Today we heard that HRH Prince Philip died.
I drove along listening to people being interviewed , and felt such sadness especially for the Queen and others who have lost their partners recently. Driving from Fridaythorpe, past the huge mill I paused at a memorial, to airmen who died in WWII. A sober moment, then glancing to my right, just a few feet away, a beautiful deer stood watching me. Our eyes met and we considered each other. Though sensing a connection, with my mind full of the news of Prince Philip and the airmen', the deer stayed, standing sideways with it's head turned, looking at me, unafraid, unconcerned. For a long minute our focus remained constant, everything stopped, I seemed transported to another place, where all thoughts and worries, all the news of the day had disappeared, before it removed the spell by calmly walking away through the light scrub, respects made as if we had shared a short memorial meeting. I drove on, stopping at Thixendale Gritts, got out of the car and stood looking south back towards Brubberdale. Realising I was looking due south and that I would be in line with Buckingham Palace, I stood alone, in the quietude, feeling the Queen's pain, I stood to attention and with moist eyes, solemnly, saluted.
I walked George towards Paradise, letting him off his lead along a deserted road before returning for sandwiches, then, not feeling as if I could paint anything today, we set off again, down the steep road towards the valley floor. I stopped at a break in the hedge, noticing a couple of views, one looking towards a chalk white scar on the hillside and another view looking west across Cow Dale with Brubberdale disappearing towards Gills. I returned to the car, and drove the short distance to the spot and made a couple of small sketches. Then I took George on another walk where I met and chatted to two farmers driving a modest 100HP tractor ( the larger ones can be 600HP...I was informed). They told me how a tree had been blown over down in the valley floor necessitating using the tractor to remove branches. The elder farmer, looking at George, said he did'nt like dogs, related how he had been bitten, as a child by a tenacious Scottish Terrier making him wary of dogs! Though he thought George looked friendly. Then he told me of an incident where he stopped someone mistreating a cat, subsequently rescuing it and taking it home where it recovered and was much loved for many years. Mellowing now, he helpfully suggested I could walk down Brubberdale to Gills Farm, but if I encountered any cows with calves, I should let George off his lead. Turning back, we climbed up the one in five hill, I reached the car and fed George. Still thinking about the day's sad news I set up my pochard box and started to paint. The weather was bright and though lots of cloud filled an angry sky, lack of wind resulted in extended sunny periods. The main valley bottom looked verdant against the dun coloured sloping sides. This was Brubberdale, twisting and disappearing in the distance, with hidden Cow Dale in front of me. Above the valley, where the sloping bleached sides meet the flattish arable fields edged by ancient earthworks, pale earth had been drilled alongside fields flushed with ferted neon growth. As I paint, the dusking sun shadows the hillsides and the temperature drops quickly, to the point I needed to stop. Sadness has been the pervading emotion of the day and I will finish simply by mentioning,
HRH Prince Philip the Duke of Edinburgh.
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