Clarissa et al.

I was at work this afternoon teaching twenty or so children how to make corn dollies: two simple plaits of straw wired together to make a heart shape and trimmed with ears of corn, ribbons etc. This was followed by a quick tour round the harvesting machinery in the farm museum with me giving a quick synopsis of the process from sowing to milling, and then allowing them all to turn the stones on the mill.

Most of the girls could plait after a fashion: most of the boys had to be taught from scratch including one with a broken arm, and one with only one viable hand, so it was quite an achievement for them.

This is more the way I like to enjoy my summer days: a day at Castle Howard.

I have a favourite route to get there which I discovered while looking for a way of avoiding the regular summer traffic jam in the middle of Malton - through Wetwang, then right and through Thixendale along a breathtakingly beautiful glacial valley, past Kirkham Priory, across the A64 (can be a bit hairy, but not today) and on to Castle Howard.

On this occasion we stopped at Kirkham Priory for our picnic - nicer than the designated picnic place at Castle Howard which is really just a part of the carpark, with plenty to look at both inside the priory ruins and the view across the river, the stone bridge and the railway line.

Since we are nearing the end of the school holidays Castle Howard was Jessie's choice, made on the basis of the adventure playground. When we got down to the playground she realised that without friends to egg her on she is at 12 just too old to enjoy playgrounds, although she made a brief attempt.

Fortunately the boat on the lake was running so we were able to do something we had never done before at Castle Howard. Later we were told that the boat's engine had recently developed the habit of conking out in the middle of the lake. It didn't for us and we had a very nice little trip with lovely views of the house. The other party on board consisted of two adults and four children who discussed the 'duckies' and 'swannies' rather loudly - they came to the conclusion that the black swanny must be the daddy and all the white swannies mummies. I managed with difficulty to curb my teacherly urge to do a five minute lecture on the domestic life of Cygnus Olor.

On arriving back on dry land we joined an orderly queue for the tractor train back up to the house (not actually this lazy - more part of the entertainment as far as Jess was concerned) and were shocked that, while we stood back to let the people on board disembark, those behind us were pushing past us to grab seats not yet fully vacated. In the end Jess and I rode, but Joe had to walk.

Jess and I went round the house at tourist speed, while Joe followed at connoisseur speed, which gave us a chance to enjoy a cup of tea (me) and very black coffee (Jess) while we waited for him. There was a lovely exhibition of animal bronzes in the process of being set up by the artist which both Jess and I loved and said so. (It was in the room which was painted by the Jeremy Irons character in 'Brideshead'.)

Jess, who had really liked Newby, felt that Castle Howard was all too much. Joe loves these private palaces, but I'm with Jess in my preference for country houses over stately homes, and I am afraid we neither of us liked the latest refurbished room which was in a rather shocking shade of minty turquoise or the celebrated chapel which Jess was seeing for the first time. Joe loved both. Jess was taken with a painting of the Howard children riding a unicorn which Narnia inspired piece was, we were told, Mrs. Howard's Christmas present to her husband.

While Joe perused the gift shop, Jess and I made a brief perambulation of the gardens which we enjoyed although, like most gardens this summer much of it was way below its best.

This is Jess with the Atlas fountain and the house in the background. As you see it was pushing on to closing time and the fountain had been turned off.

On the way home I bought Joe and Jess chips at Thompsons Chippy in Wetwang, which I can thoroughly recommend. By the way, in the words of Oscar Wilde "I can resist everything except temptation", but only to the extent of helping myself to some of Jessie's ample portion. Joe has his with curry sauce; I gather it was a superior curry sauce, but it is not something I would do to some poor harmless chip.

I thought about going out today - Benningborough maybe, or Castle Howard - but I decided to have a fun day and clean the fridge instead.

Well, not just the fridge although the funny smell made this an imperative - a piece of blue cheese stuck behind the salad drawer! How on earth did it get there, and how long has it been lurking? Personally I blame those left in charge while I was staying with Liz and Ed in Surrey.

