Blythe and The Water People

This week I mostly seem to be reading on a watery theme.  After Crozet Joe and his adventures on the Southern Ocean, I have read The Water People by Joe Simpson (thank you for that great goddess Scope) and now am reading a lot of canal boat literature.
So instead of making a picture about The Patience Kershaw Rapper Women, I am going to make a picture about The Idle Women, who during the War worked on the canal boats, carrying essential supplies like coal and aluminium and such.
I bought a book The Clothes of The Cut, about canalboat costume, and I thought I might make a steampunk costume based on it, after Miss Aimson's success with making steampunk costumes (see Barbers and Shearers post).  Apparently the canal boat women were particularly fond of crochet-work.  Here is a picture of some crochet-work from The Kate W. Aimson Collection:

Miss Aimon's first name is Blythe: Blythe is usually a surname, which comes from a place name, and the place names mostly come from a river name.  The nearest Blythe place name to us is Blythebridge.  This Blythe river name just means the same as blithe - happy - a happy river.  I have never found out anything more about what a happy river is; but Joe Simpson talks about it in his book The Water People, a race of beings who live in water.

from page 140 of my copy:
"The spirits had different characters according to their environment.  In rivers they were happiest.  Busy with their work.  In the deep seas it is said they slept in slow-moving currents to recover from their labours."

Well, that doesn't make things much clearer, but perhaps it's a clue.  Maybe all this water-pondering has been brought about by the rain we have been having.  The season is turning from the High Summer, which we have enjoyed for the first time in what seems like years.  Now the seasons roll on and tomorrow it is Lammas.

Crozet Joe Crosses the Line Cont.

As soon as they had resumed their places on the poop the wilder fun began,  One of the gentlemen passengers was an invalid, and he was let off with a fine, but the other two, who were young fellows going out to seek fortune in the Colonies, preferred to submit to the ordeal.  One of these, Jack Griffths, was led to the seat prepared for the victims  His only clothing was a shirt and a pair of trousers.  His conductors were the two policemen, acting in obedience to a solemn call by Neptune.  When Jack was seated the doctor examined him.  Having decided that the patient needed a draught, the doctor filled a tumbler with a mixture of various articles from his store, and ordered Jack to drink the compound.  He sipped the liquid, but immediately, with a wry face, spat it out again; whereupon Neptune and his consort indulged in a hearty guffaw, the other onlookers following the royal example.  The doctor turned his back to his victim.  When he faced about again his mouth was tightly closed and his cheeks distended.  He offered Jack something like a quarter of a pound of flour on a piece of paper, and by gestures bid him to swallow it.  Jack looked at the powder in dismay, evidently puzzled as to how he should dispose of it.  While he hesitated the doctor exploded, puffing the flour with which he had filled his own mouth over Jack's face and head, upon which loud peals of laughter resounded along the decks.
Then Joe was called for, and operations on him began.  The rough fun had rather frightened Elsie, but up to this point she had watched in silence.  She could not, however, bear to see Joe ill-used, although he submitted without resentment or complaint.  The barber was lathering the lad's face as if he were whitewashing a wall when everybody was startled by a cry from Elsie.
"Don't hurt him," she said, imploringly; "please don't hurt Joe."
How quiet the ship seemed when these revels were ended!  On deck, the intense tropical heat was tempered by the breeze which was speeding the Earwig towards her destination.

So we'll leave Crozet Joe and the Earwig now, speeding away on tropical breezes.  If you want to read more, please purchase your own copy of Crozet Joe, A Story of Adventure by J. Crowther Hirst.  I'm going out to sit in the garden at Aimo's House, to be alternately wafted by breezes, random thunder storms,  and warmed by the evening sun.

Crozet Joe Crosses the Line

When my dad was doing geological research, I know he went to the Marion and Prince Edward Islands, but I don't think he went to the Crozet Islands.  When I saw this book at the Treacle Market, I bought it to see what it had to say about the area.

It did start with a description of a Crossing the Line ceremony, which I thought you might to read, as I have shown you my Crossing the Equator (Line) certificates, in the post There and Back Again.

