Rosy Cole

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Rosy Cole was born and educated in the Shires of England. Her writing career started in her teens. Four apprentice works eventually led to publication of two novels. Life intervened, but she returned to authorship in 2004. She has worked as a Press Officer and Publisher's Reader and is a member of the Society of Authors. Among widespread interests, she lists history, opera, musicals, jazz, the arts, drawing and painting, gemmology, homoeopathy and alternative therapies. Theology also is an abiding interest. As a singer, she's performed alongside many renowned musicians and has run a music agency which specialised in themed 'words-and-music' programmes, bringing her two greatest passions together. Rosy's first book of poetry, THE TWAIN, Poems of Earth and Ether, was published in April 2012, National Poetry Month, and two other collections are in preparation. As well as the First and Second Books in the Berkeley Series, she has written several other historical titles and one of literary fiction. She is currently working on the Third Book in the Berkeley Series. All her books are now published under the New Eve imprint. Rosy lives in West Sussex with her son, Chris, and her Springador, Jack, who keeps a firm paw on the work-and-walkies schedule!

A Dialogue With Flowers

  

(Image: Parham Park Limited)

 

On Summer Sunday afternoons, this is where I'm most likely to be...

 

Flowers are happy things.

P G Wodehouse

 

 

 

He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves.

 E M Forster

 

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

 Claude Monet

 

I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.

 Abraham Lincoln

 

 The artist is the confidant of nature, flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms. 

 Auguste Rodin

 

 

 

 

  Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.

 Oscar Wilde

 Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

Theodore Roethke


Stretching his hand up to reach the stars, too often man forgets the flowers at his feet.

 Jeremy Bentham


Flowers are happy things.

P. G. Wodehouse

 

 

 

 A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in… What more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.

 Victor Hugo

 In a rich moonlit garden, flowers open beneath the eyes of entire nations terrified to acknowledge the simplicity of the beauty of peace.

 Aberjhani

  If your heart is a volcano, how shall you expect flowers to bloom?

 Kahlil Gibran

People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.

 Iris Murdoch

  

 

 'The lilies of the field' dressed finer than earthly princes, springing-up there in the humble furrow-field; a beautiful eye looking-out on you, from the great inner Sea of Beauty! 

 Thomas Carlyle

Bread feeds the body, indeed, but flowers feed also the soul.

 The Koran

 The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.

 Tennessee Williams

The earth laughs in flowers

 Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

Copyright

© Rosy Cole 2016, pilgrimrose.com 2016

Recent Comments
Former Member
I love this! It's like walking in a garden with you, dear friend.
Saturday, 06 August 2016 16:44
Rosy Cole
Thank you :-) That's exactly what I hoped for, Anne, with all the fear and gloom on this planet. And one day, we shall.
Saturday, 06 August 2016 23:12
Monika Schott
These are beautiful, Rosy! I'll be coming back to them. And the first image is just exquisite. ... Read More
Thursday, 11 August 2016 21:13
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4 Comments

Tails I Win!

 

El Springador celebrates his prime on a very special occasion with a retro post of seven years ago. At eight-four, he's still a live wire!

 

I have pawsed the high-octane adventure that is my life to let you folks know that today is my birthday. I'm five! Thirty-five in dog years – the canine calendar runs on bobbins – neither Pup Gregory nor Caesar (the fellow who invented canned dogfood) could get the hang of it.

Einstein, of course, came up with his major breakthrough based on knowledge of Springadors:

E = MC2, that is, Energy equals More Chips, Too.

And I taught him all he knew about Black Holes, but not where they were located! Or wot they were for! Better whisper it low; mustn't get Herself started on that one. She's been missing a memory stick for a while now. I think we probably can't keep putting it down to a Spinone moment, or the onset of Alsatians. The thing is, you see, I read in the nosepaper about this dog-bone shaped asteroid they've discovered up there. If it should land in my patch, I need somewhere to bury it.

She's fully convinced that I'm also the genius of Chaos Theory when scatter cushions go AWOL and my rubber DNA toy is fielded by the nest of wires behind her computer. I keep telling her it's all on account of some Chalkhill Blue batting his wings up on Devil's Dyke - actually saw him once, right under my nose, looking for a pollen pad to land on - but will she have it?

Now go on, admit it. The world's still barking mad, but it's been a better place since July 10, 2004, when Dog put a spaniel in the works to set about uprooting unwanted Bushes. I'm good at that. Roses are a bit tricky, but dahlias come out a treat and I quite like the taste of camellias. I've been in the doghouse (again!) - just as well I've got my own little brick-built paw-de-terre in the garden where I can chill out – because I crashed into a blooming clump of her treasured arum lilies chasing off a hedgehog. They'd never let me in at the Hampton Court Flower Show!