So I set an unwilling Joe to clear up all the things he has left lying around here and maybe even pack them up to take home. This task is still not complete, but he is now blissfully happy polishing all the brass in the sitting room and (contrary to instructions) dusting the inside of the piano! I think what I said was tidy up the photo albums and shampoo the carpet, but I suppose getting any cleaning out of a young man of twenty is a bonus. With any luck a change of dusters and polish will get the outside of the piano and the china cabinet clean too.

Meanwhile I sorted the washing (Why is there so much of Joe's in my basket? He has a mother with the washing machine on daily and is staying with his grandma while his room at home is being sorted, even if he does seem to prefer my cooking and shower!)

The first batch went out in brilliant sunshine and a stiffish breeze. It has now been rained on by an 'occasional light shower'.

I was right not to go out.

Carolyn is away for the weekend visiting her daughters, so I am entrusted with the key to her house to feed her cats. (This morning I also had to let in Lisbet - the Rector- to have a cup of tea and make use of the facilities before going on to Nettleton for her next service. Sadly she has announced that her plan to remain in Swallow until she retires has come to nothing as she finds that, after only two years with us, she must return to Sweden to take care of her elderly mother and will be leaving in the autumn to take up a post there.)

Sefton is poorly with kidney failure so I'm going in once a day and Carolyn's father is also visiting. Co-incidentally both Hilary and Pam have cats in the same somewhat precarious state of health, while my darling Cally is a very, very old lady. So, is it all right to pray for cats who are coming quite naturally towards the ends of their long lives when there is so much human misery in the world? So much which ought to be avoidable, and which prayer coupled with action ought to be able to put right. Who am I praying for when I pray for the cats? Am I asking that their lives be prolonged? Am I asking that their ends may be peaceful? Am I really praying for the cats at all, or am I praying for myself and my friends all of whom will be devastated when their beloved feline friend dies? I honestly don't know.

On a more cheerful subject: I am absolutely bursting with good news concerning two of my godsons, but am embargoed by their mothers from mentioning either lot of news yet. So watch this space.

Yesterday we made our annual visit to Sandilands - same people as the previous day plus Helen, Jacob and Inge with baby Tilly, and minus Inge's ex. and Becky.

Sandilands is where Lincolnshire's middle-classes have their seaside bungalows and chalets. There are no amusement arcades, no beach rides, and just one paper shop, so all there is is sea and sand. I gather that these chalets change hands in the £15,000 to £20,000 range, while just up the coast in less posh Mablethorpe with all its facilities you can buy a whole holiday bungalow for the same money. I have heard that on the south coast you could just about add a nought to those figures! Whatever the cost, I think one day a year is sufficient. Maybe I'm spoiled for seaside by the fact that for the first seven years of my life I lived on Cleethorpes seafront, and for the next quarter century less than five minutes walk from the beach.

Issy's chalet is a double size one which is just as well with the numbers using it.

Joe, James, Issy and I took time out to visit Gunby Hall near Skegness while the the rest did their beach stuff.

This is eighteen year old Jacob with a toy he found in the chalet!

And fifteen year old James similarly afflicted by the seaside.

It was all very pleasant.

Today we went to Newby Hall in Yorkshire.

This is a beautiful Adam house with no ambitions to be a museum. The house is lived in - all of it, to the extent that (so I understand) guests are sleeping last night and tonight in the bedrooms we see on the tour, and meals are served in the dining room after we leave. James (godson aged 15) was somewhat contemptuous that people who live in a house like that have such an ordinary television and not a full home cinema system with a giant plasma screen and surround sound. Maybe the younger members of the Compton family agree, or maybe the TV we saw is not the only one, or maybe it is none of our business. After seeing so many museum-like houses it is so lovely to see one which is so clearly first and foremost a home.

Not that there is anything amateur about the way it is run for tourists. Today there were between 9 and 12 of us - Becky and Issy each with her two children, Joe, Jess and me. Inge was supposed to be coming too, but had a migraine after a sleepless night with Tilly (her new baby, not Helen's dog nor Pam's cat); however John joined us later in the afternoon with Joel and Callum on their way back from Carlisle. Anyway, with so many children (although with all but Callum at secondary school come September they would probably deny that they are still children) ... with so many children full use was made of all the attractions. As soon as we had eaten our picnic lunch the four girls rushed off to ride on the miniature railway while their elders chatted and cleared away. They rejoined us in the grounds and walked with us to the house, but were soon well ahead of us in our interested dawdle through the rooms and on their way down to the adventure playground (for which at 11, 12, 12 and 13 they are probably nearing the upper age limit) while we continued viewing the house and thence around the gardens.

