Back at the Allotment Again

It was the first sunny day after a fortnight of overcast and rain, so we spent several hours at the allotment this afternoon. Afternoon and early evening, in fact -- we returned home only half-an-hour ago. (It's potatoes, salad leaves and the last of the broad beans for dinner tonight.) On our next visit -- hopefully next weekend, if the changed weather holds -- I shall have to do some serious grass-cutting and grass-strimming. In the meantime, here's a photograph of a frog on the edge of the pond. We don't often see frogs at the allotment pond because, unlike the frogs in the garden pond, they're not as habituated to our presence, so tend to hide in the pond vegetation when we're there. However, this one held still for long enough for me to take its picture before thrusting itself into the woodpile and out of sight.

Something for Daniel's History Exam

Probably a few months too late for Daniel's history exam, in fact, but if the Battle of Agincourt comes round again he might like to have a look at some recent research by Leeds University which suggests that the armour worn by the French knights was so heavy that by the time they closed with the English lines they would have been too exhausted to actually fight:

...people wearing armour expended up to 2.3 times as much energy while walking and 1.9 times as much energy while running compared with wearing no armour ... The doubling effect was greater than could be accounted for by the extra weight of the armour alone. The researchers worked out that if the knights had carried the total weight of the armour in a backpack, they would have experienced just 1.7 times their unloaded energy expenditure.

"Carrying a load of about 30kg spread around the body requires more energy than carrying the same load in a backpack ... because, in a suit of armour, the limbs are loaded with weight which means it takes more effort to swing them with each stride" ... In addition, the armour constricts breathing. "Being wrapped up in a tight shell of thick steel makes one feel invincible, but also unable to take a deep breath," said Federico Formenti of the University of Auckland, who was a co-author of the research. "You feel breathless as soon as you move around in medieval armour."

The news report (with video of a volunteer running on a treadmill in armour to measure his respiration rate) is here, with a link to the abstract of the scientific report here.

Back on the Tourist Trail

Following an enforced hiatus, our "leisure visit programme" (i.e., what we do when we're not gardening or working) resumed last weekend with a trip up to Oxford to visit the exhibition of Macedonian artefacts from the royal tombs at Aegae which is currently at the Ashmolean Museum, followed by a visit to the nearby Pitt Rivers Museum to marvel at its eclectic jumble of ethnographic materials, all still arranged in their nineteenth century cases (and thus in many ways a museum of itself). Today, we went across to Harrow in northeast London to visit the recently restored (and thus re-opened to the public) Headstone Manor House, the only surviving moated medieval house in the London area and the centrepiece of Harrow Museum's collections. Not that there's much to the collections beyond the buildings themselves -- the manor house, the two post-medieval barns, and the granary, but since it was the old buildings we were going to see that didn't matter too much.

Here are some photographs of the Headstone Manor estate (the remnants of what was once a large working farm) -- the Small Barn, the Tithe Barn (so-called -- it never was one during its working life, but the moniker seems to get attached to any barn of this size), the Granary, and two views of (respectively) the front and back of the manor house. Note that, in the second of the manor house views, the oldest part of the structure is the yellow lime-washed tower to the left; the half-timbered part to the right is actually later, added in the eighteenth century (and the small lean-to arrangement at the extreme right is later still: a Victorian laundry, added in the nineteenth century). The front view shows the Georgian brick facade added in the eighteenth century to smarten it up by concealing the timber-frame and lime-washed wattle-and-daub of which much of the house is actually made.

For further information about these buildings (and the two Oxford museums), follow the links embedded in the introductory paragraph.

The Final Flight (Photographic Evidence)

Two photographs by my brother Ian, showing the Sea King helicopter approaching The Cobb from the Charmouth direction and (on its second pass) emptying the urn containing Vati's ashes into the sea off Monmouth Beach. As the Boscombe Down people said, "This was a real pleasure, especially to mark the passing of someone so influential in our Air T[esting]&E[valuation] heritage".

I have some video of my own, which I hope to upload once I've edited it to remove the rough patches and similar. For now, enjoy the photographs.

The Final Flight

Vati's ashes were scattered in the sea adjacent to The Cobb in Lyme Regis yesterday afternoon, from a military Sea King helicopter on a "routine training flight" from Boscombe Down. It was in accord with his wishes, and the family gathered on the end of The Cobb to witness it, on a warm sunny day with a gentle onshore breeze.

We weren't the only people there, of course, but we were certainly the only people who knew to expect it. And at "1400 local" there it was, appearing through the Charmouth gap and skimming across the sea directly towards us. The crew had a flight plan, but of course had to wait for us to identify ourselves; we waved vigorously, and as the helicopter clattered overhead we made eye contact with the pilot, who nodded his acknowledgement of us.

The helicopter slowed, and made a wide circle to port off Monmouth Beach, to the west of The Cobb. As it circled back towards us, its speed slowing and its nose pitching up in forward hover mode, we could see that the starboard door had been slid back and that the winchman was in position, with the urn collected from my mother that morning. The helicopter came back abreast of us; and as we watched a couple of plumes of diffuse grey matter went streaming back from the doorway. Vati's remains, drifting down into the water.

The helicopter made another wide circle to port, coming back to present its starboard side to us again. We waved again at the crew; the crew waved back. Then the Sea King's door was closed, its nose lifted, its speed increased, and it set off back inland over the Undercliff to the west of The Cobb.

The other people on The Cobb who'd witnessed the event were looking at us with some curiosity. But although it was a public act, it had an entirely private meaning, and we felt under no obligation to explain anything to them. Instead, we walked back to The Royal Standard Inn, on the seafront, and had a few beers in Vati's memory.