Raindrops On Roses ~ Six On Saturday

Today it’s more like October than June. We’re back to grey skies, gusty wind and rain between showers. But the Peneloperoses are bearing up, even if their frocks are soaked and their flounces crumpled.

Here’s a photo from earlier in the week during a sudden sunny spell. The plant itself is a tending-tall, rather floppy shrub rose that can be trained as a short climber if you only have a short wall. I’m hoping that in time she will simply arc gracefully down the terrace wall without much in-put from me. She’s already doing her best.

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In the back garden the scabious are just beginning to flower – both the usual herbaceous border version which I bought as large plugs three years ago, but are only now performing, and a Sheep’s Bit variety called Jasione laevis Blue Light, which went in as a young plant last September. Both are presently keeping company with various hardy geraniums, but the Blue Light is already making a pleasing low clump on the border edge near the path.

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Another first-time performer in the garden is the yellow Phlomis russeliana. I bought it because it’s drought tolerant, bee friendly, will bloom all summer and the dead flower heads still look good in winter. Last year, however, it sat out the long drought, and only made big leaves. It’s making up for it this year. I’m thinking that in due course it will need to move to the side wall bed, where it can keep the yellow rudbeckia and helianthus company.

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On the edible front, the globe artichokes are making their presence felt. One of the plants has grown up hugely in a most annoying spot, squashed in between the Polka raspberries and the Jelly King crab apple tree. I know I did grow it from seed but somehow it escaped me during the planting phase and dug itself in. Anyway, the rain has brought it on, and it’s about to be eaten. I usually cut artichokes in half to remove the choke, and then steam them. Halves obviously don’t need so much cooking time as wholes, and it’s easier to see if they’re done. Garlicky butter to serve.

Also in the bottom border is a a purple headed variety. It’s strikingly ornamental growing alongside the sweet white rocket and foxgloves.

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While I was inspecting this end of the garden, which takes some doing, what with the mammoth size of the artichoke leaves, I was pleased to see that the neighbouring old cooking apple tree looks to be bearing far more apples than we were expecting. The blossom came and went so fast in cold and windy weather, it seemed unlikely that much of it would be fertilised. But not so! We don’t know the variety, but the fruits are big and rose blushed and need no sugar when cooked.

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And now back to my new favourite, as mentioned in two recent posts – Cenolophium denudatum, aka Baltic Parsley. Coming up is the version I have already settled in the bed along the top of the terrace wall. It grows rather like Cow Parsley/Queen Anne’s Lace, and indeed it was supposed to be white, according to the Great Dixter Nursery catalogue. Mine, however, turned out to be pink. I don’t mind. It looks good with the valerian whose massed umbels are hint-of-pink white.

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But then yesterday we were having a splendid day out in the walled garden at Wildegoose Nursery in the Corve Valley. And there I found a pale lemony version. It had to come home with me.

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And to finish a shot of Wildegoose walled garden where I discovered it (along with a dozen or three other plants that roused acute spasms of gardener’s greed).

Wildegoose Nursery Walled Garden

Six on Saturday 6 June 2026 Please call in on Jim as he prepares for his garden opening.

Six On Saturday: After The Heat-Wave

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It’s been pretty darn hot this week in Shropshire, but nearly 9 degrees cooler now. On the whole, the garden, the gardener, and the gardener’s other half have weathered the sudden roasting, but the water butts are empty, one or two plants are looking frazzled, and the hot days have finished off the lovely ranunculus which, until last Saturday, had been blooming wonderfully, making the most of the long, cool spring. Also, some flowering plants like the Perry’s Blue iris, came and went very swiftly, while over the hedge, hawthorn tree’s blossom fried. We now have siftings of crisp brown petals everywhere.

One real hot-weather bonus is that the bees (1), worryingly absent earlier in the month, are now back in the garden, feeding voraciously on the hardy geraniums, Welsh poppies and foxgloves. They seem to be making up for lost time.

