An Exhibition and Madam Du Bois (continued)

The other person I was introduced to was the Legendary and mysterious Madam Du Bois. She came imperiously over and eyed me in her Dame Edna Everidge style glasses, then smiled and spoke in what was clearly a very English accent that was somewhat of a shock! She was no more French than I was, but was still a significant presence in the room. We talked briefly and she very quickly put me at my ease. I discovered she had a wonderful ability to make anyone and everyone feel at ease. Having that rare gift of making each person feel important and worthy, very much like Denis. I then discovered the reason she was called Madam Du Bois, it was Denis that gave her this title due, I think, to his sense of humour and love of France. She in fact was born and raised in Leatherhead and her forename was Ida, but she was always called by her middle name, Betty. I was a bit disappointed that she was not this foreign mythical “French madam” person. She was quite clearly very English without a trace of accent and the only reason for her classy name was that her surname was Wood. I don;t remember much more about the evening and must have left and returned home with my parents. A sobering experience for me, but one where I learned a lot.

Extracts from my journal 1977 – 78

As I settled into life at the pottery, I became more and more receptive to nature and the changing seasons and I began to write a journal. As I walked from house to pottery studio and pottery studio to house I would take in my surroundings and grew fond of the plants and wild things I was surrounded by.

31^st October 1977

Winter has come to Greendene with gales and wild clouds blazing over the wet hills. There is a wonderful light of dazzling blue where the dark clouds are torn apart, a gash of sunset between walls of grey. I’m cloud conscious and watch silently.

Leaves have fallen these past few days the orange and gold patches have grown and the dead leaves clog the gutters. I have to search out my heavy clothes and my personality changes with the season, shutting doors, closing in. Arms will be hugged together and hands stuffed in pockets to keep warm. The smell of burning bonfires fills my nostrils and this is Halloween.

3^rd November 1977

The sad news that perhaps Greendene will have to be sold! I’m thinking that the old place is looking a bit dilapidated and forlorn. Its magic lingers and must be retained in my heart, it must not slip away.

7^th Janurary 1978

It’s a new day born out of the old, like a new spring grown out of the cold earth

9^th January

The still cold quiet tree, its sadness sings in every bough and the light cuts the tracery like roots in the sky. Dormant it stands, but still speaks of better times, though slumbering now in these deep dark days

15^th February 1978

As I came over the hill there was a beautiful light this morning, sun shining through clouds. It is a circle of white with a yellow ring and pale gold against green bough bare and tangled.

24^th February

The wild weather has abated and I saw the snowdrops forcing themselves through the soil. Bird songs fill the air and excitement mounts as nature slowly turns its wheel, responding to the light. It is a harsh light with ragged grey and purple clouds that scoot across the larches on the hill above Greendene. It’s a marvellous magical light behind the beeches silhouetted, just like a Paul Nash or his brother John. I watch Nino the cat looking out of the window on his world and decide to make a cup of tea.

8^th March

The weather has been beautiful the last few days and as I climbed the path up to the house the youthful scents were incredible, along with the sounds of early spring. The evening spread its red glow over the bronze of the tangled branches. I had almost forgotten what blue sky and sunshine was really like. As the daylight was lasting longer now I took a trip up the hill looking for primroses and snowdrops they are such delicate wonders after the harshness of frosts and wind. Everything is poised and waiting for the explosion of spring. The buds on the chestnut at the ends of the branches looking like hands grasping for light. I think this spring I can really enjoy the sunshine and nature as it reveals itself through the season.

(To be continued, the next chapter Denis Dies)