At the bottom of the wonderful herbacious walk we were rejoined by the girls and came unexpectedly upon a sign for a boat trip on the river Ure. So we did that.

Here are the children waiting for the boat and the girls on the boat

And so back to the shop where I bought a postcard and some of the others spent a great deal more. In the meantime Jess, Esther and Hannah have returned to the playground where they find Joel, Callum and their father. We all have a picnic tea, and the children vanish yet again to the playground where they stay until they are chucked out - or at least informed that the park is closing.

The children are then slightly shuffled so that Hannah and James go home to Lincolnshire with their aunt Issy and their cousins, and Becky goes home to Lancashire alone.

We have a very easy drive home. If we can ever resolve the Music (Joe)/No Music (Jess and me) debate these days out would be perfect. At least we don't have the added complication of Josh's and Joe's very different tastes in music (Galaxy and Radio 3 respectively!)

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday are covered in such detail on Liz's blog that there is really nothing more to say, which leaves me with three choices
a) Say nothing. (Don't be daft - this is Lissa who never says nothing)
b) Repeat what Liz has written (but I don't want to be boring)
c) Lie (Against my principles, but the option I have selected on this occasion)

For the past few days I have been staying with a moody, grumpy, taciturn couple whose rambling house is filthy and untidy. The food is highly elaborate and takes my host hours to prepare, but almost inedible, and they have forced large greasy cooked breakfasts down me every day. We have been nowhere and done nothing. Indeed, the only relief to my boredom has been long, rainsoaked walks in their extensive grounds.

No, it doesn't work, does it? Very heavy handed.

Let's go to option d. Be Original

I have explained to my friends before that I am in fact a weather god. I know that rain in Wales, the Lake District, Scotland (including the west coast) is something that never happens or so rarely that it can be discounted as a single half-day blip in an otherwise bright and sunny week. (By the way, I have never encountered a midge in Scotland either.)

This stay in Surrey has been no exception to my usual holiday weather despite the downpours promised us by the BBC. There have been a few showers, but none prolonged and almost all overnight or while we have been driving; otherwise sunshine all the way.

Lack of rain is just as well because I have a Mary Quant raincape; this is a venerable item (if hardly used) which I have had since my late teens/early twenties. It is large and very vividly coloured in patches of yellow, turquoise, green, red and black. As well as being an excellent raincape, it also does duty as a groundsheet for picnics and in an emergency could serve as a two man tent. It would also advertise our presence to the rescue helicopter if we were lost on some open hillside or blasted heath or stuck on a sandbank, which is more than some sub-fusc green job would do.

Liz (among others including my sister) has an unreasonable dislike of this excellent garment and on the rare occasions I have needed to wear it strides ahead pretending that she is not with me. This, however, did not stop her sitting on it when I placed it over a damp bench at Osterley so that we might watch the birds on the lake without the danger of displaying embarrassing damp patches on our bottoms once we stood up. Moreover her own raincoat, while admittedly in a tasteful shade of deep red, has on its back a large logo proclaiming her to be a Hash House Harrier.

I am now going to have to stop writing as Sid, the cat, has come upstairs to assist me and is sitting on a heap of papers between me and the screen, while taking occasional dabs at the keyboard. Why don't I move her? Well, that would be rude as she is, after all, one of my hosts who have all three contributed to a lovely week.

Sunday

On Saturday afternoon Jenny arrived from Lancashire after an horrendous couple of hours on the M25 (similar to our experience on Friday evening) so we sat around talking, ate dinner (still talking), watched the results of "How do you solve a problem like Maria?", talked some more and went to bed.

We got up early today with a view to making an early start on our westward navigation of the M25. I went to the early service at All Saints, Kenley, while the others set off for a family christening in Reading. Interestingly, this church was designed (1870/1) by James Fowler who was the diocesan architect for Lincoln and whose hand can be seen in the Victorian restoration of most of the churches in our group of parishes - Swallow in particular.

