Posts Tagged ‘waves’

Seagull feast and Sydney Opera House Vivid

June 17, 2018

Another grey day last week. The jet stream was still stuck out in the Atlantic and while most of the UK was in warm sunshine, the east coast of Scotland and England suffered from a strongish NE wind which brought haar in the morning and heavy cloud all day. The wind also whipped up the tide and the gun metal water was only enlivened by the fleeting white of the waves being dragged in by the wind. When the sun is out and the sea reflects the sky’s blue, the tide seems joyous as the waves cavort towards the shore. When it is cold and a dull grey permeates the sky and the sea, the waves still come in but it looks like hard work. For the gulls, however, this was a time of plenty. In the first photo, you can see the herring gulls (adult and juvenile)  and some female eider duck in the water. The gulls are constantly nodding as they feed on a variety of worms, small molluscs and larvae. There is constant action, with the gulls flying up to avoid the incoming waves. The eider duck – the larger dark birds in the water – are unperturbed by the waves and float serenely on the water and then dive at regular intervals to feed. At the bottom of the photo, two gulls take a rest from the action on the stone wall that separates the road from the promenade.

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Gulls feeding on the incoming tide (Click on all photos to enlarge)

In the second photo, the waves cause more action amongst the gulls.

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Seagulls feast on the incoming tide

I did a short video of this scene.

In the centre pages of The Guardian this week, a photo from Guardian Witness section showed the Sydney Opera House during the Vivid Lighting Festival (Photos and video). You can see the vibrant colours that the Opera House takes on during the festival and light show on the Opera House and in the harbour at Circular Quay looks amazing.

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Sydney Opera House during the Vivid festival – submitted to Guardian Witness

I have never been in Sydney during the festival, which has been running for 9 years, but we had many good experiences at the Opera House when visiting Sydney. You can look at the Opera House from many angles when you are there, taking in the whole of the building or just parts of it. The photo below is taken at the back of the building and you would not know, from this angle, that the other “sails” existed. The glass structure is very impressive and contrasts with the opacity of the concrete roof. At the right side, you can see some of Sydney’s skyscrapers which overlook the Opera House.

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A section of Sydney Opera House taken from the rear

Opposite the Opera House is the world famous Sydney Harbour Bridge and when you first see both the Opera House and the bridge, it is hard to say which is the more impressive structure. With its striking towers and solid steel structure, the bridge imposes itself on the harbour and dominates the scene. Sitting at the Opera House when the sun is setting – with a nice glass (or two) of Margaret River Sauvignon Blanc – and looking over to the bridge is a wonderful experience.

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Sydney Harbour Bridge

In the final photo, you can see part of the bridge from the Opera House. From this angle, the bridge looks much smaller, but when you climb the steps and walk to the front of the Opera House, it looms impressively in front of you. No matter how many times you turn the corner from the botanic gardens area and see the Opera House and the bridge, it is still a thrilling sight.

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Snow, stormy sea and His Bloody Project

March 9, 2018

Last week, here in the UK we had what the media were calling “The Beast from the East” (good photos). We have not had sustained snowfall here for about 8 years and the difference this time was that the wind chill was often between -6 and -10 degrees. Around Dunbar, many roads were blocked and delivery lorries could not get through, resulting in a complete absence of milk and bread in the town. Interestingly, from a social point of view, the snow meant that people were not driving their cars, so there was an increase in the number of people walking to the local shops, as opposed to driving to the large supermarket on the edge of town. There was also more social interaction between people walking around, with older people commenting that this was what the High Street used to be like before nearly everybody had a car. My own research into shopping in Dunbar in the 1950s involves interviewing people and many in their 80s and 90s remembered shopping as being – for women mainly – a walking experience. One common misapprehension was that this Siberian type weather was not caused by global warming i.e. global warming was interpreted as the world getting warmer. The fact was that temperatures at the North Pole were above freezing and the cumulative effect of this, plus the direction of the Jet Stream, made it much colder here than normal.

