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Photograph by John Holloway.massive chalk of Europe lies below the English Channel, under much of northern France, under bits of Germany and Scandinavia, under the Limburg Province of the Netherlands, and—from Erith Reach to Gravesend—under fifteen miles of the lower Thames. He breaks it against the revetment bordering the Gordon Promenade, in the Riverside Leisure Area, with benches and lawns under oaks and chestnuts, prams and children, picnics under way, newspapers spread like sails, and, far up the bank, a stall selling ice cream.My grandson Tommaso appears out of somewhere and picks up a cobble from the bottom of the Thames. The flats are broad between the bank and the water. Others, farther out on the wide river, are moored afloat—skiffs, sloops, a yawl or two. He cracks the cobble into jagged pieces, which are whiter than snow.The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.Marlow then described to his friends on the yawl’s deck his journey to the heart of darkness.“C”Tommaso goes to Fulham Prep, and recently bet a number of his classmates a pound apiece that he would not win the Form Prize. Quietly and respectfully, they watch this older artist, his concentration undisturbed. On hulks and barges, boatmen serving the ships lived on the river with their families and with their cats, dogs, chickens, sheep, and cows.Here, above the chalk, is where the Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor, waiting for the tide to turn, whilethe tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits.
If you are unsure what to ask we will provide a list of "questions to ask" for the couples or expecting women participating. *The first 8 new or expecting moms to arrive will receive a gift bag.The lines that have formed the “R” and the “O” are four inches wide.An armada of swans, in single file, swims out from near shore and toward the center of the river—thirty-eight swans.The reciprocal scene, northward, from Devil’s Dyke or Ditchling Beacon or almost anywhere on the ridgeline of the South Downs, was described by John Constable in 1824 as “perhaps the most grand and affecting natural landscape in the world—and consequently a scene the most unfit for a picture.” Easily, instantly, your eyes take in a thousand square miles of low terrain in pastel greens and browns, a region too broad to be called a valley but known since Anglo-Saxon England as the Weald.“It is the business of a painter not to contend with nature,” the surprising Constable explained, “but to make something out of nothing, in attempting which he must almost of necessity become poetical.” And, true to his artistic standards, this surpassing English landscape painter sketched almost nothing of the hackneyed panorama of the Weald.