Don't you just love it ...

... when something goes wrong, and then in the end turns out to be absolutely right?

Yesterday I went to collect two of my mother-in-law's paintings which I had decided to have framed. I had opted for ready-made frames, with added mounts, and for changing the ordinary glass to special protective glass to prevent fading. [The framer was astonished at how good the pictures looked 100 years after painting! "They must have been somewhere with little light" he said, and I replied "They were, they were shut up in a box!"]

I had chosen the size of frame without difficulty, but wanted the gold version, and not the natural wood one's they had in stock in the size I wanted. I was told the gold could be ordered and that was what was agreed - or so I thought.

Strangely enough, on the way there, I began to wonder if the gold had been the right choice, but "Too late now" I told myself. When the pictures were put in front of me, lo and behold, they were framed in the plain wood. A lengthy discussion began as to why they were not framed in gold, and my case eventually fell apart as I saw that 'plain wood' had been written on the invoice, which I had clearly not checked carefully enough before leaving the shop.

To clinch his argument, the framer went and got another frame in the gold, and held it beside the pictures in the plain wood. I knew instantly that I should have hated the gold frames! So although in arguing his case he recalled conversations which I don't believe we ever had, I have to acknowledge that aesthetically he was right, and I end up happy with my newly framed pictures!

More about Robin Hood's Bay

Give this a miss if you have read enough about it already, but the research I have done since coming home has revealed quite an interesting history for the building on which I was focussing most of my attention. One of the local people I had asked had said my mother-in-law's painting might be of the Old Coastguard Station and the Leeds University Marine Laboratory. I decided to search the web for the Old Coastguard Station, and I readily found pictures of the building the way it used to be in days of yore, and the way it is today. You might think that the round roofed tower to the left of the slipway had survived the rigours of time and the sea pretty well - not so however.


Alan Staniforth, one-time Heritage Coast Ranger for the N. York Moors National Park Authority, explains in an interesting article he wrote about the North Sea Trail. In it he revealed that "a building with its toe in the sea at the bottom of Robin Hood's Bay village has a shorter history than its design might at first indicate". It seems that this late 18th century building, after being used as a public house and then dwelling houses until 1829, was then taken over by the recently established coastguard service. After they moved to a purpose built station on Fisher Head in the early 1900s, the building was hired, and later bought, by Leeds University, to accommodate students studying marine biology.



During the war the building was taken over by the War Department, and afterwards use of the laboratory was at a low ebb until the arrival of new staff in the early 1960s. This led to its demolition and the rebuilding of a purpose built marine laboratory which opened in 1967. The design was not popular with the local community, however, and one can see why from the picture of it nearing completion in 1965. Only 15 years later, the new laboratory was closed down for economic reasons.



The property was eventually purchased in 1999 by the National Trust for use as an Information and Interpretation Centre. The new building was demolished, and the present building was constructed to the style of the old coastguard station, as you can see from my own picture taken 10 days ago. For an account of this remarkable piece of reconstructive work, it is worth going to the website of Allen Tod Architecture, where you will also find really good pictures of the three architectural stages in the building's life. [You will need to click on Projects, then scroll down the list to find Robin Hood's Bay]


All this is fascinating, but I am no nearer identifying my painting. But I don't give up easily, and reference on the website to a history of Robin Hood's Bay by Barrie Farnill, led to my buying the book second hand. It contains many wonderful old photos, but sadly none that threw any more light on my enquiry. There is, though, an enticing description which gives me hope that someone may yet tell me what I want to hear:

"To the south of Wayfoot [the end of the slipway], a sea wall was built many years ago, an extension of a much older one. Behind the older wall one particularly interesting 17th century house, known now as The Coble, shelters snugly and securely. It was once the home of the chief coastguard officer of Robin Hood’s Bay. From what is now a sunny glas-walled lounge, but was formerly a balcony, the old water-guard scanned the horizon through telescopes for sight of smuggling luggers. In more recent years, the coastguards occupied an old building on the north side of this house, one which was pulled down and rebuilt by the University of Leeds in 1965. Here, too, was the old round-house, which served as a bad weather look out post, and a building in which the water-guard, forerunners of the coastguards, kept their boat. "

Well, there is something decidedly 'lookout-ish' about that little sort of bay window hanging out over the sea on the left of the building in the painting, and there is a balcony too. And what about those shadowy flag poles, (which can be seen if you enlarge the picture), or are they the masts and rigging of a real or imagined smugglers' lugger trying to creep past the coastguard station? Remember, this was painted around 100 years ago! I would like to have certainty one day, but meanwhile, all this speculation and my own imagination have added enormously to the charm of the picture for me.



