The Rain it Raineth on the Just

And on the unjust fella

But mainly on the just because

The unjust has the just's umbrella.

CJ and I were brought up with this witty ditty which is attributed to Lord Bowen .  I was going to say that I had absolutely no idea who he was but when I read the Wikipedia article I realised that I did.  I knew him simply from the quote in one of the legal textbooks I read more years ago than I able to remember.  The quote, however, like many from those books stuck with me because they were usually far more interesting that the subject I was supposed to be learning.  The quote was "When I hear of an 'equity' in a case like this, I am reminded of a blind man in a dark room - looking for a black hat - which isn't there".  Ironically I am not sure that I can recall what an 'equity' is although I think it had something to do with the courts being able to interpret or modify common law.  Didn't you just want to know all that?  Actually it's just me showing that I haven't forgotten everything I learned.  Although what good any of that ever did me or the world escapes me. 

Anyway it's been raining here for over a week with the exception of Saturday morning and afternoon when the sun shone and we had the croquet club BBQ.

 A prediction of things to come: and they did with even more drops

The apples were ready for harvest a week ago I believe.  

When they will be harvested is anyone's guess.

Saturday late afternoon and we had a splendid double rainbow most of which I would have to have climbed several fences and moved several large trees to get in frame.

 The pot of gold should be beneath this tree

 There are two young olive trees at The Cottage.  They are full of fruit (I was going to say 'olives' but that would have be stating the obvious).  If I had realised they were going to be so prolific I suppose I could have learned what to do with them.

 Just to the right of the base of the tree at the foot of the rainbow is a paddock with two alpaca. They were screaming fit to bust when I was photographing the rainbow.

 I must try this more frequently

 That's the cable from the micro-wave dish carrying my internet signal to the Cottage.

Thankful Thursday

One of the advantages of getting older is that one has more memories: some good, some bad but at least there are a lot of them.  Some of mine have been brought to mind by a book a friend lent me entitled A Present of Laughter.

I was surprised by how many of the rhymes and so on I knew.

My brother, CJ, and I often come up with lines from well-known works like Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky, The Walrus and the Carpenter, or "You are old, Father William" but I had never heard of his The Mad Gardener's Song and I have to admit that although his The Hunting of the Snark is a title well known to me, when I read it I couldn't recall it at all.

How many of you have heard A Song About Myself

There was a naughty Boy,

A Naughty boy was he,

He would not stop at home,

He could not quiet be -

     He took

     In his Knapsack

     A Book

     Full of vowles

     And a shirt

     With some towels-

     ...........

and so it goes on.   But can you recall who might have written it?  I know it well and I know it's author well - he was one of my favourite poets with great epics like Hyperion to his credit.  He was the serious John Keats (1795-1821).  But could I remember that he was the author?  No.

I'm not a great lover of Edward Lear (1812-1888) and his nonsense rhymes but I do love his The Owl and The Pussycat going to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat, eating mince and slices of quince with a runcible spoon and dancing by the light of the moon.  The wonderful illustration is by L Leslie Brooke (1862-1940).

W S Gilbert (1836-1911) is well known for his half of the pairing of Gilbert and Sullivan but how many have heard of his Gentle Alice Brown and it's sage tale of love and corruption most amusingly put.  I had not.

I'm sure that I heard the following limerick (anonymous) before I'd gone to school:

There was a young lady of Niger

Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger

     They came back from the ride

     With the lady inside

And the smile on the face of the Tiger.

Can you imagine this anonymous ditty being allowed anywhere near a politically correct book these days:

Little Willie hung his sister,

She was dead before we missed her.

"Willie's always up to tricks!

 Ain't he cute? He's only six!"

Hilaire Belloc (1870 - 1953) lived long and wrote much - very much - including his cautionary tales such as Jim (Who ran away from his Nurse and was eaten by a lion) or Rebecca (Who slammed doors for fun and perished miserably).

I shall finish with Ogden Nash's (1902 - 1971) The Wombat for no other reason than it has an  antipodean connection and, if you have ever seen a wombat, is quite ludicrous:

The wombat lives across the seas
Among the fair Antipodes.
He may exist on nuts and berries,
or then again on missionaries;
His distant habit precludes
Conclusive knowledge of his moods.
But I would not engage the wombat
In any form of mortal combat.

