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Richard on January 30th, 2015

Ronald Blythe¬†celebrates a friend’s birthday with songs and champagne THE autocratic nature of a great frost – it imposes its will on the winter itself. I am aware of this before I draw the curtains. Below the old farmhouse, the Stour Valley has hardened and whitened at its command, and become another place. Not a […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 30 January 2015

Richard on January 23rd, 2015

Ronald Blythe recalls how, in a silent garden one night, he gazed at the sky MARKET DAY. The village bus twists and turns through the lanes. On it are old folk, students, workmen, the woman who reads paperbacks all the way. There is an Italianate villa where the naval rating who helped to bury Rupert […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 23 January 2015

Richard on January 19th, 2015

Ronald Blythe finds inspiration in the prayers of a writer from the past HAVING wheeled barrow-loads of mulch from the so-called back lawn – a rich kingdom for snowdrops – so that the mower can have its way, I begin to shape the summer. Snowdrops and snowflakes for Candlemas onwards, and both for the feast […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 16 January 2015

Richard on January 10th, 2015

Ronald Blythe¬†looks out at a winter scene that is neither ‘wild’ nor ‘drear’ TWELFTH NIGHT. Shakespeare wrote his play for it, and King James and everyone crammed into Whitehall to see it. A boy sang “Come away, come away, death,” and there was confusion of roles and gender. It is enchanting at this moment: the […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 9 January 2015

Richard on January 7th, 2015

Ronald Blythe leaves the detritus of Christmas and makes an annual visit   MY GREAT frost poem is Coleridge’s “Frost at Midnight”. “The frost performs its secret ministry, unhelped by any wind.” And so it did last night. The pasture was brittle and bright, the horse ponds on the point of being ice. A new […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford – 2 January 2015