D Kendall

Thursday, 18 June

Between my flat and the old royal graves the roads (vägar) are named after Nordic gods and goddesses. We have Torsväg, (Thor). Odensväg (Oden) and the goddess of fertility, Frej (Freisväg) although strangely enough no road for Ull, Thor’s stepson, a good archer, skater and skier, who is otherwise popular in these parts (he does have a “quarter” (block) named after him elsewhere). Perhaps the city fathers thought that he was doing well enough already with all the place names starting with Ull around the river, which may have been cult places for him.

Close to where I live is Hugin’s road, one of Oden’s two ravens who flew out in the morning to check the state of the world and came back by breakfast to inform Oden of what was going on. The other more shadowy raven Munin has a street too. And there is one for Balder, Oden’s second son, who all animate beings and inanimate things had promised not to hurt except for mistletoe. Loki, father of the Midgard serpent and the Fenris wolf and of dubious repute, deceived the blind god Hodr into throwing the mistletoe at Balder, who was killed. I can’t quite envisage how a soft and yielding plant could do such damage even if it were toxic. There are odd echoes of Achilles heel in the “toe” but here it’s just a confusion and the name derives from twig.

There is also a road named after Snorre, the Icelandic scholar and after arrangements associated with the pagan period so that we have Holmgångsvägen and Envigsvägen, both of which seem to mean single combat (I must check the difference). When these streets were named in 1948, the city council was concerned that they might stimulate fights but they were assured by their naming committee that “holmgång” was not just any old dust-up but a test of strength subject to very strict rules and codes of honour. I haven’t seen anything awry when I’ve passed by just the odd person washing hisher car. Once we’ve stopped keeping our social distance, I’ll pop over and ask “Excuse me, but do you ever go berserk?”.

My favourite is Idunsvägen. Idun is the goddess that guards the apples that the gods and goddesses have to eat to stay young. I’ve been along that road and believe that there are apple trees in the gardens, unknown whether the denizens just like apples or are playing along with the myth.

I shall check again when the apple are in fruit. If there aren’t any apples in these roadside gardens, there should be so I will take a bag with me to eat and discreetly throw the cores into the gardens.

At the very top of the district is Greta Arvidssons väg, a prominent archaeologist and then below past my house all the names are of literary figures, especially those with a Finnish connection. This is fun too but I’ll save these for another blog post.

Sources: Nordiska Gudar och Hjältar, Anders Baeksted (1986); Dictionary of Northern Mythology, Rudolf Simek (2000) and Uppsalas gatumamn, Mats Wahlberg (1994)

Monday, 15 June

Tired of debating with myself whether a 22 km bike ride there and back would be too much for me on a hot day, I get up at 5 am and set off an hour later for the “row village” of Ekeby just off the road to Sala. It’s a pleasant journey in the cool of the morning, with just one awkward section when I foolishly attempt to rebel against the cycle path’s counter-intuitive meandering, ending up at the side of highway 55, a wannabe motorway, no place for a silver top on a bike. But after a couple of hundred metres diesel trudge, a traffic light suddenly appears. I award God a half quality point for this miraculous intervention (it would have been a whole quality point if the boring old green, yellow, red had been replaced by a messenger angel with a shining selfie stick pointing out the way ahead….). But shortly after I’m off the wannabe motorway and all is peaceful and bucolic. I’m tempted to stop to examine the flowers but am eager to get my journey done before the sun gets high in the sky.

I want to see Ekeby as it’s arranged like many mediaeval villages were in Sweden before the eighteenth and nineteenth century agricultural reforms, the so-called partitions, the Great Partition (storskifte), enskifte, laga skifte, with increasing degrees of compulsion. Previously, the farms had been gathered together in traditional villages (in a row of buildings with the amount of frontage depending on the amount of land owned), with houses on one side and farm buildings on the other. The farmers then owned strips of land, some on better and some on poorer land, scattered around the village. They were often dependent on one another, working together and deciding what to grow. The agricultural reforms aimed to concentrate land holdings and, after the “laga skifte” partition in 1827, enabling a single farmer to demand partition, the farms were often moved away from the traditional village. The farmers became less dependent on one another and employed more landless labour.

