD will stand for Wool of Mass Deliverance)

Or is that just the thin end of the wedge.....?

So, "Blogs: use or ornament?" Discuss.

Oxford, part III

I couldn't leave the subject of Magdalen College without mentioning C.S. Lewis, who was Fellow of English Language and Literature for thirty years. Though I've read his Chronicles of Narnia, I hadn't come across any of his poetry until the other day. A path through the college grounds known as Addison's Walk borders a park, a meadow of fritillaries and the river Cherwell, and Lewis's poem "What the bird said early in the year" is inscribed on a memorial stone there. I find it a very moving piece, so it's here in full with the pictures I took on the path he must have trod many, many times.

'I heard in Addison's Walk a bird sing clear:

this year the summer will come true. This year, this year.

Winds will not strip the blossom from the apple trees

this year, nor want of rain destroy the peas

This year time's nature will no more defeat you

nor all its promised moments in their passing cheat you

This time they will not lead you round and back

to Autumn one year older by the well-worn track

This year, this year, as all these flowers foretell,

we shall escape the circle and undo the spell

Often deceived yet open once again your heart

quick, quick, quick, quick, the gates are drawn apart.'

A chump at Oxford

On paper, my husband is entitled to append certain letters to his name. He could put "B.A., M.A., D. Phil." and you'd naturally think he'd got three degrees  (and whenever that's mentioned he breaks into the chorus of "When will I see you again?" - groan) but in fact he has a mere two because through some curious quirk of the rules of the University of Oxford he was able to 'convert' his honestly got B.A. into the M.A. by filling in a form and paying £5. (I ask you...)

I was present, some years ago, at the degree ceremony where both the aforesaid dodgy master's and the D.Phil. were conferred and at which he was a virtual catwalk model, entering in one gown and hood, acquiring a second outfit, then disappearing for a quick change and re-entering in order to be 'doctored' in very flashy robes indeed. For the big ham that he is, this couldn't have been more fun.

However, it's time I got to the point. He read for his doctorate at Nuffield College which is just not pretty enough to merit a picture on this website, but it was at the extraordinarily beautiful Magdalen College that he was an undergraduate, and that is were we went the other day to have tea with his former tutor and to meet that man of unimpeachable literary tastes, Simon over at Stuck-in-a-book.

We said hello to Simon under the vast wisteria-clad neoclassical front of New Building, having first wandered through the cloisters in which The (yet-to-be) Doc. once lived in the room formerly occupied by King Edward VIII when he was Prince of Wales.

Deer were grazing contentedly in the rolling acres of parkland beside us, bees buzzed among the flowers, a soft breeze bore the sound of the smack of leather on willow, people lolled languidly in punts - Oh, to be in England now that April's here - you get the gist! The Doc. tries to perpetuate the myth that the sun always shines there (I know differently) and that as seats of learning go, it is the apogee. I suppose I should humour the old fellow.....

It was lovely to meet Simon and we all wish him the best of luck for his forthcoming finals. Floreat Magdalena et floreant Magdalenenses!

Mother's pride

Forgive me if I sing the praises of one of my children.

Our trip yesterday was to Christ Church, Oxford, to see Alice accept her prize as one of the winners in the prestigious Christopher Tower Poetry Competition. We were amazed at the talent demonstrated by the six young poets, and we particularly applaud Charlotte Runcie who took first place.

The college provided a magnificent setting for the event.

In the Cathedral we found beams of sunlight reflecting the colours of the stained glass to illuminate the ancient stonework.

Then with the formal part of the day over, we went on to an even more beautiful college to catch up with friends old and new, of which more tomorrow.......

Magical mystery tour

Cornflower's off on an 'awayday' to a mystery destination. I'll tell all when I'm back later, but thought I'd give some clues, should you want to have a guess.....

It has nothing to do with flowers, except that we might see a meadow of fritillaries and a wisteria-clad building or two.

