Innholdsfortegnelse for 27-Dec-17 i Country Life

Letting Nature take its course MALCOLM MELLOR is so right to identify the issue of over-protection of one species to the detriment of others (Letters, December 6). Just do the maths—the more rap-tors that breed, the more food they need. Eventually, their prey will die out. The raptors will then have nothing to eat and they too will die out. As a result, instead of one species being ‘saved’, several will have been destroyed due to overzealous interference. Louise Mangles, Suffolk Food, glorious food! YOUR most interesting article ‘The menus that made history’ (November 15) might have added that, in the days of extensively long menus, it wasn’t necessary to eat every course. I have an etiquette book from the 1890s recommending young men as they start out in…

AS has become traditional in September, I was heading north with the Editor as (always) passenger in the never-ending quest for the leaper. Over the years, our transport has been on an upward trajectory, from the baseline of a Range Rover in about 2005. This year, I was promised an icon, a car of legend and, to most, extraordinary sculptured beauty bearing a prancing horse on the bonnet and boot. When endeavouring to maximise the prospect of catching a salmon, timing is everything; you need to hit a weather pattern promising clouds and rain. I discovered that timing is important for prancing horses, too. The week I was chauffeuring C ountry L ife’s own giant of letters to Scotland turned out to be the same week as the Goodwood Festival…

‘The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within’William C. Bryant HAVING negotiated January, February seems like an imposition too far. I spent much of my schooldays writing 100 lines for some minor misdemeanour, only to be ordered to do it all again because my work was illegible. That is February. Poets and essayists have few good things to say about the month, the worst coming from New York Times columnist Anna Quindlen, who cheerfully informs us that it’s ‘a suitable month for dying’. Shakespeare speaks of a ‘February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness’. There’s St Valentine’s Day, of course, but that’s a double-edged sword, a burden to the temporarily or habitually unloved. Then, if things weren’t bad enough, comes…

‘What potent blood hath modest May’Ralph W. Emerson APRIL is a promise that May is bound to keep,’ as the American naturalist and writer Hal Borland tells us. May is April writ large. All that was growing in April continues in May and is joined by others, lush and exuberant. It’s all too much for some. We love Nature, but, in truth, only when it’s under control. There’s a tiny, secluded car park in our village. At the entrance is a small patch of grass. Every year, it’s golden with dandelions; every year, just when they’re in full flower, they’re mowed to the ground, leaving a battleground heaped with green-and-yellow corpses and a dock-infested wasteland. The assaults of mower and strimmer continue countrywide and Nature is put in its place.…

‘ That August time it was delight/To watch the red moons wane to white’Algernon Charles Swinburne AUGUST is the month when I start worrying about October. I shall explain. October, overall, is by far the most reliable month to find mushrooms in the south of England and the month in which I run all of my English mushroom forays. A wet summer followed by that ultimate horror, an Indian summer, will ensure that most of them appear in August and early September and fewer in October. It’s worse than being a gardener —at least you can water your garden. Putting my concerns aside, if mushrooms come up in summer, I welcome them. Individual species have their favoured times of fruiting and it’s often in late summer that field fungi, such…

‘Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the Earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus'Charles Dickens (Bleak House) IN November, ninth month of the old Roman calendar, Nature is, for the most part, taking its rest. ‘No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,/No comfortable feel in any member—/No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,/No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds—November!’ The 19th-century poet Thomas Hood’s November seems worse than January, although he does not suggest, as does the late-18th-century essayist Joseph Addison, that it’s the month in which the people of England hang and drown themselves. Things are better now with modern heating systems and clothes that keep you dry…

Ashley Hicks Author, designer and interior decorator THE forthcoming exhibition ‘Charles I: King and Collector’ (January 27 to April 15, 2018; Country Life, December 13/20, 2017) at the Royal Academy is so exciting: England’s greatest art collection, bought from the Gonzagas, sold after his death, and reassembled at Burlington House. I can’t wait (020–7300 8000; www.royalacademy.org.uk). Next year will be about custom everything, whether it’s handpainted wallpaper from de Gournay or a tailored suit in a special fabric like the one I’m having Huntsman make in my Ragged Sultan design (right), specially printed on wool. Finally, I’m planning to visit Milan in April for a wonderful tour of houses by the late, great Renzo Mongiardino, followed by dinner in Giacomo, the restaurant he designed (www.giacomoristorante.com;00 39 02 7602 3313).…