Crozet Joe, page 13
"And when we cross the Line there are great doings on board."
Any further explanation Joe might have given was cut short by the appearance on the main deck of a strange figure.
"What ship is this?" he inquired, addressing the captain, who stood on the poop.
"The Earwig."
"I am Neptune's postman, and his Majesty, who is monarch of all these seas, has sent me here with messages."
With great solemnity and an air of the utmost importance, the postman took a number of letters from his wallet, first giving one to the captain and then one each to the first and second mates, and to several passengers, not even omitting little Elsie.  The captain's was a large sheet which he read by the binnacle light.  As soon as he had perused the message, he announced that on the morrow, Neptune, in whose territory they now were, intended to visit the ship to hold a solemn court and to initiate all novices into the mysteries of his realm.
Crozet Joe, page 16
Shortly after lunch word was sent aft to the effect that Neptune had arrived on board, and, on the reception of this intimation, the captain, the two mates, and the passengers all repaired to the poop.
The ceremony began by one of the policemen handing a scroll to the captain, who read aloud the address it contained.  The address set forth in bombastic style Neptune's pleasure in coming aboard, and the purpose of his visit, which was to initiate as subjects of his kingdom those persons who had not before crossed the centre of his dominions.  All gentlemen, it was said, must submit to being shaved, or pay a fine; ladies must kiss his majesty or pay; while children need only be presented to Amphitrite.
Tomorrow I will read to you some of the "wilder fun", as viewed from the poop.

The Great Button Explosion of 1801

I have been reading Ann the Word, an interesting book lent to me by Martin (nearly finished, still looking at the picture book and Aimo hasn't even started the Neil Young book yet).  It makes mention of The Manchester Potato Riots of 1757 and the Nottingham Goose Fair Great Cheese Riot in 1762.
That put me in mind of the disastrous Treat Stampede of 1883 when 183 children died at Victoria Hall, Sunderland in a scramble for sweets and prizes.  The scramble took place at a variety show presented by "travelling entertainers Mr and Mrs Fay".  Sounds to me suspiciously like a dastardly fairy trick practised on mortal children, don't you think?
Fleams has not escaped its share of catastrophes.  The Great Button Explosion of 1801 was in many ways an accident waiting to happen.  Some Button Gypsies had made an "arrangement" to share transport costs with The Gunpowder Factory.  By night they added their cargo of button-cards to the packhorse caravans carrying loads of gunpowder.  The packhorses set off on the old button lanes, carrying their mixed load of buttons and gunpowder.  As the driver crossed the bridge out of Fleams too quickly the train swerved, hit the side of the bridge, and some packs collided.
The resulting Great Button Explosion took out the bridge, and peppered the surrounding trees with button shrapnel.
Even to this day, if you look closely enough, you could find a fragment of button from the 1801 disaster embedded in the bark of an ancient fir by the rebuilt packhorse bridge.

Barbers and Shearers

Haircut day today in the Aimson household.  I cut my hair, Aimo's hair and Miss Aimson's hair.  Young Master Aimson visits a barber in town (he was always a bit of a townie).
I cut Miss Aimson's undercut and had a look at Aimo's hair, which he had cut in the Falklands.  I don't wish to slander the barber on the Falklands, but she did train as a sheep-shearer.  All my cunning layering and styling of Aimo's hair had been replaced by an all-over No.3.  It will take many weeks to get it back to how I like it.
Here is the headline from my latest copy of Penguin News, and some key facts about shearing.  Missing from this image is another fact; Islander Evan Jones continues to hold the current records with 370 wethers and 461 ewes.  If you don't know what a wether is ask your local farmer.  To view the full article, please purchase your own copy of Penguin News.  Oh, I forgot, you don't visit the Falklands.  I think you can view Penguin News on tinternet if you are a landlubber.



I just got a copy of this week's Buxton Advertiser today because Miss Aimson features in a carnival photograph on the letters page.  Here she is with a young family friend, also accompanying the award-winning Time Machine, built by Andrea and Dave.  (To see the full picture, please purchase your own copy of the Advertiser.)

Off to The Green Man Gallery now, I'm taking in our nomination certificate for the Buxton Festival Fringe Visual Arts - Event award which arrived at my home address.  It's Not Easy Being Green.

Fly and Be Free

Talking of Africa, as I was a couple of posts ago, my son's girlfriend is on an adventure holiday in Malawi at the moment, and he has just heard she has an ear infection.  I took the opportunity to explain to him that abroad is even worse than outdoors, which he has never been keen on.  Outdoors is like Nature, which is mostly made up of hayfever, sunburn and biting insects.

