November
November is the pearl-grey month,
the changeling
between warm crimson October
and cold white December, the month
when the leaves fall in slow
drifting whirls,
and the shapes of the trees are
revealed, when the
earth
imperceptibly
wakes, and
stretches her bare
limbs and displays
her stubborn
unconquerable
strength before she
settles uneasily
into winter.
November is secret
and silent.
by Alison Uttley
Frost on stones
Starting with All Saints’ and All Souls’ Day, then moving through the commemoration of the Armistice, November is a time for remembering those gone before. How is this reflected in your experiences of November?
As I begin to write, I'm listening to a piece of music called "Bells Across the Meadow" (Ketelbey). This is significant because it takes me back to a kinder England - not the England shouting for the exclusion of those in search of a safe place away from cruelty and injustice. I wonder what would be the view of those whose lives we remember particularly in November, if they saw what is happening right in our back yard today - such anger and hostility.
The music itself, though very pretty, is considered sentimental. This makes it ideal for backing videos of the English countryside - and we get a few of those at this time of the year. Chocolate box England!
In November 1893, George North and many other Lincolnshire lads were leading manure, drilling wheat, getting swedes up, earthing potatoes and dyking. The trenches of World War One would be another twenty years and a long way from the cold earth of Lincolnshire. And the boots George bought for himself from Mr. Starr, costing 16s/6d, were likely more comfortable than army issue! How could those farm labourers have had any inkling that the world they grew up in would become intolerant and unwelcoming? When they or their sons marched to war, they believed it was for a better world that they put their lives on the line. The war to end all wars.
Fast forward to Hitler's merciless killing and World War Two. At war memorials up and down Britain on Remembrance Sunday, it's easy for us to imagine the sights and sounds of missiles, of air raids and of chaotic railway stations. What is more difficult is to be able to understand the absolute fragility of relationships everywhere - soldiers, sailors, airmen, mums, dads, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, friendship groups. As a judge in our annual ghost story competition, I was privileged to read the rather beautiful story of a young couple impacted by the wartime airfields of Lincolnshire. How can I possibly pretend to understand the love and loss of wartime romance? Those who gave their lives that we may have freedom are a special collection of souls. Many of the saints we remember at the beginning of the month were human beings with conviction. They took their beliefs and convictions with them to death. Their faith drove them on. Another special collection of souls - but not the same collection as the war dead.
When we lived in England, we offered named candles in our church on All Souls' Day. Of course our late family members were amongst those we listed - but one name stood out from our list - Victoria Clydesdale. Victoria started school in Orkney with our daughter Judith. We moved to England soon afterwards. She moved to Dunblane in Scotland. Sadly, Victoria died in the Dunblane shooting in March 1996. It seemed impossible. Victoria and all of her school friends, and their brave teacher, belong to a different collection of souls.
November includes Britain’s biggest fire festival: “Guy Fawkes Night” – or “Bonfire Night.” Do you have any key memories or thoughts associated with this event?
When I was a child, Dad bought fireworks and we had our own little display. Dad was a chain smoker and would light the fireworks with his glowing cigarette - not recommended! The older I got, the more I realised the danger of this procedure.
The year Mum and Dad were building their bungalow on Belshaw Lane, we had a bonfire too - as well as fireworks - on the land which would be the front garden. Dad invited people who worked for him to bring their families and one little boy was frightened by it all. He snuggled into his daddy and said, "Don't like it Daddy!" His father felt sure his son had got this wrong and that he did like it really! His response makes me smile to this day - "Yes you do!"
When our first two children were babies together we went to a communal bonfire with friends and their little ones too. It was the coldest Bonfire Night I can remember. We were struggling to walk across frozen ruts on the field, in Lincolnshire, to get anywhere close to the warmth of the fire. The children were well wrapped up and we had a good time but, my goodness, was it bitter!
Years later, when we moved to Scotland for the first time, children would beg for "a penny for the pap" instead of "a penny for the guy". It wasn't until then that I started to think beyond the history of Guy Fawkes Night to the loaded cultural and religious aspects of what had always been, to me at any rate, a children's festival.
Now we enjoy our bonfire, hot dogs and the like, without burning effigies or setting off fireworks. The dogs are safely inside. I find myself apologising to the wild animals and promising them that we will soon be indoors. Thought transference!!
Bonfire Night
The ghost of Bonfire Night!
What is your earliest memory of November?
I remember being muffled up in what were called, in those days, siren suits. I suppose it was because Winston Churchill wore something similar when he was visiting the bombed areas of London during the wartime. They were wonderfully warm and cosy and children still wear them but they're not called siren suits nowadays. We were toasty and played outside on dry days as the benefits of fresh air were constantly extolled then.
