WAGS 03.06.2020: Quarantine Diaries Week 12

   


       The remaining 'Active' WAGS (and I use the term very loosely), are now permitted to congregate in motley groups of up to 20 people as long as they respect the measures on social distancing, hygiene and occupancy.  This brings us almost in line with the infidels from Torre e Cercas who have been operating under their own clandestine rules, presumably with authority from a Higher Source.

   Sadly, it is a little too late for some : those that chose to stay more isolated rather than take any risks; the sick; the lame and the lazy! You may categorise yourself accordingly. The weather has heated up - no more late starts and we are at the epoch where the WAGS cede the organisation to John's APAPS.

   And now to this week's  Blog contributions. I have John's (below) and I have... well I don't have any more. Rod had a cast iron excuse involving a neighbourly act and a mercy dash to Estremoz, and didn't attempt a walk. Neither did Myriam and I as we were distracted by Myriam's medical appointments, which eventually extended into the afternoon, and my lethargy apart from the usual attempts to keep parts of my body in working order and some indoor cycling, which raised a sweat and a heart rate of 109 bpm, but covered no ground apart from a virtual 5km.

       And so, like Alistair Cooke, faced with a blank page and the need to write something interesting, I am dredging around for something different. He wrote his weekly show 'Letter from America' for 58 years, and 2869 broadcasts, and was always riveting, though laconic. Here I am in Week 12 of a weekly 'Letter from Lagos' and I am scrambling to find something to discuss.   Just a minute, why not start off with a few little known facts about Alistair Cooke? His proud boast was that, until he sat down at his portable typewriter on a Thursday morning, he never had any idea what he was going to write about. This is often my own dilemma!

Alistair Cooke KBE (20 November 1908 – 30 March 2004)

Alistair was born Alfred Cooke in Salford Lancashire in 1908. At the age of 22 he changed his name to Alistair - why is not recorded, but he may have been trying to dissociate himself from the King who was not a very good Cook(e).

   He was educated at Blackpool Grammar School, Blackpool and won a scholarship to Jesus College, Cambridge, where he gained an honours degree (2:1) in English. He was heavily involved in the arts, was editor of Granta, and set up the Mummers, Cambridge's first theatre group open to both sexes, from which he notably rejected a young James Mason, telling him to stick to architecture.

  While in the US in 1932, on a scholarship to Yale and Harvard, he saw that the BBC Film critic

 Oliver Baldwin, son of the Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin had been sacked, so he telegrammed

immediately asking to be considered for the job. He was invited to interview and in the absence of 

 any airliners, jumped on a Cunard steamer back to UK arriving 24 hours late for the interview. 

However he suggested  he write a film review on the spot, which was so impressive, he got the job.

He emigrated to the States in 1937 and became a US Citizen in December 1941, 6 days before Pearl Harbour. Just think, if he had stayed in UK as a British citizen, he may well have become a notable war correspondent in Europe.

 His series on America and Masterpiece Theatre won Emmies. Cooke accepted three honorary degrees, an honorary fellowship at Jesus College, Cambridge, and a Benjamin Franklin Medal from the Royal Society of Arts. In 1973 he was awarded an honorary knighthood (KBE). Perhaps his greatest distinction was to be invited to address a joint session of Congress in 1974, the 200th anniversary of its founding. He warned against the three-pronged threat facing the country - from violence in the cities, inflation and nuclear war.

However his great fame is as a Blogger, though it wasn't known as that and as I said, his weekly 15 minute 'podcast' ran for 58 years from March 1946 until March 2004, when he retired at the age of 95. He died less than a month later. The lesson is - ceasing to blog is dangerous to your health!

There is another oddity about his death. He died of lung cancer which had spread to his bones. He was cremated  and his ashes illegally scattered in Central Park by his family.

However in December 2005, it was reported that Cookes bones and those of many others had been surgically removed before cremation,, by two Doctors in a Tissue Recovery Service, and sold on for use as medical grade bone grafts. Of course having had lung and bone cancer Cooke's bones would have been totally unsuitable for grafts. It later transpired that the sellers had altered his death certificate to conceal the cancer and changed his age from 95 to 85 years.