Wot a life, eh? I just love every moment. And birthdays give you an excuse to create real mayhem!

It sure was a red-litter day, July 10, 2004!

Wags and Woofs,

 

Jack (Canine-Still-In-Much-Waiting to Herself)

 

Copyright

© Rosy Cole 2009 - 2016

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
I love it! Happy birthday, Jack!
Sunday, 10 July 2016 17:59
Rosy Cole
Multiwags, Katia! You're a fetching customer, but I'm feline a bit uppity about your name. It does give paws... x
Monday, 11 July 2016 12:53
Stephen Evans
Inimitable Jack ... Read More
Monday, 11 July 2016 03:08
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4 Comments

Losing The Peace

 

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A reflection on challenged borders, ancestral memory and formative experience in the wake of Brexit

In 1960, I was lucky enough to be taken by a friend's family to Bavaria. It was my first trip abroad and an exciting adventure at a time when few people on this island were able to travel to other countries. Britain was slowly rising to its feet after the body blow of two world wars. The first stretch of the MI had been opened between Crick and Watford. That, in itself, was an awe-inspiring development.

I will never forget a chill night spent crossing the Channel from Dover to Ostend on a heaving tide under ragged clouds and stars. Or the revelation of sunrise over Flanders which was haunting in way I still can't articulate. History rose from the grave peopled with ghosts. The mingled bloodshed of nations in the foreign fields of that long-embattled buffer zone of the Low Countries stirred elusive fragments of memory from a life that had never been mine. The eras of Hitler, Kaiser Wilhem II, Napoleon Bonaparte, and even further back, are scored deep in their psyche.

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Nor will I ever forget my first impression of the enchanted cities of Bruges and Ghent, their Flemish step-gables wreathed in a folkloric air. The new Brussels Atomium, gleaming silver, with its connected spheres, was a startling structure to someone who had never heard of it. And the glittering heights of Luxembourg where my first night was spent off native soil I clearly recall. Next day, a brief glimpse of Saarbrücken, renowned for coal, steel and glass, then only recently having been restored to Germany, the butt, like others in that region, of disputed borders and national identity through the centuries. (Strict border controls were in force in those days which sometimes involved a lengthy wait and, if you were unlucky, the vehicle you were travelling in might be taken apart and searched for contraband.) At Stuttgart, I braved the lift to the top of the new wonder that was the 500ft television tower and took black-and-white photos, woefully lacking in perspective, of the Swabian Alps.

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From there, we journeyed down to the otherworldly beauty of the Black Forest at the German end of Lake Constance. The lake has the peculiar distinction of being the only area in Europe where no borders exist since Germany, Austria and Switzerland can lay claim to stretches of its shores. Rules regarding fishing and the movement of goods appear to be honoured with reasonable amity.

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What can I tell you of Bavaria? This was the realm of that turretted castle on the calendar sent by a penfriend, of antelope carvings and cuckoo clocks, of those fairy tale white-spotted red toadstools I'd always assumed were make believe.This was the neighbourhood of the Swiss chocolatiers, Suchard and Lindt, who put English versions in the shade! It was the province of pumpernickel, sauerkraut, weisswurst and wienerschnitzel, of Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, and an eye-popping array of layered torte with cream and chocolate and fresh fruit trapped in aspic, along with equally delectable apfelstrudel. Bavarian coffee and kuchen soon became a mid-morning ritual after a brisk walk.

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The towns were so quaint and characterful, evoking atmospheres of their multi-faceted history, with their cobbles and gables and half-timbering and green bottle-glazed windows, the exuberant diversity in their styles of architecture testifying to the salutary influences of other cultures. Aromas of garlic and spice, tarry coffee and baking rye bread, were all new and enthralling to an Englisch mädchen. Everywhere we went, the German people were warm and welcoming, determined to mend fences and forgive and forget. It was easy to soak up the nouns and phrases of daily currency.

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Heidelberg Old Bridge - Konrad Linck (more atmosphere than cropped photos)

The journey home took in some of the towns the cities of the Rhine, the spa resort of Baden-Baden with its springs and wells, its pleasure gardens and casino, haunt of the rich and famous. We visited Heidelberg Old Town whose venerable university was founded during the Holy Roman Empire, then on to Mainz, Coblenz and Bonn, spending our last night at Aachen (formerly Aix-la-Chapelle) before heading for Liège and the Belgian coast. At Bonn we saw the birthplace of the maestro, Beethoven, whose 9th Symphony gave rise to the European anthem based on Schiller's Ode to Joy.

