Duckey Stones

The gales have subsided at last and the sky has been blue all day but I fear it won't be for long. This time the sea defences have held up but piles of rubbish have been washed ashore, mostly plastic rubbish, nylon lines and fishing hooks, drift wood and corpses including a headless dolphin and two cows. The cows were probably grazing somewhere on the banks of the Exe, wandered down to the river where the bank broke away and the cows slid into the river to be washed down to the sea. Time was when more exciting treasurers could be found, for the very lucky a Spanish Dubloon might waiting for the sharp eyed treasure seeker, more often it could be a Duckey Stone. A couple of generations ago children would use these to play what in our day we called Jacks or Knuckle Stones. To some the Duckey Stone was no more than a piece of dull grey metal but to the wise it had once been a Maria Therese Dollar. Perhaps there are still a few lying among the pebbles - who knows?

The Storm has passed

I've just been looking at Stuart Morris's video of the storm raging around Portland Bill on You Tube. Words can't do it justice, I strongly suggest you type Stuart Morris, Portland into You Tube. Today the sky is blue with a few fluffy clouds but did you see the weather forecast yesterday evening? There was a very deep low lurking out in the Atlantic so I fear there will be more to come. We seem to get major storms and floods about every twenty years. I remember the one in 1989 when Chiswell was really flooded but the Navy was still here and came to the rescue with rubber dinghies taking people from their homes to higher ground. When the storm died down they helped dry out the flooded homes, took carpets to the helicopter hangers and hosed them down to get rid of the salt, then dried them and helped to relay them. The older generation shook their heads saying 'You don't have carpets in Chiswell!' All the older cottages had a stone slab in the middle of the floor which could be lifted to let the flood waters get away, in Chiswell you just learned to live with the weather. After a storm like the one we've just had beach combing can be very rewarding - who knows a few ducky stones may have come to the surface. Ducky stones? I'll tell you what they are in my next posting.

In December 2012 I was complaining about the rain, it was nothing compared to what has been happening in the last two weeks. Great grey rollers have been racing across West Bay topped by white horses and for those with eyes to see, the ghosts of the past sailing ships have been careering to their doom. Beachcombers have been staggering up the Chesil Beach with armfuls of drift wood, some hoping that perhaps the storm will uncover treasure from the wrecks of the past, maybe a duckey stone or two? Phoenix House was published as a paper back couple of years ago and I thought my cup of happiness was full to over flowing until my wonderful publisher Graeme K. Talboys said he had turned it into an ebook. That was the moment when I felt that Ginny Pullen and her sister Lou had really come alive; already I am planning to put writing time into my diary, the need to tell the next chapter of their story is about to take over my life, however my first task is to rescue the characters in the two novels I was working on two years ago. At the same time I intend to continue reasearching into the folk lore and legends of Portland, instinct tells me that my findings will play a very important part in the Pullen girls lives. For over a year I have had little time for writing or posting to this blog - apologies to any one who has taken the trouble to visit, I can promise that, disasters aside, I shall be posting regularly from now on.

Will this rain ever stop?

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Here is the promised pictures and at last I can look forward to spending real time out here every week. Even on the coldest day it is warm and cosy and once the sun comes back I can look forward to creating a 'quiet garden' to share with friends old and new. When will this rain stop? At the momnet I am sitting in Pigeonholes in the warm while the wind and rain rattle the window panes. I think at heart I am a hobbit, this small space is all mine, it is only ten feet by eight but here I have all I need, a small stove filled with glowing coals, a large desk, a comfortable chair and for my friends a small sofa. On the walls there are two oil paintings, one of a wave crashing on the shore while on the horizon sunlight has broken through the clouds, the other painting is of a tan sailed, gaff rigged fishing boat battling its way across a choppy sea. A pencil drawing of the chapel at Haslar Hospital and a scraffito plate by Tiffany Scull are here too. On top of the stove is a copper kettle and on the floor to one side are two glove puppets - a lion and an elephant. And there is still room for two book cases for no room would ever be complete without books

While I am doing battle with some new web software my dream house is taking shape.  The roof tiles are waiting to be picked up tomorrow and the window and door frames will be here in the next couple of days.  By next week I should be able to post a picture of the Pigeonhole and move in.

The frame of the first wall of The Pigeonhole is ready and waiting for the cladding.  If we have another dry day tomorrow the first wall should be up with the other three in place before the weekend.  I'm taking photos at every stage but the new blog won't be launched until I have something to show you. 

I have to confess that I am past my sell-by date and I was beginning to feel that there would be no point in starting anything new.  Climbing up from my hut on the beach was beginning to be a slow and exhausting business so I have put it on the market.  At my age, I thought,  perhaps I should just accept a bit of stiffness, put my feet up and pick up my knitting.  Then along came my daughter, 'What you need,' she said,' is a hut in the garden.'

Only twelve days since my last entry but already a hidden corner of the garden has been cleared, the footings are in and the floor is laid.  At the moment all that is covered over with a blue tarpaulin but on Tuesday work will begin to build the walls.  In less than two weeks my garden studio should be ready for me to move in.  It is little more than a Wendy house, just 10ftx8ft but my ancient desk will fit in and I’ve found a very small green velvet sofa in a charity shop.  In the middle of the back wall there will be a black electric let’s-pretend wood burner stove so I can work out there on cold winter afternoons and I’ve bought a bucket full of spring bulbs as part one of rejuvenating the hidden garden. 

The next question was what to call this retreat?  All but one of the dolls’ houses I’ve built have names and each has a plot ready and waiting for its story to be written.  ‘Phoenix House’ was published last summer and will soon be launched as an ebook.

I woke this morning worrying that I was spending too much on myself but a voice in my head answered firmly 'This hut is a fraction of the cost of a new car and it be like a mgic carpet, taking  you to places you would never visit without it.'

My first task will be to publish a collection of short stories as an ebook which I shall dedicate to Jude who came to my rescue.  ‘At last you seem to be getting your life into some kind of order, what you need now is a pigeon hole.’  So there it is – The Pigeonhole.  I am now working on a new blog for The Pigeonhole and in my next posting I’ll tell you how to find it.