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In the back garden border the umbels (2) are the rising attraction. I’m always pleased when the valerian starts flowering, but this year it has a companion, one very like it, if more pink and more sweetly scented. Its common name, Baltic Parsley, sounds most unpromising for such an airy, delicate plant, but then this is hugely preferable to its tongue-twister botanical title of Cenolophium denudatum . I bought two young plants on-line last autumn from Great Dixter Nurseries, whose curated collections are altogether too tempting for the ever greedy gardener.

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This year I’ve decided to rein in the vegetable growing (3). Limited space is one factor, but the main reason is not liking all the ugly netting defences needed to keep the pigeons and sparrows from eating everything. I’m still growing herbs, salad stuff, carrots in containers, a couple of rows of potatoes, some strawberries and raspberries, tomatoes in the greenhouse and also beans – all of which don’t need too much if any protection.

For several of the hot days I dithered about whether or not to plant out the large runner bean seedlings. In the end I decided it was better for them in the ground than drying out in their pots. I surrounded them with an emergency mulch of grass cuttings. Our neighbour had kindly just deposited a load over the fence and into our compost bin. I don’t usually use them for mulching, not wanting either crusts or a smelly, squidgy pan, but they soon dried out and the blackbirds have since been turning them over.

Meanwhile on the other side of the garden, the potatoes are looking pretty good. The Charlotte row is thinking of flowering.

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And talking of mulch, my number (4) this week is a shout-out for the benefits of applying Strulch. This is very much for the small-garden gardener who doesn’t have access to masses of home-made compost. It’s a mineralised fine straw that comes in easy-to-move 9 litre bags. Last autumn I bought 2 bags and spread them over the two front garden beds, spots that are both exposed from the north in windy weather, but also sun-traps during heat-waves. There was still enough strulch left over to scatter less generously around some shrubs in the back garden. The stuff is not cheap, but you can find good deals on-line.

Apart from anything else, I’ve hardly had any weeds, and the herbaceous plants are emerging nicely to do their early summer stuff. I covered the entire soil surface, about an inch/2 cms deep.

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From left to right: Helianthemum Wisley White, Astrantia Sparkling Stars middle, Verbascum Lavender Lass front. And a closer look at the Astrantia. Isn’t she lovely?

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Not everything is going so well. Unseen pests (5) have been busy, most notably in the sweet peas, amongst which something, probably pigeons, have been gnawing off whole chunks of stems. For once, I’d grown some pretty chunky plants, and put them out early to grow up obelisks. But once they started growing, large parts began to go missing. I still have some flowers, but it’s not the display envisaged. I’ve never had this problem before, and can’t think how to protect them – i.e. that won’t end up in a big tangle of netting. (Note to self. The obelisks are probably the problem. Ideal perches for pigeons).

The other casualty, one that’s ongoing despite moving the plant to different locations, is the lovely blue-mauve lupin. Something keeps stripping the flowers. One minute they’re there, and the next time I look…

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But to end on a high note, and a deliciously fragrant one too – Cornelia Rose (6). She burst into flower this week. More power to her little pink petals. She’s growing by my greenhouse so I see a lot of her.

Six on Saturday Despite the heat-wave down in Cornwall, host Jim has some spectacular things on show in his garden, to say nothing of the magnificent Poplar moth in the greenhouse.

Lens-Artists: In The Early Morning Garden

In this last week of May, the weather has switched from weeks of blustery cold to days of enervating heatwave. How did this happen?

Things began to warm up last Friday. By sunrise on Sunday, there was no doubt about it: summer had well and truly come to Bishop’s Castle. Towards 7 a.m., the sun just topping the town rooftops, I went out in the garden. There had been a heavy dew and all was glistening. I kicked off my shoes and walked on the wet grass. It was very cold – champagne for the soles!

It’s odd, though, how you can go into a familiar place at an unfamiliar hour and feel an intruder. The garden was not expecting me. It was immersed in its own business. There was a sense of immanence. A discernible energy. Still cool, but also voluptuous as if you might wallow in it. Also in the early light, the flowers had other-worldly looks; their intimate, intricate structures very strange at close quarters. Again, a sense of intrusion.

But then that made it just the moment to ponder on Egidio’s this-week’s theme at Lens-Artists. He’s put us on the spot, and literally too, proposing that we restrict ourselves to a well-defined small space and photograph what strikes us there. It seems a perfect exercise for exploring the familiar, the taken-for-granted, with fresh eyes.