[Black and white photographs are from the Robin Hood's Bay official website.]

My pilgrimage - continued

I realise that I have left part of my story untold, one kind person unacknowledged, and one picture unidentified. To set the scene I must reveal my wimpishness about travel. The journey from my home to Whitby by train is horrendous, involving three or four changes. It is possible to take a coach for part of the route, but coach travel makes me sick. I find all journeys with luggage by public transport stressful and tiring in the extreme, and I do not drive long distance any more either. But I am lucky enough now to be able to indulge myself and travel by hired car if there is somewhere I desperately want to go. The journey to Whitby was a major extravagance, but it was worth it.

So, back to the last morning at Sneaton Castle, when the sun was shining so brilliantly that the blue of the sky looked almost dark in its intensity. I was basking blissfully while I waited for my driver to arrive, and on the seat beside me was my folder of pictures with the one unidentified painting. The receptionist had told me she thought it might be Robin Hood's Bay. This old fishing and smugglers' port, now a favourite tourist spot, is only a few miles south of Whitby, and when my driver arrived I asked him if he would mind making a detour, so that I could see if there was any resemblance to my mother-in-law's painting. (This is at the start of a journey which is going to take four and a half hours at best, even if we don't stop for food on the way!)

He made no objection, and after a while we turned off the main road and began a long trek through narrow country lanes until we eventually emerged at the viewpoint which had been marked on the map. It was staggering! We were high up on the clifftop above the town, with a shimmering panorama of sea and sky in front of us. We parked the car and passed through a small swing gate to find ourselves at the top of a very steep path down to sea level. It was clear that if I wanted to study the buildings at the water's edge I should have to go down it. It was equally clear that my 80-year-old heart would not be equal to the climb back up again.

So what does this good man do? I have shown him the picture of course, and explained my mission, so he says "You stay here and take some pictures, and I'll go down and have a look for you." There were a couple of benches just inside the gate, and I sat there and resumed my basking mode from earlier that morning. After a while I began to feel he had been gone a long time, and got up to look for him. There he was, slogging up the hill by another route, showing all the evidence of a stiff climb. He said he thought that some of the sea wall by the slipway might have been what I was looking for, so I asked him if it was possible to drive down.

He thought it would be, so we got back in the car and started off down the very steep street. We had to drive extremely slowly, and pedestrians had to flatten themselves against the walls to let us pass. My driver observed that they didn't look as though they expected any cars to come that way, despite the yellow lines on the road. Indeed, he was right, as I found out when I went onto the village's website later: the roads are banned to tourist traffic! So we only got our just deserts later as we drove away, and found ourselves stuck on the hill behind a security van, which gave every appearance of having stopped for a cup of tea and a chat, and being in no hurry to leave.

We parked, also illegally, and my driver said he would wait with the car while I took a quick look. However, a few minutes later he came after me, for which I was grateful, as I had nervously picked my way over the cobbles of the slipway right down to the sand, wishing heartily that I had a walking stick with me; I was very glad of his arm to get up the slipway again later. We had a good look at the two buildings at its foot, and I took photographs for further study.

I still don't know what to think. Allowing for the passage of 100 years, and for much change and rebuilding, not to mention artist's licence, I think the painting could just possibly be either of the two round walled structures, which at high tide have their feet in the sea.

Lifeboat launch at Robin Hood's Bay in years gone by, and The Bay as it is today.

[These two photographs are from the Robin Hood's Bay official website.]

My pilgrimage

This was really the highspot of my trip this time, although it had nothing to do with Growing Old Disgracefully. After my husband died we discovered a box of unframed watercolours painted by his mother, who was no mean artist. There are several of them which I am hoping to frame and have on my walls. My mother-in-law, whom I never met, was born and brought up in Leeds, and it appears from her paintings that she must have spent holidays on the North Yorkshire coast, as one of them was recognisably of Whitby, and two or three had been titled 'Sandsend', which is a small bay just north of Whitby.

The headland, Sandsend

I have scanned all the smaller pictures into my computer, and I thought it would be interesting to take prints with me to Whitby, and see if I could actually find the places where the artist had sat to paint the scenes. I took altogether seven pictures, only three of which where titled, and I ended up identifying all but one of them. But this was only done with the help of three other people who supported me in my search.

Tate Hill Sands and Jetty, Whitby

My first piece of good fortune was to find a receptionist at Sneaton Castle who was a local person and actually recognised all but one of the pictures - and bear in mind that they had been painted about 100 years ago! I was planning to go on my search by taxi, and she told me exactly where to ask the driver to put me down to find the different scenes. My next piece of luck was to have a disgraceful friend offer to drive me round and wait while I located my targets and took photographs. We didn't have very long, as we had to get back for our second leaflet meeting, so it was a bit of a scramble, and I didn't get all the shots I would have liked. However, I have enough evidence to convince me that I have followed my mother-in-law's artistic trail of a hundred years ago. This proved to be quite a moving experience, and I feel that in some way I have actually met her at last. Here are my two best successes, with the painting on the left, and my photo on the right:

Sandsend, near Whitby, view from the steps running up beside the Beach Hotel.