After church I set off for lunch with Pam in Aylsbury - the roads were delightfully clear and I was there before 11 o'clock. (The others were similarly early in Reading.) There followed congratulations to Emma on her excellent A levels (A, A, A, B, ) conversation, food, and a great many wedding photographs. (Shelagh and David, and Neil and Heidi, plus the Diamond Wedding - see earlier blogs)

I left at 5.00 intending to join the M1 at Milton Keynes and thence the A46 at Leicester, but, on hearing of delays on the M1, re-directed myself to Sandy and the A1 and on to the A46 at Newark. There were no delays and I was home in good time.

Yesterday I drove down to Surrey taking a break en route at Lyveden Newbield for a picnic which I ate beside the water and a look round this unfinished Elizabethan garden house. I didn't spend much time looking at the grounds as I wanted to be on the M25 before it underwent its twice daily metamorphosis into the world's biggest carpark. As it was the traffic was moving at a steady 70 for most of the M11 and M25, although on each I witnessed an almost identical example of driving worthy of 'Police, camera, Action' when a car undertook at great speed on the hard shoulder and then lane jumped this way and that until it vanished into the distance.

Today we visted Michelham Priory and Wakehurst Place - two truly lovely gardens. At Michelham the garden is the setting for a jewel of a house which is marginally spoiled for me by the fact that none of the rooms we see are furnished for living, although I did like the display of contemprary pots in one of the rooms - accompanied by a different friend my admiration might have turned into a purchase, but Liz and I are neither of us natural shoppers.

At Wakehurst the house is virtually devoid of furnishings, but had a rather lovely exhibition of photographs.

The weather was pleasant and sunny - warm, but not too hot.

Today we took the traditional toys to Normanby Park where, in addition to the children playing with them, we also ran a workshop making peg dolls.

The first group was mainly girls whose dolls were traditionally dressed for 'Strictly Come Dancing' with plenty of feathers and sequins.

The second group was mainly boys who, surprisingly, all opted to make the dolls many selecting the more masculine plain black, brown and dark green fabrics, and in one case making a peg-alien rather than the more conventional dolly.

The rain more or less held off, so it was possible for them to play outside with the hoops, trikes, skipping ropes etc.

I think we have managed to convince Vicky about brightening up the Park Education Rooms without going for the elaborate and expensive schemes which have been proposed from time to time before being abandoned through lack of funds.

Question for Becky and Liz (and anyone else used to teaching the under fives):-

These activities are devised to cover a wide age range - how can we get the tinies to do their own craft work rather than watch while mummy does the work? To what extent must the preparation - cutting out especially - be done for them by an adult?

Back at the museum today with holiday activities - children playing with old-fashioned toys (mainly repro) from the Tudor period onwards. They arrived in dribs and drabs so the proposed talk to start with simply didn't happen, but Hilary and I tried to spread a bit of information informally as we moved amongst them showing them how to bowl hoops, whip tops, play fivestones etc.

Jess, who came with me as Helen is working too today, turns out to be a really good hula-hooper.

Joe and I headed south today to visit Kirby Hall and Rockingham Castle.

Sorry, we forgot to take a picture until we were leaving.

Kirby Hall is a ruined Elizabethan Manor House with Jacobean additions and improvements which fell out of use towards the end of the eighteenth century and was left to decay into the twentieth century until the Ministry of Works took it over in 1930 and stabilised the ruin.

At that point they planted a rose garden which was an absolute dream when I visited in the late seventies. However, during the 1990s there was a massive programme of improvements; those in the house were largely successful, but the historically accurate parterre of grass and gravel is to my mind dull in the extreme and a very poor substitute for the roses.

The house is by Thorpe who co-incidentally was the designer of the short-lived hall build at Thornton Abbey which apparently fell down almost as soon as it was build for no discernable reason.

Rockingham Castle has never fallen out of use since it was built shortly after the conquest and has been a family home for most of that time and remains as such to this day. Following my friend Liz's example, I would happily take home the library-cum-sitting room - there was a small renaissance painting of a young girl which would fit my house better, but I'll opt for the room anyway.

