Sunday 16th July 1933
My old friend Jack Garrett came from Leicester for a holiday with me. Met him from the 11.23 LMS.
Afternoon, H.F. Ramble from Cross Cliff Hill. The first downpour of rain caught Jack and I at Newland; we sheltered under a shop blind (The beautiful, smiling girl at the window of the corner house). Good crowd of ramblers, hot weather. The woody road to Doddington. The Church and it’s musty, dusty, dark belfry. Tea at a gamekeepers house. By paths to Harby. First aid for Eddie, with a foreign body in his eye.
Beyond the village, bleak clouds, then a savage storm. We huddled together under (I cannot say in) a miserable sheep hovel. Very muddy fields. For sometime we wandered in the outskirts of big woods, then found a path and plunged in. Wetness. Thistles 6 feet high. Clearings and places where we seemed lost. Pushing through a thick, soaked forest, in single file. Mays stockings almost torn in half. We ate my cucumber sandwiches. Skellingthorpe. Bus. Lincoln. A happy beginning for my Shimmering Haze.
Afternoon, H.F. Ramble from Cross Cliff Hill. The first downpour of rain caught Jack and I at Newland; we sheltered under a shop blind (The beautiful, smiling girl at the window of the corner house). Good crowd of ramblers, hot weather. The woody road to Doddington. The Church and it’s musty, dusty, dark belfry. Tea at a gamekeepers house. By paths to Harby. First aid for Eddie, with a foreign body in his eye.
Beyond the village, bleak clouds, then a savage storm. We huddled together under (I cannot say in) a miserable sheep hovel. Very muddy fields. For sometime we wandered in the outskirts of big woods, then found a path and plunged in. Wetness. Thistles 6 feet high. Clearings and places where we seemed lost. Pushing through a thick, soaked forest, in single file. Mays stockings almost torn in half. We ate my cucumber sandwiches. Skellingthorpe. Bus. Lincoln. A happy beginning for my Shimmering Haze.
posted by Paul Wilson at 2:44 pm
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