I remember being aware that everything seemed to drip in November - after rain, after fog. The hedgerows - and there were more in those days than there are today - were black with damp and berries shone out from them like little lanterns. Our lane was muddy - until the frost and ice made the tractor ruts into knife edges.
Cynthia Rylant wrote that “Food is better in November than any other time of the year.” Do you have any particular foody association for this month?
Bonfire toffee! Made with black treacle and cream - other things too - all combining to create the sort of sweetie that dentists hate! There's nothing quite like bonfire toffee. I have recipes for creamy toffee and nutty toffee, for winter spice toffee, fudge and silky smooth toffee. Not one of them can test the teeth like bonfire toffee. The bonfire toffee classic recipe is made for Hallowe'en too. In Scotland, it's called claggum and is sometimes made for Hogmanay as well.Baked potatoes and sausages are also part of the Bonfire Night spread with a mug of soup.
November always seemed a grey and dreary month in the past but, when our third child was born on 16th November, that all changed. It became an exciting month, a month for a celebration. Once she started school the parties grew bigger. Back in those days it never occurred to me to buy food in packets. I baked and I baked for days on end - well, nights really - once the children were in bed. At the end of the party I was generally on the floor with my back against the sofa - surveying squashed tarts and buns embedded in the carpet. I like making cakes but really don't enjoy the decorating of them. Every so often I would have a decorating success and one of these was for the November birthday. I made a cake which I cut into a leaf shape, iced it with shiny brown chocolate icing which looked like patent leather and then piped on the leaf veins in white icing. It was one of my better designs!
The other food association for November is the preparation which goes on for Christmas. Stir-up Sunday is the Sunday before Advent - this year on 26th November. The name is taken from the collect for that Sunday - "Stir up... the wills of thy faithful people". It has also become linked with the mixing of the Christmas pud. The cake too may be made at this time but it benefits from "being fed" for a few weeks ahead of icing it. "Being fed" refers to the addition of alcohol into the little holes made with a knitting needle and administered over the course of several weeks.
We all use our freezers to create a bank of food for the Christmas festivities and mince pies, cakes and pastries are filling up the freezer ahead of the big day itself.
The kitchen garden is offering delicious carrots, beetroot for boiling, celery and cabbage - and brussels sprouts once they've had a frost on them. Don't forget kale! It has a lot of goodness and, with careful cooking, retains its shape and flavour as well as any other brassica.
November, late afternoon sky, Thurso, Caithness
November is often portrayed as being a bare month. Which plants or flowers brighten your Novembers?
One can't ignore the tiny buds appearing on the trees - they fill me with such joy and hope for 2024. They come in spite of me - I do nothing to help them - and yet here they are - everywhere I look.
The tiny Araucaria (Monkey Puzzle Tree) is doing so well and displays the most beautiful green by the ivy-covered stone wall. The hollies are dense and shiny. The Swedish Whitebeam looks leafless and yet still fills up with birds - from the tiny wren to the nodding crow.
There are some sparks of colour still. Some roses colour up but won't open properly. A pink hollyhock in its pretty crinoline hangs on for dear life while bright orange calendula stand tall above the rest of the wildflower border.
The white snowberries dot the bush by the gate, looking for all the world like wee china buttons. By the other gate, a sprinkling of blue periwinkles welcome all comers while awaiting the Christmas wreath.
Inside, the house plants are holding their own - and I have to say I am improving here! Famous last words! There are hyacinths in bottles too - nowhere near flowering but looking very hopeful - and two pots set with a variety of hyacinths waiting in the larder to come indoors and which will hopefully brighten the New Year.
Rosehips against a mackerel sky - not long wet, not long dry!
Emily Dickinson wrote that “November always seems to me the Norway of the year.” What do you know about November in other countries?
Dear Emily! Since I first came across her beautiful poetry, some years ago now, I have been puzzled, perplexed, bewildered - and yet lifted by the wonderfully honest observation within. Whatever you think of her, she has a style all her own which sets her amongst the great American poets of the nineteenth century.
The truth is I don't know very much about November in other countries. I know that, in France, at the beginning of November, people put potted chrysanthemums on the graves of their departed loved ones. Similarly, in Poland, candles and flowers are left in cemeteries. Most cultures have their way of remembering their dead and I think that, as a nation, we may be a little remiss in this. Mexico is famously observant of "The Day of the Dead" - "Dia de los Muertos". The souls of the dead are invited to special parties where they are reunited with those who remain alive. Altars are built and there is a focus on skeletons and skulls.