Argument's Yard, Whitby, alongside the lifeboat shed, seen from the water's edge. The yard is now private, but I was lucky enough to be invited in by a couple who live there, who were delighted to see the 100-year-old watercolour. Further confirmation came from a painting by a contemporary artist below, and an old photo from the Whitby archive, both of which I found on the web.

Collections

I have been selling some bits and pieces to a dealer this morning, and it got me thinking about collections. My earliest and longest lasting one has been cows : it started with Staffordshire cow creamers and eventually extended to cows in absolutely any material. They are mostly pottery, but also brass, glass, wood, clay, gold, silver, and even wax!

But I now have so many that there is nothing like the pleasure in them that I had with the first two or three acquisitions, so hard come by because I had little money to spare - £3 I think I spent on my first one! I can remember so vividly the look of those cows on the high cornice round the large bed sitting room that I rented from friends in Maida Vale’s ‘Little Venice’; and I still feel the buzz I got from knowing I had sought them out and bought them, and had given them a home, in my first home on my own.

It was a marvellous Victorian room, big enough for two single beds, with built-in cupboards all along one wall, including a washstand space with marble slab which I used as my kitchen worktop. It had a huge bay window with a raised floor, so that it could have made a stage if I had wanted to perform something, and it overlooked the garden which had a beautiful magnolia tree in the centre of the lawn.

I remember one spring evening sitting at a table in the bay, eating an omelette and salad supper cooked on my gasring, and drinking wine with a man I thought I would marry, while we watched the magnolia glimmering in the falling dusk. Life was so good: I was living in the capital city with all its interest and excitement, I was supporting myself - well, up to a point, though I think my Pa paid me an allowance as well - I lived with people I cared about, I was in love ........... and I was collecting Staffordshire pottery cows!

Eheu fugit irreparabile tempus !

[This is my oh-so-kitch candle-wax cow figure!]

Koi Carp by David Koster

This is by way of being a cautionary tale.....

My second son is a committed fisherman, and although he now mostly flyfishes for salmon, there was a time when he was an enthusiastic carp man. When, in 1998, I came across this reproduction in a magazine of one of David Koster's paintings, I knew instantly that I wanted to get a print of it for my son. However, I could not find an easy way of going about it (I did not have a computer then), and I am nothing if not lazy. But I kept the magazine picture.

Nine years later, searching the web for something I no longer remember, I came across an art gallery selling animal pictures on eBay, and there in the collection was Koster's Koi Carp, although the colouring was rather different in the digital picture. However, I thought it an improvement if anything, so I ordered a copy.

When it arrived it was yet another colour, pale and washed-out-looking to my eyes, and I was frankly disappointed. This third picture is my photograph of the actual print, but my camera too is misleading, as it shows more colour than is seen by the naked eye.

The moral of the story obviously is: if you are going to buy art, buy it in person, not through the medium of press, internet or camera. Also, the gallery did point out that Koster produces his own handmade limited edition prints, so that there is always the possibility of variations in the colouring.

The gallery was prepared to take back the print, but I decided to take a chance with it. I showed it to my son without telling him the story of my disappointment, and he instantly wanted it. Just as well - it wasn't cheap!

Footnote :: As for me, I like any of these three reproductions better than the original!

Mother-in-law's paintings

Friendship book ~ more pictures

Elsie had three sisters, and they could all draw or paint, and so could her daughter. Elsie's sister Mary passed on her talent to my husband, and our third son has inherited it too. Although it's only fair to say, my mother's grandmother, and her sister were artistic as well, so he gets it on both sides. And he's married an artist, so we expect a lot from from their son and daughter!

[NOTE : This picture has now been re- positioned so that it will enlarge, so the text can be read.]

Friendship book

Another find amongst my husband's papers: an autograph album - only that is far too boring a word for it - which belonged to his Aunt Elsie. The book is inscribed on the flyleaf: Elsie Burrow, from Mother and Father, Xmas 1889.

Many of the entries are copied poems and maxims, but for me the appeal is in the drawings and paintings, some of which have considerable merit and charm, and are most painstakingly executed.

I believe the end of the 19th century was the time of the Boer Wars, so this is probably a soldier of that time.






