Monday, June 29, 2026

Journeys of Gil Blas

 





Key locations in Gil Blas's own journeys are in bold

A "league" is about three miles. 

Le Sage took most of his place-names from Sanson's Atlas (1674) [SA]; see the 1863 article by Thomas Keightley.  (I've tried to match these place-names to actual places on Google Maps, not always successfully.) There was an improved edition in 1696, but Le Sage didn't use it. He used the 1674 edition, which didn't show the roads. Le Sage tended to assume that places that stood in a straight line formed a good, practicable route, which was sometimes far from being the case. 


Book I

Ch 1: GB born at Santillane (Santillana del Mar in Cantabria, a little to the west of Santander), and grows up in Oviedo (Asturias).
Ch 2: Peñaflor (de Grado), west of Oviedo. (GB's route from Oviedo to Astorga is shown as a straight line in SA. In fact it's an extremely circuitous route, but a credible one, skirting the Cantabrian mountains.)
Ch 3: Cacabelos
Ch 4. The thieves' cave. (Captain Rolando.)
Ch 5. The cave. [Stories of the gang members. Madrid, Toledo, Seville.]
Chs 6-7 The cave. (GB is there six months.)
Ch 8. Ponferrada. (First expedition with the gang.)
Ch 9. Ponferrada. (Donna Mencia)
Ch 10. Back to the cave. The escape to Astorga.
Ch 11. [Donna Mencia's story. Valladolid, and the castle of the Marquis de la Guardia "near Burgos, between Grajal and Rodillas". These names are taken from SA: Grajal could be Grajal de Campos, which is in the right area though nearer to León than Burgos; and "Rodillas" might then be a rendering of Boadilla de Rioseco. Pace Henri van Laun, this "Rodillas" definitely isn't the same as the one that Scipio walks to from Toledo in Bk X Ch 12.]
Ch 12. Astorga. (GB in prison.)
Ch 13. Astorga. GB released, takes the road to Burgos. (Le Sage took "Ponte de Mula" from SA. The 1844 Blackwoods article identifies it as "Puenta Duro", but I can't trace that either. Maybe Puente Fitero (Itero de la Vega)?)
Ch 14. Burgos. (Donna Mencia)
Ch 15. Burgos. Meets Ambrose de Lamela and sets off for Madrid.
Ch 16. Dueñas, Valladolid. (Don Raphael)
Ch 17. Valladolid. Meets Fabricio. [Fabricio's story: Oviedo, Galicia, Palencia, Valladolid.]l Signor Arias de Londona. 

Book II

Ch 1. Valladolid. GB in service to the Licentiate Sédillo. 
Ch 2. Valladolid. (Doctor Sangrado, and the canon's death.)
Ch 3-5. Valladolid, in service to Doctor Sangrado. 
Ch 6. Flees Valladolid (and the enraged Don Roderic), takes the road for Madrid. Meets the journeyman barber Signor Diego de la Fuenta.
Ch 7. [Signor Diego's story: Olmedo, Madrid.]
Ch 8. They reach Ponte de Duero (Puente Duero), and soon after meet the actor Melchior Zapata. 
Ch 9. They spend the night at a village between Moyados [Mojados] and Valpuesta [shown in SA, but I can't match it to a real place], then proceed to Olmedo, where GB stays for a while with Signor Diego.

Book III

Ch 1. GB proceeds via Segovia to Madrid. (GB in service to Don Bernard de Castil Blazo.)
Ch 2. Madrid, where he meets Captain Rolando. [Captain Rolando's story: Mansilla, Leon, Madrid. Luceno, mentioned during this narrative, is a place-name from SA; it's been suggested that it means Luyego de Somoza.]
Ch 3-6. Madrid. (GB in service to Don Matthias de Silva.)
Ch 7. [Don Pompeyo de Castro's story: Portugal.]
Ch 8. Madrid. (Death of Don Matthias)
Ch 9-12. Madrid. (GB in service to the actress Arsenia.)

Book IV 

Ch 1: Madrid. (In service to Aurora.)
Ch 2. Madrid.
Ch3. Madrid, then Aurora's "castle on the Tagus, between Sacedon and Buendia. " (Sacedón and Buendía, east of Madrid. ) Then Madrid again, then their journey towards Salamanca: Donna Elvira's castle between Ávila and Villaflor.
Ch 4. [Donna Elvira's story: The Fatal Marriage, set in Sicily.]
Ch 5. Leaving Donna Elvira. Salamanca. Aurora and Don Lewis Pacheco. 
Ch 6. Salamanca, then back to Madrid
Ch 7. Madrid. Don Gonzalez Pacheco.
Ch 8. Madrid. The Marchioness of Chaves. 
Ch 9. Leaving service in Madrid; first to Toledo (his intention to make the tour of Spain), then heading for "Cuença" (Cuenca, intending to go on to Aragon); the second day, meeting Don Alphonso, then seeking shelter at a hermitage near Cuenca (meeting Don Raphael and Lamela).
Ch 10. [Don Alphonso's story: Madrid, then the Toledo road, Seraphina's house two leagues beyond Illescas, Toledo and then back to Seraphina's, Toledo and then setting off in a  random direction, when he meets GB.]
Ch 11. "those who are always on the scamper see a great deal of the country", says Don Raphael. GB, Don Alphonso, Don Raphael and Lamela decamp to a spot in "a very thick wood between Villardesa and Almodabar" (Two places south of Cuenca: Villardesa = Villar del Saz de Arcas, Almodabar = Almodóvar del Pinar.)

Book V

Ch 1. [Don Raphael’s story. Madrid, then Toledo, then Alcántara (Extremadura), where he meets two naïve youths from Plasencia on a jaunt to Portugal. (When he suggests travelling with them to Almeria, I suppose he means Almeirim near Lisbon.) Robs them and heads towards Mérida. On the way he meets Moralez, who is fleeing Portalegre (in Portugal near the Spanish border); attempted swindle at Mérida, then they make for Trujillo but meet Moralez' brother on the way and join his party, who are going to serve a newly appointed governor of Mallorca. They embark at Alicante, but a storm means they have to land on the desert island of Cabrera (south of Mallorca). Don Raphael is captured by corsairs and taken to Algiers, where he lives for more than seven years and has many adventures, including meeting his mother Lucinda. [[ Lucinda's story: Madrid, Valencia. ]] He escapes, landing at Leghorn (Livorno in Tuscany); adventures in Florence, then by ship to Barcelona; Madrid, Valladolid where he makes the acquaintance of Ambrose de Lamela and they rob GB (cf Bk I Ch 16). They leave intending to go to Madrid, then change their mind and go via Zebreros (Cebreros) to Toledo, where he kills a husband and leaves. At Villarubia (Villarrubio, west of Cuenca) they hear the aftermath from a merchant on his way to Segorba (Segorbe, north of Valencia) and decide to leave the highway and go cross-country, finding the hermitage and the dying hermit (cf. Bk IV Ch 9). They take over the hermitage, Lamela sells the mules at Toralva (Torralba) and they strike up with some like-minded women (pretended religionists) at Cuenca, until a jealous rival reports their whereabouts to the authorities (hence their sudden departure from the hermitage in Bk IV Ch 11).]

Ch 2. GB and the others plan to head for Valencia via Requena, but then they rescue two noble captives from bandidos; they turn out to be Seraphina and her father the Count de Polan (cf Bk IV Ch 10). They all retire to an inn (which, contrary to Lamela's assurance that it's nearby, proves to be over two hours away).

Book VI

Ch 1. The Count de Polan and Seraphina proceed, heading for Turis (west of Valencia). GB's party, following Lamela and travelling by night, get near to Campillo (Campillo de Altobuey), rest and at nightfall continue, reaching the Valencian region the next morning, where they halt in a delightful spot with a rivulet, but stocks are low: Lamela, reprovisioning in Xelva, hears about Samuel Simon and recruits the others to fleece him. They rob him and head for Segorba (Segorbe), still travelling by night. 
Ch 2. They halt in the shade of some willows near a village two leagues from Segorba. Here GB (and Don Alphonso) decide to part from Don Raphael and Lamela. 
Ch 3. GB and Don Alphonso head for Valencia, intending to sail for Italy and serve the Venetian republic. At Bunol (Buñol, modern-day home of La Tomatina) Don Alphonso has a fever and is nursed by GB. Passing the nearby castle of Leyva Don Alphonso encounters his foster-father and meets his real father, Don Caesar da Leyva, whose castle this is, and also Seraphina's party. Don Alphonso marries her and GB becomes his steward. [Buñol, however, isn't on any conceivable route from Segorbe to Valencia. It looks like Le Sage mistakenly thought Segorbe lay to the west of Buñol and Llíria; compare Bk X Ch 3).] [NB There really is a Castillo de Leiva, but it isn't near Valencia; it's to the east of Burgos.]


Book VII

Ch 1. GB goes to Xelva (Chelva) and restores the stolen money to Samuel Simon (cf. Bk VI Ch 2) and then returns to the castle of Leyva, but soon reluctantly leaves his post (because of trouble with Lorenza Sephora, Seraphina's servant). 
Ch 2. GB (who has a horse at this point) takes the Almansa road and travels without incident via Murcia to Grenada (Granada). He becomes literary secretary to the archbishop. 
Ch 3. Grenada (Granada).
Ch 4. Grenada (Granada). GB dismissed by the archbishop.
Ch 5. Grenada (Granada).
Ch 6. Grenada (Granada). GB meets Laura again  (Arsenia's maid, cf Bk III Ch 9-12). To her lover (the Marquis de Marialva) she passes him off as her brother. 
Ch 7. [Laura's story. Arsenia retires to her estate in Zamora. Laura arrested then taken under the wing of the Biscayan Pedro Zendono; they flee to Braganza (Bragança in Portugal), then Coimbra. Abandoned by Pedro Zendono, Laura befriends the elderly Dorothea and travels with her to Seville, meets Phenicia there and becomes an acclaimed actress, then moves on to Grenada.]
Ch 8-10. Grenada (Granada). GB now in service to the Marquis de Marialva.
Ch 11. Warned of imminent exposure GB flees Granada with a muleteer, stays at Ubeda (Úbeda) the first night, and on the fourth day reaches Toledo, where however he learns that the Count de Polan is absent, having gone to the Castle of Leyva because Seraphina is dangerously ill. GB moves on to Madrid, thinking he might try his hand at the court. 
Ch 12. Madrid. (Don Annibal de Chinchilla.)
Ch 13. Madrid. (Meets Fabricio, cf. Bk I Ch 17.)
Ch 14-15. Madrid. GB in service to Count Galiano. 
Ch 16. Madrid. GB falls ill. When he recovers, he finds his master has gone back to Sicily, and most of his goods were robbed, the rest being eaten up in medical expenses.

Book VIII

Ch 1. Madrid and elsewhere. GB has a post collecting farm rents on behalf of the prime minister, the Duke of Lerma. He visits the duke's farms, and also the castle of Lerma itself when it burns down (Lerma is to the south of Burgos). Six months later GB becomes one of the duke's secretaries. 
Ch 2-5. Madrid. Life at court. 
Ch 6. El Escorial (45km NW of Madrid).
Ch 7. Madrid.
Ch 8. [Don Roger de Rada's story. Antequera (N of Málaga), Málaga, the isle of Alborán, Punta de Helena (E of Adra, approximately ≈ Punta Sabinar), Adra, Antequera, Madrid, Antequera.]
Ch 9. Madrid. (Fabricio.)
Ch 10-12. Madrid. (Catalina.)
Ch 13. Madrid. (GB hears of his family in Oviedo, ignores them, and quarrels with Fabricio.)

Book IX

Ch 1-2. Madrid. GB nearly married.
Ch 3 Madrid; then GB is arrested, and taken via Mancanarez (the banks of the river Manzanares) and Colmenar (Colmenar Viejo) to prison in Segovia. (It doesn't seem a very good route. They should really have taken a more westerly route to avoid the mountains between Colmenar and Segovia. But Le Sage’s maps didn't always show roads, and he didn't know about the mountains.)
Ch 4-5. Segovia. (GB has a view of the river Eresma and the vale of Coca.)
Ch 6. [History of Don Gaston de Cogollos and Donna Helena de Galisteo. Madrid, Coria, Plasencia, Italy, Coria, Madrid. Coria is an ancient town, not in Old Castile as the text might lead you to infer but in NW Extremadura. This location is confirmed by other place-names: e.g. Galisteo, Manroi (Monroy) and Plasencia.]
Ch 7-8. Segovia. (Scipio and GB's fever.)
Ch 9. Segovia. (GB released; travelling towards Madrid with Scipio. In a month GB will be exiled from the Castiles; they plan to go to Aragon.)
Ch 10. Madrid. (GB meets Don Alphonso, who gives him an estate at Lirias (Llíria, NW of Valencia). GB is delighted, but says he must first travel to Asturias to see his family.)

Book X

Ch 1. GB and Scipio leave Madrid, initially for Valladolid via Alcala de Henares, Segovia, Peñafiel. (As many have pointed out, Alcala de Henares, NE of Madrid on the Zaragoza road, is in the wrong direction for getting to Segovia. Seemingly Le Sage misunderstood the map in SA, and thought Alcala was where El Pardo is.) In Valladolid they meet Dr Sangrado and Signor Manuel Ordonnez (Fabricio's former master). 
Ch 2. They travel without incident to Oviedo (in four days). GB witnesses the death of his father, is condemned by the townsfolk for his neglect of his family, and finds his mother unwilling to leave Oviedo. 
Ch 3. GB and Scipio leave, taking the Leon road, then heading for Valencia, arriving at Segorba (Segorbe) on the tenth day, then "three leagues" to Lirias (Llíria).
They arrive at GB's estate, which is by the river Guadalaviar (= Turia). [Presumably the journey is via Burgos and Zaragoza. It takes them right across Old Castile, though GB's banishment from the Castiles is surely in force by now; to be fair it was a trespass he couldn't easily avoid. As in Bk VI Ch 3 there's some awkwardness in connection with Segorbe, as if Le Sage had a mistaken idea of its whereabouts. As the crow flies it's fully 30 miles from Llíria (10 leagues rather than three) and that's only if you go straight over the Serra Calderona!] 
Ch 4. GB goes to Valencia to thank Don Alphonso (now governor of Valencia).
Ch 5. Valencia. GB goes to the theatre.
Ch 6. Valencia. GB meets Lamela and Don Raphael as Carthusian monks; soon after, they abscond with the monastery's money. 
Ch 7. GB returns to Lirias (Llíria). The library, reducing the household.
Ch 8. Lirias (Llíria). GB falls in love with Antonia.
Ch 9. Lirias (Llíria) and briefly Valencia. GB's wedding. 
Ch 10. Lirias (Llíria). [Scipio's story. Toledo, Galves (Gálvez), back to Obisa (garbled rendering of Cobisa), Toledo, Seville, via Carmona to Cordova (Córdoba).]
Ch 11. [Scipio's story. Cordova (Córdoba), the mountains of Fesira, supposedly on the road to Mérida. (Was it a garbled version of Trassierra? Alternatively, in the Crónica of Francisco de Rades y Andrada (d. 1599), "Fesira" is recorded as the name of a Moorish fortress in the Córdoba area, destroyed in 1209.)]
Ch 12. [Scipio's story. Córdoba, Toledo, then via Rodillas (garbled rendering of Caudilla?) and Maqueda (on foot) and then Illescas (by mule) to Madrid. (Pace Henri van Laun, this is clearly a different Rodillas from the one "near Burgos" in Bk I Ch 11.)]

Book XI

Ch 1. Lirias (Llíria), Valencia. (Death of GB's wife Antonia and his son Alphonso.)
Ch 2. GB and Scipio travel to Madrid, taking less than eight days on two good horses. (GB attempts to gain favour with the new king and new prime minister, the Count d'Olivarez.)
Ch 3. Madrid. (GB in service to Olivarez.)
Ch 4-12. Madrid.
Ch 13. Madrid. [Don Gaston's story (cf Bk IX Ch 6). He leaves Madrid intending to go to Coria. After leaving Colmenar, in the mountains, he gets into a fight and is seriously wounded near Villarejo. After recovering, he proceeds to Coria. (If these common and ambiguous place-names are taken seriously there are a few possibilities on Google Maps, but none really satisfactory. Colmenar del Arroyo and Villarejo del Valle would at least be roughly in the right direction for Extremadura.]
Ch 14. Madrid.

Book XII

Ch 1. GB sent to Toledo. (The end of Don Raphael and Ambrose de Lamela; GB meets Laura again, with her "niece" Lucretia.)
Ch 2-7. Madrid
Ch 8. Madrid. (Includes the king's journey via Aranjuez, Cuenca, and Molina de Aragon to Zaragoza, with Olivarez' delaying tactics.)
Ch 9. GB travels with the disgraced Olivarez to Loeches (a little to the east of Madrid).
Ch 10-11. Loeches. (Death of Olivarez.)
Ch 12. Loeches, then Madrid, then via Cuenca to Lirias (Llíria).
Ch 13. Lirias (Llíria). Visits to Jutella, only a mile away (this seems to be a fictional location).
Ch 14. Lirias (Llíria) and Jutella. 




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Tuesday, June 09, 2026

Adieu le téléphone


 

Julien Clerc is one of the rather select group of pop singers who compose their own music but not the words. Ted Gärdestad, Elton John, Gary Brooker ... Serious musicians all. But aside from Julien Clerc's fabulous melodies and arrangements and singing I wanted to know what the songs were about, so here's a few translations.  They are 95% Google Translate, with a very few adjustments. All these tracks are on the hits package Si on chantait


 


La cavalerie / The cavalry (1968)

Quand je vois les motos sauvages
Qui traversent nos villages
Venues de Californie
De Flandres ou bien de Paris

Quand je vois filer les bolides
Les cuirs fauves et les cuivres
Qui traversent le pays
Dans le métal et le bruit

Moi je pense à la cavalerie
Moi je pense à la cavalerie

Quand s'éloigne la tourmente
Quand retombe la poussière pesante
Et que sombre le pays
Dans le sommeil et l'ennui

Comme dans les films héroïques
Aux moments les plus critiques
Quand tout croule dans ma vie
Quand tout semble compromis

Moi j'entends la cavalerie
Moi je pense à la cavalerie

Un jour je prendrai la route
Vers ailleurs coûte que coûte
Je traverserai la nuit
Pour rejoindre la cavalerie

J'aurai enfin tous les courages
Ce sera mon héritage
Et j'abolirai l'ennui
Dans une nouvelle chevalerie

Moi je pense à la cavalerie
Moi je pense à la cavalerie
Moi je pense à la cavalerie


When I see the wild motorbikes
That tear through our villages
Coming from California
From Flanders or even Paris

When I see the racing machines speeding by
The tawny leathers and the brass
That cross the country
In metal and noise

Me I think of the cavalry
Me I think of the cavalry

When the storm recedes
When the heavy dust settles
And the country sinks
Into sleep and boredom

Like in heroic films
In the most critical moments
When everything crumbles in my life
When everything seems compromised

Me I hear the cavalry
Me I think of the cavalry

One day I will take to the road
Towards somewhere else, whatever the cost
I will cross the night
To join the cavalry

I will finally have all the courage
It will be my legacy
And I will abolish boredom
In a new chivalry

Me I think of the cavalry
Me I think of the cavalry.
Me I think of the cavalry.