And so the header photo – a result of peering more closely. Quite eye-opening actually – to notice the astonishing number of miniscule components needed to make a blackberry. Here it is again:

These next photos conjured thoughts of alien spacecraft…

And then there’s the extraordinary pollinator guidance system of foxgloves – not only the captivating flight path of spots and dots, but also a landing pad covered in tiny filaments – and for what? Massage services for bees as well as the pollen fix?

And finally some simple things that pleased this gardener’s eye…noticing a corner by the shed that is entirely the garden’s own work – assorted volunteer columbines and another foxglove.

…and then the lantern-like looks of alliums and snapdragons, caught with surprising vividness in early morning shadow…

Lens-Artists: Stuck in place This week Egidio asks us to focus on a particular space, no more than 10-15 paces in any direction, and consider its parts with fresh eyes. How will you capture them?

Six On Saturday: Frigid May

We might have lost the cherry plum over the hedge, but we still have the hawthorn tree (1). Just now it’s a tumble of creamy curds – may blossom in May. It’s a shame there are so few insects about to enjoy it. Even the stalwart bumble bees are scarce, which is worrying. I’m hoping they’ve tucked themselves up somewhere cosy until the Arctic winds have blown themselves out. So far, then, it’s been a very chilly May in Shropshire, and dry too, until these last few days. My water butts were empty, so even as I whinge at the cold wind, I’m pleased that rainwater supplies have resumed.

And spring is still happening in the garden despite the low temperatures. The apple blossom has been and gone, though signs of pollination looking sparse to absent on some of the trees. Now, then, is the time of columbines (2). As ever, they have grown themselves everywhere, including in the horrible hedge where one plant, trying to outdo the holly and privet, has used them for support and grown over four feet tall. It greatly improves the look of the hedge. Size-wise, they are more restrained at the bottom of the garden, but this year have arrived in many colours from white to darkest claret, and shades in between.

I’m also pleased to see some lemon coloured Welsh poppies (3). Last autumn I pocketed seed from a neighbour, and scattered it under the old apple trees. We already had the self-sowing orange ones in the bed above the back terrace. For some reason I’m not too keen on the brassy version. This year, though, they’ve popped up among the Ranunculus. I’m thinking they look rather good together.

The blue flowered hardy geraniums are beginning to open, but the cranesbill Geranium phaeum Album (4) is well ahead. It does sprawl about, but its flowers are so delicate. It is supposed to be shade-loving, but I also have one that seems quite happy in full sun.

And then there’s the rocket (arugula) (5). I’d never thought of it as a flowering plant till this year. All through the winter we were cropping a short row of it. Then, come March, it began to go to seed and I pulled most of it up. And then for some reason I left a clump. Now it’s a tall plant covered in a mass of flowers that seem to go on and on. They have curious, wonky propeller looks about them. I also thought the insects might like them if there were any about. Meanwhile, the bits of greenery down the stems are still perfectly edible, surprisingly mild in flavour. And it’s providing a bit of floral interest in front of my presently empty raised beds.

And to finish, here’s one of my newest plants bought in March. Iris Sibirica ‘Perry’s Blue’ (6) has just begun to flower. I’m rather taken with the startling contrast of the pale lavender with the russet-gold tones ofSpiraea Japonica Firelight. At a distance, as the wind blows, the flowers look like big butterflies.

Six on Saturday 16 May 2026: Please call in on our host Jim. There’s always something new to see in his garden. This week, among other lovely things, he has a gorgeous fern and some self-replenishing corydalis.

Of Bossy Birds And Icy Blasts

I can well understand why small beings like blackbirds need to keep stoking up with fresh food supplies. Not only are there chicks to feed, but our spring days persist on the frosted side of chilly. He who is currently casting his own coping stones for the terrace wall tells me that the high pressure over the Atlantic and low pressure to the north and east is causing Arctic air to be sucked down upon us, thus creating the UK’s coldest May in five years.

