September roses.

 

Roses at the end of September? 

I thought they had all finished, but here is The Shepherdess with her last few blooms.

Orient Express has a final flower.

She has produced very beautiful flowers through the season.

Zephirine Drouhin is often the first and last to flower. Her flowers are now small but the  scent is still strong and very lovely.

"Do not watch the petals fall from the rose with sadness, know that, like life, things sometimes must fade, before they can bloom again"

Unknown.

Wind and rain.

 It's really Autumnal here. in fact veering towards Wintry. The rain hasn't stopped for days, and it's not just light rain but proper pouring from the sky rain. We have high winds and the trees and what's left of my Cosmos are being blown sideways.

The paths are wet and slippery.

I made my way up the garden to my 'shed', where I am trying to remember how to sew a nightdress for myself. It's a long time since I worked from a pattern. In fact I was quite surprised to find that one can still buy patterns.

I found some pretty fabric on Etsy and am looking forward to starting.

I'm so glad that I had the 'shed' remodelled. This morning I put the heater on, and enjoyed being out of the rain and wind, in my own little workshop.

'I wish I lived in a caravan'......

 That's the title of a poem that my mother used to read to me, and it came into my mind today. A couple of miles away from my village is a Caravan Park, with a little cafe open to all locals, where you can get a very good  cup of coffee. 

Today the Park was about half full, many of the holiday makers having returned home now.

There are grassy spaces for all the vans, some big, some small, and some even having an extra 'room' with a tent attached. I remember the huge RVs we saw in Canada, but nothing was similar here.

This is the poem ,written by W.B. Rands, 1823-1882. He was often called 'The Laureate of the Nursery' and wrote many verses for children, as well as 'Chaucer's England'. Coming from a devout but poor family, he was largely self educated, and managed to find employment in a solicitor's office. Later he became a Foreign correspondent, speaking both Greek and Latin.

I wish I lived in a caravan,
With a horse to drive, like the pedlar man!
Where he comes from nobody knows,
Or where he goes to, but on he goes!

His caravan has windows, two,
And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;
He has a wife, with a baby brown,
And they go riding from town to town!

"Chairs to mend and delf to sell!"
He clashes the basins like a bell;
Tea-trays, baskets, ranged in order,
Plates with the alphabet round the border!

The roads are brown and the sea is green,
But his house is just like a bathing machine;
The world is round and he can ride,
Rumble and splash to the other side!

With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
And write a book when I came home;
All the people would read my book,
Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!

***********************************************8

Maybe the second verse would be deemed politically incorrect now, but that was then.

I don't think I would really like to live in a caravan!

Back on track.

The wanderer has returned! Thank you for many helpful suggestions. I fiddled around with my laptop having not the slightest idea what I was doing, but must have done something right. Will it stay? It's all to do with Javascript (no, no idea)

So here is the last rose of Summer for you. Good old Graham Thomas, who looked as though he had finished for the season, has suddenly produced a new crop of flowers.