Photograph of granddaughter Lucy taking a photograph of her grandfather taking a photograph of his grand.........etc. etc.
This morning went into town to look at a very fine french clock of eighteenth century date that is playing up (again). Two problems :- the strike; which is complicated. It strikes the hour on a 'dongy' bell then repeats it at the half hour on a higher pitched 'dingy' bell. Having had previous dealings with this clock was able to fix the strike problem in a matter of minutes. The second problem is that it refuses, although very fully wound, to go for more than a few minutes. Have arranged to go in on Monday morning, and spend a couple of hours or so wrestling with it. Think it may need surgery, hopefully of the kitchen table variety. We'll see. Clock's owner gave us some of his apples and brown Turkey figs. Then to home of friend of ours, a 'retired' priest, to lend him a sword and helmet. He is standing in for our Dean tomorrow, and proposes to preach on the text of 'put on the whole armour of God'.
This afternoon took neighbour Doris (who is approaching ninety and a matter of a few weeks ago fell and broke her pelvis) in the car to scrabble club. She didn't play on my table - just as well - she is a viciously good player- but from the shrieks of glee from the next table I think she was playing pretty successfully. At our table we (Margaret, Kevin, and I) fitted FOUR games into a little over two hours. Kevin won the first two games, and I the second. All well faught games. Took Doris back to her home afterwards. She's a brave old thing and is mending rapidly, although still on two sticks. A few weeks ago she told Ann that this coming birthday is her ninetieth, but said not to tell her friends as she has been pretending to be sixty-ish for the last thirty years, and thinks she can keep it up for a few years yet. Had dinner at seven - roast beef, yorkshire pudding, etc. Had more yorkshire pudding with stewed apples for pudding. Been pottering in workshop (cleaning shoes, etc.) since supper. Bedtime approaches. Goodnight all.
6 comments:
I do like the way you encourage the priesthood to spice up their sermons (at least for Eph. ch.6 v.17,) I take it he is already kitted out for vs. 13-16? Which styles of Helmet of Salvation and Sword of the Spirit will he be wearing? Something damascened, or blued and gilt perhaps?
I also admire the tremendously technical grasp you have of the highly specialised horological register of the language. So few technical experts can communicate their craft with such precision as do you with 'dingy' and 'dongy'. As an artist of communication you stand above Leonardo and Blake.
The sword is an all purpose stag- horn hilted falchion, c.1600-1650. The helmet is a plain 'Spanish' morion. Both very workmanlike. Hadn't got a breastplate or sheild in stock, but someone has lent John what appears to be a mail tabard (it isn't - it's knitted but looks alright) and I don't know what he is doing about a shield - probably making one. It'll be interesting to see what his assistant (whichever unfortunate congregation member that will be) will look like.
The priest's assistant was Oliver, who will be five towards the end of September. John had got an oak (silver mounted) shield with a handle at the back. Oliver stood very solidly in all the armour. I asked him afterwards what he thought of the real pieces, and he said he liked them, but they were very heavy. He was obviously glad to get out of them.
My heartiest congratulations to young Oliver for his powers of physical and spiritual endurance.(He must have reminded some folk of his ancient namesake Nolly in the whole armour of God.) He clearly understands the first rule of battle - Hurry UP!... and Wait!
Did John act as squire to Oliver, or had he to buckle himself into his battle-gear?
John acted as squire, but I think there were moments when Oliver wished he'd been allowed to do the job himself. Notably when John pulled the pseudo mail tabard over his head trapping the boy's arms at his sides. Oliver was rescued by our motherly Deacon, Jacky, who then inserted his arms into the armholes. And again when John put the helmet on Oliver's head back to front, and in response to frantic signals from meself,(fortunately in the front row with the choir) turned it the right way round, and then in response to even more frantic signals from meself, lifted it up from the child's head, and then replaced it, the right way round this time. All good fun, except possibly for Oliver, who, I must say, coped with the whole procedure remarkably well.
Sounds as though Oliver was selected, like Hercules-Cicero the regimental drum-horse, for his bomb-proof temperament and stolid disposition - not to mention his load-bearing capacity.
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