E-mail received from Pam

"Rockingham Castle is wonderfully lived in. When we lived in Corby I was friends with one of the guides/friends of Rockingham and went with her to a couple of social events the family held for people who helped them keep the place going - openning up a family home was still quite novel in the early 70s - and she always said that it put everything in perspective when you saw the young children of the family racing matchbox cars across the hepplewhite sideboard."

We visited in the late 1970s the castle was bigger, but Kirby Hall was smaller. Odd thing, memory.

Father being available for puppy-sitting, Jess, Joe and I went to Thornton Abbey. Although it is so close Jess didn't remember ever having been there before so I was able to do an extended talk on mediaeval monastic life plus mini lectures on the historic significance of graffiti, the joys and pains of making pilgrimage, and the recycling of building materials through the ages. Knowing she had already heard it (and adapted it as an essay in her final year of primary school) I held off on my 'why Henry VIII was a stinker' diatribe. Jess was a very receptive audience, but Joe had heard most of it before and even tried to steal my thunder on some architectural points.

Then I discovered to my annoyance that I had no cash on me and they were still selling strawberries at the Abbot's Garden!

Recently the local paper was asking readers about famous people they had known, and my father decided that he would write about his famous relatives. This is what he said:-

"My grandfather, John Herbert (Jack) Turner (1867-1953) was a well-known local preacher, Sunday School Superintendent and fish merchant. He was also the eldest of nine children of which two brothers had famous sons-in-law and one sister had a famous grand-daughter.

William Wright Turner (1868-1929) was his next brother, and his daughter Edna(1900-1992) married Fred Grey. Their daughter Barbara (1928-2001) married Arthur Matera (d.2003).

Extracts from the obituary of BARBARA MATERA in the New York Times

“Long considered an exemplar of her craft, Ms. Matera took the sketches of designers and breathed life into them, creating costumes the legendary showman David Merrick once called the best he had ever seen on Broadway. Barbara Matera Ltd., the shop she founded in 1968 with her husband, produced the costumes seen in the current Broadway productions of "Beauty and the Beast," "Aida," "The Lion King," "Kiss Me, Kate," "42nd Street" and the forthcoming "Mamma Mia."

Born Barbara Gray in Kent, England, Ms. Matera began her career in the costume shops of the Adelphi Players, Covent Garden, the Ballet Romberg, Stratford-on-Avon and the Old Vic. She moved to the United States in 1960.

Armed with bolts of fabric, she would enter her workroom and begin her magic, draping and fitting her clients in a way that accentuated their assets and diminished their flaws. Always, her work had something secret and special: beneath a crinoline or a tutu, for instance, she would tuck a tiny silk rosebud.

As the costumer for the American Ballet Theater, Ms. Matera outfitted the soloists and corps of "Swan Lake," "Othello," "Snow Maiden," "Theme and Variations" and "Gaieté Parisienne."
But it was her work on more than 100 Broadway plays and musicals for which Ms. Matera was perhaps most acclaimed, particularly the original 1972 production of "Follies," whose lavish costumes won their designer, Florence Klotz, a Tony Award and increased the adulation of Merrick. Later, she would make the costumes for his "42nd Street."

Ms. Matera's Broadway credits include "A Chorus Line," "A Little Night Music," "La Cage aux Folles," "Dreamgirls," "Sunday in the Park With George," "Sugar Babies," "Nine," "City of Angels," "Angels in America," "Into the Woods," "Grand Hotel," "Crazy for You," "Sunset Boulevard" and the recent revival of "Annie Get Your Gun."

Among her film credits are "The Great Gatsby," "Death on the Nile," "The Age of Innocence," "The Addams Family," "Moonstruck" and "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom."

But her work was not limited to show business. She outfitted performers as disparate as Dame Joan Sutherland and Mick Jagger. She also made the purple crystal-encrusted gown that Hillary Rodham Clinton wore at her husband's first presidential inauguration.

Ms. Matera's work was the subject of a 1996 exhibition at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts titled Inside and Out: The Costumes of Barbara Matera.”

She suffered a brain haemorrhage at her New York apartment on the day which has become known in infamy as 9/11 and died shortly after. Whether she would have survived had the emergency and medical services been less busy is a matter for speculation.

As a little side note, when my second cousin made costumes for “The Addams Family” she was dressing among others my late wife’s distant cousin, Anjelica Huston.