‘The trees appear to have been posed by the great painters ’ ALONG with the Bodleian Library and the Covered Market, one of my main reasons for staying in Oxford is the University Parks. Despite its name, the Parks is, in both senses, singular, just one outstanding expanse, first laid out in 1864. Enjoyed by Gown and Town alike, its 70 or so acres encompass groves, gravelled walks, areas of garden both informal and intensively cultivated, sweeps of turf both long and shorn and sports pitches. An age ago, I used it daily as a running circuit. For the past 25 years, however, I’ve only ever walked there and more and more slowly—a change of pace that’s due to the Parks’ transformation over this period. Such beauty and fascination…

I HAVE always liked Ceylan iridescent glass vases by René Lalique and I recall that, during my time at Christie’s in the early 1970s, examples routinely made 45 guineas in our London auctions. These vases, sometimes fitted as lamps, are satisfying market indicators: neither excessively rare nor commonplace, the design of paired lovebirds is standard, but there are slight differences in colour and quality. Over the next couple of decades, prices rose to about £2,000 and, now, £8,000 or even £10,000 is quite possible. In 2011, one sold for $22,500 (£16,800), but I’m not aware that there has been anything similar since. Of course, in these times when a painting that is not, shall we say, universally esteemed has been hammered down at $450 million (£336 million), even that last…

THE anniversary on everyone’s lips in 2018 will be the end of the First World War. The Armistice was signed in a railway carriage in the forest outside Compiègne in France. The carriage was destroyed in 1945, but two relics remain at the Musée de l’Armée in Paris: the pen with which the agreement was signed and an ashtray. Peace came on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month and the name of the last British soldier to be killed was George Edwin Ellison—these details still matter. The poet Wilfred Owen had been killed in action exactly a week earlier, almost to the hour, and was posthumously awarded the MC. After such a traumatic four years, and some 18 million deaths, it’s strange to think…

Quiz of the week 1) Who wrote the 1956 play Look Back in Anger? 2) Orzo is a type of what? 3) Which Kentish castle has been described as ‘the key to England'? 4) Racing homer is a breed of what? 5) Ballerina Dame Ninette de Valois was born in which country? The nature of things Salt SINCE earliest times, cultures have paid due reverence to salt. Tacitus, the Roman historian, noted the long-held belief of Germanic tribesmen that prayers to the gods were most readily received if delivered in a salt mine; likewise, in ancient cultures across the world, salt was connected with sacredness and therefore set aside for use by the deities. It’s not surprising as all life depends, to some degree, on the chemical properties of…

‘I’ve decided not to begin thinning down until after the holidays are well and truly over’ I AM writing this in front of a peat fire with what Burns calls a ‘gude-willie waught’ following a long, solitary tramp through sodden countryside. I’ve reached an age when all weather is good weather, but, even so, I’m glad to be indoors for the night. The shortest day is behind us. Those resolutions with which we will doubtless, in the fullness of time, be paving the road to Hell are before us. All is right with the world. Well, almost. I’ve promised myself that, in the months ahead, I will lose some weight. I should explain that I started writing in earnest and keeping a diary when I was eight years old.…

‘March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb’ MARCH is when the Romans recommenced war, their second-favourite pastime, presumably after a winter spent enjoying their most favourite. War in winter is all but impossible, so spring it had to be and March is named for Mars, the bringer of that horror. There aren’t many new leaves on trees or blossom, the cherry plum being a notable exception. However, Nature is busy with its preparations, for, unseen, the sap is rising. Halfway through the second week of the month, I venture into a birch wood armed with brace, bit, bucket and spouts. An exploratory drill into a birch tree will, by mid March, be rewarded with a flow of sap. In 24 hours, five to seven pints…

‘Try to remember the kind of September/ When life was slow and oh so mellow ’The Fantasticks (Try to Remember) SPRING creeps up slowly. Autumn, however, arrives like a descending boot. Early September was once a mixed blessing. My birthday, should you feel the need to send me a card or a bottle of whisky, is on the 3rd. This was always near to, and sometimes coincided with, a return to school: softening the blow while spoiling the joys of my birthday. On Sundays, I would join my friend Peter Marsden and his parents on a trip to the New Forest to fly model airplanes. Peter’s dad owned Tiptop Model Shop in Portsmouth and had all the latest kit. They were wonder-ful days, full of gadgetry, eccentric people and Mrs…