Impressions of alll the cities and regions of the holiday have enriched my life. I commemorated about forty of them by sewing their woven crests on my duffel sports bag.

I can't say that the iconic cliffs of Dover were altogether an anti-climax, but rolling through the pastoral landscape of home was like coming out of a dream.

In those early decades after the wars, we were made very aware of our blessings - and they were real enough! - but seeing what had been achieved on the Continent, the general tenor and relish of day to day life there, gave the lie to some of our homespun propaganda. The driving spirit that had kept up Britain's morale through conflict had still to be invoked through the Peace if our renewal was to keep pace with other countries. It seemed the halt in progress, the loss of manpower and the cost of two world wars had hit this country particularly hard.

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The later Fifties and the Sixties saw the rise of the nuclear family and a dynamic change in our mode of thinking. In a strange way, we were untethering ourselves from the past. Customs and attitudes we had taken for granted began to dissolve and people to forsake that focus of community for all of life's ups and downs and rites of passage, the church. Our sense of pilgrimage and instinctive dependency on God was lost. The days of pulling together for the common good, of kindness, courtesy and neighbourliness, were ebbing away.

1968 saw a recall to old values in a panic attempt to boost the economy and sink the national debt with its 'I'm Backing Britain' campaign. The Poet Laureate Cecil Day-Lewis, in his poem Now and Then, wrote this:

To work then, islanders, as men and women
Members one of another, looking beyond
Mean rules and rivalries towards the dream you could
Make real, of glory, common wealth, and home.

The whole thing proved a fiasco, a turbulent comedy of errors, misapprehensions and vying factions.

Ring any bells?

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Early in the next decade, when we persuaded Europe we had prospects, we were rescued by the European Economic Community and the strikes and demonstrations eventually died down. Whether ultimately for our good or not, it rapidly changed the face of Britain for the better, bringing our standard of living up to the mark in countless ways and opening up opportunities which, as more and more countries joined and the EU was formed, gathered momentum and sent our demands and expectations sky-rocketing.

Do we have what it takes, I wonder, in the present circumstances, to strive for the Laureate's vision?

As for me, I'm eternally grateful to those generous folk, now passed on, who took me under the wing and enabled that first excursion to the Continent. It triggered new perspectives that were to change my future.

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 Footnote: This is where we stayed in the Black Forest...in the main building. I don't remember the extension. It was the outpost of a convent and run by nuns who assist the staff of the present hotel. Its interior, if updated a little, looks very much as it did then. The local fare was wholesome and varied. It was here I had my first encounter with health-giving peppermint tea!

This is the first of two posts.

UPDATE: July 11, 2016  There have now been enough lamentations over Brexit. I feel that it is time to pull together and look to the future, so have decided to forego a second post on this theme.

 

Copyright

© Rosy Cole 2016

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
Oh, yes, Rosy – it certainly does ring bells! What a beautiful, and highly appropriate piece. Thank you!
Monday, 04 July 2016 08:01
Rosy Cole
Thanks kindly for reading and commenting. Perhaps what amazes me most is that Shakespearian appeal to the British people by the Po... Read More
Monday, 04 July 2016 12:40
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Cloud Cover

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Image courtesy of Gerald England

 

 

There once were limpid skies
contrails ice-cut in cubic azure 
as if by skaters' blades

Dresden, Delft, and artisan
blue of bird's-eye speedwell
on gifted days of cloth-of-gold

Now scars crosshatch the heavens
each marred blank page of Grace
a grim rebuff, transcribing panic

Manic, lost-in-the-ether scrawl
whose turbid steam depicts
humanity's crushed vertebrae

It filters wide and stretches long
in jaundiced bruised-grey shrouds
screening a bewildered sun

The eye for paradise grows blind
remembered light is our epiphany
even as we breathe the chemistry

of oblivion...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright

© Rosy Cole 2016

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Latest Comments

Stephen Evans Faith and Grace
20 August 2017
I find finding balance an ongoing struggle. This is a helpful perspective.
Rosy Cole A Word in Appreciation
18 August 2017
Thank you all for the gr8 posts!!!
Rosy Cole A Word in Appreciation
18 August 2017
Lovely to see you again, Nicholas. Hope you'll continue to share with us as often as you have time.....
Nicholas Mackey A Word in Appreciation
17 August 2017
Thank you, Stephen for saying this - couldn't agree more and it's great to find a home that we all c...
Stephen Evans On the Importance of Toasters
11 August 2017
Might have helped his headaches.

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