This process can be viewed in many perspectives – agricultural efficiency, social divisions (the landless as cause and effect of the partitions), the effect on the rural community, its different impact in different parts of Sweden (weak in Dalecarlia/Dalarna, for example, where many villages remain intact), the effect of differing traditional provisions on inheritance on the division and sub-division of the land, and the ideological justification and interpretation of the partitions.

Ekeby is unusual as it not only has a row but also a ring road around the core of the village like many mediaeval settlements, which apparently has only survived here. The village with its cluster of falu red buildings is visible from some way off. It’s an idyllic place but didn’t obviously look like a collection of working farms. I wonder what happened to land ownership here. Did the survival of the village mean that the partition of the land didn’t take place or was there some other reason for the survival of the traditional village? (photos on my facebook page).

There’s no noticeboard at the village to explain what we are looking at. I don’t suffer from craft shop deprivation but it would be interesting to know more, to understand that the differing countryside in, for example, England and Sweden but also within Sweden. isn’t just natural phenomena but the result of distinct historical processes.

A couple of notes on terminology. As far as I can see “partition” is the word used, although what actually happened was more of a re-partition (and joining together rather than splitting). I’ve also sometimes seen the word “enclosure” used although enclosure in England differed. There it was a matter of enclosing or privatising common land and I’m not sure that this played such a major role in Sweden even if the causes, aims and effects of agricultural reforms bore some similarities.

“Row villages” also has an awkward translation flavour – it comes over as reihendorf in German, which may be more convincing. There might be a better technical term.

Dalecarlia, an English or rather Latin term, is hardly used in everyday English (unlike Gothenburg).

Dalarna does not require any unfamiliar oral gymnastics (also unlike Göteborg) so most English people are probably happy with that. I learnt the other day that Dalecarlia is an exonym or xonym (like Germany or Sweden) – an external name for a geographical place, group or people (while Dalarna and Deutschland are endoyms (or autonyms) used internally; a satisfactory acquisition along with ethonym and glossonym.

10 June 2020

Confronted by a very fast road without a cycle path, I abandon my plan to cycle to Ekeby, a small village that has kept its mediaeval structure and not moved all the farms out of the old village in connection with the eighteenth and nineteenth century land reforms, the so-called partitions.

I see from my map that I am close to Hässelby Park, which is also on my list. The guidebook is lyrical about its oak and other deciduous trees and I go there instead in the hope of walking through something like an English wood.  But it’s rather a disappointment as there are too many sombre, acidic spruce and pine trees among the fresh green. Either I have not found the right place or it’s only lyrical to a Swedish eye, more accepting of the conifer as a fact of life. I’ll have to sit and dream in the English Park at Drottningholm instead.

I return by a roundabout route past Ulva kvarn, an old mill which has been there in various forms since the fourteenth century. The café is open and there’s hardly anyone around so I decide to risk an outdoor coffee, my first commercial coffee since I started my self-isolation (pics on my Facebook page).

I’m tempted to make a detour to Ärentuna again to see if I can get into the church but a headwind is dampening my euphoria. But I can cope with it and notice that I don’t feel I always need to get off and push my bike uphill. I’m getting used to riding a bike again and I even overtake a lady cyclist as I near home. I resist the temptation to shout at her as I overtake “you make me feel like Achilles”, which could be misunderstood (I have learnt not to make jokes in situations when I don’t have an explanatory leaflet (with footnotes).  She would probably not have been quick enough to answer “surely, only like his vulnerable part.”

15-20 kilometres is enough for me and I’m glad to be back to start working on planning a summer trip around Uppland.

Sunday, 7 June

I’ve finished reading “The Global Gamble” by my old friend, Peter Gowan. I have had a bad conscience for never having tackled it but now, twenty years after its publication, I’ve done so, thanks to Corem-19. But otherwise, I’ve mostly been occupied by the less worldly of my interests, and then too in a rather scattered, unconcentrated way; perhaps due to my long period of self-isolation or maybe a physical reaction from spending too much time in my dust-laden flat.

I’ve been working through a local guide “Hitta Uppland – Guiden till Naturen och Kulturen” with a view to travelling around the county in the summer. There’s a lot to see – I’m attracted by the coast and the old metal-working and Walloon areas in the north of the county.