And the upshot: the winds that the weather people have been telling us are ‘fresh’ have been, and continue to be bone piercingly frigid. Nor does it help that our street is aligned due north, thus greatly facilitating the funnelling of icy blasts to our doorstep.

In consequence we’re still in winter woollies. Also, we’ve continued to keep the hedge bird feeder well stocked with fat balls, this on the grounds that the sparrows et al still need energy for gathering food for their young. They’ve certainly been getting through them.

Out in the garden the blackbirds have other strategies. This male blackbird starts chivvying me the moment he spots me. If I don’t respond at once, he moves in very close, finding a perch whence he can fix me with those beady eyes. And if this still doesn’t receive the desired response, he starts shouting.

And I must say, I do feel a touch affronted – to let myself be bullied by a small bird.

But needs must. The other day when I started earthing up the potatoes, both mister and missus swooped in, combing through the disturbed soil, chuntering in tones of unalloyed blackbird ecstasy. I have yet to spot exactly how they manage to hoover up quite so many small worms in one beak full. It all happens so fast.

[Spoiler alert: not for the squeamish.]

This morning I spotted the male in the apple tree, not far from my left ear. As ever he gave me the eye. The rain had moved in and I was late on parade. But today it seemed he’d managed to gather his worms without my intervention. More surprising though, he also managed to give me song without opening his beak. No worm was lost.

Songs for worms, I thought. Fair exchange.

Lens-Artists: Elephants In Words And Pictures

“I have seen a herd of elephant travelling through dense native forest…pacing along as if they had an appointment at the end of the world” Isaak Dinesen

No dense forest here, only a rare scatter of thorn trees on the Maasai Mara plains. And yet early one December morning, when we found ourselves in the path of an elephant herd, the sense of their concerted purpose flowed round us like a slow tide. They did move as one – elders, adolescents, infants. And so softly too. An elephant mirage then.

As they passed on by, not one member of the herd showed any reaction to our presence. And so there was that moment – the urge to follow, to walk with elephants, pace for pace. How astonishing might that be? (Or how invasive).

Of course we were not on foot, but in a truck with our driver-guide, Dan. He drove quietly away and parked on a ridge above the thorn trees; even suggested we should get out and eat our picnic breakfast while we watched the herd fan out below us.

Some members climbed over our ridge, but again seemed not to acknowledge our existence.

“The herd moves as one, yet each elephant knows its place.” African saying.

At sundown the herd met up with us again, travelling at the same slow, purposeful pace, but now in the opposite direction. We were on our way back to camp. Dan stopped the truck while they moved on and on around us. So close we felt their presence as they passed. The musky smell of them.

Lens-Artists: favourite quotes illustrated This week Ann-Christine asks us to illustrate our favourite quotations (No more than 5 photos). She has some stunning examples. Go see!

Six On Saturday: Here Comes May

Birds (1) are very much on our minds at present. This morning Graham emptied the seed dregs from the bird feeder onto the terrace wall. This invited a flurry of takers: several sparrows, a female blackbird and a wood pigeon. The advice of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds is to stop feeding garden birds from May to the end of October, this to prevent the likely warm season spread of parasitic disease that’s affecting certain species, especially green finches.

All winter we have put out seeds and fat balls in feeders hidden in the hedge outside the kitchen window. This strategy has kept the jackdaws and pigeons away from the actual feeders, but not deterred the pigeons from scavenging for spilled seed in the hedge bottom. But we’ve otherwise enjoyed watching the regular sparrow visitors, and the not so frequent blackbirds, robins and bluetits.

The other RSPB reason for the feeding halt is to encourage birds to return to natural seasonal eating habits now there is plenty of wild-grown stuff about. We can see their point.

Anyway, now is also the time of year when the birds go in for some irritating garden habits, such as dust bathing around the roots of emerging herbaceous plants, thus compacting the soil and exposing roots (sparrows), or removing the mulch from the borders and tossing it around the paths (blackbirds). I’ve also discovered it’s the sparrows who have been nibbling the Swiss chard and spinach, even through the supposedly protective mesh. So, yes, maybe it is time they frequented fresh dining venues.