From our back door, the scene looked like this. You can see that the beach is half covered in snow at this moment, but look at the roofs of the houses. The wind was so strong that the snow was continually swept off the roofs. Half an hour later and most of the snow on the beach had been blown away. The sand reappeared and there was only about a yard of snow near the walls.

 

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Snow on the beach in Dunbar (Click to enlarge all photos)

Then the tide came in and what a tide it was. In the photo below, you can see, on the right hand side, the waves crashing over the main wall of Dunbar Harbour in spectacular fashion. This particular wave therefore leapt perhaps 70 feet above sea level. On the left, you can see another leap of spray, this time on to the wall of the East beach. The tide ripped along the side of the wall, covering the road with water. It was mesmerising to watch.

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Stormy sea with waves over Dunbar Harbour and the east beach wall

The next photo shows the incoming tide meeting the remains of the snow on the beach. The photo does not do justice to the tremendous strength and noise of the incoming tide. You can hear tide’s roaring on a wee video I made. It’s unedited and a bit shaky, as I get used to my new camera but you’ll get the (ahem) drift.

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Incoming tide meets snow on the beach in Dunbar

I’ve just finished reading one of the most original and enthralling novels that I’ve come across for a good while. Graeme Macrae Burnet’s novel, entitled His Bloody Project is rightly described as “fiendishly readable” by The Guardian reviewer. The book has the appearance of a true crime story, as it purports to be based on 19th century documents found in the Scottish highlands. The main “document” is a lengthy confession by Roddy Macrae, 17 years old, that he killed 3 people in the little village of Culduie – a real place. However, no actual murder was committed there in 1869. The novel gives a fascinating insight to the hard lives of the crofters at this time and Roddy’s confession is littered with local words, for which the author provides a glossary – another sign that this may be a “real” crime story. Words such as croman  and flaughter are used for tools used by crofters. Another telling social aspect of the novel is the attitude of some people, such as the local minister and the Edinburgh reporter at Roddy Macrae’s trial, to the crofters who are seen as uncivilised and prone to violence. The book is neatly divided up into eye-witness accounts, the confession, a section on contemporary views of insanity, the trial and an epilogue. What we see early on is that there are a number of unreliable narrators, including young Macrae. As one reviewer noted, this is not a crime novel, but a novel with a crime as its centrepiece. It’s very well written and a compulsive read. Buy it.

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Reading Raymond Chandler and the Lynn Rocks at East Linton

February 14, 2018

Looking through my bookshelves recently, I came across a novel by Raymond Chandler entitled Playback. It’s one of these books I can’t remember buying and at first I assumed that I’d read it, as it’s been on the bookshelves for a long time. It turned out that I had not read it, so I knew I was in for a treat. As an author, Raymond Chandler is better known for the crime novels which were made into films, such as The Big Sleep. The novel I have just read – Playback – was Chandler’s last and some reviewers saw it as his lightest novel in terms of plot. While this may be true, as it’s a simple story of the detective Philip Marlowe seeking out and then protecting Miss Betty Mayfield against evil men who want to exploit her fortune, the Marlowe dialogue shines through. The least successful Chandler novel featuring the wise-cracking Marlowe is still way above most other crime novels, in terms of style. Marlowe is often nowadays seen as not being very PC, in his descriptions of women but these are often insightful, from a woman’s point of view. On the 2nd page of this novel, Marlowe reflects “She wore a white belted raincoat, no hat, a well-cherished head of platinum hair… [and] a pair of blue-grey eyes that looked at me as if I’d said a dirty word”. Marlowe then finds Betty Mayfield coming off a train. Chandler writes “There was nothing to it … the subject was as easy to spot as a kangaroo in a dinner jacket”. Throughout the novel, Chandler has Marlowe using the idioms of the time e.g. “He stuck a pill in his kisser and lit it with a Ronson”. Another investigator called Noble criticises Marlowe as a detective. Marlowe replies that they might get along if “you didn’t act like you thought you could lick your weight in frogspawn”. “Lick” in this contest means to beat in a fight. There’s a rather sentimental ending to the book but Marlowe’s final words are for a lawyer offering him more work. “I have a suggestion for you Mr Umney. Why don’t you go kiss a duck?” Raymond Chandler may have written his books in the 1950s, but they are still as fresh and stylish as they were then. You can find out more about the green Penguin books here.