I explained, abroad is like that, with added venomous things, parasites and infections.  I never miss a chance to frighten my children off the outside world.  They can stay safely in the nest with me.  Why fly and be free, when you could stay home and do the washing up?

Massive Sale of Useless Tat

I've just been past David Russell's (on the way to the DVD shop) and with the door closed, I could see that they are having A MASSIVE SALE OF USELESS TAT.  I'd better get down there tomorrow as I don't have enough useless tat in Fleams.

It's a Girl!

Great news today - Ruby Lily Ford born today at 3.03am, weighing 5lbs2oz.  All doing well.

In celebration, I thought you might like to see some photos from Fleams showing baby customs.
Here is one, the official first photograph taken on the once in a lifetime trip to Silkington.  (Note the extra special hair-dos for the grand occasion.)

This second photograph is taken in Silkington.  The grandma, who remembers and follows old customs from the Fleams of her childhood, presents her grandchild to the world, in the manner of the ancient ceremony.

Best wishes to Laura, Neil and baby Ruby.

There and Back Again

My childhood wasn't all spent at Milking Neuk; we lived in Africa for two years when my dad was doing geological research.
In the olden days, when I was young, you were given a certificate for crossing the equator.  Here are mine, there and back again:

Milking Neuk

This morning I heard a wood pigeon and I was in Milking Neuk again.  It was the sound of summer and I was transported back; humid and green, my cuckoo-spit camp under the rhubarb leaves.
I was brought up in Milking Neuk, which combined the best of Northumberland and The Fens.  There were hills with cup-marked stones and Roman forts, and levees and stands of poplar.
The pub, the Ruddy Duck was ancient and the abbey was built in 674AD by St. Guthlac.
I moved to North Derbyshire and through 2011 and 2012, started sorting through the cache of Kate W. Aimson's Fleams papers.
The rest is history, as they say.

Old Crow

It is a very exciting day today - I can get the keys to the Crow's Nest where I will be making art.
After being at the Great Dome Art Fair all weekend, I have spend today dreaming of future art.  It's all there, just waiting to be made, here:

To start with there's The Lost Book of Fleams, the picture; then The Patience Kershaw Rapper Women, the picture, and then, long term, I'm thinking Granny Wildgoose's Fleams Fables, the puppet show.
So much to look forward to... and I'll show work in progress...

The Patience Kershaw Rapper Women

Today in Buxton it is The Day of Dance.  It's a bit like The Day of the Dead, but with morris dancers. 
Packs of morris men and clog dancers are roaming the streets and have been known to grab a venue guerrilla style.
Kate W. Aimson often sneaked into the "restricted" section at The Folk Dance Society, where the more risqué dances were kept.  There she viewed the full version of "Cuckolds All in a Row", and caused a scandal discussing it with gentlemen of the Society.
She caused even more of a scandal when she started an all-female sword-dancing side.  Cecil Sharp reprimanded her, declaring it against tradition.  Kate declared it was in accordance with her suffragette principles.  Furthermore, she declared "Indeed, in the twentieth century, a woman can handle a fake sword as easily as a man".
She stated that mining areas had sword dancing traditions, and that in the nineteenth century women had been miners alongside men.  She called her group The Patience Kershaw Rapper Women in honour of those women who toiled alongside the men in the coal industry, doing physical labour and proving women are as strong as men.

Great Buttony Swears!

Setting up for the Great Dome Art Fair preview tonight (6pm-9pm).  I'm showing the new Kate W. Aimson exhibition.  It's smocking oresome!

Now I'm afraid I've bigged it up too much and you'll be disappointed.  Maybe I should have said: it's adequately amusing.

Fleams! It's adequate!

Outlandish Skeleton

At the pub in Fleams, The Pie Tree, the landlady, Elsie Marley, gets in various local bands to play to entertain the customers.  Bands like Roaring Jelly or Outlandish Skeleton.  Outlandish Skeleton are known for the sound of their wah-wah enabled hurdy-gurdy.  That's the sound of Fleams!

Outlandish Skeleton's most famous song is Winter's Gibbet.  Here is a photo of Winter's gibbet:

Ah! the sight (and smell) of a gibbet on a fine summer's day!


