Winter colour

Winter roles remorselessly on, grey days and ice following windy days and rain, the ground cold, the world lifeless.  Almost.  I don't think anybody actually enjoys this time of year, but a quick snoop around the garden this weekend revealed one-or-two moments of comfort, slowly peeling away the heavy cloak of January that seems, at a glance, to have shrouded our world in darkness.  The odd flash of red berries, the pastel hue of an emerging crocus, the sultry blue of the first grape hyacinth defying all the weather - well, who can resist a little smirk?

First off, primroses.  Millions of them.  I've been hard at work over the last few weeks planting in these lovely little woodland plants wherever I can find a good enough space.  Compact, colourful, and delightfully perennial, they're a mainstay in what we are dubbing "the winter border," an at-present incomplete space that we're building up especially to give colour to future winters.  Viburnum, cyclamen, and Helleborus niger - the wonderfully named Christmas Rose - are amongst other stars of the corner, offering a lovely bit of subtle colour, and ensuring that something is in bloom on every single day of the year.  It's a border that we'll be working on more as the year progresses.

Our garden is inherently woodland, so is the perfect environment for primroses.  I've planted a few more out on the bank, and many more down on the grassy terrace, around the container pond.  The point of this planting isn't just for us to enjoy; in fact, this whole primrose project has a more important meaning.  Recently, we joined Butterfly Conservation, the charity dedicated to saving British butterflies and moths.  As any discerning wildlife gardener will tell you, now is just about the most important time for getting colour into your garden; overwintering butterflies will soon be scouring the bare gardens for essential early nectar, whilst hibernating queen bumblebees rely on such energy sources to see them through to finding a nest site.  Our primrose patches, early daffodils, crocus bulbs and hyacinths should ensure just that, pushing our wildlife through the critical phase, before the real big hitters of spring start to arrive.

I'm still waiting for that one wonderful day you get each year, when for the first time the Sun's rays cut through the cold, birdsong floats high on the air, and even if it's still a little nippy, you know then that spring is taking hold.  Until that day, I'll content myself with a nice bit of winter heather, and the song of one of our most underrated garden birds, the great tit, wafting across our winter garden with perfection.  Beautiful.

A Moomin winter

A few weeks ago, I received an out-of-the-blue email from Finland, from the good people at Moomin.com.  At some point last year, I had completed a questionnaire on their website, and had been picked at random to be one of their winners - imagine it!  A week later, and into our letterbox popped a little parcel with the most intriguing of stamps.

Lizzie is, of course, the biggest Moomin fan, so all of this was music to her ears.  We carefully opened the envelope, expecting maybe a couple of postcards, when a whole load of goodies dropped out.  Beautiful writing paper, a pen, a cosmetics case, a bike reflector, and a genius Finnish invention, a pot lid lifter, to keep one's cooking from boiling over on the stove.  Suffice to say, it made our day - thanks very much to everybody at the Moomins!

I suppose at this time of year, the Moomins would be deep in hibernation, keeping cosy in their secluded little home, whilst all around them the winds howled and the snows fell.  I wouldn't be lying if I said I'd be happy to join them, such is the cold and grey that makes up the seemingly endless month of January, but as we plough on through, the days are slowly getting lighter, the primroses are showing their vibrant colours in the garden, and croci and daffodils are making their first forays above the ground.  The newness of spring will soon be in the air once again, and I for one intend to go out and find the best of it.  In the meantime, I'd be contented with a little more winter's sleep, and it looks like I'm not the only one... 

Beautiful Poppy

We have been very saddened this weekend, following the death of Lizzie's wonderful black Labrador, Poppy.  Lovely Poppy, who grew to be a grand old lady yet remained full of excitement and enthusiasm until the very end, leaves behind a huge dog-shaped hole in all our lives.  In her departure we feel much sadness, yet her beautiful memory remains etched on our hearts forever.  Goodnight Poppy; I hope you have fun at Heaven's all-day buffet.

My Grandad, the airman

Look what I recently found in Torquay's TK Maxx!

It's a tin model of a bi-plane that made my heart leap when I saw it sitting, all alone, on the shelf.  Everybody knows I like an aeroplane, but I can usually walk away from these delightful objects, because I already have a collection of more accurate scale models.  Not today though; I grabbed this one with both hands, and took it straight to the tills.  You see, the first thing I thought of when I saw this plane was my Grandad, the airman.

Grandad in his uniform.  The white flash on the hat indicates a volunteer

Grandad volunteered for the Royal Air Force at the latter part of the Second World War, and undertook training in the iconic yellow biplane, the de Havilland Tiger Moth.  The war drew to a close before he was ready for combat flying, but being able to fly the aircraft solo was one of Grandad's proudest achievements for the rest of his life.  This is his flying log sheet, detailing his training in the DH82A model.  He achieved his first solo flight on 8 March 1945, in the aircraft N9441.

An actual Tiger Moth

Grandad passed away in 2013, but he is always fresh in our memories, and now that I have this little plane sitting on my bookshelf, I'll remember him every time I see it.  If he was still alive today, it would have been his Christmas present - I'm sure he would have loved it.