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Playback by Raymond Chandler (Click on all photos to enlarge)

The bonnie village of East Linton (good photos) is 6 miles (just under 10K) from Dunbar and one of its most historic and enduring features is the Lynn Rocks, which can be seen from the bridge across the River Tyne at the entrance to the village. This bridge was built in the 1500s and transformed East Linton into a staging post on the main roads going west to Edinburgh and east towards the English border. The bridge (photo below) itself is a magnificent structure, with its mixture of red, brown/yellow sandstone blocks.

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The bridge at East Linton

The river flows gently under the bridge and then turns into a torrent as it approaches the gully between the rocks, seen below.

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Lynn Rocks in East Linton

There’s a drama about rushing water that fascinates us – the movement, the speed, the sound, the ever-changing colours seem to entrance us into gazing, rather than looking, into the gushing water. In the photo below, you can almost feel the movement of the water and there are a million shapes being formed and lasting only for a split second. This image reminded me of some of Ruth Brownlee’s paintings of  not just swirling waves, but swirling skies

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Fast flowing water at the Lynn Rocks in East Linton

Once the water passes the gully, all is peaceful. It is as if the water got into a furious argument with the drop in height, fumed and spumed, shouted and screamed, raged and struck out in all directions for a few seconds, and then calmed down, as the in the photo below.

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A calming river past the Lynn Rocks in East Linton

If you are ever passing through East Linton e.g. on your way to the famous Preston Mill, then you should stop and walk down to the Lynn Rocks.

Contrasting seas and a bulb that might “see me oot”

March 10, 2017

I’m very lucky not only to  be living by the sea but having an uninterrupted view of the sea from my back door. Each morning when I open the blinds in our conservatory, I see something different and, of course, unique. The tide will be fully in or fully out, but more usually at some stage in between. The uniqueness of the sea – that individual wave will never been seen again, although its almost identical siblings will – and the sky – those clouds will never be seen again and if it’s a clear blue sky, that shade of blue will never be exactly reproduced. It always looks similar but it’s never the same. There are rocks that emerge on the outgoing tide and they attract a variety of birds, which I view through my scope. This morning, there was a small group of dunlin (includes video). These are energetic little birds (see video) and pitter-patter amongst the rock pools, constantly feeding. I also see groups of maybe 20 dunlin take off and fly around. As you watch them they turn and flash their white bellies. It’s like a magic trick as first you see birds flying, then you see an aeronautic display of little white shapes. I hadn’t realised – until I did a search on a well known search engine – that you can see murmurations of dunlin, as in this spectacular video.

What I see out of my window depends, of course on the weather and last week, on consecutive days, I had contrasting views of the sea. On one day, as in the photos below, the sea was universally grey, apart from the white waves, and the rain battered the balustrade. I took the photos in a slight lull, when the rain had eased off a touch. For most of the morning, the rain spat angrily at the sea, the land and our house. It was driven on by its pal the wind, which blew off the tops of the waves. So going for walk was not an option. However, there’s a certain pleasure to be had from watching the wind and rain from the calm interior of your house. I found it interesting when I lived for a while in Australia, that people there would still have corrugated roofs on very expensive houses, as they liked the sound of the rain on the roof.

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Grey seas in Dunbar

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Grey seas and sky in Dunbar

The next day, the outlook was completely transformed. The storm had worn itself out, the rain had gone elsewhere and the wind – an angry old man yesterday – was now a twenty-something breeze, bringing warmth and calm. In the photos below, the white waves really are white against the blue sea and there’s a lightness about the sky, so different from yesterday’s heavy and almost indistinguishable clouds. I find it interesting that we would mostly see the 2nd photos as containing more beauty than the first two. Is that because we are conditioned to see light as more beautiful than dark?