Lately I’ve been thinking that the tulips (2) are on the wane, but the unknown variety growing in the terrace wall pot keeps on flowering. Never mind the days and weeks of ferocious wind blowing them horizontal and drying out the pot. On dull days the petals are very upright, but come a spot of sunshine, it’s full-fling abandonment…

Around the garden, the apple trees – eaters and crabs (3) are at various stages of flowering and finishing. In the front garden, the dwarf version of Laura, (a compact and columnar crab apple even when full-sized), has flowered with us for the first time. The crimson blossom is gorgeous against the claret-tinged foliage.

Also in the front garden the Ranunculus bulbs (4) are among the most striking of the bright and early bloomers. They, too, have proved remarkably resilient to being blown off their roots. I planted them last summer at the wrong time, and was surprised when they flowered sporadically during our rainless weeks, and then produced quite a lot of foliage during the winter. Their red-hot shades are looking astonishing between the citrus green of the Euphorbia palustris ‘Walenburg’s Glorie’ and the deep russet heucheras. (That’s a dwarf Evereste crab apple in the middle).

Another early flowering favourite is Phlox divaricata ‘Clouds of Perfume (5). It’s a low-growing, spreading variety, and more than living up to its name beside the front path. Makes me think of parma violet sweets we sometimes had as children, but smells much nicer.

I’m very fond of hardy geraniums and have a number of young plants of several varieties in all the flower beds. The first to flower this year is Geranium phaeum ‘Samobor’ (6). The dusky wine coloured flowers are small, downward facing and all round unspectacular unless you get in close (also very difficult to photograph), but it is the foliage that is the more notable. I’m not sure that I have it in the right spot. It seems to have more woodland inclinations than herbaceous border frontage, but I like the leaves, which look rather good beside the two heucheras whose varieties I’ve forgotten.

Happy gardening, folks, whatever your hemisphere.

Six On Saturday Please visit our host, Jim, in his Cornish garden.

The Changing Seasons: April Days

April has been wind-wind-windy, with more days of lowering cloud than sun. Also, at times, it’s been piercingly cold, so definitely no casting of winter layers.

I’ve already said here how an early April gale felled the cherry plum tree that grew just over the hedge by our kitchen window. It wasn’t our tree, but part of our ‘borrowed landscape’ and somehow gave us a sense of woodedness with its gracious rustling canopy. It was a shock to find it lying across our kitchen roof.

But now it is gone, we have more light and, come supper-time, even a sunset glow atop the holly hedge. And so, as is the way with gardening, something lost is the chance for some new growing. Still to be decided.

But talking of the holly hedge (which is absolutely not my favourite part of the garden), these last two weeks it’s been alive with tiny blue butterflies. An entomologist chum told me they are Holly Blues, and not the Common Blues I’d taken them for. They travel at speed, flit and flutter, looking like flecks of fallen sky. Not easy to snap then. All of which is to say, I’m feeling more kindly towards the hedge if its the reason for the tiny blue butterfly show.

The cold and windy weather hasn’t stopped spring happening. In fact all the winter rain is paying off around the town – the countryside fat with lush pasture and burgeoning wheat fields; hedgerows alight with blackthorn blossom, hawthorn, hazel, bright white stars of stitchwort, bluebells, dandelions. The big trees, too, are starting to green (the oaks and ashes are ever late on parade). And of course it is also the season of bright yellow spreads of oil seed rape, plus the inevitable flocks of tiny flea beetles that go with it, and then come to my garden later to devour my rocket plants or anything else related to a cabbage.

Last week, on a bright, but still windy day, we walked up Wintles Hill behind the town to see the views and visit the elephant sculpture. The green lane ascent lived up to its name, but with masses of white stitchwort too.

On the brow of the hill, the old barns, as usual, demanded to have their picture taken:

On Wintles hilltop, which is always a high spot and in all senses, the wheat was just emerging, but not so vigorously as in the more sheltered, well watered valley fields. We stopped to look beyond our local hills, over the border into Wales:

Meanwhile, back in the home garden, it is apple blossom time. The miniature eating apple trees and the three crab apples have been flowering well. Even the big old tree at the bottom of the garden is now looking lovely after a good winter prune:

Closer to the house, the Red Devil miniature tree is looking anything but devilish. This is its first year flowering in our garden. In time, it’s supposed to produce bright red apples, which rather puts one in mind of Wicked Queens and Snow White:

As for the rest of the garden, the daffodils and narcissi are over, the tulips on the wane, but the early summer plants are surging up: foxgloves, aquilegias, and valerian all about to flower; Welsh poppies, and Centaurea cornflowers already opening.

