A Walk with dogs, The Lune and St Michael

Beatifilly shown and recounted. Evelyn

The Silent Eye

The Lune Valley is always worth exploring. The river Lune rises as a stream near Ravenstone Dale, Cumbria, and gathers momentum and volume as it winds towards the sea at Lancaster and its one time port, Glasson Dock. Devil’s Bridge, above, is, perhaps its most famous landmark, and was once the main highway between Yorkshire and the north Lancashire region – prior to the rejigging of the ancient counties that created Cumbria from Westmorland and bits of old Lancashire.

It is near Kirkby Lonsdale that the Lune Valley is at its most beautiful. We jumped at the chance to be part of a sponsored walk along the river and duly met up with the other participants in the Sun Inn, in the centre of the town, where we began the day with the time-honoured breakfast of walkers: the bacon butty…

The landlord of the Sun Inn, himself a dog owner…

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First November Blog


First November Blog. (7-11-18)

A Song of November.

The sky is misty, coloured grey,

More leaves fall from the trees,

And darker evenings are here,

A chill in the air, and some freeze.

Daylight is shorter, in November,

We’ve lost the summer sun birds,

Meadows are quieter it seems,

Cows are gathering in herds.

Sheep bleat on crag and moreland,

Shivering as wind blows strong,

Bare beaches braving winter waves,

Crashing on sand, all along.

A weak sun tries to break through,

A yellowing light over all,

Stillness descends in the garden,

Portent keeps us in thrall.

Trees have a greenish brown aura,

Soon branches appear, stick thin,

Winter will soon be upon us,

Endure it, we must, with a grin.

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward.  November, 2018.

A Look Back In Time.

A few days ago I had to go to a London hospital.  That was o.k., I had transport.  What I did find was hiw much the area had changed.

I used to work at Paddington, not a million  miles away.  It took me back to those days when I was fifteen to seventeen years of age.  I worked in  a building just across from the end of the platforms, as a Tracer.

There were several of us young people working in the same department, tracing dicuments of goods thaat had ‘gone astray’.   Some of the guys were a couple of years older but around the similar mark.

We had some fun.  It was the 1950s.  High-heeled shoes, bouffant or slim skirts.   Not sure what music was on at around that time.  Thought it was Cliff Richard eith ‘Living Doll’.  But I just checked it out and that was published in 1959, so it could not  have been.

We girls used to go get the bus, during our lunch our, past St. Marys Hospital.  Then we got another bus into Oxford Street, where we looked at high-heeled shoes, fresh off the boat, supposedly from America.  With hindsight, they may not have been.  You must realise that the second world war had only just finished a few years previously.  But these shoes were not in boxes.  They had holes in the top of the heels where string held them on racks.  I was drawn ta specual mettalic pair, and had them a long time.

Our lunch hour stretched to two by the time we got buses back to work.  But our boss was very good about it.  There was a good canteen, two floors below our ground level.  Someone would send out the word that they had cherry pie or pineapple tart. We would send down an order and pick them up for everyone later.  Good times.

Occasionally the home train was late, but not often.  It was a bit of a drag.  Could not do that journey now.  But would not work up there now if I had a job

What I found, on this recent trip to London was, the tall buildings enclose the city, as never did when I did workeup there.  I almost frlt as uf I coukd not breathe up there.   So busy, more so than a few years ago when I took my friend up to do shopping.  Like ants scrabbling around.  Tall buildings situated almost higgldy piggdly, looming over the roads.  They felt threataning!

London has lots to offer.  I used to like going up different parts.  Harrods has so many departments, wonders untold.  One year we found their Christmas Hall ( quite small then) and saw  of all colours, including PINK.  The decorations were fabulous too.

My friend and I would wend our way through, what i presumed, was the main entrnce.  There was a piano, iften being played, and then through thoerfime and makeup halls.  Oh, and the chicolate hall, yummy.   As I said before, would not like to do that now.   Is it just my age?  When buildings were shorter, I felt it was the London I knew.  Now, I am a stranger in a strange land.

Be safe out there.  Be as happy as you can be.








Too much light…

I see your point and, how do we know? Only time may revel this, or not.

The Silent Eye

The soft colours of dawn were painting the sky as I left for work. The village streets, preternaturally quiet now that the schools were on holiday, were, for once, easy to negotiate. Parked cars take up half the width of every street and, on a school day and with oncoming traffic, getting out of the village becomes a slalom exercise in courtesy and patience.

