Reunion with oil friends brought tear to my eye
APRIL 2nd: A rather magnificent morning over the hill in Glossop to collect 20 paintings which I thought had been lost in the great move two years ago.
Old friends one and all and just in time for my exhibition this week.
I cannot explain how joyous it was to clap eyes on this work and there was other stuff amongst mine which brought a tear to my eye as I thought I would never see them again, like the 19th century oils of the woodlands in Leicestershire which have been in my family since the reign of Queen Vic.
The plaster frames had long disintegrated and the paintings had the cigarette smoke patina of many paintings which hung in smoky parlours.
I paid a fortune on like-for-like frames and restoration, which was worth every penny as fishermen emerged from the dark and, best of all, the darling blue of the river shone out as it was meant to do.
At one time I tried to determine the artist, but the name is a little too hazy to decipher; definitely someone with an understanding of what an English woodland looked like.
In my youth we spent many a Sunday afternoon exploring Bradgate Park in Leicestershire and I have a feeling that this parkland is what is depicted here.
Look at the blue; I’ve tried to bring it out as best I can, but after restoration, when in natural light, it just is alive and I can almost see the bronze brown trout and the iridescent kingfisher nipping in and out of view as they do in real life.
After the excitement of the ‘find,’ think Carter in Egypt, I picked up a sack of peanuts and another feeder for Dinner Lady Teacher Man’s school wildlife garden from a generous reader in Glossop.
The car insisted we go over Cemetery Road above Hadfield and onwards to Woodhead, Holme Moss and Saddleworth Moor, and I was immediately greeted to a buzzard taking centre stage of the renowned Padfield
Triangle view, a photobomb with style.
Once at my regular stopping place, you know the one where I don’t see short eared owls any more but always manage a raven or two and a peregrine?
Well that one and I saw none of them but did see the white bottoms of four roe deer running from me, skylarks, lapwings, meadow pipits, a lesser black backed gull of all things.
The views seen here never cease to amaze and worth the extra few miles and then, as I moved half a mile higher to the Holme Radio Mast, I had a chance encounter with a fellow called Bob, who Gilbert White would have talked to all day.
Bob was parked up in his VW Camper and had a 10-foot aerial on the bonnet tracking the skies for radio signals and he proudly told me he had just had a chat with someone in Tenerife and, sadly, he had made contact, briefly, with someone in Brazil before the signal dropped.
Radio Hams are a group of people I have never had the pleasure to meet until this morning and it was my delight to listen and learn.
You see we are in a monumental period of time for these enthusiasts called a Sunspot, which runs from 2020 to 2025 and is basically a one in 40-year phenomenon when radio waves can be bounced from the sunspots which stops them vanishing into the ether and outer space.
And if I understood him correctly, once the signals hit the sunspot, they can bounce back down on the other side of the world, making it easier to communicate with each other.
Bob explained that this is known as ‘propagation’ and when it goes well they describe their successes in terms of ‘skips.’
Any experts on here please put me right if I didn’t get this correct.
Either way, more proof that the stories are out there for me in the most unlikely spots, no pun intended.
The reason I commented Gilbert White would have enjoyed talking to Bob is, because throughout his diaries there are countless references to what is happening in the sky, with the planets, stars and aurora. The very notion of sending signals and being able to communicate with correspondents around the world would surely have blown the Parson’s mind.
On this day in 1787, it seems Gilbert had his mind on more practical matters: ‘Lined the back of the Cucumber-bed with hot dung.’
Back over Saddleworth Moor for the umpteenth time and yes ‘The Beast’ still has a touch of snow and the wind is bitterly cold, so I thought better of hugging the moor to hear ‘his’ heart beating.
I’ll be back to share this awakening before very long and in the meantime my breakfast was taken late at 12.30pm, the colour of the yokes a thing of beauty.
My old friends, the lost-paintings, will be photographed in the morning and it will get emotional.
Van the Man Morrison wrote a great song called ‘Sense of Wonder,’ Bob has it, Gilbert and I have got it, have you?
»»Readers can come and Meet the Artist Writer (moi) Friday, April 8, between 2pm and 6.30pm at Bridge Art Centre, Stalybridge.