Today, on the last day of April, we have a cloudless blue sky and brilliant sunshine. And it’s still blowing a gale, but at least it’s a warmish one. There are times, too, when it drops, it almost feels like summer, but only for a moment.

The Changing Seasons: April 2026 Brian at bushboys world and Ju-Lyn at Touring My Backyard are our hosts. Please pop and see what they’ve been up to this month. For one thing, Brian has a stunning gallery of birds and wallabies, and as ever, Ju-Lyn has been cooking up a storm in her kitchen – so many mouth-watering creations.

Once, On A Winter’s Day At Great Zimbabwe

This week at Lens-Artists, John’s theme is ‘History through the lens’. In my last post I was rummaging through our ‘old Africa album’, pondering on a long ago visit to Zimbabwe. And since half my mind is still lingering there, I thought I’d revisit Great Zimbabwe – those tantalising Shona ruins, whose 350-year history we’ll never fully fathom.

Now as I look through my photos, I see they too are becoming relics, documenting a July afternoon far away and long ago. The winter light was mesmerizing, the air thick and drowsy. Insects thrummed in the grass; all bathed in an amber glow. I recall pressing my palms to the stone wall of the Great Enclosure, absorbing the sun’s warmth, wishing for a portal back in time; to know the true story of this place.

Of course archaeological excavations have yielded some general context. The valley’s stone-built ruins extend over some 1800 acres, an area bigger than medieval London. The earliest date from c1100 CE with successive phases over the following three hundred years. There is also evidence of large houses built of daga or daub, and of an extensive system of water harvesting in so-called dhaka pits.

And as for the people who lived here, the reckoned population of 10,000 souls – the discovered remains suggest they were cattle herders, farmers, gold miners, merchants, iron and coppersmiths, potters, soapstone carvers, soldiers and courtiers, all living under the rule of some powerful organising authority.

Looking down the Great Enclosure (centre)

Inside the Great Enclosure with its conical tower of unknown purposes

Looking out from the Great Enclosure. No mortar was used in the wall construction. No sign either that this gateway was ever in any way defensive.

Among the finds were many luxury goods that indicated a long-standing trade with the Swahili city states of the East African coast (see map below). They included Arabian coins, glass beads, Chinese celadon ware, Persian ceramics, all doubtless exchanged for the city’s gold and copper. And yet their discovery only adds to the puzzle. Why did this seeming thriving city fall into decline from the mid-1400s?

Shona oral accounts say the city ran out of salt, and this prompted a shift to new territory. Salt would have been essential for both people and their herds. Other theories suggest an outbreak of disease, a prolonged drought, or the effects of deforestation. There’s no way of knowing. No burial remains have been discovered that might shed light on this.

In amongst the giant aloes, the tumbled remains of an African city that once extended over 1800 acres. It is not known why it declined after 1450 CE

But we do know that this was not the end of Shona rule. From the late fifteenth century it seems their centres of operations shifted north, leading to the rise of the Mutapa Empire. Soon afterwards, too, the name ‘Zimbabwe’ enters the historical record. The word itself derives from the Shona phrase meaning houses of stone, and from the early 16th century, it appears in various renditions in the written accounts of Portuguese conquistadores. They were busy scouring the East African hinterland in search of the mines that were yielding the gold they had seen in the Swahili city states along the Indian Ocean coast.

In 1531, Vicente Pegado, Captain of the Portuguese Garrison at Sofala has this to say:

Among the gold mines of the inland plains between the Limpopo and Zambezi rivers there is a fortress built of stones of marvelous size, and there appears to be no mortar joining them … This edifice is almost surrounded by hills, upon which are others resembling it in the fashioning of stone and the absence of mortar, and one of them is a tower more than 12 fathoms [22 m] high. The natives of the country call these edifices Symbaoe, which according to their language signifies court.