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Spring pots on the decking, blue sea and sky at my back door

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Blue skies and blue sea in Dunbar

Last week, we had to replace the bulb in our bathroom and my wife returned with a new bulb. We have a solatube light fitting, which brings in natural light during the day from the roof and is fitted with an electric light for night time. The light – photo below taken in daylight – looks as if it has 4 bulbs but it has only 1.

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Solatube light source

When I got the new bulb, I looked at the packaging (below) and I noticed 2 things. Firstly, not only does it use 85% less energy and you save lots of money BUT it claims that it will last 23 years! There’s a Scottish expression which people use, usually in a jocular fashion, addressed to someone of a certain age – “Aye, it’ll see ye oot” (will see you out). This means that a person who has bought e.g. new furniture may die before the furniture is replaced. Now, I’m hoping that I will still be here in 23 years time, although as a Scottish male, certain statistics may be against me i.e. it might “see me oot”. The second thing I noticed was the wording at the bottom right of the photo below i.e. that the bulb will “deliver a colour matching the warm and comforting feel of an older incandescent lamp”. It was the word incandescent that intrigued me, as I’d never heard of an “incandescent lamp”. Looking it up, I discovered the history of such lights which  were a real breakthrough in their time. The original incandescent lamps were, according to this website ” Not energy efficient (90% of energy goes to heat, 10% makes visible light”. So now I know. I knew what incandescent meant, in terms of someone being, for example, in an incandescent rage, meaning that they were furious. By coincidence, reading this morning’s Guardian Sport, one article begins “Jose Mourinho was left incandescent after a UEFA official appeared to laugh off his concern…” This of course made me think about what an incandescent lamp might be like. A lamp so mistreated by its owners that it refuses to light up except when they leave the room and go to bed? A jealous lamp, following the arrival of a new lamp in the room, switching itself off and on constantly? Okay, I know that a lamp is an inanimate object but, can you prove that your lamps don’t light up when you’re not there?

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Light bulb packaging

 

San Sebastian: beach and museum, and Santander’s bronze figures

September 27, 2016

We spent three days in San Sebastian, the picturesque resort which is close to the French border on the Bay of Biscay. The internationally renowned San Sebastian Film Festival began while we were there – in the pouring rain. Fortunately, the previous two days were warm and sunny and we could walk along the semi-circular promenade next to the beach. This is similar to the Promenade Des Anglais in Nice and all day and well into the evening, people from a multitude of nations stroll along, looking at each other and wondering where everyone comes from. They also look at the wide sweep of beach where swimmers and surfers enjoy the breaking waves. On a sunny day, as in the photos below, the colours are contrasting – blue/turquoise sea and white waves; blue sky and white clouds.

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San Sebastian beach

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San Sebastian Beach

At  the end of the prom is a funicular railway which takes you to the top of Mount Igueldo from which you get spectacular views across the bay and far into the mountains.

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San Sebastian from Mount Igueldo

San Sebastian is famous for its food with a number of 3 star Michelin restaurants in the city such as the famous Arzak which offers a delicious tasting menu with a glass of champagne, although this will cost you about £150 per person. We thought we’d keep it for our next visit. We also went to the San Telmo Museum (good photos) which is near the sea front. This gave a fascinating insight into the history of the Basque people, in particular their agrarian background. While the first part of the museum is very modern, you walk through cloisters with beautiful ceilings (photo below) into an old church with its dramatic frescoes by Josep Maria Serp. One of the key features that you immediately see in San Sebastian (and to a lesser extent in Bilbao) is the prominent use of the Basque language. San Sebastian is the Spanish for Donostia, the Basque name for the town. All signs and menus are in Euskera, the Basque language, first and then in Spanish and then in French.

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San Telmo Museum cloister ceiling

Our last port of call was Santander where we only stayed one night but could have stayed longer. The town has a large ferry port and extensive promenade which leads to it sandy beaches (good photos). On the promenade, there are four bronze figures (good photos) of young boys, one of whom is diving into the water and it is fascinating to look at the figures from different angles.