The pages of the album are coloured, and by some chance many of the best pictures are on grey pages, which is a pity. Here are two like that: a painting, and an incredibly neat and polished work in pen and ink with highlights in white paint.














I have redesigned this post with the pictures on the left, and it should now be possible to enlarge them for closer study, although they become so enormous that they then have to be looked at in small segments at a time!


















And finally a little cartoon-like drawing, to take us back into a long-ago baby's world. Corsets on babies? Please!



I am always astonished that people should undertake works of this kind straight onto the pages of an album, and get it right. There are a few (including the soldier) which have been worked elsewhere, then stuck in, but the majority of contributions have been made directly on to the page.

Finished business

I am a terrible one for starting projects which interest and enthuse me, then letting them lie unfinished when some newer excitement comes along. This results not only in a cluttered mind, as you flail around mentally trying to decide between what you want to do and what needs doing, but also in physical clutter in an ever-widening circle around your workstation. Eventually there comes a point where you scream to yourself - (internally if not actually) - that this can't go on, you can no longer function, and something must be done! So last weekend I decided to zap two of these unfinished projects and get them off my conscience and off my work surfaces.

I had, on different occasions, promised to send old photographs from my collection to organisations who were building up archives of the past. The first offer was to my old school, St Christopher's in Letchworth, about which I have written in my other blog. The Old Scholars Club has a website now and they are trying to build up a gallery of old photographs.

This composite picture of the buildings and history of the school was painted by architectural artist Carl Laubin. Some of you may be familiar with a similar composition he did of the National Trust Properties, entitled National Trust Capriccio. If you want to see some of his other work look here.

The second and similar offer was made to the heritage centre in the town where my husband and I had our first home. I visited there recently and wrote a poem about it. I had offered various old booklets and programmes for their records, and photographs which they can scan into a computer in their Discovery Centre, where people can come and look at them.

This unexceptional little snap is part of my record of a Festival which was held in Bollington in 1968; I have delighted in finding it again because of the capture of my third son joyously releasing his gas-filled balloon.

All this has meant a lot of selection and scanning to be done by me. And then I had to find suitable containers in which to pack up the various photographs, booklets, and CDs safely. In the end I found myself vandalising my stocks of stationery and stuff, to release some nice flat boxes that would hold the items rigid inside a padded envelope. After four days of concentrated application to the tasks, both projects were complete and went into the post yesterday. I am left with a great sense of satisfaction, and a touch of what I presume to be Repetitive Strain Injury in my right shoulder.

New acquisition

There was an unexpected benefit for me from entering my blog in the Herts24 Web Awards competition. Although I was not placed, I found a new name for my blogroll, an artist who lives just down the road in the next village to mine. During the competition, she visited my blog and left a message, and I visited hers, and we have blogrolled each other.

Julie Oakley set herself a challenge: to walk a minimum of one mile from home, record where she's been with a drawing, sculpture, photo or painting and then walk back - every day for a year! Yesterday was her 357th day, so she's obviously going to make it.

As Julie's pictures are scenes from my local area, I really enjoy looking at them. This one has a special appeal for me though, as it reminds me of spring in the countryside where I grew up, and of my mother who used to send me snowdrops by post when I lived in London!

Julie's pictures are for sale, and I have this morning received a signed print to hang on my wall. It is rather special to find something like this which you weren't looking for and didn't know you wanted, but which is immediately recognisable as a valued link with the past.

Pick'n'mix collections

I realised the other day how my house resembles a sweet shop, with containers full of goodies set out for people to dip into, pick up and enjoy. I cannot resist small items, and those which represent what I suppose one might call 'domestic archaeology' are particularly attractive to me. This collection contains among other things: light pulls, lamp switches, a window wedge, a key, brass weights, a 1914 penny, a brass magnifier, a brass plug for a sink, a brass padlock, a mini ashtray for the handbag, and what I believe to be a container (with applicator) for an infantryman's gun oil.





This basket contains mostly seed pods, with a few other bits and pieces which seemed to belong. Some were brought for me from Australia by my son, some were collected individually by me, and some were bought at my daughter-in-law's Christmas craft fair.







This was my first pick'n'mix collection, which I started when I knew my first grandchild was expected 15 years ago. I wanted to have something on my coffee table which a small child could play with without restraint, and which could be appreciated both visually and by touch. What I overlooked was, that small children also throw things, and that wooden eggs are more hurtful than real ggs!





This is the latest addition: winter spices, including apple and orange slices, cinnamon sticks,chillis and bay leaves. They have a wonderful fragrance and I wanted to set them up as a sort of pot-pourri. I needed a large container to give as much exposure as possible and eventually I thought of the right thing; it has been hiding in my bathroom cupboard for years. See below for additional views.