So why is this a Thankful Thursday post?  I'm very thankful I have known (most of) these wonderful pieces of nonsense and had so many years of enjoyment out of them and their authors.

Thankful Thursday

Phone call from a friend this morning at 0730 "Are you still ok for dinner tonight?"

Me "I thought it was the 4th we were going."

Friend "It is."

Me "But that's tomorrow."

Friend "It can't be.  Friday is the 4th.  I've just checked."

Me "Yes.  But today's Thursday."

Friend "It can't be I've just looked in my diary."

Duh!

So it's not just me who has problems!

Phone call from the same friend at 0740 "X and Y can't come tomorrow.  They are too tired after all the relatives left yesterday.  Can we postpone it for a few days?"

We had lunch instead to catch up.

Friend lived in Auckland for years until retiring to Napier about four or five years ago and has become immersed in the Napier life but still has a rather Auckland pace to her life.  "I still have difficulty with the fact that people stop at every roundabout whether or not anyone is on the roundabout.  Then I stop thinking shouts [she is far too ladylike actually to shout] at them and remember that I came here to get away from the Auckland way and pace."

I was reminded of the poem Leisure by W H Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

I quoted this poem on Eagleton Notes some time after I started blogging.  Blogging has given me the reason for stopping and staring and taking life - albeit a very full life - at a much gentler pace and living in the Outer Hebrides and Napier has assisted that.

For all of that, and for butterflies, I am truly thankful.

A New Zealand Red Admiral - the first I've photographed this time here.

Not Screaming But Shouting

I've now had five sessions at 1 To 1 Fitness Studio in Napier over the last couple of weeks.  Why?  Principally to strengthen my legs in the event that I have my knee replaced sometime soon but also to get my legs fitter because they were getting very loathe to move in the morning which at my tender age was not a Good Thing.  I'm not very good at self-motivation when it comes to things like gyms which is why this is a good option: no slacking and the whole of your fitness regime supervised and monitored - a sort of shared personal trainer service. 

Anyway, I digressed.  I was obviously a bit fitter than I thought because even on my first day before they upped the hardness regime I had no real difficulty with the equipment which involved the cycle, cross-trainer and the walking machines.  Upper body exercises and weights were quite another thing and my muscles screamed for me to stop and only my stubbornness managed to get me to the end of each set exercise: just.  Until today.  Today on the worst exercise (crunches) they just shouted loudly.  Wow.  Progress.

As I was doing the crunches and realised my muscles were not screaming but shouting I thought of what has become one of my favourite poems:

Not Waving But Drowning
by
Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Thankful Thursday

For Jaz who is an inspiration, thank you. Jaz, your post Dear Tumour was one of the bravest, most positive things I can imagine.  When I was given similar news years ago I, too, decided that being positive was the only answer.  I trust that when I am long gone having died in ripe old age (I love cheese comparisons) you will look back at this time and remember that  You can if you think you can If you think you are beaten, you are,
If you think you dare not, you don't.
If you like to win, but you think you can't,
It is almost certain you won't.

If you think you'll lose, you're lost,
For out in the world we find,
Success begins with a fellow's will.
It's all in the state of mind.

If you think you are outclassed, you are,
You've got to think high to rise,
You've got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.

Life's battles don't always go
To the stronger or faster man.
But soon or late the man who wins,
Is the man who thinks he can.
~ C. W. Longenecker ~

Invicta

Jenny Woolf left a comment on Meike's Mum's guest post the other day quoting the last two lines from a poem which, many years ago, I copied into my book of thoughts and writings.  I occasionally dip into the book even though I stopped writing in it many years ago. I thought that I would share it with you. Then, as I was writing this I suddenly had a moment of déjà vu.  Had I written this before? I Postvortered it and the answer was in the negative.   Then I remembered, of course, it could have been in Eagleton Notes.  Postvorta again.  There it was.  Oh well.  This is a different blog so I shall do it again.  I've just discovered, too, that Wikipedia has an entry on it .

INVICTA *

William Ernest Henley, 1849-1903


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


* translated as unconquered or unconquerable

What Would You Put Your Box?

