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Stories on this page :-
The Day we said Goodbye. Paradise Lost. The Day our Stephen was born. The Rats Our Bonny The Haymaking Season Josie comes to live with us. School is in for us.
THE DAY WE SAID GOODBYE.
The day dawned early. The day we were set to leave the paradise. I got up and walked every bit of the land, trying to imprint it all into my mind one last time.
The Well Of Blood or in welsh Fynon-y -Gwead was part of me, how ever was i going to survive with out it. My father had bought a smaller place down in the valley, and everyone with one exception, me, was looking forward to being in our new home.
It had a modern kitchen for mum . Not an old walk in pantry, with stone slabs each side to keep the meat etc cool. So,my mother was very excited.
Walking back into the yard , I could see most of our belongings were packed up on a flat back lorry that dad had borrowed. Only job left was moving the animals.
When we piled into the pick up, to leave our farm for the last time, I looked at that old house sitting there. It looked lonely already and with tears rolling down my face i watched as my father slowly drove out the yard. I could her children laughing, and could see us kids looking out of the window and me sat up on the roof by the sky light. We all were saying goodbye, not only to the old farm, but to our old way of the life. The only way we had ever known. The old house was still leaning at a drunken angle, the stagnant water still laid in the the yard, but that old house was wishing us goodbye. To me it seemed to be crying.. A new way of life was about to begin for us all, but thats a different story which will follow shortly.
Dads promise to mum all those years ago of six months was about to bear fruit.
and many hearts were bleeding mine in particular as we prepared to drive up that old track the old house already looked lonely , as with tears running down my face i looked back at it visions of kids leaning out windows watching Dads boxing match that winter evening flashed up , and my sister Diane being flattened by Oscar all flooded back ,looking at my mother i could see how pleased she was to be leaving life just wastn fair the old flat back lorry groaned in to life to pull up the rough track for the last time and part of me died ,as i whispered good bye to the home id loved un conditional for most of my young life, good bye ill never forget you was my promise to that run down shack that id been proud to call home
PARADISE LOST
Arriving at our new farm, I was determined I wasn't going to like it. It was at the end of a long valley. It was called the Ynys. Compared to paradise farm it seemed sort of posh. Oooooo and Ahhhhhs were bursting forth from the traitorous mob, bit it didn't cut any ice with me. I wasn't going to like it one bit. Seems there was a stream running right through the length of it called the Ynys stream and it was full of trout. I could hear my father telling my mother. Going into the kitchen, my mother nearly swooned. There was a sink with taps and we, at the other place, had to rely on well water. So, my mother was in seventh heaven and lord oh lord there was a bath room too, no more running up the garden in the dark with the rain beating down on you to use the loo.
Mum put her arms around dad and hugged him and dad was beaming. A very different picture from the day they moved to paradise, but i wasn't going to give in so easy. I was so homesick, but, adventures would be waiting for us here, i'm sure,and I'll be telling you all about them in my next story. We had been in our new farm two weeks now, and I was still very home sick for the old place. Despite my fathers warning not to go back, I kept finding myself walking back up the mountain. I would sit watching the old homestead for hours. It was still empty, so whoever had bought it, certainly wasn't in any hurry to move in. I'd go home, if that's the right word for our new place, and find everyone busy settling in. We had two extra bedrooms in this place, so cramped up, wasn't the fashion and one of the greatest wonders for my mother was, she had a cooker, no more balancing saucepans on the hobs, no more little black specks of dust floating in the milk saucepan when you'd balanced it on the fire, and no more potatoes baked for our supper in the hot ashes from the fire.
My mother was really happy, and so it seemed, were the rest of the clan. They didn't seem to miss the old house at all. Dad said the grass was richer down here for the cattle and the horses and milk quotas would go up. Our cart horse seemed to have gained a new lease of life, he was rolling and running everywhere. Even the outbuildings looked in better shape than our old house did, so by and large, as dad said, it was a good move.
My mother had started making her own butter and cheese and she decided to start a little farm shop, selling her products. My father wasn't too keen on this idea, but nothing would sway my mother from her chosen goal. She made butter and put little roses on it from the engravings on the butter pats. Her cheeses were doing so well, all flavoured. One i remember well was cheese with chives. The dairy was her workshop, she was in there most of the day and poor dad couldn't quite understand when the meal was late on the table or mum was chatting to a customer. She made the most of her new found life. Before she'd not see a soul except the family for weeks. Now people were popping in and out all day. Seems there were draw backs to our new life as well and the garden wasn't much a bed of roses as dad had predicted, not for him any anyway. Mum had put on a dress of independence and poor old dad would just have to get used to it.
Dad was so enjoying his new style of farming. Life had suddenly become a lot easier for him. We were informed that school was now a must, no more staying home because of the weather. It was school everyday from now on, which didnt go down a bundle with me. I hated school and was going to pull out all stops to keep from going. It just needed a little planning, i thought. I'd be seeing to that.