‘It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats'Dylan Thomas (‘A Child’s Christmas in Wales’) DECEMBER—indeed all cold months—seem more bearable in the country than in the town. I recall winter mornings in Portsmouth, catching a 6.15am bus to the furniture factory in which I worked. Everything seemed grey, dull, ugly, dirty and my fellow passengers defeated. That feeling never accompanies me in the countryside, no matter what the weather. The muted colours, the bare trees, even the mud, are natural, even beautiful, and lift my spirits. When the short, cold and frequently wet days become too much to bear, a walk in the park or along a hedgerow will always restore body and mind. Although…

FOR Rob Fanshawe of buying agents Property Vision, 2017 has been ‘a forgettable year’. What with the crushing effect of Stamp Duty (SDLT) on transactions at the top of the market, buyers behaving badly and vendors—especially downsizers—wondering whether or not to hang on for another year, the past 12 months have not been the best of times for anyone involved in the country-house market. On the other hand, they’ve not been the worst of times either. ‘Despite a dearth of estates for sale and the uncertainties facing farming post-Brexit, in terms of employment, subsidy, production and Inheritance Tax, there have been many more buyers than sellers for properties with enough land to qualify as “mixed use”,’ Mr Fanshawe maintains. In addition, the current shortage of new houses coming to…

HOLLYWOOD has its Oscars and Broadway its Tonys. Here, based on 200 nights spent in theatres in 2017, are the Billies: my idiosyncratic selection of the best and worst of the tumultuous past 12 months. Best new play It’s been a big year for live animals on stage, with goats and dogs making stellar appearances. It’s not just because Jez Butterworth’s The Ferryman includes real rabbits and a goose in the cast that it gets my vote, it’s because the play encompasses so much: a Northern Irish political thriller, a study of unspoken love and a Thomas Hardy-like evocation of timeless rural rituals. In an outstanding year for new plays— Albion, Ink, Girl from the North Country and Consent—Mr Butterworth’s play takes the prize (as it did at this…

IN a few days’ time, we’ll be able to say that jazz reached Britain exactly 100 years ago. To celebrate, Two Temple Place, London WC2, is hosting an exhibition, ‘Rhythm & Reaction: The Age of Jazz in Britain’ (January 27, 2018 to April 22, 2018). The show will explore the social and visual impact of jazz on British art and society from 1918, its vibrancy as a soundtrack to the inter World War years and its complex reception, bringing together instruments, paintings, prints, cartoons, textiles and ceramics from public collections—accompanied by the all-important sound of that wandering bassline. We often imagine the Jazz Age as peopled by flappers, gregarious trombonists and Champagne fountains, but this exhibition tells a different story, demonstrating the degree to which the music and its aesthetic…

WHEN church bells ring this New Year, spare a thought for the origins of this joyous festive sound. Britain’s bell foundries are renowned worldwide, but, as of last year, John Taylor & Co of Loughborough in Leicestershire became our last remaining one. It’s been producing bells, famed for their beautiful purity of tone, since 1784. Only 40% of the company’s work today involves new production—recent commissions include a new peel of bells for St George’s Memorial Church at Ypres as well as ones for the church of St Mary in Richmond, North Yorkshire, and that of All Saints in Liddington, Wiltshire. The remainder of the work involves the conservation and restoration of existing bells, from retuning to rehanging or refurbishment. This year, the bells of St Mary the Virgin in…

‘As most tighten their belts this Christmas, a few have never had it so good’ GETTING ready for Christmas in the countryside is always a joy: the tree, the holly and the ivy, the gaily-wrapped presents, the cards and the logs made ready for roaring fires. Much of this may be only as old as Dickens and Prince Albert, but a traditional Christmas still warms the heart and rekindles the faith. People do give more generously, post offices do run out of Nativity-themed stamps and Midnight Masses in country churches still draw the crowds. Christmas doesn’t come cheap, however, and the season of goodwill has become an essential factor in the fortunes of retailers. Some household names will make as much profit over the festive period as they do in…

The children’s author and poet Kevin Crossley-Holland is a patron of the Society for Storytelling and The Story Museum and President of the School Library Association. His new book, Norse Myths: Tales of Odin, Thor, and Loki, was published last month ‘This mighty painting, charged with tremendous energy and drama, but also with great grace, is a meeting place between the Northern World and Romanticism. Ethereal Asgard-lit Valkyries, arms outstretched, led by Odin and his son Thor brandishing his short-handled hammer, soar over a world darkened by armed pursuers and those pursued—muscular naked men, wild-eyed greys, leaping hounds—while far below, the always-moon rises proud of the mountains and goes on his stately way. To my mind, this brilliant mythological painting is the perfect visual counterpart to Wagner’s Ride of…

