Early this morning, before the sun had broken through the clouds, before the milkman had managed to finish his round and before some of my readers had managed to get into their beds I ambled up the old railway for my daily exercise. Quite why my daily canny do her own exercise is beyond me! Passing the early bird catching the worm, (her man must be going fishing,) inhaling the fragrance of early blossom, and giving audience to the chirping and chattering of finches and blackbirds I raced slowly up the gradient. Quite how those steam trains managed that climb in the old days I canny imagine! Leaving before dawn meant I had managed to avoid those commuters who walked their dogs (cheerily I'm sure) before rushing of to catch the train for London and the huge salaries on offer there. This left the trail empty bar the wildlife. Down either side of the embankment it was possible to see, thanks to the hard work of the volunteers clearing the vegetation, the abandoned motor bikes, occasional wheelbarrow, road barriers and masses of empty beer cans left by the adolescents as they endured their 'growing pains!'
Near the top of the gradient, a little bit on from the rabbit holes, there is a farmer who keeps some horses in his field. As my delightful (a word her parents never use) great niece loves horses, and has her own (hired) pony, I thought I would attempt to photograph these beasts. I noticed them yesterday, three mares with their foals happily chomping the grass, and as I passed the farmer was releasing a stallion and another mare plus foal from a lorry. The big black stallion looked a beautiful beast as he scampered around the field, rejoicing in his freedom from the horse box. Naturally as I stood there this morning camera in hand, the lot of them moved, head down, to the far side of the field! They do it for spite you know. Eventually this one pictured wandered over, awaiting some attention (she is female) and while we chatted I took the pic. Her little one was less keen and constantly showed her rear end to the camera while chewing grass and trying to avoid falling flat on her face while breakfasting. She did turn round in the end, but the big black proud stallion remained at the far side, snootily avoiding me.
These foals are very young and this one was still suckling away at mum. Not that mum was too keen at the time! Watching the stallion I was reminded of those times I left the night shift at seven and wandered through Hyde Park as the sun rose. While the ice began to melt on the Serpentine and the ducks began to swim around the freezing water I would head along 'Rotten Row' and watch the early horse riders pass by. There is a stables in a local mews and several ponies were always found trotting along, their riders bouncing up and down in a manner never seen in any cowboy movie. However with the Household Cavalry being based on the far side of the park it was possible to find an officer, the men would have been too busy working, gallop along on his charger. This was a sight worth seeing as he raced along the empty 'Row,' a magnificent sight!
I was listening to a programme on Radio 4 about 'Fu Manchu' the fictional Chinese arch criminal from the early 20th century. The narrator was trying to establish Manchu's links with Edinburgh University, and throughout the programme I had to keep reminding myself that what they were talking about was a fictional character! Why is it that story books, and this is all a novel actually is, why is it that story book characters are treated as if they actually live! We know that Sherlock Holmes for instance, still gets letters from various places asking for his help in finding lost uncles and solving criminal mysteries, and here the narrator was regarding Fu's criminal career as if he existed! Why? What is it about characters from books that make people act as if they were alive?
On that point, why are 'novels,' considered so important? Suggest to an author that his novel is merely a story book and they will treat you as an attack of lice! Yet a novel is a world that exists solely inside the head of the writer, and will serve the authors purpose, whether he claims otherwise or not. Such 'artists' always like to believe their books will change the world. Yet so many of them end up in remainder bookshops, so what do they really say? What is their purpose? If you want to change the world will novel writing really do this? Disraeli used 'Sybil' to do just this, but few others succeed. Would it not be true to say that an author, especially one loved by the 'chattering classes' will be writing that which will enhance his reputation, annoy 'his crowds' detractors, and walk around loved by his 'world.' Pride, wealth and fame mean more to some than actually changing the world.If you wish to write because you like the idea, or have thought of stories to publish go ahead and enjoy it. This way you might indeed alter one part of the world around you! Just be aware that the book is a story, an art, but you are the one to change the world, not a tale. Maybe writing a blog has more effect on the world around? What's that you said?