    Michael Mastromarino, a former oral surgeon and an accomplice Lee Cruceta were tried and did a deal resulting in 18 to 54 years imprisonment for the Doctor who died in prison hospital of liver cancer in 2013.

    Cooke's first marriage, which lasted 10 years, was also interesting in that it was to a great grand niece of Ralph Waldo Emerson. They had one son. His best man at the wedding was one Charles Chaplin.  I wish I had heard the Best Man's speech - or was it a silent mime!

Enough text, the scion of bloggers has helped me pad out my contribution . Finally a word I came across which seems particularly appropriate to WAGS, yet is not officially in the OED.

Please use this word as often as possible, and in all your writings, in order to get enough common usage to get it in the OED.

Sometimes karma shows up in the strangest places. I was reading again about the inimitable Alex Tilley, Founder of the company that made the best walking hats in the world.

This is he:

and this is his twin brother!   Spooky eh!

Now over to the Silves Guinea Fowl Eaters and Flower Appreciation Society:-

Judging by the tone of recent messages from WAGS Headquarters, the end of the current WAGS season is imminent and therefore it is likely, too, that the Quarantine Diaries will soon be closed. It seems to me essential that, before that happens, I must squeeze in a final chapter of that minor but ever-popular companion piece......

                                 The Guinea Fowl Chronicles

Now it so happened that, a few weeks ago, Hazel had a birthday and among the stunning array of gifts that came her way there was one rather unusual one, a guinea fowl. (The back-story can await another day.) Anyway, the time eventually came for the poor wee birdie to be cooked. Antje will be delighted to know that her recipe for roast pheasant was called upon for this fowl,. And with great success. And so we can close these Chronicles with a fine picture of a truly succulent dish!

Now to business, which is to record the WAGS Irrationals latest walk, which started in the cool of the morning from Casa Esperança. I will kick offt, rather unusually, with the Statistics.

Just look at them -a whole 56 minutes spent not moving, i.e. 30% of our time spent standing around while people picked wild flowers and took photos of wild flowers. Step forward the Wednesday Algarve Photographic and Horticultural Society – Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the WAPHS! 

W. S Gilbert expressed our feelings exactly in The Mikado when he used  the great line                              “BOTHER the flowers that bloom in the Spring.”

But back to business. An artistically angled Starter picture was taken with few of those present aware of where the camera actually was. 

It was hidden in one of Hazel´s herb pots, so well hidden in fact that the Leader forgot all about it and left it behind. Where were his minders, one might ask, who failed to remind him not to forget his camera.

Those present were just the usual four, Rod apparently being away on some scientific sociological investigation into the effects of self-isolation on the elderly population of rural Alentejo.

The walk started off along a newly recce´d trail, past a very large field recently cleared of scrub with serious preparations for planting of some nature being very evident. More avocados most likely. Then we turned up a path which only the previous week had led past some very pleasant mature carob trees.

But now, what carnage! All the carobs felled and sawn into logs.As Maria said, it is criminal.

And now we were getting into the rough stuff, off piste and in old agricultural land with many, many walled enclosures The immediate task was, not to “Mind the Gap! ” so much as to “Find the Gap,” because we wanted to get through the walls, not climb over them.

   

Eventually the first Gap was located and the Leader, who with considerable foresight had brought along a serviceable pair of secateurs, cut away the wild asparagus thorns so that the delicate ladies could get through unscathed.

He shed blood in the process but, to be honest, we have all seen much worse.

More cross-country work ensued while we searched for the second Gap; after some false moves, success at last. Through the second Gap and we were in the clear. Next a brief return to comparative civilisation as we took a short trip along the thick new tarmac of the route to Poço Barreto. 

Where to next ?

Then more prickly stuff as we headed down to the House of Words - now all tarted up with those masses of words describing some forgotten human tragedy painted over and lost forever.

Now much examining, gathering and photographing of flowers. 