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Los Racqueros in Santander

Like Bilbao and San Sebastian, the architecture in Santander is outstanding with many balcony strewn buildings which are kept in very good condition, as below. This was a new part of Spain for us but it comes highly recommended for many reasons.

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Santander architecture

Tracey Herd poems, crocus show and shiny sea

February 27, 2016

Last week, the new Poetry Book Society padded envelope came through the letter box, with the new Choice inside. I didn’t (and haven’t) opened it as I still hadn’t started the previous one, Tracey Herd’s Not in this World. I heard Ms Herd speak at the Royal Festival Hall in January – see previous post – at the T S Eliot Prize readings. Herd has some arresting images in her work which is often quite dark, not to say menacing. In the first poem What I Wanted “There was a muffled/ silence each night when/ darkness married with snow”. In the 3rd poem Little Sister, the younger sibling of the narrator from America’s Midwest is killed “in a moonlit road accident”. The final 2 lines are hauntingly ambiguous “She was pushed in front of a car./ I pray to God for my own salvation”. In The Living Library, a woman’s bookshelves are filled with crime novels and the books are “sitting/ well-mannered on the shelf,/ pushed in tight to keep/ their suave murderers inside/ their victims’ choked cries unheard”. I’m only at p20 of 73 pages, so I’ll come back to Ms Herd.

 

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Tracey Herd Not in this World

Last month it was snowdrops, so this month it must be crocuses. There is some debate about whether it should be crocuses or croci as the plural of crocus, but as that word is mainly thought to be originally from the Greek then, as my Latin teacher Mr Jack Milne would have said, it can’t be croci. Around Dunbar over the past few years, there has been a welcome upsurge in the planting of spring flowers by the local council and, just up the road from me at Spott Road, there has been a sudden growth of bright yellow on the grass next to the pavement. The crocus flavus – to give it its Sunday name – originated in Greece and Turkey and the ancient Greeks saw it as a bringer of cheerfulness and joy in the late winter – it is thought, although I’m never too sure about the veracity of some websites on this. Emily Dickinson’s poem LXXXIV starts with “The feet of people walking home/ With gayer sandals go-/ The Crocus-till she rises/ The Vassal of the snow”. An interesting take on the crocus being a vassal as this was a feudal tenant who was granted land by a nobleman in return for loyalty and perhaps military service. Even although the crocus is in the earth, Dickinson sees the snow as its master – until of course, she rises.

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Crocuses at Spott Road Dunbar

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Crocuses at Spott Road Dunbar

Having taken photos of the crocuses, I walked back down Golf House Road, near my house, to the beach. You could hear the waves before you saw them – an incessant, unstoppable  thundering. When I got to the promenade, the late afternoon sun was shining on the waves a bit out to sea and there was a superb light on the waves. This is very hard to capture i.e. with my limited photographic skills, but I tried. Hart Crane in his poem Voyages writes “The sun beats lightning on the waves,/ The waves fold thunder on the sand” and this beautifully describes what I was watching. I met my friend John who was coming along the prom and he said “Look at this! How lucky are we to have this on our doorstep?”. Very lucky indeed.

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Sun on the waves

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Rocks and the incoming sun-kissed tide

Winterfield walk, apricot stuffing and Auld Year’s Day

January 1, 2016

Note: The photos do not appear to be opening in a new tab as normal – trying to fix this.

A bright and sunny day with a big tide haring towards the shore around Dunbar meant that it was ideal for a walk along the promenade at the end of  Winterfield Park. The origin of the name Winterfield is thought to be related to the fields where cattle were put in the winter, probably as it’s by the sea and less prone to frost. In the park, there is still the Pavilion standing, although it is likely to be demolished. My own memories of Winterfield Park and the pavilion include seeing cricket matches and sheep-dog trials. It was a very stylish building in its heyday but has been neglected for many years.

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Winterfield Pavilion Photograph by Richard West used under Creative Commons Licence

Once we got on to the promenade, originally built in 1894 as a gift to the town from the local Baird Family, we were presented with an outstanding view across the Firth of Forth to Fife and west to Edinburgh. In the article from the local paper in the previous link, it was stated that “a more commanding position could not be found where from to survey the wildest tumults of the North Sea when under a winter sky it rushes against the cliffy defences of the town. From far up the Firth out as far as the eye may pierce there stretches a scene of stormy thunderous turmoil”. On this walk, there was much evidence of the sea in turmoil with the waves engulfing the rocks around the shore. As it is still the holiday period here, the promenade was quite busy with families, including visiting relatives, out walking on the prom.

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Incoming tide viewed from Winterfield promenade

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Waves hitting the rocks near Winterfield promenade

When you leave the promenade, you go along a path at the edge of the picturesque Winterfield Golf Club (good photos) which was busy with golfers and walkers. You are then presented with a panoramic view across Belhaven Bay (good photos), now a major surfing site all the year round. The tide was well in on our walk and the waves had smoothed out as they stretched across the wide span of the beach. I always love watching the waves extending themselves when they reach the flat beach and, fresh from hurling themselves at the rocks, taking a more leisurely approach, like a long distance swimmer.

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Incoming tide at Belhaven Bay

I’ve featured Belhaven Bridge many times on this blog and taken photos of “the bridge to nowhere” when the tide is in. You never get the same height of tide, or the same light or the same motion of the waves around the bridge. As ever, there were people taking photos of the bridge and I’m sure some of them were wondering why it was there at all.

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The bridge to nowhere at Belhaven Bay

I’m not a great turkey fan but I get outvoted in our family when I suggest that we have something different. So, the highlight for me at the Xmas Day meal – food-wise of course – was my home made apricot stuffing. I still use a recipe from the 1977 book Farmhouse Kitchen and the photo below shows our well-worn copy. The book was one of series from the popular 1970s TV show Farmhouse Kitchen.

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Farmhouse Kitchen book

There are many apricot stuffing recipes of course, but this one is simple and delicious. You can of course stuff your turkey or chicken with this but I prefer to cook it separately. I finely chopped 2 small shallots and sweated them in butter. I made 6oz (it’s a 1970s recipe!) of wholemeal breadcrumbs ( FK recommends white) and in a bowl, I mixed the shallots, breadcrumbs, 4oz chopped apricots, 2 oz chopped peanuts, 1 tablespoon chopped parsley from my garden, the grated rind and juice of a large orange, salt and pepper and one beaten egg. I just mixed it with a spoon until it was moist but not wet. I put it into a flat, greased metal dish and cooked it for 30 mins at 180 degrees. This is it before it went in the oven. No post cooking photo as pressure was on to serve. All agreed that it was very tasty.

Apricot stuffing uncooked.

Apricot stuffing uncooked.

Today in Dunbar is known as Auld Year’s Day and later as Auld Year’s Night. No New Year’s Eve (too southern) and no Hogmanay (too northern) in this wee part of south-east Scotland. I was wondering how it might have originated. I’m sure one    theory may be that it was a product of strict Presbyterianism. The more extreme Protestants were very suspicious of being presumptuous. So, saying New Year’s Eve would be to presume that you would, in fact, see in the New Year but, sinner that you were, how did you know that you would be spared? So Auld year’s Day looks back to the year past and not the year ahead – until it arrives! To all my readers, have a very Good New Year and a lively 2016.

Six little terns, wintry St Abbs harbour and green shoots

December 16, 2015

I’m reading the new Poetry Book Society ChoiceLes Murray‘s Waiting for the Past. Murray’s poems are dense with images and he has the poet’s knack of reducing into a few words what the rest of us would need a paragraph to explain. One of the early poems in the book is entitled Dynamic Rest:

Six little terns

feet gripping sand

on a windy beach

 

six more just above

white with opened wings

busy exchange of feet

 

reaching down lifting off

terns rising up through terms

all quivering parallel

 

drift ahead and settle

bracing their eyes

against the brunt of wind

So we have four short verses and like all the poems in this book, you need to read and re-read to gain an insight into the depth of what the poems is about and what happens in the poem. The title is an oxymoron in that dynamic and rest appear to be contradictory. My English teacher at school, Mrs McKie, would be impressed that I remembered the term oxymoron. The terns are “resting” on the beach and in the air, and in the last verse, they “settle”. Murray imagines the birds – I assume that you cannot see birds “bracing their eyes” – perhaps narrowing their eyes in the face of a strong (and cold?) wind. The last phrase is “the brunt of wind” i.e. not the brunt of the wind, suggesting a forceful and unpleasant wind for the birds. The wind also affects the birds on the ground as their feet have to grip the sand. So the poem is dynamic, with “terns rising up through terns” and there is constant movement in this attempt at rest. Murray’s white terns are common in Australia and have striking blue/black beaks and black eyes.

White tern (Public domain photo from http://www.ozanimals.com/Bird/White-Tern/Gygis/alba.html)

White tern (Public domain photo from http://www.ozanimals.com/Bird/White-Tern/Gygis/alba.html)

We drove down to St Abbs Head on Sunday on a cold and damp winter’s day. It was grey all day and dark in the morning until 8am and dark again at 4pm. Despite this, we were well rugged up for a short walk, there was still plenty to see. The harbour, which still contains the now defunct lifeboat station, has fewer boats, with some on the shore for maintenance (see photos). The sea, of course, never stops and the waves were gently caressing the sea walls – the wind was light and south westerly, so no dramatic coastal scene on Sunday, but the sea still looked cold. There were some people about but you felt an absence – of tourists, divers and fishermen that throng the harbour in the summer.

St Abbs Head harbour in winter

St Abbs Head harbour in winter

St Abbs Head harbour in winter

St Abbs Head harbour in winter

St Abbs Head harbour in winter

St Abbs Head harbour in winter

Before walking to the harbour, we parked at the Nature Centre and visited the excellent Number Four Gallery. On the way to the gallery, I remarked that it would not be long until we saw snowdrops here. Looking down at the leaf strewn ground, there was no sign of growth, but when I pushed back some leaves, the green shoots of the snowdrops were well above the ground – see photo. I pushed the leaves back over the stems for protection. I remembered the final lines of Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind – “O Wind, / If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”. Apparently not, as the snowdrop growth looked strong and healthy and the green provided a good contrast to the ever-fading leaves from the trees, although some ivy leaves were still green.

Emerging snowdrops at St Abbs Head

Emerging snowdrops at St Abbs Head

Nora Webster, Brooklyn, late autumn harbour and sudsy sea

November 28, 2015

A double dose of author Colm Tóibín this week. Firstly, I finished reading Tóibín’s remarkable novel Nora Webster. On the face of it, this is a simple tale of a woman whose husband has died and is struggling to cope with the too early onset of widowhood. A lesser writer than Tóibín might have presented Nora Webster, a woman living in a small town in the  Irish Republic, in a sentimental and melodramatic way. However, Tóibín writes a compelling story, taking episodes from the lives of Nora and her family, their relatives, friends and (sometimes unwished for) acquaintances, and identifying the complexities of their lives. As the novel progresses, Nora becomes stronger and more independent, having to a certain extent lived in the shadow of her late husband Maurice, a popular school teacher. The author describes apparently small events in her life in detail but the prose is never dense, and the reader gains an understanding of Nora as a person e.g. her developing love of music, and not just as a mother or sister. There are some very moving scenes in this book, both in Nora’s recollection of her time with her husband and in her relationship with her two sons and (to a lesser extent) two daughters. This is a book of high quality and if you haven’t read it, then you surely must.

Nora Webster by Colm Toibin

Nora Webster by Colm Toibin

This week, we went to the cinema to see Brooklyn, based on Colm Tóibín’s novel of the same name. The film also has a very strong female character. Eilish is a young woman growing up in (like Nora Webster) a small Irish town in the Republic, but unlike Nora, she is due to emigrate to the USA at the start of the film. The story follows her to Brooklyn and highlights her homesickness and then her growing maturity and relationship with a young Italian. Eilish returns to Ireland when her sister dies and the film develops into a tale of the complexities of love and morality. I haven’t read the novel but I’m sure that Eilish’s character is more fully drawn in prose. The actress Saoirse (pr Seer – sha) Ronan is superb in the part. There is also humour in the film and while, at times, it veers on the edge of tweeness and sentimentality, it nevertheless tells a powerful story and it is certainly worth seeing.

