Potpourri part 2 ...

I started making potpourri about a month ago, back in the heady days of May when my roses were just coming into bloom.You can find my potpourri recipe here: Recipe for Rose Potpourri.

This morning I had a look at my petals and flowers and came to the conclusion that they're sufficiently dry to move on to stage 2 of the process. Like to have a look at them? This is everything that I've dried spread out on the picnic table outside:

I'm pleased with how it's all turned out. I kept them in a cool, dark room in the basement, which was well ventilated. There's been no moulding and only minimum discolouration of the petals, which is brilliant.

The peonies, which were a bit of an experiment, have dried out beautifully. They're the smaller, thinner, darker petals. The bay leaves have curled up a bit, but have kept their wonderful dark green colour. The rosemary has also kept its colour well and the geraniums still look like ... well, geraniums, which is a good result.

After I'd done my little bit of admiring how nicely they'd all turned out I placed the dried flowers and leaves in a mixing bowl, added the cinnamon sticks, cardamon pods, coriander seeds, orris root powder and rose and geranium essential oils.

I gave it a very gentle shake around to make sure that the orris root powder, which is the fixative got everywhere.

 Now I've got a bit of a thing for old jam pots. I have a strange urge to hoard them and it's a real struggle form me to put them in the recycling bin. I've always got two or three boxes of them in the garden shed in all shapes and sizes. When I need a storage jar for something they're brilliant. As you can see from the photo above I've got an old mustard jar pressed into service so that I don't have to fiddle with the rather annoying plastic bag that my orris root powder was dispatched in.

When it'd all been given a gentle shake-around so that the orris root powder had coated everything in a powdery dust I decanted the mixture into an old sandwich box, placed the lid on and left it to mature on a dark shelf.

Every day or so, for the next week or two, I'll give the box a gentle shake around to make sure that the powder doesn't settle to the bottom. I'll have a sniff and maybe add extra spices or essential oil if I think the fragrance needs a bit of tinkering with. After that I'll just leave it for the scent to mature and strengthen until the autumn when it'll be ready to mix with the other things that I want to include.

I've got some fabulous dried lavender, which I'll mix in, and I've got some pretty little pine cones which will add texture. I found these on my travels and have them stored in another small jam pot (what else!) where they are also infusing with rose and geranium essential oil.

I haven't added the cones to the general mix of infusing petals because they would damage the flower heads and petals when I give the mixture a shake about every now and then.

So that's it. Everything is brewing nicely and should be ready for use in the autumn. If you'd like to make some for yourself, there's plenty of time and loads of roses still in bloom. As I've mentioned you can find the recipe and method in my earlier post: Recipe for Rose Potpourri.

All the best,

Bonny x
As shared on Creative Mondays

Did Jack the Ripper wash up on Chiswick Causeway?

I heard a story the other day that sent a shiver down my spine. 

You see it all kicked off a long time ago; way back in 1888 to be precise. 

The autumn of that year was particularly terrible for the poor women who lived in the impoverished district of Whitechapel in London's East End. There'd been a lot of immigration into the area from Ireland as people fled the famines, and from Russia as Jewish families fled the Tsar's pogroms. There was chronic over-crowding: lots of people crammed in together who came from different backgrounds and cultures and didn't understand one another. No one had any money. Crime was rife. Large numbers of women had been abandoned and fell into lives of vice. It wasn't a happy place. And then, when they were no doubt thinking that things couldn't get a whole lot worse, a mass murderer emerged from the shadows, a sadistic, evil individual who preyed on women who were out on their own. 

They nicknamed him Jack the Ripper. In a matter of weeks five women in succession were found with their throats slashed. Four of them had been horribly mutilated after death, and their injuries suggested that their assailant may have been familiar with the  study of human anatomy. 

The nightmare started on 31st August, 1888 with the death of Mary Ann Nichols, a 43 year-old mother of five, deserted by her husband and who, because of her alcoholism, hadn't been able to pay the fourpence necessary to bed down in her usual lodging house that night. The killing spree claimed three more victims before ending abruptly on 9th November with the murder of Mary Jane Kelly, a pretty, buxom girl of about 25 who may originally have been Irish and who was known to be fluent in Welsh. Poor Mary Jane's family were never traced, and were never to find out what had become of their lost daughter.

And then ... nothing.

No more murders took place to match the modus operandi of the five Whitechapel killings. No one was ever caught. London held its breath ... and wondered what had happened. Conspiracy theories abounded. Had it been the handiwork of Queen Victoria's grandson, the Duke of Clarence? Were the Freemasons to blame? What about Lewis Carroll, creator of Alice in Wonderland or Walter Sickert, the artist? No one was above suspicion.

The ensuing police investigation was extensive. The newspaper men watched closely and relayed every twist and turn to an enthralled public. Experts were called in from all corners, but Jack the Ripper was never apprehended.