For any of you who want to spend a fine summer's day indoors, The Fleams Collection currently resides at The Green Man Gallery in Buxton.  This is what you would see if you were to go there:

Penguin Pennies and Penguin Pounds

Yes Falklands currency does have penguins on it!

Postscript

Aimo would like me to point out it was in fact TWO barnacly shells.

Here is one of the pictures I am making for the Great Dome Art Fair

Home is the Sailor

Home is the sailor, home from the sea.  Or, home is the construction worker, home on a plane.  Or, in even more plain language, Aimo is home from the Falklands.  There are no shops there in the winter (their winter), so he brought home for presents: a whale vertebrae, a very barnacly shell and a copy of Penguin News.  Here is a photo of Aimo preparing for the journey home:

Apart from that, very busy getting things ready for The Great Dome Art Fair. 
See you there.

(no whales were harmed in the making of this blog)

Plums and Stuff

I heard about a food bank group that were identifying fruit trees in cities and towns; discovering the owners; asking permission to collect the fruit; and then delivering the fruit to people of slender means.  This does seem like a good idea, a win all round. 
Unfortunately, the only two fruit trees I know of in Buxton that could be a part of this scheme are plum trees which grow beside graveyards.  Personally, I couldn't fancy sucking dead men's plums, but I suppose it depends how hungry you are.

Just a small blog today

(no plums were harmed in the making of this blog)

Shall I Tell you a Tale About a Whale?

Today myself and Mr Savage of the Fringe were swallowed by a whale outside Buxton Opera House.  Inside, we met a submariner named Jonah.  He gave me this message to pass on to his sweetheart in the event of my escape:

I knew what to do next because I was reminded of the time a whaling ship was marooned in Fleams.  Ella Campane's head was quite turned by young Archie MacStiff, a whaler and all-round adventurer (see photo):

Such tales of adventure are discussed in Kate W. Aimson's second book, Nomads of Fleams.  But, as you know adventurers have their adventures in summer, and talk about them around the hearth in winter, so more of that later in the year.

(no whales were harmed in the making of this blog)

A Bee Experiment

No blogging yesterday because of Buxton Carnival.  I watched my daughter in the Time Machine walking entry in the procession (first prize, not that I'm saying she gets all the credit for that, but she did look amazing in her homemade crinoline), then Pimms and bubbly at a friends house (other Time-machiners), then a last with drinks with friends at the pub on the way home.
So not much time for blogging.  But I did have an interesting thought after my second Pimms...
My dad was a bee-keeper and he told me the colour blue made bees angry.  I devised an experiment to test it out.  Poke a bee with a blue stick and a red stick and see which makes it more angry.  Not that I've tried it out.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Here is a picture of carnival time in Fleams

 

 

(no bees were harmed in the making of this blog)

Silicon, Calcium and The Near Tragedy of the Damselfly Lovers

I was super-brave today and went into the shed for the first time since "The Wasp's Nest Incident" as it is now known at Aimo's House. I wanted to get out the comfy garden chair.  Which I did, but was then too scared to use in case the queen wasp has somehow infiltrated the padding.  One step at a time - I'll try using the chair sometime tomorrow.
But that's by the by, what I really wanted to talk about is horsetail. AARGH! Sorry - a hoverfly just startled me with its uncanny resemblance to a wasp.  Nature and her dashed camouflage tricks!  They wouldn't think their disguise so clever if they knew how trigger-happy I am with the wasp-spray these days.  I nearly took out a pair of damselfly lovers this morning as they flew past me in an embrace.  It would have been a rather Romeo and Juliet ending if they'd died flying in flagrante.
Anyway, back to the horsetail.  It seems a bit dull after the near-tragedy of the damselfly lovers, but life goes on.  I have a lot of horsetail in my garden.  You could say that's because of a disgraceful lack of discipline in the weeding department or you could say its because I enjoy the plant world in all its splendid diversity.
Nica Bentley always used horsetail to polish her pewter, but it's a long time since I polished my pewter (or even gave it a little tickle with a feather duster).  Perhaps you would say the same.  Being more practical, you could exploit the high calcium and silicon content of horsetail.
Kitty Little in her Book of Herbal Beauty says: "A high percentage of silicon is available in horsetail.  Silicon promotes the growth of protein and helps to keep your skin from becoming flabby as well as contributing towards good eyesight." and "People who feel their eyesight is deteriorating often suffer from a shortage of silicon."  Also in diet for strengthening nails she says that the calcium in plenty of horsetail tea "is the finest remedy I know for red puffy hands and cracked and peeling nails."  Calcium is also essential post-menopause.
So all in all it seems that horsetail is the very thing for a menopausal woman with deteriorating eyesight, flabby skin, red puffy hands and cracked nails.  Myself, I'm just drinking horsetail tea for pure research purposes.