Three years ago this month - I can't believe that it's so long ago - I read a post by Jan of Stitchings and Other Ramblings entitled Please excuse me while I have a proud mummy moment.  The thing that was causing the mummy moment was a poem by Ellinor aged 9.  I thought that it was brilliant and made a note in my drafts to do a post.  I've returned to it on a number of occasions but have now decided to resurrect it.  Unfortunately Jan didn't post a lot after that and hasn't posted since May last year.  Nor does she have an email address so I'm hoping that she and Ellinor will not mind me quoting from her blog. 

Jan's post:

I won't be offended if you don't want to read this entry but I just wanted to share.

Ellie has been going to creative writing class every couple of weeks after school.  It's run by the headmistress and she allows them to let their imaginations run riot and they can sit, lie, stand where ever they want and feel comfortable - it's totally informal.
Well Ellie came back with a poem she'd written and after reading it I suspiciously questioned where her ideas had come from and whether she'd copied pieces or ideas from things she'd heard or read. She assured me she hadn't and was most put out that I'd think that. Here it is.

My Magic Box by Ellinor

I will put in my box
the shimmer of a sparkling star on a simmering night
the bark from the mouth of a black Jasper Labrador
the top of my Ted touching the television

I will put in my box
a snowflake with a falling heart
a hat of the finest tartan from Loch Lomond
a swirling star from an eternal space

I will put in my box
four orange wishes spoken in Welsh
the last cough of an old father
and the first wink of a black fly

I will put in my box
A violet moon and a multicoloured sun
A mummy on a broomstick
And a witch on a simmering pyramid

My box is made from the finest velvet
With sugar on the lid and books in the corners
Its hinges are the colour of the sun

I shall read in my box
on the top of a million hearts beating together
then find a diamond
the colour of the moon

Age: 9
Feb 2009

I've often wondered what I would put in my box but whatever goes in it will be expressed prosaically and not with such poetry and style as used by Ellinor: Aged 9.

On Rain, Poetry and The Law.

This has, by common agreement, been the most miserable summer here in Hawkes Bay that most people seem to be able to recall.  Of course these statements are often made when the weather is miserable but there is absolutely no doubt that this is the most miserable summer since I first came here to New Zealand in 2005.

It has always been one of our family sayings that:

“The rain it raineth on the just
And also on the unjust fella;
But chiefly on the just, because
The unjust steals the just’s umbrella.”

I wondered this evening whether that saying was just a family one or whether it had wider provenance.  Lo and behold I discovered that it was attributed to the English Judge, Lord Bowen (Charles Synge Christopher Bowen, Baron Bowen QC, PC (1 January 1835 – 10 April 1894)).

Now I wouldn't expect any of my readers to have heard of this august member of the judiciary however, as it so happens, the name was known to me.  Why?  Well when I read law one of the most famous and basic tests was that of the "man on the back of the Clapham omnibus".  (The man on the Clapham omnibus is a hypothetical reasonable person, used by the courts in English law where it is necessary to decide whether a party has acted in the way that a reasonable person should.)

Who had originated this test?  You guessed it: Charles Bowen as he then was as Counsel in the famous Tichborne Case.

As an aside Lord Bowen was no literary slouch either and amongst many other things translated Virgil's Eclogues, and Aeneid, books i.-vi.  

More interestingly, for me at least, was another of his quotes:  “When I hear of an 'equity' in a case like this, I am reminded of a blind man in a dark room - looking for a black hat - which isn't there”  I just love that.

Having said all that, despite the dreary day and the rain, I played a game of Association Croquet this afternoon and played much to my personal satisfaction.   Then I played a hugely enjoyable game of one-ball with my original AC mentor and at the end he won by the narrowest margin possible.  We finished, wet and very happy. 

I had originally intended to quote Longfellow's poem The Rainy Day but felt that it's tenor, though very apt in some ways, in no way reflected the joy and lightness of my mood.  Nevertheless as I'd looked the words up to remind myself of them I shall quote them anyway:

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Tomorrow the forecast is for showers; Wednesday it's rain; Thursday and Friday showers.  In fact the weather map is almost totally devoid of sun this week.  The vignerons are getting worried.

Me?  Tonight I couldn't be happier.