Another place that interests me is Balingsta to the west of Uppsala. Here a new neo-gothic brick church was built in 1872 and the decayed mediaeval church abandoned. I was somewhat puzzled when googling on the church to find pictures of a romanesque church, which was neither brick nor neo-gothic, the explanation being that in 1917 it was decided to restore the old church and Adrian Crispin Peterson’s nineteenth century creation was demolished in 1934 (There are over 30 other of his churches so I suppose the loss of one is bearable). The abandonment of the old church seems to have been a matter of dispute for the parish. I read originally that the new church was disliked because it was considered alien, not in the spirit of the prevailing national romantic style. And I suppose discussions in the parish could have been in that direction although a key player in the restoration of the old church was not profoundly a Swede but a new priest, an Englishman by origin, Edward Holliday-Owen, born in Chester, who had spent many years in Sikkim as a missionary. Nathan Söderblom, the archbishop approved of this project and the restoration project was financed by Alfred Berg. the banker and owner of nearby Wiks slott. Why and how Holliday-Owen came to Sweden and how he learnt Swedish and was able to serve as a priest here, I don’t know but I shall dig in the Uppsala newspaper archive when it’s safe to do so to find out more about him and what happened to the church.

I want to read more about neo-gothic churches in Sweden. I know that, just as in England, there was subsequently criticism of some of the more ardent proponents of the style such as Helgo Zetterwall. The turn back to the gothic style was accompanied in England by a fascination with the mediaeval period. I don’t know if there was any equivalent to this in Sweden or how the neo-Gothic related to the later national romantic style with its more muscular references to the past.

I’d like to read some Swedish writers who wrote fiction about Uppland and have so far come across Jan Fridegård, according to Wikipedia “a Swedish writer of the proletarian school”, although he has also written a trilogy about Viking times as well as novels based on his own upbringing. It’s perhaps a bit like Ivar Lo-Johansson and I’ll begin by reading his trilogy about his own life – “Jag Lars Hård”, “Här är min hand” and “Lars Hård går vidare”. I suspect I may own some of this works among those I have at Kungshatt rescued from various library purges.

And for bedtime reading, I’ve been reading Chaucer’s “The Franklin’s Tale”, which has been on my bookshelf for some time. It’s pleasurable to read Middle English but, to enjoy it to the full, I need to get a better annotated Chaucer than the cheapy version I acquired in some charity bookshop.

I feel I’m making good progress with some of my aims and have played a bad hand reasonably well. It always strikes me that “defeat management” is a neglected skill; there’s something attractive about the expression “plucking victory from the jaws of defeat”. Weeping over the absence of aces is anyway a waste of time.

But after more than 80 days isolation, it is beginning to feel irksome and I’m unsure about the next step. I don’t think I can stay in isolation until a vaccine is available in perhaps nine months time or more. I guess I will proceed cautiously, with slightly more social contact but taking great care to avoid crowded situations. It’s more complicated than avoiding everyone, however.

Thursday, 4 June

I’m a bit apprehensive about the distance but I feel I need a change of air and cycle to Ärentuna, a small village about 10 km north of Uppsala. It’s an easy ride, all on the flat, past Gamla Uppsala cemetery and the turn-off to the river bathing spot. Then on to Queen Christina’s long straight road to the north; it’s no longer the main road but it still has a brisk business-like feel to it. I follow it over the bridge, past the military airport and the signs to Uppsala’s second airport, south of Bälinge (what we would call an airfield). The last few kilometres are on a rural by-way to Ärentuna. It’s very pleasant and I recall memories from youthful trips in the Somerset countryside sixty years ago. I’m making for Ärentuna where the fourteenth-century church has wall paintings worth seeing. Some of them are at the National Museum in Stockholm but I believe the interior of the church still looks decorated in the mediaeval way, before literacy, before translation of the Bible into Swedish, before simplicity and introspection. However, I have to re-visit as the church is locked and I can’t find or contact the caretaker. But I’m not bothered to have to come back as it’s a luxurious place, still and surrounded by fields and a few church-related buildings. I wish I’d brought my copy of Chaucer’s Franklin’s Tale, which I started the other day, appropriate for the fourteenth century surroundings. But it’s very fine to sit and muse.