By the time I reached the long stretch into town, the sun was cresting the horizon, setting fire to the skyline and casting long shadows across the road. Another mile, a bend in the road, and the brilliant disc had revealed itself in all its golden glory. I, and every other motorist in the now-queuing traffic, hit the brakes, dazzled by the low-lying orb on a road that runs due east.

There is, I thought, such a thing as too much light.

As the traffic crawled…

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First October Blog



First October Blog ( 7-10-18 )

Yes, October is here. Weatherwise, it has been a  changeabe month, so far.  Warm days early on, yesterday it poured with much needed rain.  Becoming much cooler.  Today, the sun has risen in a cool sky, 7  Deg. C.  It  is, by  any means,  quite pleasant  out there.

A few more days of iffy weather.  Today Saturday 13th, we had clouds,  bit of rain, always the wind, of late and now sunshine.  I am sure that each day from now on, will be as changeable, hoping we still have a bit more sunshine ro set us up for the coming winter months.    

Not much left to do in the garden.  Plant a few more bulbs.  It will be lovly to see them in the spring, provided a squirrel does not ransack the pots, like last year.

Instead of the usual poem, a little seasonal writing.  Whilst the good moods are upon us.

            *     *     *      *       *       *      *


Just a piece of writing:—-

“”Ellen walked into the hospital entrance, lowering her umbrella and shaking it vigorously.  Droplets flew in a wide circle.  She hated being out in the rain.  The wet weather meant her arthritis played up such a lot.   She found walking very hard, plus, the pain in her wrists made keeping control of her umbrella, difficult to say the least.

The foyer doors swished open and a blast of heat hit her like a sledgehammer.  It felt like a warm summer day, and her joints thanked her for being there.

It was an important day for Ellen.  Today she would find out the results of her tests.  Tapping her cane, she started walking to the department she needed.

A hospital helper came over from the reception desk.  “Can I get you a wheelchair?”  he asked.

“I can manage, thank you,” replied Ellen.   ‘I’m not that old’, she said to herself, agrieved that someone thought her incapable.

“I just thought, with that cane, a wheelchair would save you  bit of strain.  I expect the rain is giving you gip.”  Ellen smiled, shook her head and moved on.  One day, she thought, one day but not yet!

The corridor gave off a kind of wet dog aroma.  People do keep pets, and most patients here seemed to have been caught in the downpour.  Eventually she turned into the clinic entrance.  The air smelt fresher here.

After seeing the receptionist, she found a seat near a window, watching the raindrops patter on the glass, running down like tiny rivers.  Eyes glued there, she passed the time until she was called in to see the doctor.

She did not realise that sleep had overtaken her.  She was running down the street.  Raindrops pattered down but the rain was light, the sun soon came out again and she was hardly wet at all. 

The traffic lights changed as she reached the curb  and bumped into someone just stepping onto the pavement, just off the crossing.


Looking up, Ellen found herself staring into deep pools of amber eyes.  He was tall, she liked tall men, and he was dressed cool.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.  “I was trying to catch the green light.”


His voice was like ganache, shiny, silken and rich, so enticing.  She demured, put a backwards step between them, breaking the spell.

Ellen’s hand flew to her mouth.  “I do really apologise.  The rain!  I was running.  Couldn’t see the lights change.  Had to s……”

“Stop suddenly?” he finished for her.

Colour glowed on her cheeks.  “Ye…  Yes!  She could hardly breathe.

“Are you OK.? You look a little flustered.  Are you in a hurry to get somewhere? Would you like some help?”

The redness increased.  Her hand abstractedly waved in front of her face.  It was not a very affective fan.

“The light is going green.  Take my arm and I’ll walk you across.

          *    *     *      *      *      *

So, that is it for now.

Hope you all enjoyed the piece.

Take care in this old world, and be safe.


This entry was posted on October 21, 2018. 6 Comments

North-easterly III – Intriguing Anomalies

This is beautiful blog of a place I will never be able to visit. Such a feeling of history, if the various castle owners and the persons who lived there to keep it all running ( like a modern town).

The Silent Eye

Two things struck me as we entered the State Rooms to look around the public parts of Bamburgh castle. The first was that the collection of objects that were on display was vast, rich and deserving of much more attention than we would have time for. We did notice, though, a shield that bore a remarkable resemblance to the crop circle we had been looking for at Cerne Abbas…

From decorated cradles to archaic helmets, ostentatiously carved furniture and delicate fans made of wisps of spangled gauze and ivory, all were displayed with no apparent order or relationship to each other. The symbolic comparison of a castle to the ego was evidently going to continue. It almost seemed as if the décor was saying there was no value to the priceless things on display except to be displayed. Now, I know that this is probably not the case at all…

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This entry was posted on September 26, 2018. 2 Comments

Second September Blog..