It's a seat of learning, but most inhabitants use their brains.

It is south of Edinburgh - well, that wouldn't be hard.

If I were to talk in 'code', you'd detect my meaning.

I'm hoping to put a sight on a fellow blogger, unless we get 'stuck' along the way.

Homework

       "The telephone called Rose from the bathroom where she was meeting her Waterloo with a tin of Vim." The war made unlooked-for demands on many people, not least housewives who were forced to do without the domestic help they'd considered indispensable. So in Winifred Peck's novel House-Bound, Rose Fairlaw takes to the job of looking after her own large home with the aforesaid Vim, vigour and enthusiasm, albeit without a jot of experience or knowledge of the art.

      Set against the backdrop of Rose's growing acquaintance with sheer drudgery, where she comes to view her home as a master to be appeased at all costs, this intriguing book examines more crucially another interpretation of the term 'house-bound': emotionally constrained. Rose sees herself and her family as "tethered inexorably to a collection of all the extinct memories and .... inhibitions with which they had grown up, bits of mental furniture which they dusted and inspected daily."

      It is in the melting-pot of wartime, where attitudes and standards are broken down and re-formed, that events occur which force Rose and her family to break free of their emotional ligatures. While years before, Rose's mother had been "...exquisitely secure over her petit-point in a world that was made for her...", her daughter is part of a changing order, forced to wonder "how are we all to get out?" when she recognises the extent of her predicament, and then, through processes both intensely painful and uplifting, to find the answer to her question.

      Set in Edinburgh, or "Castleburgh" as it's called, and first published in 1942, this edition comes with an Afterword written by Penelope Fitzgerald, Winifred Peck's niece. While being sharp and funny, particularly on social observation, it's a book full of thought, insight and understanding - as are so many fellow Persephone titles - of the sensibilities of women.

Coffee morning

I've been out for coffee this morning with Vanessa, the human dynamo who is behind the publishing house Fidra Books. If you're not already familiar with Fidra, go over and have a look at their website and read Vanessa's blog (there's a link on the sidebar ) and you can find out all about their marvellous re-prints of classic 20th. century children's fiction.

Fidra are doing for children's literature what Persephone Books do for adults': re-discovering overlooked gems and giving them a new lease of life and a whole new - and growing - audience.

Vanessa has some pretty impressive, heavy-weight supporters for her young company (no names, no pack-drill....) which reflects her knowledge of her subject, her commitment to her aims and her considerable achievements to date. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and she's dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a small player in a game dominated by very much bigger and more powerful ones with endless good humour and a refreshingly down-to-earth approach.

Two Fidra titles are going on the top of my 'TBR' pile:

"The Scool on North Barrule" by Mabel Esther Allan was first published in 1952 and is set in my old home, the Isle of Man.

Then I've got Victoria Walker's "The Winter of Enchantment" to look forward to. This dates from 1969 and got a glowing review from no less a person than  Dovegreyreader when she read it recently.

I wish Fidra Books every success, and I shall watch them go from strength to strength - as they undoubtedly will - with great interest. Good luck to you, Vanessa!

Primary colours

It's a grey Monday morning here,

drizzly, dull and uninspiring.

Despite a lack of sunshine, there is colour in the garden.

I've left out the whites and pinks and the plummy shades

and restricted myself to red, blue and yellow.

If your day needs a little brightness,

I hope these flowers do the trick!

Through the keyhole

What's your ideal home? Perhaps the one you live in now, maybe some unattainable fantasy dwelling. Homes - whether real or imagined - are so important to us in ways other than the purely practical that they hold a fascination like almost nothing else.

Endless hours of television look at the buying, renovation, furnishing, design - and selling - of houses, and newagents' shelves display the vast choice of magazines on the subject. This perhaps reflects the fact that we invest such emotional energy in our homes that - amongst other things - they represent a unique and important means of self-expression.

