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Nettlecombe: Garden in October

Nettlecombe: Garden in October

‘As the Second World War draws to a close, a group of six friends pool resources in order to rent a sizeable House in the Country – capital H, capital C. Their list of requirements is exacting. It has to be ‘one of those houses that’s been built bit by bit, for hundreds of years’. It has to have acres of land and dozens of outhouses. As it turns out, such a house does exist, a pretty, rambling but rather rundown Tudor manor house in deepest Kent. And so they move in . . .’
Cooling off – Dunvegan

Cooling off – Dunvegan

‘Reading Haldane has transformed the way I understand the Highlands. He taught me how to follow on foot the routes of the drove roads, and to look for the patches of open ground that would have been the “stances” of the drovers: the resting-places, close to water and on level ground, where the men could sleep and the livestock could graze. And he introduced me to the drovers themselves: these hard men, the long-distance lorry-drivers of their day, accustomed to the boredoms and rigours of their journeys, and equipped with internalized sat-navs of astonishing accuracy. They navigated not from maps but from memories, stories and gossip . . .’
Cover Artist: Slightly Foxed Issue 58, Debbie George, ‘Forget me not’

Cover Artist: Slightly Foxed Issue 58, Debbie George, ‘Forget me not’

Debbie George has been a painter for over twenty years. Her work is a celebration of her passion for flowers and the objects with which she surrounds herself. She finds inspiration in many forms, ranging from ceramics and plants to books and wallpaper, textiles and landscape. Assembling flowers or objects within the foreground of a painting and setting them against a variety of backdrops, Debbie builds up layers of paint that create a wonderful luminosity and depth.
Somerset Garden

Somerset Garden

‘She rises still. A region must be found unhaunted by birds, that else might profane the mystery. She rises still; and already the ill-assorted troop below are dwindling and falling asunder. The feeble, infirm, the aged, unwelcome, ill fed, who have flown from inactive or impoverished cities – these renounce the pursuit and disappear in the void. Only a small, indefatigable cluster remain, suspended in infinite opal. She summons her wings for one final effort; and now the chosen of incomprehensible forces has reached her, has seized her, and, bounding aloft with united impetus, the ascending spiral of their intertwined flight whirls for one second in the hostile madness of love.’

‘Thanks for all this grace and beauty . . .

. . . Thank you for the beauty of your website and the quarterly magazine. It’s a real pleasure to read and discover authors, admire the unique editions and fine drawings. Also, I appreciate all your attention, your delicate packaging. It’s heart-warming to know that somewhere there are some persons who have so much enthusiasm and humanity to share their passion, and contribute to preserving the memory of these talented authors and beautiful land.’
M. Garny-Belabed, Virton, Belgium

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