Second September Blog. (Equinox-23-9-18)

A  poem to  cheer on a  chilly autumn day.

Autumn Thoughts.

Sunrise through a milky mist.

Coolness of the morning air.

Flashes of red on silky hairs,

Squirrel, stashing far and near.

Robin, from her summer nest,

Peeking through a cobweb, grey,

Hedgerow branches hide her form

Until for food, she flies away.

Tiny mice gather, from the field,

Fallen ears of whiskery corn,

Filling burrows, winter food,

Before the stubble is all forlorn.

Autumn, in her brilliant hues,

Rich red, gold and orange gay,

The turning year, the low rise sun,

Breeze grows chill, each turning day.

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward.  September 2018.

Started on 20-9-18  BLOG.

As I write, there is a strong breeze blowing branches and turning leaves to and fro.  The day started dark, cloudy but now the sun shines briliantly in the early afternoon.

The light from my window changes from second to second.  Wind-blown branches throw light shadows across the sun’s path, as if the beams are dancing.  It is a wonderful day, weatherwise.  I have a peaceful day.  No pressure to put my 

Abody through.

Lunch has been had, perhaps not very healthy but my food, these days, is restricted.  I look forward to an afternoon of calm and rest.  Possibly watching videos about coffee machines (I now cannot have very much coffee), and watching someone talking about them or coffee, is interesting, but cannot affect me.

I really must utilize my time in this weather by painting more, rather than with my nose buried in this tablet.  But it is so bright and relatively peaceful, I am feeling too lazy.

We are often affected by the moods of others around us, or maybe not moods but health issues of others.  And so we can be somewhat hampered in our everyday lives.  Must tread lightly, for fear we say the wrong thing, at the wrong time.

In this way, we must hedge our bets, tread warily in case we find ourselves in stormy weather ( using metaphors) and have to seek a safe place in which to lick our wounds and regroup.

This week, like many others, has wound on swiftly.  Where do the days go?  How can we stop the march of time?  Impossible it seems.  What we really want is for time to go backwards.  Not a lot maybe, or perhaps the days to be longer?

Such a long time ago, I was a child.  Days long before the Internet was thought of or became a reality.  During a world war,an several wars later.  Still, I cannot think back.  That is pointless.  The past cannot be changed. 

23-9–18.  Todays weather has been wild.  And 

chilly.  A  taste of early winter, perhaps?

Take good care, dear readers.  It is  a wild world out there.



This entry was posted on September 23, 2018. 5 Comments

First September Blog (4-9-18)

Where has the time gone since my last blog?  Days, that have slipped away, unbeknownst, or so it seems.

I do not make plans for future travails.  I have these things rolling around in my head, thinking I will get time to write ( or paint, even), and the time just disappears.  On mundane things, like eating, preparing food to eat, health issues, etc., etc..

Having said that, I do spend time reading emails, and such electronic things.  Which to some might seem like a waste.  In some cases it sort if is, but in others, it is a path of enlightenment.  In contact with people on the American continent, a few in Europe from  time to time.  This keeps me in touch with many nice people, some I used to Pen Pal with, back in the day.

The first part of the year was not good, in more ways than one.  Then we had that heatwave.  I could do nothing whilst the temperature soared.  Now the weather has become stable and cooler, and so much more comfortable.  Again, I have to follow new regimes which can be tiresome, irksome even.

So writing, or painting often has to be put aside until such times as I have time or feel well enough to delve into these projects.  Hence I occasionally resort to posting work completed earlier.  A barque, but there it is!

Oft times, my mind drifts back to the completed novels sitting languishing on my old defunct computer.  If I could, I would rewrite them here.  But it is so many years now since I wrote them, and although I remembenr much of the story and plot lines, it would be a tremendous strain to try to remember every scene, every word I have previously written.  Have any of you writers done this before?

Some writers and painters go on into their 9th decade with clarity.  A few more into their eighties.  I am in the latter category and find day to day life a lot harder than it used to be.  But, I shall struggle on.

This must be all for this blog.  Please be careful, this world is not as safe as we might think.


This entry was posted on September 4, 2018. 1 Comment