My post for MonthlyDiaryDay
I've been remiss in recent months, but I am making an effort today.
39 years ago August 12th was my Dad's 50th birthday, and our wedding day. He died in '99, but I always remember him still more on this day.
We had a somewhat lazy morning, with coffee and the papers in bed before a relaxed breakfast. I tidied up my art bag which has been looking increasingly messy, to the point that last time I went out with painting stuff I just jammed a few things in an old Sainsbury's bag, which then threatened to disintegrate.
We decided we would go 'somewhere pretty', and settled o Mary Arden's Farm, about twenty minutes away. I know I went there once, but that was in October 1970, on a school trip, and my memories are somewhat hazy. I was not impressed then, which must explain why we never bothered to take the girls there.
It's the farm where Shakespeare's mother grew up. The hall house was build around 1514, according to the dendochronology, but adapted later in that century and again later still, with such mod cons as an upstairs floor and cast iron stoves. Quite a lot is known about it in the mid sixteenth century because of Robert Arden's will; he died in 1556, a couple of years before Mary, youngest of eight girls, married John Shakespeare and moved into town. (A bustling centre with about 2,000 people!) Robert had three chairs in his house - sign of prosperity. Here are some from very slightly later.
At the time there was essentially a hall, with a 'chamber' at one end, where the parents slept, and above it possibly a sleeping platform, possibly a room, where the eight girls and four step-siblings presumably went, or at least those still at home. In the chamber there was a small display of things to do with childbirth at that period:
Apparently the cure for a difficult labour is to give the woman some human milk!
The old farmhouse was interesting, but the main draw is that it is still a working farm, along with a slightly later farmhouse next-door and its grounds.
It's all organic and the livestock is mostly rare breeds - chickens, ducks, geese, cows, goats, donkeys, pigs... Not really on a scale big enough to be economically viable, but the tourists support it and the people who work there are in costume (all hand-stitched) and do re-enactment stuff - they were baking custards, pies and bread in an outdoor bread oven and collecting herbs to make 'salves' with. Food from the farm is sold at the café - we didn't eat there, but it looked good, with some things made from Tudor recipes. In term-time they clearly have a lot of school parties in - they have lost of kid-sized Tudor costumes and a lot of the animals can be stroked. Not, however, the birds of prey - they also run falconry courses, from beginners through to very advanced.
We had a very pleasant couple of hours there, and I may just have bought an expensive book on Tudor clothing on the way out, but still. We did get in free, however; several SI students work there and one let us in on her pass. So it was my duty to buy something!
Just as we arrived home it started raining, but that was simply a good excuse not to do too much more. We sat and read for a while, then chatted to the girls on FB Messenger, which meant a few Rhiannon photos, naturally.
Well, you didn't expect to see none, did you?
We settled down with a tasty Waitrose chicken dish, vaguely North African so we had couscous with it, and a bottle of rather good Rhone wine. It was the last two episodes of Sé Quien Eres, a Hispanic Noir murder story which has been gripping us, though the end left us somewhat frustrated, as so many loose ends were left for a second series (promised for next year) that you couldn't really call it a resolution.
And so to bed, after listening to depressing news - when isn't it depressing these days? Charlotteville may at least distract Trump fro starting nuclear war. One can but hope.
39 years ago August 12th was my Dad's 50th birthday, and our wedding day. He died in '99, but I always remember him still more on this day.
We had a somewhat lazy morning, with coffee and the papers in bed before a relaxed breakfast. I tidied up my art bag which has been looking increasingly messy, to the point that last time I went out with painting stuff I just jammed a few things in an old Sainsbury's bag, which then threatened to disintegrate.
We decided we would go 'somewhere pretty', and settled o Mary Arden's Farm, about twenty minutes away. I know I went there once, but that was in October 1970, on a school trip, and my memories are somewhat hazy. I was not impressed then, which must explain why we never bothered to take the girls there.
It's the farm where Shakespeare's mother grew up. The hall house was build around 1514, according to the dendochronology, but adapted later in that century and again later still, with such mod cons as an upstairs floor and cast iron stoves. Quite a lot is known about it in the mid sixteenth century because of Robert Arden's will; he died in 1556, a couple of years before Mary, youngest of eight girls, married John Shakespeare and moved into town. (A bustling centre with about 2,000 people!) Robert had three chairs in his house - sign of prosperity. Here are some from very slightly later.
At the time there was essentially a hall, with a 'chamber' at one end, where the parents slept, and above it possibly a sleeping platform, possibly a room, where the eight girls and four step-siblings presumably went, or at least those still at home. In the chamber there was a small display of things to do with childbirth at that period:
Apparently the cure for a difficult labour is to give the woman some human milk!
The old farmhouse was interesting, but the main draw is that it is still a working farm, along with a slightly later farmhouse next-door and its grounds.
It's all organic and the livestock is mostly rare breeds - chickens, ducks, geese, cows, goats, donkeys, pigs... Not really on a scale big enough to be economically viable, but the tourists support it and the people who work there are in costume (all hand-stitched) and do re-enactment stuff - they were baking custards, pies and bread in an outdoor bread oven and collecting herbs to make 'salves' with. Food from the farm is sold at the café - we didn't eat there, but it looked good, with some things made from Tudor recipes. In term-time they clearly have a lot of school parties in - they have lost of kid-sized Tudor costumes and a lot of the animals can be stroked. Not, however, the birds of prey - they also run falconry courses, from beginners through to very advanced.
We had a very pleasant couple of hours there, and I may just have bought an expensive book on Tudor clothing on the way out, but still. We did get in free, however; several SI students work there and one let us in on her pass. So it was my duty to buy something!
Just as we arrived home it started raining, but that was simply a good excuse not to do too much more. We sat and read for a while, then chatted to the girls on FB Messenger, which meant a few Rhiannon photos, naturally.
Well, you didn't expect to see none, did you?
We settled down with a tasty Waitrose chicken dish, vaguely North African so we had couscous with it, and a bottle of rather good Rhone wine. It was the last two episodes of Sé Quien Eres, a Hispanic Noir murder story which has been gripping us, though the end left us somewhat frustrated, as so many loose ends were left for a second series (promised for next year) that you couldn't really call it a resolution.
And so to bed, after listening to depressing news - when isn't it depressing these days? Charlotteville may at least distract Trump fro starting nuclear war. One can but hope.