I wouldn’t know from the outside that the church was originally fourteenth century. In England, I could probably tell from the windows and arches but the rounded windows of this church don’t fit in to our pattern of Norman, Early English, Decorated and Perpendicular. I’m not sure but I believe that way of categorising churches dates from the nineteenth century. It would be interesting to know how other countries organise their view of the gothic period. Most churches in Sweden seem to just refer to the century the church was built or refurbished.

There are other things worth seeing in the neighbourhood but I decide not to be over-ambitious and make for home. I’m quite tired by the time I get back but pleasantly so.

It’s very quiet on the work front now – I had an order today for a job in July but I’ve nothing in process just now. I spent yesterday organising a box of family history documents that has given me a bad conscience every time I saw it. I’ve now sorted it by family, the next step being to list the documents, copy old handwritten documents on to archive paper, and to make notes of what has been done where and logical next steps.

Most of this work was done thirty years ago and I’ve only dabbled a bit since then. I wanted the family to know its history and to produce an archive that could be handed down. The common people have a memory of three or four generations and then it’s lost, which I think is a pity. I’ve traced my father’s line back to the sixteenth century, fairly easily as they didn’t move around much but stayed in the same North Dorset village. To get further back to the period before parish registers were kept, you would have to look at the manorial documents, which requires a knowledge of mediaeval handwriting and some latin. And that might not tell you who exactly was in your line but you could perhaps see whether there were people of the same name in the village or not.

There’s a generation missing on my father’s side as his father was 40 when he was born and he was 55 when I was born. My paternal grandfather was born in 1855 and died in 1895, making the Victorian age feel closer for me. Just now I’m concentrating on sorting but I did notice (for the first time) that my maternal grandmother had 13 siblings and my maternal great grandfather couldn’t write but made his mark, a cross, on the marriage certificate. After leaving the army, he became a convict warder at Portland prison, Hardy’s Isle of Slingers so I have Dorset ancestry on both sides of my family although my maternal great grandfather originally came from Ballymena in Northern Ireland (where I believe the late Reverend Paisley came from…).

Sunday, 31 May, Nathan Söderblom and Gustaf Fröding

A fine summer day with intense blue and light green overpowering the gloomy pine. I make for Luthagen west of the river, next in line in the expansion of my familiar Uppsala. There are more buildings here by Gunnar Leche but I leave these for later and make for Stabby prästgård, originally a prebendal house for the professor of theology (picture on facebook). Its origins are in the sixteenth century but only the cellars remain from earlier times of what is now a nineteenth century building. It’s known latterly because the renowned cleric Nathan Söderblom lived there for over a decade before becoming archbishop of Uppsala and moving down to the archbishop’s palace. Then it was on the edge of the city and it’s still pleasantly relaxing to sit in the garden, which is permitted when the building is not let.

After communing with nature, I continue to the old cemetery, finding a place with a number of bikes already parked where I can hopefully achieve flock protection from cycle carnivores. Compared with Park St and especially compared with some tumbledown romantic jungles in the UK, the cemetery is very orderly with its neat rows and no stones lying at crazy angles. I photograph the list of graves of the great and the good for a planned visit later and content myself with Carl Peter Thunberg, Linnaeus disciple who went on botanical excursions in South Africa with fellow botanist Lady Anne Monson on her way to Calcutta, social success and an early death. And then down to the end to look at the poet Gustaf Fröding’s grave; his funeral was in Stockholm before being taken by train for interment in Uppsala. Nathan Söderblom by then archbishop said the following bierside words “Tre små böcker kom ut – och ett helt språk har sorg”. “Three small books were published and a whole language is in grief” (from the translation of Nathan Söderblom’s bio I believe). I presume that this was at the funeral service in Stockholm as Erik Axel Karlfeldt, fellow poet and later winner of the Nobel prize, held a speech at the interment and it sounds rather a jostle if the archbishop was trying to get a word in there too. In fact, I can only claim a half point for Fröding as I saw the grave but seized by the idea of an anonymous, epitaph-less wordless poet’s grave, I was convinced that it was an unmarked marble column nearby. Even the half point is fragile as I haven’t read Fröding – my knowledge of Swedish poetry is weak. But ideal David Kendall is going to fix this (as well as reading Nathan Söderblom’s bio and getting a better grasp of the cultural environment at the turn of the last century. I will at least return soon to the cemetery and tweak this irritating memory.