Anyone interested in domestic architecture will find this little book a treat. The House Book: Mini Edition is a collection of 500 houses spanning all periods, styles, major architects, design movements and cultures. Arranged alphabetically, the juxtapositions through up some striking contrasts such as Sir Edwin Lutyens' Deanery Gardens on the page opposite a Maasai hut, or Nicholas Hawksmoor's classical Easton Neston next to a Hebridean croft. It is a fascinating collection, covering everything from the sublime to the ridiculous, and illustrating the lengths to which people will go to put a roof over their heads.

What is your ideal home?

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still on the subject of buildings, I bought The House Book not online or in a major high street retailer, but in the biggest rural bookshop in the Scottish Highlands, The Watermill in Aberfeldy. As its name suggests, it's housed in a converted mill (the race is there, as is the machinery) and it incorporates a gallery and coffee shop along with its excellent selection of books. We went to the town specifically to visit that shop and we were not disappointed, so not only is it meeting the needs of the local population, it's bringing people into the area, too.

Of cabbages and things

I've long been an admirer of Kaffe Fassett's, and particularly of his needlepoint designs. His artist's eye sees the beauty in even the humblest of fruits and vegetables and translates the subtle gradations of colour into something to be examined and admired.

Adopting Kaffe's viewpoint, I photographed some of the produce I bought at the supermarket yesterday, beginning with a cabbage.

Here's what he did with one a few years ago:

Then there's the pictorial potential of pears:

and Perthshire asparagus from this morning's farmers' market:

I haven't the nerve to take my camera to the supermarket and snap things in situ, but as I've said here before, noticing how the raw ingredients look can make the job of food-shopping a lot less tedious than it often is.

Perhaps it 's not just looks which tempt - how about names? For instance, who could resist a tomato exotically called "Sultan's Jewel"? Not I.

Reading between the lines

Still in bookish mood (when am I not?) after yesterday's Persephone post, and prompted by Sherry who often drops in here, I thought I'd invite all you avid readers to divulge your reading habits. Leave a comment and tell us the when, where, why, what with, or describe your ideal situation or even reading companion, if applicable.

I wish I could say that I looked as elegant as J.D. Fergusson's "Woman in White", above, when I pick up a book, and nor do I usually read while sitting at a writing table, but I could always try wafting around the house in a gown before an idle moment or two's absorption in the current novel.

I don't read while lying down as if I did I'd just fall asleep, but I do often have a dog or two at my side, and I love to do it al fresco. Carl Larsson's "Woman lying on a bench" looks quite comfy.

This is Irving Ramsay Wiles' "Woman Reading". Is it a magazine she's engrossed in? Perhaps it's a forerunner of the Persephone Biannually or maybe it was the "Hello" of its day. Do you have particular times and places for periodicals as opposed to books? What's your favourite chair? Are you a commuting reader, or do you require solitude?

"The Governess" by Alice Squire looks well-organised to me. I often read in the bath, but I doubt she'd manage that with her more basic facilities.

I couldn't resist including this last picture; it's called "The Reader" and is by Jean-Jacques Henner. That must be a gripping novel she's got there ......

Go on, dear readers, bare all!

Persephonically speaking

An embarrassment of riches in the post this morning, as three Persephone books arrived; their beautiful bookmarks, matching the endpapers, are pictured above.

Two are the newly-released Spring titles, Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Shuttle, and House-bound by Winifred Peck, while the third is the Journal of Katherine Mansfield.

"House-bound" grabbed my attention particularly when it was flagged as 'forthcoming' a few months ago as it is set here in Edinburgh (I've already spotted one derogatory mention of Glasgow!!), and I'm hoping for lots of local references. I see from the first few pages that although it was written around sixty five years ago, the city's people then and now are strikingly similar. More anon.

The Persephone Biannually (which replaces the Quarterly) also came this morning. It includes a short story by Norah Hoult and an article about Cicely Hamilton as well as various reviews and news.

Persephone now has such a strong and recognisable identity, and its name is a byword for quality; long may it flourish.

