The Fallen~Sparrow~Hawk; Clear-fell

Clear-fell    March 27, 2002

It dawned on me that the area of cleared trees that stretches out to the loch is called ‘clear-fell’. When I first grasped the sound I thought it was ‘clearfeld’; it could easily be the origin of this Afrikaner word as with ‘field made ready for planting’.

Today, though there is a chill wind blowing, I fancy the loch shore. I might identify some of the birds with the help of a book and a pair of binoculars.

There are mole hills pocking the farmer’s field by us and the occasional badger has been spotted. There is also an otter which I would love to see.

I am living off oats in the morning and whatever potatoes I can find. There is also rice and cabbages. It is possible to sustain life and limb this way.

Roy, who I have only seen once since I got back, told me to beware crossing the moors as it is lambing season and the sheep and the rams can get pretty boisterous in defence of their young. I have already had a run-in with them once in the Lake District. Roy said an acquaintance of his was first knocked over and, because their backs are flat, he was bounced around for a good while and came out of the experience pretty beat up and sore. I think I’ll take the road to Roy’s for the moment.

Mentioning the clear-fell, the caravan I have been staying in since my return from Glasgow is on the edge of the clear-fell and will, because of the dampness, be swarming with midges come the right conditions. I hope they don’t come indoors.

Green funerals, I’ve been looking into it. I wouldn’t mind becoming a green funerals broker. There are apparently 150 woodland areas which allow woodland burials. There are coffin makers and painters and designers of urns for ashes. There are also celebrants, 9 I think. (That is the word for those who hold ceremonies?). Many people would like to design the ceremony themselves, but if I could have agents working for me, for whom I get bookings then they could orchestrate the whole thing. I would like to visit one on the 14^th. I must do it properly though. I would like to drive. Get the manual or handbook of locations for £12 something. I’ll send a postal order. I would like to visit each woodland area to describe it to people and create a package that of course is cheaper than the normal funeral. I must research the whole thing.

Anyway, I screamed at Mark for having, as he put it, ‘been forgiven by Debbie’ ( thus forgiving himself lightly), which I didn’t think was fair. I lied and said I had spoken with her and that I had a boyfriend and that I only went with men who had girlfriends. He text me the words. ‘You cunt’ and ‘You should be happy now you’ve destroyed me in every way!’

The Fallen~Sparrow~Hawk; Babes in the Woods

Babes in the woods 26, March 2002

Life at the Doon has settled into its normal pattern of peace and isolation. Since my return from Glasgow the weather has become markedly milder. The geese are migrating in a racket of twos and threes and larger groups, the days are longer and the gorse is in bloom. Maddy’s only a few days away or even hours away from giving birth. The other day I found her asleep on the Doon, a lone figure wrapped in green tartan facing her first labour. The midwives have come and left cases, oxygen bottles and sundry syringes in case they are needed.

Today Maddy is preparing a dinner. Tristan, her boyfriend, is an absolute treasure of a handyman and as well as being hansom is taking the whole business calmly. He has built wonderful shelves and a worktop. I feel absolutely pathetic in comparison.

I haven’t yet decided where I want to live though I suppose I could take over Maddy and Tristan’s bender when they leave in April. They have carpets and a beautiful space, but I have to make an effort if I am to stay here. One really has to be hands-on for this type of life. There would be some satisfaction in making a cosy nest rather than being ‘on the fence’ and betwixt and between re. this life-style.

The problem I have is money. My interpreting jobs are just not enough at present to sustain me. Ben has forgiven me for not paying the phone bill and there is a bill here that will need paying. I have to get money soon. E-mail is much cheaper.

Today was a conservation work day and last night Boggy brought his horse over called Azoule, meaning blue in Spanish. I quite like Boggy. It’s a shame he got drunk and burnt himself falling over the stove. We removed some old rusty fencing to make way for a paddock for goats and a horse. Azoule was yoked up and dragged some heavy trunks along the track.

Between here and maybe the end of April I have no money whatsoever so I must just starve. Mark might come to Glasgow for a few days which will be nice.

It would be nice if Jill Foster liked The Cuckoo’s Diary and had it adapted as a film. There are lots of fantastic characters, The Major, the Captain, D Deveer and the boys, Beccy and the governmental hunting party, Madhatter and Beanie and Mark Burrows the protagonist. It would really highlight hunting and the massacre would be a just sacrifice. Please, please. I will phone more publishers. Mark will probably print out more copies of The Cuckoo’s Diary. If it is accepted then I can go and help the screenwriter with it and watch the filming. It would mean money hopefully lots of it to party and live well. Fingers crossed.

The Fallen~Sparrow~Hawk: Zena the Cleaner

Zena the Cleaner                                        March 10, 2002

Irma had heard the story of  Jolly from Zena. Zena was part of a team of cleaners employed at Monreith House. The first thing she said when, having traced her number through a Kirsty, was,  Zena told me that Jolly is depicted standing by the side of a seated  Maxwell in the dining room. The painting is kept ‘downstairs in Sir Michael’s living quarters. Jolly came to Monreith in the 17 hundreds and married a local girl. Proof of the marriage was erased by their children. I would like to know where Jolly is buried. Why the parish has no record of the wedding or death. How much was paid for Jolly and from where was he bought.

I had strange dreams about nappy-headed locals.

There is a high infant mortality rate among the Jolly descendants and I wonder whether it was because the Jollys were throw-backs. Was he flogged to death or was that Irma-say. Anyway, I’ve thought of the song Strange Fruit about lynching in the Deep South. It could easily have happened to Jolly in Monreith.

I am up in the air at the moment. I don’t know where this is leading. Should I pursue the Jolly story? I want to get the bus from Auchanmalg to Whithorn and maybe hang out in the pub there. It would be good to speak to the descendants. Maybe one of them will spill the beans on what went on.

The Fallen~Sparrow~Hawk: For He's A Jolly Good Fellow

For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow                                     March 9. 2002

In Newton Stewart library are the Old Kirkyard Parish Memorials of Dunragit.

Francis Jolly who lost 5 children between the ages of birth and 15 yrs. Another Jolly also lost children.

I haven’t established if the slave was indeed a Jolly. I do, however, know that a painting exists. Today I phoned Elrig House. I tactlessly asked if it was open to the public and was curtly told no, probably by the laird. I rang back and spoke to a woman in an eastern European accent. She said she knew of the painting of the slave and that it was at Monreith House. Unfortunately, Sir Maxwell was presently away. I tried to phone Monreith House but got an answer message in a Yorkshire accent.

So, the painting is a mystery, or will Sir Michael Maxwell let it be seen? What does it depict? Why was the slave painted and who was the artist? Who ruled the house? How far back do the Jollys go? Is there a time when the name is untraceable?