Оглавление
Katherine Everett. Bricks and Flowers
Bricks and Flowers
Table of Contents
ILLUSTRATIONS
Chapter One. MY FAMILY
Chapter Two. OUR HOME
Chapter Three. RETAINERS
Chapter Four. ESCAPE
Chapter Five. STAUNTON HAROLD
Chapter Six. INTRODUCTION TO AURELIA
Chapter Seven. WITH AURELIA
Chapter Eight. THE SLADE SCHOOL
Chapter Nine. BRITISH COLUMBIA
Chapter Ten. MARRIAGE
Chapter Eleven. HONEYMOON AT SEA
Chapter Twelve. AURELIA AGAIN
Chapter Thirteen. DORSET
Chapter Fourteen. PAINTERS
Chapter Fifteen. BECOMING A BUILDER
Chapter Sixteen. NURSING
Chapter Seventeen. GARDENER COMPANION
Chapter Eighteen. LIFE IN IRELAND
Chapter Nineteen. WAR IN IRELAND
Chapter Twenty. OLIVE ARDILAUN
Chapter Twenty-one. ITALY
Chapter Twenty-two. RESTORING SAN MARTINO
Chapter Twenty-three. LIFE NEAR FLORENCE
Chapter Twenty-four. JOURNEY TO ENGLAND
Chapter Twenty-five. MUMPUMPS
Chapter Twenty-six. BUILDING AND RESTORING
Chapter Twenty-seven. GARDENING
Chapter Twenty-eight. ROUGHFIELD AND AN ECHO OF AURELIA
Chapter Twenty-nine. ARTISTS AND OTHERS I HAVE KNOWN
Chapter Thirty. WAR YEARS
Chapter Thirty-one. VISIONS OR HALLUCINATIONS?
Chapter Thirty-two. CONCLUSION
Отрывок из книги
Katherine Everett
Published by Good Press, 2021
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From the garden we might go on to the lake-shore to see the salmon haul—a most scriptural scene. Four fishermen went out in a heavy boat and threw out the net, and on returning walked slowly, bent forward, with the rope over their shoulders, drawing it in. Hauling was best towards evening, when the lake would be flushed with sunset colours and would send gentle ripples towards the shore, and tiny waves would break on the edge over short, tufted grass or little pockets of pebbles and sand. Gradually the net would draw closer as the fishermen, silhouetted against the shining scene, dragged its weight in, until at the last they turned to face the water, pulling the net hand over hand, watching intently in complete silence up to the last breathless moment when suddenly would come a silver flash and where all had been quiet all was excitement. Three leaping fish were on land, entangled in the net, their lovely life ended by thuds from a horrible stick ironically called “the doctor”. Laughter and betting on the weights, settled by the stillar, would follow, and one of the men would start running for the house with a salmon neatly looped by his gills and tail, and we would follow him, after a last look at the mountains and their reflections in the lake, broken by the dark figure standing in the boat and casting out the net once more.
The man with our fish would be well ahead of us and going in great haste, as my father held the theory that a salmon, to be worth eating, must be in the pot within twenty minutes of being alive in the lake. He thought a rod-caught fish inferior, the struggle before the end making the curd less fine and creamy; what he would have thought of the degenerates who can eat it out of a tin I cannot imagine.
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