(Lyrics: Étienne Roda-Gil)





Ivanovitch (1968)

Il était arrivé Le fiacre l'emportait
Toujours la même ville, toujours les mêmes gares
Des églises barbares
Saint-Pétersbourg ma ville

Ivanovitch est là
Ivanovitch est là
Et le ciel est toujours si gris
Et la pluie chaque jour si triste

Tout est fermé, la maison et la solitaire
Une rumeur, un pas traîné, la porte s'ouvre un peu
Et il est entraîné par ceux
Qui l'appellent mon frère

Ivanovitch est là
Ivanovitch est là
Et le ciel est toujours si gris
Et la pluie chaque jour si triste

Dans un coin du logis tous se pressent autour de lui
La fille a l'air fanée et le garçon gêné
Le père et tous les apprentis
Qui rêvent de Paris

Ivanovitch est là
Ivanovitch est là
Et le ciel est toujours si gris
Et la pluie chaque jour si triste

Ivanovitch est là
Ivanovitch est là

He had arrived. The carriage was carrying him away. 
Always the same city, always the same train stations.
Barbaric churches. Saint Petersburg, my city.

Ivanovich is here.
Ivanovich is here.
And the sky is still so gray.
And the rain, each day, so sad 

Everything is closed, the house and the lonely woman.
A murmur, a shuffling step, the door opens a little.
And he is led away by those who call him my brother.

Ivanovich is here.
Ivanovich is here.
And the sky is still so gray.
And the rain, each day, so sad 

In a corner of the house, everyone crowds around him.
The girl looks withered and the boy embarrassed.
The father and all the apprentices who dream of Paris.

Ivanovich is here.
Ivanovich is here.
And the sky is still so gray.
And the rain, each day, so sad 

Ivanovich is here.
Ivanovich is here.

(Lyrics: Maurice Vallet)





Ce n'est rien / It's nothing (1971)

Ce n'est rien
Tu le sais bien
Le temps passe
Ce n'est rien

Tu sais bien
Elles s'en vont comme les bateaux
Et soudain
Ça revient

Pour un bateau qui s'en va
Et revient
II y a mille coquilles de noix
Sur ton chemin
Qui coulent et c'est très bien

Et c'est comme une tourterelle
Qui s'éloigne à tire d'aile
En emportant le duvet
Qu'était ton lit
Un beau matin
Et ce n'est qu'une fleur nouvelle
Et qui s'en va vers la grêle
Comme un petit radeau frêle
Sur l'océan

Ce n'est rien
Tu le sais bien
Le temps passe
Ce n'est rien
Tu sais bien
Elles s'en vont comme les bateaux
Et soudain

Ça prévient
Comme un bateau qui revient
Et soudain
Il y a mille sirènes de joie
Sur ton chemin
Qui résonnent et c'est très bien

Et c'est comme une tourterelle ...

It's nothing
You know it well
Time passes
It's nothing

You know it well
They go away like boats
And suddenly
It comes back

For a boat that goes away
And comes back
There are a thousand nutshells
On your path
That sink and that's just fine

And it's like a turtledove
That flies away quickly
Taking away the down
That was your bed
One fine morning
And it's just a new flower
And that goes towards the hail
Like a small, fragile raft
On the ocean

It's nothing
You know it well
Time passes
It's nothing
You know it well
They go away like boats
And suddenly

It warns
Like a boat that comes back
And suddenly
There are a thousand sirens of joy
On your path
That resound and that's very Okay.

And it's like a turtledove...

(Lyrics: Étienne Roda-Gil)






Niagara (1971)

Hey Niagara
Je t'en prie sèche tes joues
Ne pleure pas
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Tu vas faire monter la Seine
Arrête-toi

Niagara
Je t'en prie à genoux
Ne m'en veux pas
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Et si je t'appelle comme ça
C'est que ça te va

Demain matin je m'en vais prendre le train
Je t'en prie reste chez toi
Après demain je serai déjà bien loin
À l'abri de tes exploits

Hey! Niagara
Tes sanglots sont si longs que je m'y noie
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Tu inondes mon destin
De ton chagrin

Demain matin je m'en vais prendre le train
Je t'en prie ne pleure pas
Après demain j'aimerais que les gazettes
Ne me parlent pas de toi

Les dentelles fraîches, la la la
De tes grands mouchoirs lilas
Ont vu plus d'écume, la la la
Que les chutes du Niagara
Hey! Niagara
Je t'en prie entre nous retiens-toi
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Une montagne qui pleure
Oui c'est bien toi

Niagara
Je t'oublie, tu m'oublies, restons-en là
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Ne vas pas faire une baignoire
D'un petit rien

Demain matin si c'était mon dernier train
Je t'en prie ne t'affole pas
Après demain n'achète pas les gazettes
Même si elles parlaient de moi

Hey! Niagara
Je t'oublie, tu m'oublies restons-en là
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Et si je t'appelle comme ça
C'est que ça te va
Hey! Hey! Hey! Niagara
C'est que ça te va

Hey Niagara
Please dry your cheeks
Don't cry
Hey! Hey! Hey!
You'll make the Seine rise
Stop

Niagara
Please, on my knees
Don't be mad at me
Hey! Hey! Hey!
And if I call you that
It's because it suits you

Tomorrow morning I'm going to take the train
Please stay home
The day after tomorrow I'll already be far away
Safe from your exploits

Hey! Niagara
Your sobs are so long I'm drowning in them
Hey! Hey! Hey!
You flood my destiny
With your sorrow

Tomorrow morning I'm going to take the train
Please don't cry
The day after tomorrow I'd like the newspapers
Not to mention you

The fresh lace, la la la
Of your big lilac handkerchiefs
Have seen more foam, la la la
Than Niagara Falls
Hey! Niagara
Please, between us, hold back
Hey! Hey! Hey!
A mountain that weeps
Yes, that's you

Niagara
I forget you, you forget me, let's leave it at that
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Don't make a big deal out of nothing

Tomorrow morning, if it were my last train
Please don't panic
The day after tomorrow, don't buy the newspapers
Even if they were talking about me

Hey! Niagara
I forget you, you forget me, let's leave it at that
Hey! Hey! Hey!

