“I comma square bracket recruit’s name square bracket comma do solemnly swear by square bracket recruit’s deity of choice square bracket to uphold the Laws and Ordinances of the City of Ankh-Morpork comma serve the public truƒt comma and defend the ƒubjects of his ƒtroke her bracket delete whichever is inappropriate bracket Majeƒty bracket name of reigning monarch bracket without fear comma favour comma or thought of perƒonal ƒafety semi-colon to purƒue evildoers and protect the innocent comma comma laying down my life if neceƒsary in the cauƒe of said duty comma so help me bracket aforeƒaid deity bracket full stop Gods Save the King stroke Queen bracket delete whichever is inappropriate bracket full stop.”
– Terry Pratchett, ‘Night Watch‘
Whenever I think about commas, the absence of commas, or an over-abundance of commas in writing, the first person that springs to mind is Corporal Carrot. I’m absolutely sure I read somewhere about the way that Carrot uses commas in his letters home, but (even after looking A LOT) I just can’t find the passage I’m thinking of.
I went for a slightly boring walk today. Not deliberately, but the weather, a list of chores that need to be completed before I head off tomorrow, and taking a friend to Norwich to collect her car from the garage conspired against me. I headed out for a circular road walk that I can complete fairly quickly, but that still provides lots to look at. I hadn’t, however, worked out that the recent rains would have flooded my normal route to the point that it was impassable in trainers (without getting very soggy feet), and I had to turn back less than half way round. On top of that, the recent hot spell (before the now almost constant rain) had ensured that the normally lush verges were somewhat crunchy and full of nettles instead. So it was a little more dull than I hoped. But it was warm, it wasn’t actually raining and there was a buzzard circling overhead, keeing plaintively.
As I got out of the car, a hare lolloped across the road and disappeared into the field of wheat, after a while reappearing and reversing his tracks. My route took me down past the lovely round-tower church at Threxton, the tower of which apparently dates back to the 13th century. At the bottom of the slope (I’ll not try to dignify it with the name ‘hill’), the road passes over a little river, bordered with Himalayan balsam and bulrushes. I’ve seen a grey heron fishing there before, but he was nowhere to be seen today. There were a couple of huge fish swimming against the current, but I’ve no idea what they were.
The route carries on through the middle of a farm, pocked with the potholes that seem to be inevitable in the presence of heavy farm machinery. Contented looking rusty-red cows gazed inquisitively at me as I passed, but in the absence of any immediate desire on my part to provide extra food, they soon turned back to their calves. The walnut trees planted along the edge of the road all had a good crop of nuts on them, as did the hazels that form half the hedges in this area. At the corner, I turned to the left, gazing skywards at the wood pigeons flying over, wings whistling as they flapped frantically. A bird of prey was lazily circling high over the field to my right, slightly too far away to identify. Merlin had earlier told me there was a buzzard calling, but this is also the centre of the red kite’s territory, so it might have been him. At the end of the field, a huge puddle spanned the road, and I could see no way through it without getting soaked. I consulted the map, looking for an alternative way to circle around, but with no joy. Reluctantly, I turned back. I don’t really like retracing my steps, but there was nothing for it.
While I was out that way, I decided to take a slight detour to go and photograph one of my favourite trees in Saham before heading back to the car. At the corner, the dogs were now in the garden and serenaded me with happy sounding barks as I passed.
In Saham, I stopped in at a very different church. This one was also originally built in the 13th century but was added to continually throughout the 14th century, culminating in the addition of the tower in the 15th century. The whole thing was then extensively modified in the 19th century, giving it its current Gothic appearance. Its charm lies in the distinctly higgledy-piggledy gravestones and its border of well established trees, ranging from the expected yews to cedars and even a black mulberry.
I was intrigued by a common monogram on many of the gravestones and had to look it up to find out what it meant. (I was originally wondering if it had a local significance) It actually derives from the first three letters of the word Jesus in the Greek alphabet, so Iota, Eta, Sigma (not in the modern colloquialism sense used by small children!). Because Greek is ridiculously complicated, the letter Sigma changes shape depending on where in the word it appears, so it was carved as IHC. Somewhere in the Middle Ages, the Greek meaning was lost, and people basically made up words that they thought it might stand for, such as Iesus Hominum Salvator (Latin). The symbol is apparently commonly used on gravestones all over the world.
Having admired the trees and the gravestones, I turned back towards the car. Heading down the final stretch of road, my attention was caught by an odd shape on the underside of an elm leaf. On closer inspection, the odd shape turned out to be a startlingly orange, spiky caterpillar, with rows of ‘eyes’ along its flanks and a very hairy head. That colour gives a clue as to the species this belongs to; even after metamorphosis, it’s retained in the gorgeous, rich ochre, sienna, and umber wings of the comma. All the websites describe this caterpillar as brown, black, and white and resembling bird poo. All I can say is that this one is either an abnormal specimen or the descriptions are not doing them justice. Or maybe bird poo is considerably more beautiful than I thought 🤔.
absolutelynotnormal 