November is nearly gone and we’ve had a taste of winter in Dunbar already with ice lining the sides of the country roads on my cycle ride last weekend. We’ve also had strong winds and big tides and this was reflected on my walk on Sunday morning. I stopped at the Old Harbour aka The Cromwell Harbour, which was built in the late 17th century. In summer, the occasional fishing boat is moored, often for work to be done. On Sunday, it was packed with fishing boats, sheltering from the heavy swell that affects the main harbour at this time of year. The boats nestled together in this sheltered haven.

Fishing boats in the Old Harbour

Fishing boats in the Old Harbour

Fishing boats in the Old Harbour

Fishing boats in the Old Harbour

By contrast, the Victoria Harbour which was built in the 1830s, was nearly empty. It’s an unusual sight to see so much of the water in the harbour and on Sunday, it looked abandoned, as if a storm (or malevolent sea serpent) had arrived and driven all the boats out to sea. The photos below show the harbour last Sunday and in the summertime.

Victoria Harbour bereft of boats

Victoria Harbour bereft of boats

Dunbar Harbour in summer

Dunbar Harbour in summer

In my poetry calendar this week, these lines appeared:

“The ocean’s grey today, like someone’s dingy laundry,/ the flop and slosh of sudsy waves agitate on the sand,/ and the sky’s like the inside of an ashtray at some salty dive”.

They are from the poem “The Winter Sea” by the Pennsylvanian poet Barbara Crooker and I like the laundry metaphor. As I walked back from the harbour, I passed the east beach, which used to be covered in pristine sand but over the past 5 years or so, the sand has gone to be replaced with stones and often large mounds of seaweed. The waves were rushing to the shore and there was certainly a distinct “flop and slosh”.

"Flop and slosh" on the east beach

“Flop and slosh” on the east beach

Glass bluebell, Town House wedding and early summer evening

May 26, 2015

In my poetry calendar a while ago – To Capture Endymion – a poem by Christopher North, begins “That bluebell -/ I would have one like it,/exactly like it, to the filigree detail/but in purest glass”. I did a search for glass bluebells and there are many for sale e.g. via Amazon but I struggled to find anything which was very impressive. The bluebells around East Lothian are just beginning to fade but they are an inspiring sight when seen in the woodlands e.g. in Woodhall Dean. The following photographs were taken near Hedderwick Farm, about 3.5 miles from Dunbar.

Bluebells at Hedderwick

Bluebells at Hedderwick

Bluebells at Hedderwick

Bluebells at Hedderwick

Bluebells at Hedderwick

Bluebells at Hedderwick

On Saturday, we were at our friends’ wedding in Dunbar’s Town House, a 16th century building, described in Canmore –  “Dunbar Town House is oblong on plan and has two storeys and a dormered attic; a semi-hexagonal stair-tower capped by a slated piend roof and then a lead-covered, oval-vented spire projects from the W wall”. The wedding ceremony took place in the Council Chambers where the old town council used to meet. It is a large room with photos of the Provosts of Dunbar around the walls. The bride and groom are both members of Dunbar Running Club and at the reception – in the excellent Open Arms in Direlton (good photos) – each table had a flag with the name of a marathon which had been completed by the bride and/or groom. This was a wedding of a mature couple and while this was not their first kick at the baw, it was still a joyous occasion.
It’s almost summer here in Scotland and the temperatures are slowly creeping up. The most important change to our lives is the lengthening days and it’s now still light at 10pm. Last night was the first time I’ve grabbed my camera, gone our the back door, and photographed the sky with the multi-shaped clouds. As ever, you are invited to identify what you associate with the shapes in the sky in these photographs. My ideas are in the captions.

Rock shapes and cloud shapes

Rock shapes and cloud shapes

Sky waves

Sky waves

Whales in the sky

Whales in the sky