I’ve never been inside the cemetery before but I’ve known the area well for years, visiting it many times in the 1980s when I was a doctoral student in Uppsala. It was here that I had my Damascene moment when listening to an academic expatiating on some convoluted system with, (IMO), more than a whiff of merde de taureau. And the thought struck me what am I doing putting all this effort into obtaining an entrance ticket to an environment that bores me. And not so long afterwards my research object disappeared in the upheavals in eastern Europe, easing the passage of the jumble of pretend thesis papers to the recycling skip. It was just as well – butterfly minds shouldn’t try to do PhDs.

Friday, 29 May

I notice that life is not normal when I feel disproportionate pleasure about fixing something now rather than post-Corona; the joy of receiving a humble roll of blue cotton thread to mend an Indian shirt, which the seller managed to send me in a small letter-box friendly consignment and not in some grossly oversized container that had to be picked up elsewhere. And a copy of Mats Walberg’s Uppsala Gatunamn, the first book I’ve bought in hundreds of years.

Walberg’s book, almost four hundred pages not just of explanations of Uppsala’s street names but dealing with the history of the city, the academic feuds about the origin of its name and more.

Uppsala has many street names referring to Nordic mythology, especially where I live close to Gamla Uppsala. I know a bit but I’d like to know more and, if I’m in Sweden this summer as is likely, it seems a good time. I’ve lived in Sweden for almost half a century so a knowledge of the Icelandic sagas and some idea of Old Norse is a minimum requirement for a civilised person. It would be amusing to sit close to the old kings’ grave mounds and read about Old Norse (although the prospect of conversation practice seems unlikely even in the mystic twilight of a midsummer night).

Today, I took another bike ride to look at buildings, this time the older area around the cathedral with the aid of Dan Thunman’s “Uppsala vandringar” published by the municipality (see pictures on my Facebook page). I discover a street behind the cathedral, which I hadn’t seen before, a kind of cathedral close with three or four rather lovely buildings. It would be pleasant to live in such a place although perhaps not now when extensive renovation work is taking place at the cathedral.  There are not many really old secular buildings in Uppsala although there are some with origins in the middle ages with the older parts encased in later refurbishment. There was a fire in 1702 that destroyed much of the town leading to new building in the eighteenth century. The name Carl Hårleman (1700-1753) often crops up as the architect of new or refurbished buildings, restoring the fire-damaged castle and parts of the cathedral. He was also active in Stockholm and other places in Sweden, went to France a number of times and is referred to as the architect who introduced the Rococo style to Sweden. The buildings I looked at today – the Old Senate House (Gamla konsistoriehuset) and the Cathedral Chapter House (Domkapitelhuset) didn’t fit in with my concept of the rococo. But I wouldn’t challenge anyone to a duel to defend my ideas about the rococo so I should probably get hold of Göran Alm’s (1993) Carl Hårleman och den svenska rokokon and tidy up. The other book I want to read, which I already own is Frederic Bedoire’s two-volume Den svenska arkitekturens historia. I want to draw up reading lists in a number of areas that interest me. While I can’t tackle them all at once, it would be good to have such lists for a structured approach as too much of my reading is spontaneous – I catch sight of something that takes my fancy, often serendipitously but some structure wouldn’t be bad – at least I could attempt to keep my brain in some kind of order.

I left one major building, Holmgren’s nineteenth-century main University building, for another day. I’d like to do a tour focusing on the nineteenth century and will probably include it then. I also want to go to the old cemetery and the English Park, which I haven’t visited yet.

It’s very pleasant that I have been able to devote time to my surroundings, which are becoming much denser and richer in associations, enhancing my feeling that I actually live in Uppsala, not just using it as a base or hub/extension of my usual semi-nomadic existence (a place in its own right in my life rather than a kind of London E350…).

Thursday, 28 May

In Sweden, 192 people under the age of 60 have died from covid-19 up to 27 May. Approximately half of the number of deaths of all ages have been in the county of Stockholm. This isn’t an argument in favour or against the Swedish light touch model. But these much lower statistics than the total number of deaths do stress the importance of looking beyond aggregated statistics to understand what’s happening.