In an earlier 1505 letter to the King of Portugal, one Diogo de Alcacova describes a city “called Zimbany…which is big and where the king always lives.” He says the houses are “of stone and clay and very large and on one level” and that there are many very large towns and villages within the kingdom.

Another Portuguese account describes the King of Mutapa’s great retinue which included the governor of the client kingdoms, the commander-general of the army, the court steward, the magician, the apothecary, and the head musician “who had many under him and who was a great lord”. It tells also of the vast territories over which the king ruled, the revenues and subject kingdoms of the king’s several queens.

These references to many large towns and villages and extensive territories ruled over, can be further backed up by archaeological remains. Great Zimbabwe might be the largest surviving ruin, but over a hundred similar sites of varying sizes have been discovered on the High Plateau between the Zambezi and Limpopo rivers. The Empire of Mutapa did once exist. It was only in 1888 that it finally fell to the Portuguese.

Nor was it the only city state. There is another impressive ruin at Khami, near Bulawayo to the west of Great Zimbabwe. It came to prominence at the time of Great Zimbabwe’s decline, and for two centuries the ruling dynasty there oversaw a thriving trading centre, importing luxury goods that included 15th and 17th century Spanish porcelain, Rhineland stoneware and Chinese Ming porcelain.

The later European occupiers of African lands would ever assert that local people could not be the builders of these cities. Phoenicians, Arabs, Ancient Egyptians and even the Queen of Sheba were the claimed originators. For a brief account of some of controversies attached to the interpretation of Great Zimbabwe, there’s a fascinating BBC Witness History clip with Zimbabwean historian, Dr. Ken Mufuka.

But in the here and now, looking back on that afternoon at Great Zimbabwe, it seems more dream than reality. But then, courtesy of the Olympus-trip, we do have historical proof we were actually there.

P.S. If you want a brilliant, if brief, virtual visit to Great Zimbabwe, go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art page here. The film, posted last year, is only seven minutes long and shows Zimbabwean stone masons at work, repairing and conserving the dry stone walls. It gives an inkling of the extraordinary endeavours of their ancestors.

Lens-Artists: History through the lens Please see John’s post for some fascinating slices of American history.

Lens-Artists: Lucky Shot

For most of the several years we lived in Africa I only had a small film camera – an Olympus-trip. It had a good lens and was great for general landscapes, but of course it had no zoom facility. Obviously, this was a big handicap when driving through bush country in search of wildlife to photograph. Also I did not have the aptitude to make the best of varying light conditions. E.g. The header photo was taken in Zimbabwe in July, winter in the southern hemisphere, with a midday view in Hwange National Park as gloomy as an English November. In other words, that this photo worked at all was sheer good luck. In fact I could probably say the same for most of the photos in the old Africa album. There’s another problem too: old film does not keep well.

And yet I love this shot. It has the look of a painting; an air of timelessness. And besides which, the scene did seem to materialise by chance.

At the time we were living in Lusaka, Zambia, and had driven down to Zimbabwe to meet up with New Zealand friends and take them on a short tour through Zimbabwe back to Lusaka. We spent two days driving around Hwange under lowering skies. The bush was parched, so many shades of brown, and anyway the likelihood of spotting anything much from a Subaru estate car seemed slim. We thus spent our first morning on a high-rise game viewing platform, gazing at a very distant waterhole with some faraway buffalo and one giraffe. It was very mesmerizing, surreal even, but in the end one forgot to feel grateful for witnessing such a scene, and began to feel frustrated by the limited photo opportunities.

We left the hide and returned to Hwange’s paved access road, trundling between wide grass verges, that truth to tell, had a rather managed, suburban look about them. Finally we found a dirt trail that led to another waterhole, and parked up under a rain tree. There was no sign of wildlife when we arrived, but it seemed a good spot to eat our picnic lunch. It was only as we were driving away that we saw the elephants had arrived. One of those moments you don’t forget.

Lens-Artists: Lucky Shot This week Sofia sets the theme. Great fun!

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge