Boats - 2

Being brought up on the island of Mombasa meant that we were in constant contact with boats, both the indigenous working boats like the great Arab dhows which plied their trade between the coast of East Africa and the Persian Gulf, which used the Old Port on the eastern side of the island (above), and the modern ships which used....

....the Kilindini deep-water anchorage and wharves on the western side.

While I do not remember going aboard a dhow, the water taxis which took us across the Old Port to swim at the Swimming Club - one is visible on the left of this picture - passed close to them....

...and when we drove out to the beaches along the coast to the north and south of Mombasa, to the small, seaside hotels which catered both for locals like us and for people coming down from the interior for a holiday, we had to remember that, long before the hotels were built, the beaches were, and continued to be points from which....

....the ngalowas set out to pass through the reef to fish in the open ocean.

If the tide was right - which meant, very low - we used to hire one of the fishermen to take us out in his ngalowa to the reef, a mile or so offshore, where we explored the brilliantly coloured wildlife in the pools exposed at low water.

Winter Walking

While our new house doesn't have as varied a range of walks direct from its front door as our previous house, we really can't complain as there are miles of tracks through the woodlands behind us and, if we feel like walking far enough, access to the open moorland I so love. However, the trouble with walks at this time of year is that, wherever we go, these's a dearth of interesting wildlife. So, on this morning's walk, the only....

....fungi we saw was this chewed up specimen and a rather unremarkable species of white fungus growing on the ends of several cut pine logs; and on recent walks the only fungi we can add are....

....this rather convoluted specimen of what might be a chanterelle and a few....

....pats of witches' butter on the branches of one particular dead gorse bush.

So walking at this time of year - lay aside the problems we've had with recent ice and snow, when we've only been able to go out with the help of metal studs on our boots - lacks the usual wildlife interest though today's walk was brightened by the sighing of a red squirrel and, as if to cheer us on towards next summer....

...of half-a-dozen daisy flowers in full bloom on a mound of earth just beside the small ponds where the palmate newts live.

'Souvenir'

This photograph is a souvenir of a visit to HMS Victory at Portsmouth. I know it's mine because I've had it for years and years, but otherwise, as a 'souvenir', it's absolutely useless as I cannot remember ever visiting either Portsmouth or Victory.

The picture, mounted on thin board, is 4" across by 3" high. At the top there used to be a small metal loop enabling it to be hung on a wall.

On the back, amid the signs of travel and wear, it has a sticker which gives some details about the ship....

....and the information that the plaque was made by Gale & Polden, a firm of printers based, originally, in Chatham.

The Antiques Centre in York has a 'roundel' including this photograph of Victory for sale at £96 - link here - from which I learn that the picture must have been taken pre-1922 as this was the year when she was moved into dry dock.

So, is a souvenir that reminds me of nothing of any use or value? The answer is an emphatic 'No' but I couldn't part with it. Perhaps, on the other hand, it's there to remind me that, as I get older and the events of the past fade, I must get used to a growing number of souvenirs which remind me of.... nothing.

As if to hammer the point home, I now discover the I've already written a blog entry about this picture back in 2022.

Winter Sunrise

People locally have been remarking on the spectacular colours of recent sunrises and sunsets. With the sun now skirting the southern horizon we, in our house, looking southeast, can now sit comfortably indoors and watch both sunsets and sunrises - and as if to make a point, this morning's sunrise was even more colourful than earlier efforts.

These pictures were taken from our breakfast table over a 20-minute period this morning, looking out across the Moray Firth. That the process was so bloody is supposed to mean a shepherd's warning but the day has turned out cold, and damp, but fine.

So if it wasn't a warning to shepherds, then for whom was this sunrise a warning? Perhaps it was to all of us, for after breakfast I sat and read an article in the New Scientist which described the precipitate melting of the sea ice round Antarctica, so dire that a special conference had been called which met in Tasmania to discuss the implications of what appears, now, to be a runaway process.

Littleferry Birds

Today's was a beautifully still morning with occasional spells of sunshine, but cold, the temperature reluctant to rise above 2C so, for our daily exercise we drove out to Littleferry, spending some time looking out across the inner basin of Loch Fleet but finding very little in the way of wildlife - the ducks at bottom left of the picture are....

....widgeon, part of a small flock of about ten, which....

....didn't hang around once they spotted us.

A pair of red-breasted merganser were much less shy, though the male seemed rather more concerned about our proximity than the female.

In the outer basin of the loch very little moved, the main exceptions being....

....this lone oystercatcher working the seaweed and....

....a stately grey heron.

Once again we noticed the lack of birds. Even where a species was present, it was only there in small numbers.

Boats - 1

One of the good things about being old is that one doesn't feel the need to justify sitting in the sun on a sunny day and just remembering. For example, the other day I began to list all the different sorts of boats I had been in, and my list started, logically, I suppose, with what must have been the most primitive, the coracles two friends and I built in the summer of 1962 in which we floated - or, rather, sank - on the River Thames.

Coracles led to the beautiful ngalowas of the East African coast and the memory both of sailing out in them to the reef and also more recently, while on a holiday in Tanzania, of being taken out in one by a young man who allowed me to take control. And thinking of small boats led to others I have enjoyed, like....

....yachts, both in East Africa and on Ardnamurchan, and rowing boats, from dinghies to racing eights, and then....

....to kayaks and the many happy memories I have of paddling the clear but sometimes rather wicked waters off Ardnamurchan.

My Father's Pubs - 2

My father was a lunchtime drinker. Perhaps this went back to his days as a ships' agent on the coast of Eastern Africa, where he would start work very early in the morning and then take time away from his desk through the heat of the day. Lunchtime was also when he entertained the captains of the ships that came in to his agency, taking them to the club before bringing them home for lunch.

So I have many happy memories of time spent with him in this pub, the successor to the Three Oaks Hotel after my parents moved into Hastings Old Town. It's the Cinque Ports Arms in All Saints Street, Hastings, a small, single-bar pub with panelled walls and a perfect pub atmosphere. In it....

....my father (right) would meet his friends, particularly Gordon Faulkner (second from right). Being such good, regular customers meant that they were well looked after by the landlord (left) and his wife. What was special about the pub was that it didn't bother with the inessentials, like food; if existed for its beer and its atmosphere.

My father spent the fading years of his life in Maldon, Essex, where his lunchtime beer was taken at the Blue Boar hotel. Although he walked the half-a-mile from his house to the pub, by this time his hand was shaky so the bar maid, a lovely Spanish lady called Inez, would pour him a three-quarters pint of Adnam's bitter and then top it up.

We also lived in the town so I was able to spend some lunchtimes with him. By this stage his memory was going so I would hear the same stories day after day. This repetition didn't bother me: I was just so pleased that he had these experiences to enjoy. However, he wasn't happy with his life - my mother worried that they should have stayed in Hastings rather than move to be nearer us.

It was in this pub, sitting by the window, that he turned to me one day and said, "Life owes me nothing." I think I understand what he meant.