It might be so that Sweden’s light touch model “sacrifices” the old and frail. But there could also be other reasons apart from the strictness or otherwise of lockdown/social distancing for the deaths among the older population. How great a proportion of these deaths occurred in care facilities and when did infection take place? Are there systematic differences between the way that care facilities for the aged are organised in Denmark or Norway compared with Sweden, for example, as regards the number of privately-owned care providers? What effect has the system of competitive procurement with its focus on complying with contractual demands (and perhaps not “over-compliance”) had on the conduct and preparation of those companies organising care (for instance, as regards the availability and use of protective equipment)? Has this been better or worse or about the same as public providers? What impact has the “balkanisation” of care providers had as regards stocks of emergency equipment?

These questions may or may not lead to sharp conclusions but they again stress the importance of looking beyond aggregated statistics.

I have now been in voluntary social isolation for 73 days. I have met my elder daughter who brings me groceries once a week (keeping our distance from one another) but almost no one else. I’ve had a plan of activities for home and work organisation and various reading projects, which has worked well. As I usually spend a lot of time sitting at a desk reading, it’s been to a great extent business as usual but with less interruptions from external temptations. And the ability to get out and explore the nearby countryside and Uppsala on my foot and by bike has made a great difference as have the social media.

But once the lockdown eases internationally and Sweden’s light touch becomes lighter still, I will have to decide what’s reasonable for me as a 70 plus person with a couple of underlying medical conditions.

Social isolation and no international travel for 500 days or, however long it takes before protection is available doesn’t seem a great prospect but neither does getting covid-19 (my early training as an economist is floating around in the back of my head with enjoyment of life and life threat curves cutting at some equilibrium point where the marginal unit of threat to life is equated with the marginal unit of life enjoyment…..). Summer in Sweden is probably a safe assumption so that I shall start working on what I want to see in the county of Uppsala so that I will be well prepared once I feel it’s reasonable to take my bike on the commuter train and “fragilise” my social isolation.

I haven’t blogged for a few days as too much seems similar. Workwise, it’s been quiet – a few small jobs. I’ve sorted and indexed my collection of glossaries (15 files on various topics) and sorted out absurdities (removing a list of Iranian boy’s names from my Economy/Finance glossary file, for instance).

I’ve finished reading my report from the Investment Association. I don’t understand everything that I’ve read but at least recognise some of the landmarks in this relatively new landscape. I have read a long article on the development of Christianity in Dorset, which was an interesting background to the church part of my Dorset project. And worked regularly on Bengali and French. And am now about to embark on a book written by a late friend of mine which I’ve never read but which pricks my conscience every time I catch sight of it.

I’m still having problems with structuring time, working too long and then getting tired and demoralised until I’ve slept at some weird hour. I’ve started to define my working day better so that I have a goal for the day and stop by a particular time to do other non-work-related things. And taking exercise at least every other day.

My problem is that my non-work-related things usually involve sitting in front of a computer and reading and dousing myself with blue light or whatever it is that interferes with sleep. I probably have to structure my non-work-hours better into a hard part (more computer-related) and a soft part (more reading) and again make a better plan for the day to compensate for the lack of structure (both external and internal).  

It’s a weird combination of what’s normal and even better than normal (lack of interruption, improved eating habits with better food and less wastage) and what’s missing (social contact, inability to visit libraries). And, at the times when it doesn’t feel so great, trying to work out what exactly is missing or badly organised. Hopefully, I can develop habits of self-discipline and structure that will be useful post covid-19.

Sunday, 24 May

This morning I struggled through about half of “Investment Management in the UK 2018-2019”, the Investment Association’s Annual Survey. It’s a struggle because I’d much rather be learning Bengali or learning more about Dorset but I want to know what’s going on in the UK, especially to understand why parts of the financial sector made such a hash of defending their interests in the Brexit process (or to understand their interests better). Every time I find a concept that I don’t know, I look it up. It’s slow progress but still progress but my spirits cringe as I find money rather dull.

I rewarded myself by making a start on another project that’s been in abeyance for a while.