One of the suspects was a barrister called Montague John Druitt, but the evidence linking him to the crime was circumstantial. On 30th December, 1888 his body was spotted floating, face down in the water off Chiswick Causeway. Henry Winslade, a waterman, pulled him out of the water, dragging the remains onto the causeway, which at that time was used by John Thorneycroft's torpedo boatyard to launch their boats. 

Chiswick Causeway

Druitt's pockets had been weighed down with stones, which had kept the body submerged in the Thames for about a month. They also contained a return train ticket to Hammersmith station dated 1st December, 1888, a handsome silver watch, a cheque for £50 and £16 in gold sovereigns. No one knew why he was carrying so many valuables with him at the time of his death, although there was speculation that he may have been paying off a blackmailer, which, in turn, made people wonder what dark secret he might have taken with him to his grave.

Whatever the way of it, the killings stopped, and rumours started to circulate about Jack the Ripper. They claimed that he had been the son of a surgeon, and that he had committed suicide. They said his body had been found in the Thames. The source of these rumours was never clear, but in a private memorandum written by Sir Melville MacNaughten, the Assistant Chief Constable, Druitt was named as a suspect. MacNaughten claimed to have unspecified private information that left little doubt Druitt's own family believed him to have been the murderer.

Much has since been made of the timing of Druitt's death so very shortly after the murders ended, and of the fact that Druitt's father was a surgeon from whom he may have learnt the rudiments of dissection and anatomy. His rooms in the Inner Temple were also reasonably close to Whitechapel. 

An inquest was held into Druitt's death, which established that there had been an extensive history of mental illness in his family and returned a verdict of suicide, committed whilst he was of unsound mind. This, in turn, was duly seized upon as further evidence that he was guilty: only a mad man could have killed and mutilated his victims in the way Jack the Ripper had done. 

Chiswick Causeway at low tide

It's amazing how this case has held the public's imagination down the ages. Every year someone comes up with a new theory about who Jack was. The forensic evidence has long since turned to dust along with his victims, but the experts now use new-fangled sciences such as criminal profiling to come up with a cast list of likely Rippers.

And, having said all that, I really can't go sounding too superior as though I'm somehow above all this whodunnit business. It's pretty obvious I've been sucked in too given how excited I was at the notion that Jack might have washed up on one of my favourite dog walks.

All the best,


Bonny x

As shared on Friday Finds

Walpole Park revisited ...

Back in the dark days of January I wrote an article (Walpole Park and my dog-walking worries) bemoaning the loss of much of our local park and expressing some doubt as to whether the council would deliver it back to the good citizens of Ealing in line with their rather vague deadline of early 2014.

Serious progress has been made, but ... there is an I-told-you-so coming ... it's so not finished, and I think we've sailed way past that early 2014 deadline - and then some.

This:

... has happily become this:

But we still can't get in to enjoy it: the blur to the right hand side is due to my having snapped the shot through a gap in the railings that still divide the park.

And whilst there's a lot of heavy plant moving around it was impressive yesterday to see how many people were catching the rays and making the most of the green space that was available to them. I think it's a special talent that we have developed here in London. We may not know much about a lot of things, but we certainly know how to rock a lazy afternoon in the park.

Just look at this kindergarten class who've swapped their classroom for the blue sky and the leaf canopy overhead. And, seriously, when did you last see such a cool multi-baby buggy? What a mothership!

This chap was happily playing riffs on his guitar beside the chain-mail fence that chops the park in two:

And these folk were just laying back in the grass working on their sun tans:

And, best of all, the funny bits where it looks like they've dug up the grass for no good reason are being cultivated as wild flower meadows. Next year I look forward to celebratory picnics on sunny afternoons when the cornflowers, the poppies and the clover will be in bloom. It's going to be epic!

They're busy building a new play area for the little people, which looks pretty amazing too. Emi and his chums will have a ball playing there when it's all done and dusted.

They've planted gazillions of roses and shrubs along the pathways, and it's all shaping up to look rather splendid.

Over in the adjoining Pitshanger Manor, one-time country get-away of the famous architect, Sir John Soane, they're hosting an art exhibition. It seems an appropriate venue given Soane's connections: back in the day he entertained art-world luminaries such as JMW Turner in this place.

And the great thing about it is that it's an exhibition of local artists who want to get their names out there. You can pop along until 21st June, admire the work on view and buy it if it really takes your fancy. It's Ealing's answer to the Summer Exhibition over at the Royal Academy on Piccadilly, and I think it's great that we have a showcase for our local talent.

And that's something that chimes with the ethos of the park behind: it's the people's park and is something that just about everyone in the area feels they have a stake in. Just take a look at the number of trees and park benches that are dedicated to the memory of loved ones who have passed away.

I'm sure all the work will all be worth it in the end, but for now I'd just like it to be over so that we can let our dogs and our children race around without having to worry about them getting run over by a JCB.