An albino thistle

Then some familiar tracks,  past the Strawberry Fields, and just as things were looking as if we were fair set for home, the Leader suggested that a bit of fresh exploration might be “fun”. The group were not given any time to object so off we went. “Today to fresh woods and pastures new” (apologies to John Milton).

After a short stretch of road we dived into those fresh woods and very soon were lost. Luckily, at that stage, a charming Portuguese matron came along accompanied by young son and dogs. Yves, with his customary Gallic charm, accosted her and made friends.

 She then let him stroke her puppy. 

At considerable risk to his fingers because the wee thing had a sore ear and could bite. This good lady then indicated a path which went in the general intended direction of Torre e Cercas. A very good path it was too - for the first kilometre or so - but then it just petered out. So yet more scrambling through heavy stuff was necessary until, quite by chance and miraculously, we emerged on to a familiar track and made our way home in good order for liquid refreshments and peanuts.

The camera was just where it had been left.

You´ve already had the statistics; here´s the track.

( My thanks to Hazel and Yves for photographic contributions.)

Let´s leave the last word to Gilbert and Sullivan.

and Frankie Howerd

Roses and Wine to us all.

So glad to see that some WAGS maintained the traditional walk ethic and  coddiwompled around their neighbourhood only getting slightly lost.
On a penultimate note for the season, next week (1oth June) will be our final Official WAGS event until next season.  You should have seen the announcement by email and WhatsApp. Basically John will lead an early morning coddiwomple and if you want to know where and when, approach him for permission to board and the password.  He will have his excursion  finished in time to grab a quick shower; Hazel to change into her Tea Dress; Maria to glam up and Yves to comb his hair. Then those that are participating will make their way to Mira Rio at around midday for a Prato do Dia lunch , a beer or so and a good exchange of Lockdown stories.
   Please let me know before Monday if you intend to come. So far I am assuming the team will be John, Hazel, Maria, Yves, Rod, Chris, Antje, Myriam, myself and Tony Webster. I have had apologies from Ingrid, Peter and Sonia, Mike and Jyll and Frank Watson. Hope to see you there.

Last, just to prove I'm not a complete MCP -

- a tribute to the Ladies of the WAGS.

Interestingly, this lady, Kristin Lems wrote another song which is of perennial interest to the Men of the WAGS and I include it for them. 

A late entry from J.R.Frew

Whilst I indeed regretted not tagging on to the last Irrationals....hopefully this time I have the correct nomenclature!....travels this week,  I have to say I found the prospect of a visit to the deepest Alentejo even more alluring.

We were heading to a point in the middle of nowhere somewhat north of Estremoz.    A friend had been asked to stay in the house of another mutual friend, locked down in the UK and therefore unable to use it themselves. We were invited along to provide some help and company.....surprisingly we were actually able to provide both although naturally I was a bit stronger on the latter!

On the way we took the route up through Redondo and over the Serra d'Ossa......memories flooded back  of a pleasant few days walking and eating in that area a few years back, which some of you will remember.

Despite the modest rates of Covid infection (300 or so cases and just 1 death) in the Alentejo, everyone there is taking all the usual physical and social distancing precautions,  particularly in Estremoz itself,  but behind it all life goes on  at its usual slow and indolent pace.

Although spring flowers were past their prime they were still prolific and the rolling spring countryside was still at it's best.  No real walks however but a couple of 2 or 3 k strolls through such different countryside to that which we are accustomed made for an  invigorating and stimulating change. The countryside is divided into three distinct categories...rolling pasture land for cattle and sheep, the wonderfully unique cork forests and of course vineyards.  We were fortunate enough to be surrounded by all of them. Fortunately the endless hectares of olive plantations so evident around Beja have not yet reached Estremoz.

 

The Ubiquitous Vine

The Splendid Alentejo Sobreiro

 

A short cut to trimming and pruning giving neat an productive vineyards.

 

The rolling Alentejo pasturelands.

...and the splendid Flanders Poppies with the symbolic cross centre

And so ended a most relaxing few days  or two which went a long way to allowing us to forget Covid whilst respecting the necessary discplines.