N.B.  I would just like to state for the record that no damselflies were harmed in the making of this blog.

Here is a summery picture of Button Sarah:

Dark Folk and Weird Folk

I have both types of music in my CD collection - Dark Folk and Weird Folk.  I received a delivery today of Emily Portman's CD Hatchling.  I just had to own the CD with its beautiful artwork and sleeve notes.  Who couldn't love artwork that includes the words "spindle-shanks" and "Spindle-whorl"?
But sometimes it's good to view wider horizons, so I also took delivery of the book "Seasons They Change, The Story of Acid and Psychedelic Folk" to branch out into new territory.  I have been reading it today in the garden under a cloudless blue sky.  I think a curlew flew overhead, but as it didn't say anything, I couldn't positively identify it.
Here is a little dark folk picture for you:

 

It is a photo of Button Sarah at Ludchurch.  Button Sarah is the guardian spirit of the Button Gypsies, who roam the Dark Peak selling their wares.

I also took delivery of a whole batch of postcards for The Great Dome Art Fair, including some of the Button Gypsies.  I didn't make any of Button Sarah because I couldn't manage the technical aspect of file sizes and such like.  I was warned that my images were fuzzy, so what can you do?

A Well-Dressed Well

The Well-Dressed Well is number 21 in Uncle Erik's Stone Oracle.  Here is a picture of Erik Campane, brother of Drum Campane:

 

He is pictured here with the wife and children he abandoned in Fleams when he went to travel the world in search of the masters (and especially mistresses) of the occult.

 

His divination system is explained in Kate W Aimson's seminal work "Uncle Erik's Stone Oracle", a Fleams Publication of 1912.



 

I thought of him as I strolled around Buxton today to view the well-dressings. 
I am pleased to report a total absence of biblical themes this year.  The Children's Well is very poignant; it has the theme of the army. 
So many of the children personally know young people who have left the town to go to war, and, of course, one of their ex-schoolfriends did not return.  The well-dressing is very touching, whilst not being grim.
St. Ann's Well has the theme of Pride and Prejudice (200th centenary of publication), which is very appropriate, but I do think they have missed a trick by not choosing to depict the famous "Mr Darcy in a wet shirt" scene, which would go well with the watery site.
The Market Place Well is a superb pro-evolutionary themed celebration of the discoverers of DNA, DNA itself and the wonder of Evolution.  Well done Well Dressing Committee!

Today is less sunny, but pleasant.  I am still using my summer handbag, with accompanying strings of bells.  I do like to tinkle while I walk.  In fact, I am fast approaching the age when it will be unavoidable.

See you soon with more talk of Fleams.

Bloomers and Wasps and Bloomin' Wasps

Another sunny day in Fleams.  My daughter is taking the opportunity to do some dyeing outside.  Purple instead of black - Goth's summer colour.  She is also soaking her long bloomers to get the chocolate ice cream stains out.  They're green and white stripes - see what happens when you don't use black, the chocolate stains show.
After enjoying the day in the garden yesterday, I have now discovered it's not safe out there.  Wasps have made a nest in the shed.  I looked for the wasp spray and the EXTRA-DEFINITE DEATH TO WASPS spray and can't find them.  I think they may be in the shed.
What would Granny Wildgoose do?  She is the font of all wisdom in Fleams.  Basically that means she tells scary stories to the kids to make them to afraid to do anything their parents might not want them to do.  Don't know what she would do about wasp's nests though.  Probably tell the kids a scary story about not going near wasp's nests, and no-one really needs warning about that.  Except very bold and adventurous boys, and messing with wasp nests is nature's way of weeding them out of the gene pool.
Here is a picture of Granny Wildgoose:

 

 

 

In my collection of Kate W. Aimson's belongings is a book she published entitled "Fleams Fables", which is a selection of Granny Wildgoose's tales with an introduction by Kate.