This year Diwali is celebrated from the 10th to the 14th November, with the 12th being the main day of celebration. Indian in origin, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains across the world, share this Festival of Light with all-comers and it's a source of much joy annually in the darkening months of the year - October/November. When Ginny was at school in Stenness, Orkney, she made a Diwali lamp. As well as it being much treasured, she began to develop, from it, a lifelong interest in world religions.
In America, the fourth Thursday of November is Thanksgiving Day. It's a day for being grateful. The autumn harvest is celebrated, and the family circle as well as close friends. In our house, we have a pecan pie - made each year by Judith. This year's Thanksgiving Day will happen at the very end of the month for us, instead of the designated fourth Thursday, as we weren't able to get together on the 23rd of the month.
Returning to dear Emily, November in Norway will likely be a good time to see the Aurora Borealis/Northern Lights and also to visit the Christmas markets. Cold though! Our own temperatures here in Caithness are struggling to reach growing readiness - which at least means we won't worry about cutting the grass - or the dogs picking up ticks! We have had some wonderful displays of Northern Lights this month and the lack of light pollution makes it easy to see the bands of pinks, greens and violets as they cast their beams like searchlights in our night skies.
Stempster House illuminated by Northern Lights
Northern Lights on Bonfire Night
“Secret and silent” is how children’s author Allison Uttley describes November. How important is it during this month to find time to explore that secrecy and silence?
Allison Uttley appears to have been an interesting woman. She didn't get along with Enid Blyton and she really didn't like to be compared to Beatrix Potter. However, she had a way with words which leaves many nature writers trailing. "Secret and silent" is spot-on for November! There isn't another month quite like it. So much is going on in secret - sometimes because it needs to be like that, other times because we don't always look hard enough through the greyness.
Annuals die in the grim climate, perennials shrink back into the earth for a while, animals compete for the spoils left behind after storms, birds shiver, soaked and hanging on for dear life. There is worse to come - so everything is hushed and waiting. Time to conserve energy, to limit movement where possible, to keep a low profile. The same applies to us when walking in November. It isn't easy to hide when trees and hedges are bare. I have found the best way to make observations at this time of year is to move slowly and quietly along the route and catch sights and sounds as they are offered to me. This morning, for example, a glimpse of our resident female hen harrier was much appreciated as we turned silently back on ourselves on the grey-cloaked hill. It was with similar silence that the cold rain came - fortunately on our backs just after we had turned.
To go in search of Nature's secrets in November can be a dangerous mission. Not for the searcher but for the secretive life of the countryside. It's so important not to alarm wild creatures at this time of the year. They are unable to cope with fear and exhaustion. That's a good reason for sticking to the route and moving confidently but with as little noise as possible. We've been rewarded with sightings of small groups of deer, crouching hares, foraging floor-feeding birds, perching larger birds, mice, voles and weasels - not to mention spotting signs of other creatures which had passed by recently. I saw fox-poo this morning!
The cows are now in the byre, the sheep make little noise on the hillsides, the noise of farm machinery has lessened and birds sing only when necessary - the joyful songs of springtime and summer are a memory now. Sometimes, however, in the early evening, a thrush or blackbird will announce its presence to our small waiting world. Occasionally Bob Robin will assert himself in the way only he can - with the sweetest gusto imaginable. A proper little supremacist! Tawny owls call and barn owls screech in the nighttime. But generally the world around us is becoming subdued. It's timidly biding its time.
Birds on late autumn branches
It's all here though. Groups of pheasants scurry for cover as they see the dogs, long-tailed tits group in the old sycamore and a willow tit is still hanging around in the cottage garden at the back. As I was heading homeward over the bridge, I spotted an otter in the river - it put its head above the water, down again, up again, down again - to disappear. Things have a habit of disappearing into the secret silence of November.
In both England and Scotland, November is a rare Full School Month, ie one in which there are no holidays. As both a pupil and a teacher, what are your memories of school in November?
As a pupil I remember the quietness. It seemed that playtimes were often indoors and very noisy for those few minutes but then everything slowed down and the rowdiness faded into silence - Allison Uttley's "November silence". It was a very long time ago and so Christmas wasn't on the agenda until December. There were the art lessons of course - designed to illustrate Guy Fawkes Night and always done on black paper - with orange Catherine Wheels and white rockets soaring to the top of the paper. Remembrance Day was honoured but little detail was given back then. Responsible older children were allowed to go from class to class selling poppies. We were all expected to wear a poppy until Remembrance Day had passed.
The days grew darker and the class grew tired, listening but lacking some enthusiasm.