‘To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June’Jean-Paul Sartre BLOODY January again.’ So closes Flanders and Swann’s gently sardonic parody of Sara Coleridge’s rather twee poem. Few poets have much to say about this difficult month beyond reminding us how cold it is, as if this might have escaped our attention. Despite its long nights, short days and a talent for making feet and fingers glow, those days are lengthening, however, and the summer solstice is beyond a distant horizon. After the disquieting prospect of successfully navigating yet another year has dissolved from the mind, January is, above all, a month filled with hope. January is thought to be named for Janus, the double-faced figure who, perforce, looks both ways. The…

‘“Snow in April is abominable,” said Anne. “Like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss”’L. M. Montgomery (‘Anne of Ingleside’) THIS must be my favourite. It’s the month of Venus and it may be that April is named for her Greek equivalent, Aphrodite. The goddess of flowers, Flora, has her festival at the end of the month—a libidinous Roman affair that has, sadly, gone out of fashion. ‘April hath put a spirit of youth in everything,’ wrote Shakespeare. April weather is certainly full of spirit and notoriously unreliable; extremes of all types frequently arrive on the same day, as if it were rehearsing its repertoire for the year to come. Nature is let loose: roadside, hedgerow and wood all burst with life. The writer Edith Pargeter described…

‘Answer July—Where is the Bee—Where is the Blush—Where is the Hay? ’(Emily Dickinson, ‘Answer July’) THE food writer Katie Stewart ruined August for me forever by noting in her Calendar Cookbook that it’s a sharp reminder of autumn. Unfortunately, much the same can be said for July. The succulent green vibrancy of the months of spring and early June has faded; things are turning brown. It’s not a sign of decay, however, but of fulfilment. It’s in late June and early July that haymaking takes place and the seeds of many herbaceous plants have already formed and fallen. For those who like to collect their food from hedgerow and field, July is the month between seasons, separating the greens of spring from the reds and browns of autumn, but it’s…

‘ The twilight of the year is sweet:/ Where shadow and the darkness meet ’Ernest Dowson (‘Autumnal’) FUNGI have been an obsession since I saw that puffball more than 50 years ago. I do nothing in October except look for mushrooms, identify mushrooms, photograph mushrooms, eat mushrooms, dry mushrooms for the larder and take people on mushroom forays. October is my other favourite month. Each foray is something of a party. I’m fortunate in my choice of specialty as people come along to learn how to identify mushrooms for the table. I teach them this, of course, but soon they (almost) forget about their stomachs and become entranced by the fungal world. My friends who teach ornithology, lichenology or bryology don’t have this enticement into their subject, although I suppose…

LONDON’S sartorially aware made their way to Huntsman, Savile Row, W1, to celebrate the launch of this year’s Gentleman’s Life magazine. The pop-up shoe shiner from Burlington Arcade, jazz band and fancy-dress photo booth from Wretch & Rascal ensured the evening went with a swing, as did flowing Pol Roger Champagne, Chase’s Great Chase cocktail and whisky tasting by John Rigby & Co, plus goody bags full of treats from Mr Trotters, Atlas & L, Chase, Huntsman, Prestat and Floris.…

ONCE winter’s grip has transformed the lush green foliage of spring and summer into a melange of papery browns and greys, a garden’s structure is laid bare. The crisp line of a yew hedge, the tight globe of a topiary ball or the bark of a cherry tree, glowing like embers in the low, winter sun, all come into their own. At Theobald’s Farm near Enfield, north London, owner Alison Green puts much thought into how her garden looks in winter. ‘I think a garden needs to look as exciting in January as it does in the height of summer,’ she explains as we begin an exploration of the space, accompanied by her bouncy English setter Bertie. Alison achieves that thrill with a number of thoughtfully laid-out garden rooms, each…

Biography Anthony Powell: Dancing to the Music of Time Hilary Spurling (Hamish Hamilton, £25) IF an image persists of Anthony Powell (right) as a snobbish writer of antique vintage, it is partly of his own making. The diaries of his seniority, written when he was 76 to 87 and published in 1995–7, are comically crusty; the dustwrappers bear a cartoon portrait by Mark Boxer of a stern, four-square figure, shirt checked, Burke’s Landed Gentry to hand. He has made his Somerset ‘Chantry’ a castle, and drawn up the drawbridge: he resents the visits of strangers, preferring to re-read a Shakespeare play a day and count his figs; he combs deaths columns and honours lists, details telephone calls and assesses the ‘body’ of his claret. When he died in 2000, he…