I’ve downloaded and printed over 90 pictures of St Jerome, the patron saint of translators. My next aim is to find out more about the artists and hopefully sharpen my eye by comparing different treatments of the same theme. It’s very lush and I feel content to float around in the mediaeval world after my struggling with active and passive management of assets and annualisation. I’d eventually like to put the pics of St Jerome somewhere but am not quite sure where in my 45 square metre flat or how I could best do it without damaging the photos. It wouldn’t be bad to have them on the ceiling like the Sistine Chapel but my flat probably looks eccentric enough already and the pics are a bit too small.

Starting or rather renewing work on a project made me think of my Corona Plan that I drew up at the beginning of my social isolation in March. Altogether I established about 20 project areas, including Anglia organization (my company), Anglo-Saxon, Art (St Jerome), Bengali, Contract Law, Dorset Churches, Family History, Flat Organization, French, Friends and Relatives, German, Health and Nutrition, Latin, Music, News and Orientation,  State of the UK, Technical, Uppsala and Writing, I have fulfilled my interim goals in 14 of these areas (although I’ve taken much longer than the two-week period I originally envisaged).

The areas I haven’t made a start on are Contract Law. This project stems from a session I was going to hold at ATA’s Washington conference some years ago. I had to pull out because of lack of clarity about my health insurance but I’ve retained the plan of studying contract law as part of my own further training. And I haven’t read a newspaper article every day in German as I had planned to do. I have worked regularly on my French so I’ve partly fulfilled my goals there but haven’t read Robinson Crusoe in Provencal as I had planned (I’m interested in the history of the French language and would like to look more at differences between the two major branches of the French language to obtain a more precise idea of the influence of the Franks).

I have wanted to study music for some time to get a better idea of the construction of classical music that I listen to but this hasn’t happened yet. I’ve done what I planned to do in the Technical area apart from checking whether it’s possible to teach Alexa, my AI assistant, to sing (sounds jokey but as a way in of understanding better how it works so that our communication is not limited to me asking what day it is). I’m very satisfied about the progress in some areas, in particular, I have got to grips with exploring Uppsala and reading about the county, I’ve organized a lot of paper but that has been swilling around me for decades and the Bengali alphabet seems less impenetrable than it once did.

I’m too tired today to draw up a new plan but I will do tomorrow as it looks as Corona (covid-19) is going to be with us for a while yet.

Wednesday, 20 May

Rather reluctantly I went to the police station today to renew my ID. I’d planned to postpone this until post-Corona but then realised that I would have to do something about it before a vaccine was available. And, judging from the few bookings on the net, there would be far fewer people there now than there would be later when travel is possible again. So off I went on my bike and the place was empty as I hoped. Rather satisfactory to tick one post-Corona postponement off my list.

As I’d already cycled into town and the weather was fine, I decided to continue south of the city to visit the riverside Kungsängen (King’s Meadow) nature reserve. You’re not allowed into the nature reserve but there is access at one point where you can go to see the fritillaries in bloom, a purple or sometimes creamy white lily. They are actually called Kungsängslilja (Kungsäng Lilies) in Swedish as the meadow is well known in the county with its large number of this flower (it’s Uppsala County’s official flower). I’m not sure whether the area would be defined as flood plain but the meadow is probably damp at the best of times as it’s close to the river and at times actually covered by water, which this flower appreciates. It’s not native to Sweden but from further south (the Crimea and Southern Europe) and here it is an escaped garden flower.

It takes me a while to spot it. Some of them look a bit sad, perhaps because we have had an unusually cold week and even night frost. But then I see more and more and, as the place is empty, I can also go into a barn where there is an exhibition about the history of the plant.

Its English name fritillary comes from the Latin Fritillarius, which means dice box, presumably because of the white spots on the purple flower.

It has a wonderful collection of common names in English – snake’s head (the original English name), chess flower, frog-cup, guinea-hen flower, guinea flower, leper lily (because its shape resembled the bell once carried by lepers), Lazarus bell, chequered lily, chequered daffodil and drooping tulip.

I was tired when I got back from what was my longest cycle ride yet. Not a great day on the reading front but I review a historical text and do my daily Bangla. And yesterday, I worked on my Dorset church project making a list of all the churches in the county and their dedications (which saint they are named after) to see what one might learn from that (I know now that there are over 300 churches to visit in Dorset, that St Mary is the most popular dedication and that the dedication of some churches is unknown). And I’ve started to nibble at an article on investment capital as part of my efforts to understand the finance sector in the UK better.