Scrooby

St Wilfrid's Church, Scrooby earlier today

Out in Nottinghamshire, close to The Great North Road, there's a village called Scrooby. Back in the sixteenth century, a family by the name of Brewster lived in Scrooby's Manor House - not far from St Wilfrid's Church. 

For whatever reason, William Brewster (1568-1644), stopped attending the local church and held alternative puritanical services in The Manor House. It was part of a regional movement - away from The Church of England that had itself broken away from Catholicism under the reign of King Henry VIII.

William Brewster and other puritans attracted unwelcome attention that began to give out the aroma of persecution. In those days The Church of England was all-powerful and crossing it was a dangerous thing for anyone to do.

Brewster and his adherents headed to The Netherlands where they lived for almost ten years, enjoying what they saw as greater religious freedom. Then in September 1620, with his wife Mary and a hundred other puritans, he set sail for the east coast of America via the Devonshire port of Plymouth. Their aim was to establish a puritan colony in The New World.

The puritans were aiming for Virginia but bad weather and wretched conditions aboard "The Mayflower" saw Brewster and the rest disembarking near Cape Cod on the coast of Massachusetts. 

Elder William Brewster and The Pilgrim Covenant. This picture is in The US Capitol building.

For twenty four years William Brewster played key roles in the successful but difficult establishment of The Plymouth Colony. The first governor was William Bradford from Austerfield in South Yorkshire - a village that is just five miles from Scrooby. Brewster was Bradford's right hand man and adviser. Together you might say that they were the architects of  The Plymouth Colony - the true "pilgrim fathers".

I was in Scrooby earlier today. St Wilfrid's Church - the church that Brewster disavowed is still standing. However, the old manor house where he grew up and held puritanical services is no more. It was razed to the ground in 1636/37  as ordered by King Charles I.

After Scrooby, I set off along farm tracks to the village of Mattersey. Later, walking by the B6045 that leads to Ranskill, I was nearly killed by  the driver of a speeding 4x4 vehicle when he overtook two slower cars. I must have been no more than ten inches from him as he flashed by. I hope he looked in his rear view mirror to see my two-fingered salute.

Starlings on telephone wires near Mattersey

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Gift

 Lazy days

In the pool

Rainy days

And rummy 

Late nights

And Milano cookies

Raiding your jewels

And shoes

That didn’t fit

An ocean view 

That brought

A tear with

Beauty

Man couldn’t replicate 

But the memories 

Of you

Are the 

Best gift

I can’t replace 

You told me

I’d miss you

It isn’t until now

How much

Truth

Can be held

In a few words

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Anger

 Anonymous5:03 pm

“Asyou've said yourself in the comments NO you aren't allowed to walk the dogs you are ISOLATING

I had thought better of you but it seems like you're just like all the other rule breaking Covid idiots who think the rules don't apply to them.

Obviously the community knows you're isolating as they're bringing you stuff but I wonder what they think of you acting like an arsehole and disregarding the rules.  

You deserve to be reported and fined.”

So said one of my commentators a little earlier today....you can feel the bile and vitriol from ten yards can you not? and that bile is ugly and without much real thought or insight.

I am isolating at home yes, and have I put another human being at risk of catching Covid ? 

No I haven’t. 

Once a day, first thing in the morning , I take one sleepy Welsh terrier and one overactive almost hysterical bulldog for a walk. We walk down a lane away from any houses and across Graham the Shepherd’s fields. 

We see no one 

My sexy bearded dog walker and kind souls like Hattie pick up the slack during the afternoons 

Dorothy will not pee without Mary by her side so to pander to her psychological needs the pair are taken out last thing together....again no one sees us...the lane is empty....hopefully as empty as Dorothy’s capacious bladder.

So please dear reader, report me ....report me for daring to risk assess my home and life with a modicum of common sense and intelligence 

The anger in the above comment saddened me. It reminded me of the anger in my father’s face when he lost his temper when I was a child ..or the look my husband gave to me just before he left when I always cut the corner turning into Cwm Road

Anger like this always has another source 

A long time ago and far far away

 

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/35HxN98

Keb Mo

taking a long 

soak in 

the garden tub

hermes soap

to awaken

my senses

a little hotel

shampoo

and a 

Sancerre

and dark chocolate

await me

as i listen

to Keb Mo

take me

to places

I'd rather be

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American

I received the following supportive comment from "Terry" in response to yesterday's blogpost:-

It's nice to have an observant reader like Terry who notices the small detail of one's humour.

Terry's remark reminded me of  certain encounters I had in the state of Ohio when I was a summer camp counsellor there in the mid-nineteen seventies.

One night I fell into conversation with a couple of local redneck guys (English: Conservatives) in "Skip and Ray's Bar" (English: pub) by the road to Burton, east of Chagrin Falls.

They had noticed my English accent. One of them asked where I was from so I told them. They seemed a little puzzled to learn that other countries existed beyond the shores of The United States.

I informed them that they in fact spoke the English language and that it originated in England.

One of them - let's call him Bob - visibly bristled and protested, "I don't speak English. I speak American!"  

His pupils enlarged dangerously. He was clearly a proud patriot, affronted by the idea that the very language of his land of sidewalks (English: pavements) and candy-cotton  (English: candyfloss) was borrowed from another country.  

Who was I to persuade him otherwise? Just a cleverdick limey bastard ordering another pitcher of beer, hoping that Bob did not have a rifle  in his pick-up truck (English: a small vehicle with an open part at the back in which goods can be carried).

Of course, I am aware that  the kind of Americans who visit this lil'ol' blog tend to be better educated and  more knowledgeable about the  wider world than Bob  appeared to be. As I recall, he and his buddy (English: friend)  worked in land drainage, moving earth and digging trenches from dawn to dusk.  The salt of the earth. You have to respect people like that. We need them.

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Madge and Biskit lift the mood

•  Good news of the day - The Crown ( our village pub) will be reopening under new management  soon.....we’ll as soon as things become more normal around here!  Hurrah
• Soup of the day- Sweet potato and chilli
• Film of the day-Woody Allen’s latest A Rainy Day in New York
• Jigsaw of the Day- A Christmas Coffee Shop continues
• Book of the day- I think I’ll start Julie Walters autobiography That’s Another Story
• Tiktok video of the day Madge and Biskit
• Job of the day- cleaning patio 
• Upset of the day- Mark L left Bake Off he was a real sweetie
• Treat of the day- I’m still in bed 

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