All the best,

Bonny x


As shared on SYC , Little things Thursday and Good Fences

F is for Feather Duster ...

And I just love to watch when it's being brandished by a bloke to clean a tank. Yes, honestly. I joke you not. Have a look for yourself:

After a busy day mooching around at the Tank Museum, Bovington, Dorset it was a pleasure to put my feet up and watch this lot dust the tanks. Seriously this could catch on as a spectator sport. And it only added to my pleasure to observe how many of them were guys. I don't think I've ever seen any so many chaps doing the dusting. It was a sweet thing to watch.

All the best,

Bonny x
As shared on the Alphabet Project

The Tank Museum, Bovington, Dorset

You know how they say Men are from Mars? Well, girls, it's absolutely true. And to prove it all you have to do is take a couple of normal, sentient men to the tank museum. Before your very eyes, they will morph into warrior-types who totally know everything about the military hardware on display and talk loudly with one another about SPGs and ranges and ballistics and other stuff that you've never heard them mention before.

Such was my experience yesterday. We'd had Mr B's car fixed, and we wanted to make sure that the nice people down at the garage had actually sorted out the problem, rather than just telling us they had and charging us a ship-load of money for the fun of it. We wondered where we might go to put the motor through its paces. Emi, who plays far too much World of Tanks online, has been lobbying for a visit to the tank museum for ages and wasn't slow about suggesting it as a suitable venue. He even did the puppy eyes thing, so there was simply no saying no! to him.

Throughout our visit Emi positively fizzed with excitement, and Mr B was pretty much up there with him. Mr B had to do military service in the Spanish army and was heard to mutter something about having been an infantry man, but he very quickly forgot about his infantry connections and rolled into the (cavalry) joys of tank warfare in a way that left me baffled and bemused.

 I found the whole thing interesting (sort-of), but, as with the insects at Micropolis, I was far from hooked.  I'm much more interested in social history and I found these industrial-scale killing machines chilling. Sitting silently as exhibits in the museum you get only a small flavour of their true potency. As a little girl growing up in Northern Ireland I can vividly remember how these monsters roar when their huge engines growl into action, and how they make the ground shake when they move; you can feel the pounding strokes of their engines through your feet.

The first person to have thought up the idea of a tank appears to have been Leonardo da Vinci, who drew plans for an armoured vehicle way back in the 1480s. They've got a made-up model of what his tank might have looked like if some Renaissance prince had decided to run with the idea and put it into production.

I don't know how feasible or manoeuvrable Leo's little armoured run-around would have been, but just imagine if they'd managed to iron out any wrinkles in the prototype and make it work.  I wonder how it would have changed the history of European warfare.

Nobody else seems to have thought much more about tanks until the advent of the machine gun, which made its first really big splash in the First World War. It seemed that the only means by which to meet the threat presented by this new mechanical gun was to create a mechanical monster with armour that was impervious to its bullets. Churchill, then the British Minister for War, encouraged the engineers to get cracking on something that would bring Leonardo's idea into the twentieth century and on 15th September 1916 the British Army used their first tanks at Flers in France. They needed a bit more tweaking, but slowly, slowly they got the technology right and the tanks went on to break the deadlock of the trenches.

I'm sure there's a fascinating story behind each and every tank that they've got parked up in the museum. This one, however, caught my eye:

And here's the tank he commanded:

It kind of blew me away to have it in front of me knowing a little bit of the battlefield drama that it's come through.

Another one caught my eye:

And here she is, the last tank of the line from 1945, looking as pristine and invincible as the day she rolled out of the Vauxhall factory in Luton:

There are loads of opportunities to see how the tanks look and feel inside. As you might imagine they are extremely cramped and none too comfortable. I'd hate to been sharing a ride in one of the camouflage numbers that fought in North Africa during the Second World War. Imagine six grown men squashed into a space not much bigger than two toilet cubicles stretched out around the guns and the turret, driving through the heat of the desert, with the heat of the huge engine and their own body heat. It must have been a total nightmare just existing, without even factoring in the threat of Rommel and his troops trying to blow them away.

At the risk of stating the obvious, the museum is a great day out for tank enthusiasts and anyone interested in military history. They have tanks from all periods, including Leonardo's prototype, the first tanks from WW1 right through to tanks that have seen action in Afghanistan.  There's a perfectly acceptable cafe and a sandwich van outside. Dogs are not permitted in any part of the museum, and there's ample free parking very close to the entrance. All parts of the museum appeared to be accessible by wheelchair. If you'd like to check it out you can find all the details on their website: Tank Museum web site.

On our way home we found the most glorious field of poppies in full bloom, which seemed a fitting end to the day.

There was a long line of cars that had pulled over on the side of the road to take photos. And if you look carefully you can see the heads of other people out there in the middle of all that colourful loveliness snapping away to their hearts' content.

All the best,

Bonny x