A Rare Orchid

Well I never!  This morning was I about to mow my lawn, and not being a technology person, was failing to start my lawnmower.  I asked my neighbour for help (press the button and depress the lever at the same time).  He then told me to scan the lawn before mowing, as he had found a rare orchid growing in his grass.  I rushed to view said orchid - a bee orchid - ophrys apifera - grows on limestone but still relatively rare in the Ladmanlow region.  I rushed back to check my lawn - no sign of one yet, but then my garden is more common.
Actually this morning my garden was quite x-rated.  It was full of damselflies mating, I scarcely knew where to look.  So much for damsels, more like jezebels.  Smock and ore!
Perhaps I should explain that last reference.
The discoverer of Fleams, Kate Aimson, whom I shall in future refer to as Kate W. Aimson to avoid confusion with myself, see photo,

Kate W. Aimson

 

 

ran a magazine with her husband Aethelstan.  I have a few copies in the trunk of her belongings which started all this.  The magazine features articles about their interests, needlework and mining and geology, and is called "Smock and Ore".  Often now my friends and I, when looking for suitable strong language, exclaim "Smock and Ore" or "Smocking Oresome".

I have just ordered some postcards from a well-known printing website, so I will be selling artwork from Fleams.

Anyway, back to the garden to savour the sun while we have it.

A Common Orchid

So today when I was weeding the garden I found a wild orchid had grown in my flowerbed.  Here I was, still sad that no Ladies Smocks have arrived in my garden after nearly six, when an orchid had turned up!  How rare and precious I thought!  I rushed to look it up...
A Common Spotted Orchid - Dactylorhiza fuchsia is one of the commonest orchids growing in grassland on chalk and limestone.  Ladmanlow is on limestone.

You may have noticed that many people in Fleams are named after plants:  Japonica, Fennel, Eldrum and Ella Campane.

Japonica Bentley (Nica) for short is a lover of plants, and very knowledgeable about their uses.  She likes animals as well, so I'm sure she would like to see the hedgehogs under my shed, the toads and newts and the common lizard who calls around sometimes.

A Buzzard Spotted over Ladmanlow

Summer's definitely here this time.  That talk of it being here in June was rather premature.  But I have been outside in brilliant sunshine today.  This afternoon I saw a buzzard over Ladmanlow.  A couple of weeks ago, I thought I had seen and heard a couple of buzzards, so this time I made careful note when I saw a large bird in the sky.
Dark brown, very open fan-tail, almost semi-circular, dark under the wings with flashes of pale colour.  I looked it up, yes, classic signs of a buzzard.
Buteo buteo - a common species my book says.  Strangely enough, whenever I spot something in my garden and look it up, it is always common.  Common lizard, common dragonfly, common common damselfly.  I like seeing them anyway, however common they are, I'm not a snob.
You may wonder what all this talk of modern day Ladmanlow has to do with Fleams.
Well, it started like this:

In 2011, we were house-hunting in North Derbyshire.  We became particularly fascinated with The High Peak area.  Eventually we bought a house, in a great rush to settle before my husband was off to work in Antarctica for six months.

That winter I set the house to rights and made myself and the children comfortable in it.

One day I cleared the loft and found a small chest of stuff that seemed to belong to a previous occupant, who by some bizarre twist of fate, was also called Kate Aimson.  Strange echoes were set off in my mind.  I had been named Catherine (after Cathy in Wuthering Heights), but had always insisted on being called Kate.  I had met and married a man with the surname Aimson.  Was it all by coincidence?  This material from the past was obviously meant for me.  I was meant to find it, a gift from the past to me in 2011.

The strange thing was that the house was completely brand new.  The estate was still being built as we moved in.  Last time I looked on Google Earth, it was still shown as a building site.  What were these books and papers doing buried under the vast layers of Energy Rating A insulation in the loft?

Firstly I went through the objects and artefacts, and I have made an art installation of them called “The Fleams Collection”, which you can see at The Green Man Gallery in Buxton.  I am now going through Kate Aimson’s papers, photographs and notes.  There seems to be the notes for nine chapters, or separate volumes, with a covering letter about The Book of Fleams.

I am now re-constructing this lost Book of Fleams, Kate Aimson’s missing masterpiece.