Friday, 8 November 2013

Doggers. Well, that was a surprise. I first came across the word in a Channel 5 documentary, but the second time was this week, when walking around Risinghurst and towards Shotover. I found C. S. Lewis's house, "The Kilns" - not nearly as nice as it looks in the film "Shadowlands", and the little nature reserve he left to the locality. Presumably it was once his garden. My goodness, what a garden! Ponds, and dells, and high trees, and light and shade, nature nurtured, and all sorts, such a beautiful place. And these doggers, apparently, are large and ancient rocks, which (presumably until quite recently) the locals could help themselves to from Shotover Hill and adorn their front gardens with them, or use them to dent the car bumpers of incompetent motorists. Logging, and dogging, and frogging - the old boy had them in spades. I never read his children's books and didn't like his theology, although I fell for his tragic account of bereavement "A Grief Observed". That little volume speaks the agony of the human heart in loss. Maybe walking in those exquisite grounds, alone, and knowing he would always be so, sharpened his wits to write honestly something of the mystery of love, and life, and God.

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