And if I call you that
It's because it suits you
Hey! Hey! Hey! Niagara
It's because it suits you


(Lyrics: Étienne Roda-Gil)







This melody (1975)

This melody
Is a melody for you
Cette mélodie
C'est l'océan entre nous
Cette mélodie
D'eau salée et de mélancolie
Dans ton pays
Elle te revient parfois
Comme ça, voilà, comme ça

Le vent d'ici
Fait voler tous nos oiseaux
Les champs d'ici
Font ce qu'ils peuvent pour les troupeaux
Les gens d'ici
Qui ne connaîtront pas d'autre vie
Dans ce pays
Dont les fruits sont si beaux
Qu'on se contente des noyaux
This melody
Is a melody for you
Les gens d'ici ne sont pas plus grands
Plus fiers ou plus beaux
Seulement, ils sont d'ici, les gens d'ici,
Comme cette mélodie

Les gens d'ici ne sont pas plus grands
Plus fiers ou plus beaux
Seulement, ils sont d'ici, les gens d'ici,
Comme cette mélodie

Tu est partie
Mais ton rêve reste au chaud
Ce vieux soleil
Était trop fort pour ta peau
Cette mélodie
Qui reviendra parfois dans ta vie
Cette mélodie
Dans ta ville s'est transformée en pluie, en pluie

That's why
This melody is a melody for you


This melody
Is a melody for you
This melody
It's the ocean between us
This melody
Of salt water and melancholy
In your country
It comes back to you sometimes
Like that, that's it, like that

The wind round here
Makes all our birds fly
The fields round here
Do what they can for the herds
People here
Who will not know another life
In this country
Whose fruits are so luscious
That they make do with the stones 
This melody
Is a melody for you
The people here are not taller
Prouder or more beautiful
Only, they are from here, the people from here,
Like this melody

The people here are not taller
Prouder or more beautiful
Only, they are from here, the people from here,
Like this melody

You left
But your dream stays warm
This old sun
Was too strong for your skin
This melody
Who will sometimes come back into your life
This melody
In your city turned into rain, into rain

That's why
This melody is a melody for you

(Lyrics: Étienne Roda-Gil)





Ma préférence / My preference (1978)


Je le sais
Sa façon d'être à moi parfois
Vous déplaît
Autour d'elle et moi le silence se fait
Mais elle est
Ma préférence à moi

Oui je sais
Cet air d'indifférence qui est
Sa défense
Vous fait souvent offense

Mais quand elle est
Parmi mes amis de faïence
De faïence
Je sais ma défaillance

Je le sais
On ne me croit pas fidèle à
Ce qu'elle est
Et déjà vous parlez d'elle à l'imparfait
Mais elle est
Ma préférence à moi

Il faut le croire
Moi seul je sais quand elle a froid
Ses regards
Ne regardent que moi

Par hasard
Elle aime mon incertitude
Par hasard
J'aime sa solitude

Je le sais
Sa façon d'être à moi parfois
Vous déplaît
Autour d'elle et moi
le silence se fait
Mais elle est
Elle est ma chance à moi
Ma préférence à moi
Ma préférence à moi

 
I know it
Her way of being with me, sometimes
Displeases you
Around her and me, silence falls
But she is
My preference...

Yes, I know
That air of indifference which is
Her defense
Often offends you...

But when she is
Among my porcelain friends
Porcelain
I know my weakness...

I know it
They don't credit my faith in
What she is
And already you talk of her in
The past tense
But she is
My preference ...

You must believe it
Only I know that when she feels cold
Her looks
Are only looking at me

By chance
She loves my uncertainty
By chance
I love her solitude...

You must believe it
Only I know when she feels cold
Her looks
Are only looking at me

By chance
She loves my uncertainty
By chance
I love her solitude...

I know it
Her way of being with me, sometimes
Displeases you
Around her and me, silence falls
But she is
She is my chance
My preference
My preference...

(Lyrics: Jean-Loup Dabadie)







Fais-moi une place / Make me a place (1989)

Fais-moi une place au fond d'ta bulle
Et si j't'agace, si j'suis trop nul
Je deviendrai tout pâle, tout muet, tout p'tit
Pour que tu m'oublies

Fais-moi une place au fond d'ton cœur
Pour que j't'embrasse lorsque tu pleures
Je deviendrai tout fou, tout clown, gentil
Pour qu'tu souries

J'veux qu't'aies jamais mal, qu't'aies jamais froid
Et tout m'est égal, tout, à part toi
Je t'aime

Fais-moi une place dans ton av'nir
Pour que j'ressasse moins mes souvenirs
Je s'rai jamais éteint, hautain, lointain
Pour qu'tu sois bien

Fais-moi une place dans tes urgences
Dans tes audaces, dans ta confiance
Je s'rai jamais distant, distrait, cruel
Pour qu'tu sois belle

J'veux pas qu'tu t'ennuies, j'veux pas qu't'aies peur
J'voudrais qu'tu oublies l'goût du malheur
Je t'aime

Une petite place, ici, maintenant
Car le temps passe à pas d'géant
Je me ferai tout neuf, tout beau, tout ça
Pour être à toi

Je me ferai tout neuf, tout beau, tout ça
Pour être à toi
Pour être à toi

Make me a place deep inside your bubble
And if I annoy you, if I'm too useless
I'll become pale, mute, and small
So that you forget me

Make me a place deep inside your heart
So I can kiss you when you cry
I'll be a fool, a clown, tender
So that you smile

I want you to never be in pain, never be cold
And nothing matters to me, nothing, except you
I love you

Make me a place in your future
So I dwell less on my memories
I'll never be shut down, haughty, distant
So you'll be well

Make me a place in your emergencies
In your daring, in your confidence
I'll never be distant, distracted, cruel
So you'll be beautiful

I don't want you to be bored, I don't want you to 
Don't be afraid
I want you to forget the taste of unhappiness
I love you

A little place, here, now
Because time flies by
I'll make myself all new, all handsome, all that
To be yours

I'll make myself all new, all handsome, all that
To be yours
To be yours

(Lyrics: Françoise Hardy)





La belle est arrivée / The belle has arrived (1992)

Pour que la belle arrive, il faut avoir gagné
Dans un excès de confiance, avoir perdu après.
Adieu le téléphone, les rendez-vous plombés
Adieu toutes les autres, la belle est arrivée.