The sixth child and fifth brother was Frederick (Click) Turner (born 1877) who was himself something of a local character with a talent both for making money and for losing it. He certainly ran through two fortunes going from one of the richest men in Cleethorpes living in a large house on High Cliff and owning, so I have been told, the first car in Cleethorpes to (by way of fast women and slow horses) to living in a tiny (and verminous) cottage in Wardle Street reliant upon the charity of relatives.

His daughter Alita married Chesney Allen who was well known as half of the comic duo “Flanagan and Allen” and one sixth of “The Crazy Gang”.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

“Chesney Allen (April 5, 1893 - November 13, 1982) was a popular British entertainer of the Second World War period. He is best known as part of a double act with Bud Flanagan, Flanagan and Allen.

He was born in Brighton, East Sussex, England and died in Midhurst, England. As music hall comedians, they would often feature a mixture of comedy and music in their act and this led to a successful recording career as a duo and roles in film and television. Flanagan and Allen were both also members of The Crazy Gang and worked with that team for many years concurrently with their double-act career.

Flanagan and Allen's songs featured the same, usually gentle humour for which the duo were known in their live performances, and during the war reflected the experiences of ordinary people during wartime. Songs like We're Going To Hang Out The Washing On The Siegfried Line mocked the German defences (Siegfried Line), while others like Miss You sang of missing one's sweetheart during enforced absences. Other songs such as their most famous Underneath The Arches (which Flanagan co-wrote with Reg Connelly) had universal themes such as friendship, which again, helped people relate to the subject matter. The music was usually melodic, following a binary verse, verse chorus structure, with a small dance band or orchestra providing the backing. The vocals were distinctive because while Flanagan was at least a competent singer and sang the melody lines, Allen used an almost spoken delivery to provide the harmonies.

Flanagan and Allen stopped working together with Chesney Allen's retirement on health grounds in the 1960s but Allen returned to make occasional guest appearances.”

The next brother – the eighth child - Edward Ernest Turner (born 1886) was father to Julia (Bunty) Turner who married Freddie Frith, the only man to win the Isle of Mann TT race both before and after the war.

From the official Isle of Mann TT Database

“Rider Profile Freddie L Frith
TT Career Summary
Position . . . 1 2 3 DNF
No of times 4 1 4 3
Biography

A stylish rider and five times winner on the Island, Frith has the distinction of being one of the few to win TT races before and after the Second World War. He won the 1935 Junior Manx Grand Prix and then joined the Norton team for the 1936 TT Races. It was a winning combination as Frith took the Junior and finished second in the Senior. In 1937 he went one better in the Senior and took a brilliant win. He also set the first 90mph plus lap of the course. After finishing third in the 1939 Senior he missed the 1947 TT due to a practice spill on a 500cc Moto Guzzi. Turning to Velocettes in 1948 he won the Junior Race, repeating this success a year later. Frith also has the distinction of being the first ever 350cc World Champion. “

I have just picked and eaten the first apple of the season - still a bit sharp, but red and ready.

We went to Gainsborough Old Hall today as we do at least once a year. This was Jess's choice on a day too wet for an outdoor visit and requiring only a short journey so that she didn't have to leave the puppy with Josh for too long. Josh was spending the day building a mews for the Harris Hawk he is getting shortly and Jess felt she couldn't trust him to concentrate sufficiently on watching Rowan who is at the stage of knowing when he needs to go out, but can't hold on for very long if nobody notices when he asks. He is also too young to leave unwatched outdoors as he has no sense of what is safe yet: moreover he hasn't had his injections.

I have always been fond of the old hall, though like so many places they have increasingly tidied it. I think that here it is a good thing although a bit of me regrets the bicycles stored in the attic giving way to historically accurate reconstructions of particular periods in the hall's development. On the other hand in its precarious and under-funded old days the hall was distinctly grubby whereas today the housekeeping is excellent. This I find is pretty widespread - nearly everywhere has a level of polish which was unusual when I started my historic house visiting as a young child over forty years ago. One thing I particularly remember is house after house with shredded silk curtains and chair seats with the stuffing spilling out - and the awful loos and scruffy caffs.

No, today is a distinct improvement.