Granny Green Eyes

Well. Would you know it? Granny's got green eyes, the rarest colour on the planet apparently and often associated with witches. Ooh now, there's a thing! I wonder...

The most common colour worldwide is of course brown but particularly in the northern hemisphere, blue and green are more common.

With the advent of smart-phones, I read that millions of predominantly brown-eyed Asians are conducting searches driven by a well-known Bollywood actress with the intriguing sea-green eyes that occur occasionally on that continent, and mainly as far as they are concerned in Northern India and Afghanistan. I have actually met a couple of Indian women with green eyes and with their beautiful skin-tone, the combination was quite stunning.

One of the most searched-for eye-colour related questions on the internet generally, is in regard to the late Elizabeth Taylor's 'violet' eyes which of course were no such thing, since there is no such thing. Her eyes were an unusual shade of dark blue. Clever make-up, lighting, clothing and I suspect an imaginative studio publicity department, ensured the 'violet' legend thrived.

Granny's grandson has striking and unusual aquamarine-coloured eyes from parents of blue and blackish-brown though his sister's are brown. Granny's eyes are a different shade from his altogether - closer to my father's hazel eyes which were a mix of green and brown.

In ancient Egypt, green was considered the colour of good health, life and re-birth, and the Eye of Horus amulet – worn to protect one against illness – was most often made of green stone. In folktales around the world, witches, nymphs and water spirits often have green eyes. I am supposedly curious, intelligent and a little surprising and mischievousness.

I will have to leave that to others to decide, meanwhile all I shall say is pass me my reading glasses please...

Mumpers Dingle

Standing in my kitchen one day when I lived in Sprowston on the outskirts of Norwich, I became aware of a squawking noise in the house, accompanied by heavy banging. On investigation I found it came from our staircase where my Siamese cat Max was struggling to the top dragging a young chicken between his legs. By dint of much praise and coaxing, which meant he opened his mouth to thank me back in Siamese, I managed to grab the chicken and affect a rescue.

The next thing was to secure the fowl, so I emptied and up-ended the laundry basket and penned the bird in the garage with some grain while I tried to find where it had been stolen from. I was unsuccessful and the only place I knew that had chickens was a little old-fashioned bungalow a long way off at the end of the road. It was called Mumpers Dingle.

I had peered over the back fence once or twice before, fascinated to see many fancy chickens of every shape, size and variety scraping away in the unkempt grounds pecking at grain the old lady who lived there sprinkled for them. Some sported great floppy topknots of feathers and others heavily-feathered legs. They were every hue of white, gold or black. Cockerels strutted importantly and flashed iridescent colours of blue and green while the duller hens cackled submissively.

There was only one thing for it. Under cover of darkness I stole up the road with my rescue

bird under my arm and lobbed it over the gate. Perfect!

I like to think my little rescuee went on to have a happy life at Mumpers Dingle and was sad when the scruffy old property was sold, torn down and urbanised, the little estate of houses built over the grounds primly renamed Holly Bank.

I will never forget the charm of its name though, and immortalised it in a song I wrote not surprisingly called - Mumpers Dingle. Of course, the little old lady may or may not have been a spinster called Maisie Green...

Maisie Green was young and keen,

Always fresh and always clean, All the lads gave her the eye, Preened themselves when she went by. Only problem they could see that made them shake and tingle, Was when they came to take her out and called at Mumpers Dingle.

‘Twas when the boys came calling on that luscious Mistress Green, They faced a demon cockerel – the like they’d never seen! Eyes they felt upon them, feathers rustled rough, Spurs held sharp and ready, their kneecaps for to cut. Somewhere laid in ambush a cockerel on attack, Intent on warning suitors that there'd be no coming back!

He’d have their eye, he’d peck their knee He’d fly their head and hair he’d shred - their very hearts did tremble. (x 2)

Maisie did grow desperate; on boys she was so keen, Though Ma always insisted that they met with Mr. Green, Dad was not the problem, so well-disposed was he - ‘Twas crossing the yard from gate to door – Would they make the kitchen floor?!

The yard it was haphazard, with feathers like a blizzard, Chicks and hens of every hue, Around the garden squawked and flew. Plumes on their legs and crests on their heads Beaks of yellow and combs of red, Fancy hens a’scrapin’ at corn and dust and shingle, Running and a’squawkin’ for the pride of Mumpers Dingle.

Would they come to lasting harm? (That gave them cause for deep alarm.) Could they ever spoon with Maisie? Maisie drove ‘em crazy!

Alas! Alack! Each suitor soon threw down his hat And called with voice a-trembling: “Forget our date sweet Maisie Green, I love you dear as you have seen, You may be young, you may be bright, you’re able, lithe and nimble, But while that cock is so cock-sure, I’m leaving Mumpers Dingle”.

That cock he lived for ever, ruled the roost ‘til death – A wizened, old crone now tends his plot, a batty lady time forgot, All suitors gone, her time dragged on Miss Green was destined single – Perhaps by now she’d be a wife but for the cock of Mumper’s Dingle?

Granny's Bowling Season

Ready for an indoor bowling session...

I do love a game of bowls. Indoor bowls. Short-mat bowls to be precise.

Short-mat bowls has little of the high-tech, razzmatazz of ten-pin-bowling to be sure. Nor the wider aspects of the outdoor game which is played on fine green lawns in all kinds of British weather! This is a game created for small venues and has been scaled down from the longer rinks of purpose-built indoor bowls clubs, especially to fit into village halls and community centres.

The sponge-backed mats are around 13 metres long and are set down with a block of wood across the middle for added interest (and annoyance)! A game of great skill, it's rather a shame it suffers from a dull image, as it can get very competitive and noisy at times! Many, indeed most of the players are senior citizens who enjoy the socialising and buzz of competition and it's good to see folk getting out and about, visiting different venues.

Often our club hosts other teams from our local league and vice versa. The groups usually turn up in team colours and their bowls, which are weighted so they move with a bias, are marked with coloured team stickers. My own bowls are quite small compared to some of the those the gents use, so I am disadvantaged sometimes as mine tend to rebound off the bigger ones. Conversely, I can sometimes use their smaller size to 'trickle' through to the small, heavy cott (or jack) via narrow gaps!

All teams observe the formalities of a friendly handshake at the beginning and end of each practice game or competition match, and we generally have a good experience though some, it may be said, take the game a lot more seriously than others.

It's a pity more young people don't play either long or short mat bowls. One or two are now coming through and I must say jazzier clothing and the newer coloured bowls are a step in the right enticing direction. They're proving very popular and lend bright touches to the rinks. Our team shirts too have brightened up. We are now kitted out in white with orange and black trim. Very snazzy!

Our small club usually languishes somewhere in the middle of the league tables but this season, dressed to kill, we're determined to be promoted. We shall see...

A recent competition...

http://www.shortmatnorfolk.co.uk/