Adieu la vie des hommes, les Saints du calendrier
Pour le temps qui me reste, la belle est arrivée...

Pour que la belle arrive, il faut avoir perdu
Dans un dernier coup de reins, avoir gagné après.
Il va falloir se battre, il va falloir gagner.
Adieu toutes les autres, la belle est arrivée.

For the belle to arrive, one must have won
Over-confidently, and then lost.
Goodbye to the phone, the doomed dates,
Goodbye to all the others: the belle has arrived.

Goodbye to the lives of men, the saints of the calendar
For the time I have left, the belle has arrived...

For the belle to arrive, one must have lost
In a final burst of energy, and then won.
It will be necessary to fight, it will be necessary to win.
Goodbye to all the others, the belle has arrived.

(Lyrics: Étienne Roda-Gil)




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Friday, May 22, 2026

The Isle of Portland

 

Graphic in Portland: a Triptych by Susan Duxbury Hibbert



touchable stone(s) left in imaginations' flows to be, I hope, re-eroded by readers ... and re-built again by them ...


I'll take that invitation from the Author's Note by Mark Goodwin. In fact I'm not sure how else I would get to the quarry-face of Portland: a Triptych (KFS, 2019) without a weary trudge over explanatory ground.  


Mark Goodwin:


StPaul'sCathedralpartlycrushedbyTheUnitedNationsBuil
ding&otherNewYorkfacadesBigBenThePalaceofWestmins
ter&BuckinghamPalacejostlingonthetipofTheBillBigBeno
nitssidetrain-wiseorlikeapatientwaitingrocketasleeepall
spacesonTop&UnderHillsoccupiedbyallPortlandStonebuil
dingseverconstructedanywhereinaworldonanEarththeTo
werofLondonChristchurchPrioryLondonBridgemangledto
gethertoresembleanornateglacialmoraineyetwithenough
voidswallsfloors&corridorstodrawinmenwithstringinsear
chofbeastslikebullsPolaris&Persephonechattinginnumer
ouscoolwhitesepulchresasifomnipotentascenotaphsrisefr
omrubbleroundthemTheBritishMuseumTheBankofEngla



Tim Allen:

Psalm belly eagles onto platform. He's the train's draper.
For the wild crystal 14 year olds. Flamingo voiced.
Origin of Species inseparable from mum's separates.

Daemon's dropper glare. Kittiwake flounces whitefish skirt.
Morose old coal-horse in love again with a look-alike foal.
High Noon magi dust air shocks pink torchlight dust.

I ironed out helicopters. Any old raison against the current. 
The wood wobbled in the shorts and rotted in the longleg.
Lazy gamer snorts reasons for vandalising Auntie Oolite.

Bucketful of green drizzle makes room for orchard of crabs.
Monstrous tar flowers in Vestal temple. Romantic hate.
Phosphorescent trickle. Smell of the galaxy's dewy cleft.

Austere stillness drums in Austin 1100 as silent as lice.
Behind a veil of herring girt roots of sanity insanely shrill.
Stuff fester milk stiff saucer mould. Fitting room panic.

The young helicopter pilot posed as Aphrodite's owl.
The young helicopter's forearm posed in the owl's boots.
Poverty fox doubts that any of these riches really exist.



Norman Jope:

In this port of call
he paces like a prisoner –
distilled sea water
has turned to sweat,
in a place whose only resource
is salt.

The greens of Charleville are alien
to this place of doomsday fire
where Abel lies, an eternal creditor
in a squadron-whine of mosquitoes,
below Big Ben's dwarf replica
on the slopes above misfortune's well.

He has come to bury his past in gold,
to pay homage at the Tower of Silence.
He hates this horrible rock
but hears its call to prayer
above the muezzin
who marshals the inmates
against this interpreter,
this coxcomb lyricist.

He knows long residence
impairs the faculties,
and soon will dwell instead
amongst hyenas in Harar –
but he bides his time
as sunlight moistens
the harbour's eye,
its cargo of fins and maws.

*

A book about the Isle of Portland, so long as you don't take "about" in a narrowly discursive sense. A book that releases Portland, maybe. 

Extracts are always a violence, and the above samples don't come away cleanly: each is traduced in its own way. 

Mark Goodwin's block of text (from Portland Mix, p.14) is really meant to be black and grey and sideways to the page. Its buildings and monuments are made of Portland stone. Tophill and Underhill are topographical features dividing the island: Portland stone is quarried from the shallow strata of Tophill. 

Tim Allen's growing-up lines (from Pontoon 4, p. 22) are shorn of their marginal commentary. For instance, the first verse I've quoted is annotated Sermon on the Hump. That is, the Green Hump in Hallelujah Bay. Tim's questioning of his childhood faith is a recurrent theme, and hence I suppose the Darwin references. Kittiwake: they nest on the cliffs of Portland and are seen from the Bill. Tar Rocks: coastal reef in Hallelujah Bay exposed at low tide. Austin 1100: popular 1960s car. Little Owl: common on Portland, nesting in abandoned quarries. They are Athene's owl in Greek mythology, but in this memory they are Aphrodite's owl. 