As a teacher, Christmas was on the horizon in November, with tracking and reports to be done alongside preparation for the Christmas parties, outings and plays. I doubt the children were aware of the work which went on in November to allow December a free run to Christmas. It didn't matter how organised I tried to be in November - pre-empting the chaos of December - there still weren't enough hours in the school day! From Monday through to Friday I never saw the house in the daylight. I was off to school in the dark and arrived home in the dark. But, slowly, Christmas trees and decorations appeared in house windows and November darkness was lifted a little.
Clemency's and Judith's view, driving to work, early morning
Frost patterns on the car window
Often forgotten in favour of senses like sight and hearing, smell can conjure up a host of memories and associations. If you could bottle a November scent, what would it smell like?
Oh yes - smells conjure up so much for me. After Covid I've found that my sense of smell is not as good as it was before. A great pity but many have come out of Covid with worse scars than mine.
Just this afternoon Clemency gave me a candle and a bar of soap. She knows I love fragranced candles and sweet smelling soaps. The first thing I did, after briefly admiring the swirly pattern on the candle, was to lift it to my nose. I then did the same with the soap. The candle had a strong honey fragrance. The soap was sandalwood. Both of these smells took me back through years, in and out of memories and thoughts. People and places came to mind and time fell away.
When I get the opportunity to work in the garden at this time of the year - and it is very rare I do due to the inclement weather here - I thrill at the rich aroma of the decomposition of such things as leaf litter. I don't need to be working to take in one of the best fragrances however. Walking slowly in amongst the pine trees and taking great gulps of the scent of conifer needles has to be way up there with the most wonderful smells ever. Yes I think I would bottle the smell of pine in November.
November is often seen as being THE MONTH BEFORE CHRISTMAS. How would you persuade someone to love this month for its own sake?
Looking back at some of my notes written when we were living in Barrow upon Humber, North Lincolnshire, I realise how different gardening was then. It is a struggle to get a good run of weather in the far north of Scotland, sufficient to do any meaningful gardening. Back in North Lincs, however, I was working on the herbaceous border, tidying it up and adding things for the following year. I know now that tidying up an herbaceous border ahead of winter is not necessarily a good thing for the tiny creatures which can overwinter in the dried stalks and seed heads if they're left in situ. Some people can't bear the untidiness of course but I would say to them that there is another plus to leaving the tired border alone - when frost and snow cover the seemingly lifeless plants, they take on a new dimension - of an ethereal nature, something like gossamer, almost heavenly.
Frosty morning, Stempster House
Two other things which surprised me from my old diaries were the fact that the birdsong at dawn was striking when the mornings were misty and moisty and that frogs were still moving around the garden - if a little dopey!
November 1st
"An orange frog hopped around me, entirely unafraid. It was fully grown and quite handsome."
November 3rd
"Frogs continue to be active in the garden - shouldn't they be burrowing in the mud at the bottom of the pond?"
That was almost twenty years ago and over five hundred miles away. Here, close to the North Atlantic coast, I haven't seen a frog for a number of weeks. I'm hoping they are overwintering in our pond. One of the things I shall be looking for in springtime is their frogspawn. My granny was always excited to find it, to spot the first swallow and to hear the returning cuckoo.
November presents an opportunity to take stock of the year - particularly in the garden. What worked well? What may be better to avoid next year?
In 1889, near Gainsborough, George North writes that the first snow of the year came on Tuesday, 26th November. The following day was wintry too. The next year the snow arrived two days later, on 28th November. We have a theory about snowy winters in our family - they usually come in pairs. It often seems to happen that way. Well, last year we had a long, cold and snowy wintertime lasting well into March. It's certainly chilly this November too.
So is November an indicator of what will happen before springtime comes to soothe us? The steel blue skies turning to sepia ahead of the snow illuminate the late autumn landscape. We may not get so much sunshine now - for sure - but we are gifted with exciting rainbows, contoured skies, Aurora Borealis and stars you feel you can touch.
One day in November I read the signs and I love the month for its own sake.
The moon and Venus, early morning
"Home" by Anne Bronte (1820-1849)
How brightly glistening in the sun
The woodland ivy plays!
While yonder beeches from their barks
Reflect his silver rays.
That sun surveys a lovely scene
From softly smiling skies;
And wildly through unnumbered trees
The wind of winter sighs:
Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
And now in distance dies.
But give me back my barren hills
Where colder breezes rise;
Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees
Can yield an answering swell,
But where a wilderness of heath
Returns the sound as well.
For yonder garden, fair and wide,
With groves of evergreen,
Long winding walks, and borders trim,
And velvet lawns between;
Restore to me that little spot,
With gray walls compassed round,
Where knotted grass neglected lies,
And weeds usurp the ground.
Though all around this mansion high
Invites the foot to roam,
And though its halls are fair within--
Oh, give me back my HOME!
Northern Lights from our back yard
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