 

Spuds-we-like

More unidentifiable objects from the Cornflower kitchen.

No prizes for guessing, but above is a broccoli floret, and top, slices of potato.

I was reading Tara's post from a couple of days ago about the wonderful galette she'd made, and it piqued the appetite so much that I rushed off to the shops intent on following her lead. But there was no Gruyere to be had, so I made pommes dauphinoise instead.

The photographic potential of the humble tattie is a bit limited, I think, so apologies for the surfeit of 'beigeness' in today's pictures (that's why I put in the one with the red pan - just to break the monotony), but the dish is so good and it appeals to the glutton in me such that I couldn't not include it here.

The food processor sliced the potatoes far more thinly than I could, then they had a quick wash to remove excess starch, and were layered in a buttered dish with salt and lots of ...

The gratin recipe I turn to most often (one of Prue Leith's) specifies one clove of garlic. Elizabeth David, in the old salad bowl tradition, talks about rubbing the baking dish with the cut side of a clove. Perhaps my taste buds are insensitive, but such mingy quantities won't do for me so I put in lots.

Pour over a generous quantity of double cream (as with the garlic, I'm not of the ascetic 'milk and single cream mixture' school) and then bake. It can have a couple of hours at a low heat, or forty minutes at a higher one if that's all the time you have, and when it's golden brown and bubbling and the potatoes are skewer-done, take it out and eat it for the sake of self-indulgence.

We had it with chicken which of course is similarly coloured, so here's some more non-beige broccoli to finish:

Watering the daisies

When an unread book has been in the house for a while it sometimes takes a little prompting to pick it up off the shelf and put it on the top of the 'To be read' pile, but that's what happened with Tove Jansson's The Summer Book. Firstly, a friend gave us Jansson's A Winter Book: Selected Stories, which reminded me I'd better be 'aestival' before becoming 'hibernal', and then Simon over at Stuck in a Book wrote of it so warmly that I had to make a start.

This quickly turned into a delight. Anyone familiar with Jansson's famous Moomins will recognise the humour in these stories which are a series of essay/sketches like a collection of watercolours, but with a sudden stab of the bold and brilliant. They are profound and funny, and following the adventures of the child Sophia and her elderly grandmother on a tiny island in the Gulf of Finland, they cleverly capture the cantankerousness of both youth and old age: "Wise as she was, [grandmother] realised that people can postpone their rebellious phases until they're eighty five years old, and she decided to keep an eye on herself."

Sophia and grandmother discuss everything from whether God has secretaries, to the plight of halved worms and the frailty of moss (step on it three times and it dies), and all the while the island's vulnerability and isolation focus the stories inward. In her introduction, Esther Freud says the book's allure "is the allure of summer itself for [Scandinavians] who spend so much of the year in the dark." It is equally appealing to the rest of us, and thanks to a little help from my friends, I'm glad I discovered its charm in the end.

Ask the family

Does anyone remember the television quiz "Ask the Family", chaired by Robert Robinson? One of the rounds involved identifying everyday objects which had been photographed from odd angles, so they'd show something like a colander close-up or the spiral of a corkscrew from the point down.

I hadn't intended to play that game here, but as it's a variation on a lot of what goes on on this site - looking at things in a slightly different way and perhaps seeing something in them which might otherwise have been missed, it's valid enough. I've linked it with another of my preoccupations, i.e. that I don't accomplish as much as I should, and so I've snapped some of things I am doing, or should be doing more of, so that I can invoke (from another famous quiz show) the late-lamented Magnus Magnusson's line, "I've started so I'll finish".

The picture above is not of a black hole, or the sky at night, it's the coffee in my blue mug, its steam clouding the camera lens, its presence making me sit longer than I ought to before tackling various chores!

Then I've got knitting to get on with....

...and good books to finish:

If you were to ask my family, they'd say I was spending far too much time on the computer.

They'd get a point for that answer.