The extract from Norman Jope (Veästa, p. 38) is the most violently decontextualized: this comes from the section about Aden (Aden Mix), and its intruder-poet (or rather, ex-poet) is Arthur Rimbaud, born in Charleville. That was in 1880, ten years before the completion of Big Ben Aden, never mind the "dwarf replica" in Arwa Street, Crater. "Misfortune's well" might refer to British colonisation or the Aden Emergency or the notoriously impoverished back-streets of Crater (Aden's arab quarter in colonial times).  But here as in its other armed service interludes (Gibraltar Mix, Maltese Mix) the poem keeps echoing the Isle of Portland, in this case the village of Fortuneswell in the steep Underhill part of the island. As per Mark Goodwin, Big Ben has a Portland connection too, though actually rather tenuous: Portland stone is in the Palace of Westminster's ancient foundations and recent restorations, but not the 19th-century work. Other Portland references are persistent: the prisoner, the harbour . . . The "coxcomb lyricist" refers back to the Veästa of Portland legend, "a mythical monster, like a red-bearded cockerel with half-yard legs" (Norman's Author's Note). 








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Saturday, May 16, 2026

Drawn by the unctuous snail


The Dandelion Fairy, by Cicely Mary Barker


In such employments, as rearing the drooping flower, and arranging the disordered chamber, the Fairies of South Britain gradually lost the harsher character of the dwarfs, or elves. Their choral dances were enlivened by the introduction of the merry goblin Puck, for whose freakish pranks they exchanged their original mischievous propensities. The Fairies of Shakespeare, Drayton, and Mennis, therefore, at first exquisite fancy portraits, may be considered as having finally operated a change in the original which gave them birth.

(Scott, The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (1802))

Yes, I get it, -- though the word "mischievous" led me astray for a moment, because since Scott's time its meaning has softened along with the fairies themselves. 

It was a line of winsome fairy evolution that  resulted, for instance, in the Langs' Fairy Books and in Cicely Mary Barker's lovely Flower Fairies. The once-daemonic spirits completed their long journey to the nursery,  as C.S. Lewis probably remarked. 

The development that Scott traced through A Midsummer Night's Dream and Drayton's Nymphidia was also a poetic escape of fancy crossed with nascent science, with huge influence on later poetry and across all the arts. 

But who's ever heard of  "Mennis"? The name meant nothing to me. 

So after an hour of café research, to which Al contributed nothing, I arrived at Vice-Admiral Sir John Mennes or Mennis (1599 - 1671), and the poem that Scott was surely thinking of, "King Oberon's Apparell", which appeared in Musarum Deliciae, or The Muses Recreation  (1656).  


KING OBERON'S APPARELL

When the monthly horned queen
Grew jealous, that the stars had seen
Her rising from Endimions armes,
In rage, she throws her misty charmes
Into the bosome of the night,
To dim their curious prying light. 
Then did the dwarfish faery elves 
(Having first attir'd themselves)
Prepare to dresse their Oberon king
In highest robes for revelling.
In a cobweb shirt, more thin
Then ever spider since could spin,
Bleach'd by the whitenesse of the snow,
As the stormy windes did blow
It in the vast and freezing aire;
No shirt halfe so fine, so faire.
    A rich wastcoat they did bring
Made of the trout-flies gilded wing,
At that his Elveship 'gan to fret,
Swearing it would make him sweat,
Even with its weight, and needs would wear
His wastcoat wove of downy haire,
New shaven from an Eunuch's chin;
That pleas'd him well, 'twas wondrous thin.
    The out-side of his doublet was
Made of the four-leav'd true-love grasse,
On which was set so fine a glosse,
By the oyle of crispy mosse;
That through a mist, and starry light,
It made a rainbow every night.
On every seam, there was a lace
Drawn by the unctuous snailes slow trace;
To it, the purest silver thread
Compar'd, did look like dull pale lead.
    Each button was a sparkling eye
Ta'ne from the speckled adders frye,
Which in a gloomy night, and dark,
Twinckled like a fiery spark: 
And, for coolnesse, next his skin,
'Twas with white poppy lin'd within.
    His breeches of that fleece were wrought,
Which from Colchos Jason brought;
Spun into so fine a yarne,
That mortals might it not discerne;
Wove by Arachne, in her loom,
Just before she had her doom;
Dy'd crimson with a maidens blush,
And lyn'd with dandelyon push.
    A rich mantle he did wear,
Made of tinsel gossamere,
Be-starred over with a few
Dyamond drops of morning dew.
    His cap was all of ladies love,
So passing light, that it did move,
If any humming gnat or fly
But buzz'd the ayre, in passing by;
About it was a wreath of pearle,
Drop'd from the eyes of some poor girle 
Pinch'd, because she had forgot
To leave faire water in the pot.
And for feather, he did weare 
Old Nisus fatall purple haire.
    The sword they girded on his thigh,
Was smallest blade of finest rye.
    A paire of buskins they did bring
Of the cow-ladyes corall wing;
Powder'd o're with spots of jet,
And lin'd with purple-violet.
    His belt was made of mirtle leaves,
Plaited in small curious threaves,
Beset with amber cowslip studds,
And fring'd about with daizy budds,
In which his bugle horne was hung,
Made of the babbling Ecchoes tongue;
Which set unto his moon-burn'd lip,
He windes, and then his faeries skip:
At that, the lazy dawn 'gan sound,
And each did trip a faery round.

[Poem source: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.b3539530&seq=89 .]

In Victorian times, when the poem attracted anthologists, it was sometimes assigned to Sir John Mennes and sometimes to his friend and co-author James Smith (rector of Barnstaple, etc), but it's somewhat untypical of their droll letter poems (the ones I like best are "Upon the Biting of Fleas" and "Upon Lute-strings Cat-eaten").

Perhaps for good reason: "Oberon's Apparell" seems to date from thirty years before, c. 1626, one early copy assigning it to the MP Sir Simeon Steward. (There are other un-accredited intrusions in Musarum Deliciae,  for instance Richard Brome's "Upon Aglaura In Folio".)

Steward isn't otherwise known as a poet, and many have supposed the real author was his friend Robert Herrick, though Herrick never claimed it. Anyway it was evidently a companion-piece to Herrick's three other Oberon poems (Oberon's Chapel, Oberon's Palace, Oberon's Feast). But whoever wrote it, I hope you'll agree with me that it's well worth transcribing for the digital age.

For the Herrick connection, see the 1869 edition of Hesperidae by William Carew Hazlitt:

https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=SgNBAAAAcAAJ&pg=PA481&dq=%22crispy+moss%22+hesperides&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&source=gb_mobile_search&ovdme=1&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwit-pSG1b-UAxU0UkEAHfQwEPMQuwV6BAgIEAg#v=onepage&q&f=false

four-leaved true-love grasse: Herb-paris (Paris quadrifolia).

crispy mosse: Perhaps the red seaweed commonly called Irish Moss (Chondrus crispus), source of carrageenan. Gelatinous extracts were used as food additives as far back as the 15th century, and might be the "oyle" referred to here.

dandelyon push: a typo for "plush", I'm guessing.

tinsel gossamere: "tinsel" at this time referred to lightweight fabrics with a metallic sheen (as much used in the fancy garments of the nobility); "gossamer" to the floating lines of cobwebby material on summer mornings.

Nisus: King Nisos of Megara, whose purple lock of hair kept him safe from harm, until cut off by his daughter Scylla (who had fallen in love with his enemy Minos). The story is in Book 8 of Ovid's Metamorphoseshttps://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Metamorphoses_(tr._Garth,_Dryden,_et_al.)/Book_VIII .

buskins: laced boots.

cow-lady: ladybird, ladybug.

threaves: A threave or thrave is an agricultural measure, typically 24 sheaves; sometimes used figuratively to mean a large number or quantity. But here I suppose the threaves are knots or bunches.

amber cowslip studds: the five orange-brown dots in the cup of a cowslip flower. 


Sir John Mennes, portrait by Anthony van Dyck.

[Image source: Wikipedia .]


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Saturday, May 09, 2026

The Trees of Frome

When I first moved to Frome in 1991 my partner of the time said I should write a booklet called The Trees of Frome. In those pre-internet days that meant jotting down notes in a notebook, but I didn't get very far. I suppose I was always going on about trees, but I didn't have the required expertise then, and I still don't, though I've written about a few Frome trees over the years, particularly cherry trees. 

Anyway this post lists a few trees that would certainly need to feature in any hypothetical Trees of Frome. I've been looking at them for many years  but as you'll see I still can't necessarily name them! 



Huntingdon Elm, maybe. Frome, 7 May 2026.


Halfway along Spring Road, easy to overlook but locally well-known, this splendid mature elm in a private garden. 

Why it acts as if Dutch Elm disease never happened, I have no idea. 

The only elms I really know are English Elm and Wych Elm. This one is neither (the leaves are pretty smooth). A recent consultation with the Facebook tree group emphasized the formidable complexity of Ulmus but it's not unlikely to be a Huntingdon Elm (Ulmus x hollandica 'Vegeta'), much planted in parks and gardens in the 1930s.

There are other mature elms in the Frome area. There were at least two Wych Elms in the grounds of Marston House when I worked there 20 years ago, and there probably still are (it was offices then, but is now a private residence). Beside a Beckington layby there's a line of three healthy elms around which a copse has subsequently grown up: they are Field Elms at least in part, but I can't pin them down to a known variety. 


London Plane. Frome, 7 May 2026.

There's something inappropriate about London Planes being anywhere other than a city. Still, Frome has this one, behind Ellenbray close to the footbridge, and the massive bole, split into three or four, gets noticed by everyone. Like most London Planes it gives the impression of intending to live forever. 


Lime tree. Frome, 9 May 2026.

This lime tree, at Hillclose Farm, Spring Gardens, was already huge in 1991 and it's even bigger now. Like a mountain, you need to be quite a long way off to see where the true summit is. . 

It seems to be a Common Lime that looks very much like a Small-leaved Lime, if I can put it that way. For example the flower-bracts stick out in all directions, the leaves are small and matte. (But: impressed tertiary veins, off-white tufts on underside, strictly 6 flowers per bunch.)

Below, a view inside the canopy.


Lime tree. Frome, 9 May 2026.


Poplar tree. Frome, 7 May 2026.

Another mighty tree. This is the most impressive of several impressive poplars along the river. They are American hybrid poplars, but that's as far as my knowledge goes. This one's at Welshmill, just below the weir. It's across the river from the play-park, so parents and grandparents get plenty of time to look at it. 


Caucasian Wingnut (Pterocarya fraxinifolia). Frome, 20 May 2026.

If you walk around the perimeter of the Cattle Market car park, you'll be momentarily plunged into an exotic jungle, created by three wingnut trees. To the best of my knowledge (basically, none) these trees are Caucasian Wingnut (Pterocarya fraxinifolia) -- Other wingnuts are available!

Below, a shot of the ash-like foliage, the striking long female catkins and the shorter male ones. 


Caucasian Wingnut (Pterocarya fraxinifolia). Frome, 20 May 2026.



Ash (Fraxinus excelsior). Frome, 10 May 2026.

The magnificent ash tree in the car-park at Frome College. 

Most of the isolated trees in town seem unaffected by ash die-back, in contrast to the devastated ash-woods on the Mendips. 

Sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus). Frome, 7 May 2026.

Every tree has its moment. This is a common-or-garden sycamore by the river, by no means an outstanding tree, but as I was taking photos for this post I was suddenly struck by the fabulous sight of all those hanging flowers at this time of year. So it snuck in. 


A puzzle. Driving from Beckington towards Frome, as you come down the hill on the by-pass, you see what appears to be a line of seven or eight Lombardy poplars on the horizon. I notice them every day, and after thirty years I still can't figure out where they are! 

The view towards Longleat and Stourhead. Frome, 10 May 2026.

Enjoy this view from the SE edge of Frome, looking over the valley to the greensand ridge of Longleat and Stourhead. Soon there are going to be 1,700 houses going up on these fields. There was strong local opposition to the plan ("Selwood Garden Community", it was called), the town council rejected it and Somerset Council were wavering when the decision was called in by central government, and now the planning inspector has done his job.  



*

'Taoyame' and a list of Frome's cherry trees:

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2019/04/that-cherry-tree-in-frome.html

'Kursar':

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2024/02/february-cherry.html

'Ichiyo':

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2019/04/prunus-ichiyo.html

'Umineko':

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2021/04/prunus-umineko.html

Norway Maple (Acer platanoides):

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2021/10/norway-maple.html

Downy Birch (Betula pubescens):

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-down-on-birch.html

Cornelian Cherry (Cornus mas):

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2020/08/cornelian-cherry-cornus-mas.html

Western Red Cedar (Thuja plicata):

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2021/01/western-red-cedar-thuja-plicata.html

Lime trees (Tilia species):


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