Dad came in late one afternoon from the pit and asked mum if she would take in a lodger. My mother was dead set against it, but dad put the squeeze on by pointing out the extra cash she'd have to play with. So that's how Horizontal came into our lives. It seems he worked with dad in the pit and needed a bed, so, Pam was put in with my other sister and me, and Horizontal got his bedroom. After a few days blessed with his presence, we all knew why he was called Horizontal, as mum said, except for work, he spent his time lying down. He'd lie on the mat to watch tv, and if he wasn't on the mat, we were, as Horizontal was sleeping on the only settee. My mother was telling dad he'd have to go and he hadn't been with us a week. He went out on a Saturday evening to the village pub and you'd hear him singing three fields from the house. My mother would tut tut, as his melodious voice carried up the valley and she'd be heard to say "We are not putting up with this much longer Bill" He'd been with us just over three months when he met his masters voice, he fell in the slurry pit and drown on his way home. Well, he be lying down forever now, i thought. Every Sunday we were dressed in our finest to attend Sunday School. After the fiasco with the collection plate, i preferred to skip it and sit and watch trains go by down at the station. I'd watch a train rush past and imagine where all its passengers were going, and I'd be sending them all over the world, even though the train just ran from Cardiff to the valleys, but what did you expect from a day dreamer?. Jenny my one sister, never missed Sunday School. She had been sucked right into the Jesus lark and was always praying to some one for some thing. I can remember her and her spells with Jesus really well. If she was sent to bed for doing wrong, she'd sit on the stairs, praying for all her worth to God, to be delivered from these horrid people, meaning us, but we'd pass her on the stairs and not take a penny worth of notice of her dramatics, but that didn't deter our Jen from her prayers. She would carry on regardless, and my mother would look at my father and just say "She's at it again Bill" Each and everyone of us were so different. How ever did our parents cope? Pam was the quiet pig that sucked a lot of swill, she never missed a nod or a wink.
One memory i can go back to so easy, was the day I saw her and my mother in deep conversation, then mum gave her a little brown package, which Pam promptly took to the bedroom. This seemed the right time to don on my spying dress and up i crept to see what was what. It seemed Pam had started her periods, as I hadn't and quite frankly didn't have a clue. I watched with deep interest as she did what had to be done, and then went back down with a smug grin all over her face. "Now you're becoming a woman" I heard my mother telling her. Well, no way would that happen, i thought as i took the package from the wardrobe and went up the garden and buried it. That's cooked her goose, I thought. The mystery of the missing pads didn't surface for many years. I was viewing our Pam now in a different way. She had started her periods and was behaving differently from what i'd been used to. Anyway she was getting out in the evenings down to the village. She had joined a youth club and was acting so grown up. I wasn't to worried about the youth club, but she wasn't going to start bossing me around. It was bad enough my elder brother being bossy without her starting. If erands were to be run to the village i'd always say "I'll go", I loved to be by myself and would take hours to do a half hour chore of going down to the village shop. I'd stop halfway down the lane to the village and look down on what looked like toy town, although we were so much lower down the mountain now, we still were above the rest. I'd see little buses and cars winding their way around the village like dinky toys, and i'd sit in the gorse and dream. On arriving at the shop, i'd enjoy the smells of fresh bread, oranges and apples, and if i had to get the Daily Herald, dad's paper, I'd read it from end to end long before i arrived home. If I had to get bread, i'd pull the soft side and pick at it as i was reading, then a drink of water from the sping to wash it down. I well remember going home one day and saying, "Dad who's going to put a man on the moon?, it says in the paper that a man will soon be put on the moon". "No way" said my dad, "Don't believe all you read, that will never happen". THE DAY OUT STEPHEN WAS BORN. Now i knew another baby was on the way, as my mother was wearing the flowered pink overall again. Everytime that came out of the drawer, another baby soon followed. With one son and six daughters, it seemed our family was about to grow yet again.
Our Auntie Beat was coming tomorrow, so we all knew it wouldn't be long. My mother didn't do much today, she didn't look very well at all, and dad told us not to bother her. After we had all gone to bed that evening, i heard dad get up, it didn't seem long after, I heard a strange female voice in my mothers bedroom. It seemed mum had gone into labour six weeks early, and dad was pacing back and forth. I got out of bed quietly, my sisters were fast asleep. I went down into the kitchen. Dad was sat in the chair his head resting in his hands, "You ok dad?" i asked, "Is mum ok?" I was frightened, but didn't really understand of what. Dad told me to go back to bed and said in the morning there would be a nice suprise for us all. I wanted to stay there with him, but went back up to bed. I lay awake for what seemed ages, and could hear my mum crying, so i began to cry and started Jens trick "Please God, let our mum be ok" I must have fallen asleep then, because next thing i knew dad was waking us all up to go and see our new baby brother , did i hear right ,he did say brother, no wonder our dad had this silly grin all over his face . We all crept into our mums bedroom to see this new arrival. He looked just like a baby girl, but i'm sure they had got it right, it was a boy. "We are going to call him Stephen" mum said.
Dad had to go and pick Auntie Beat up, to come to look after mum and us and i went with dad in the old pickup to get her. "Don't tell Auntie Beat it's a boy" dad said. When we met her, dad said "Another girl, Beat".
On arriving home we all dashed up stairs behind our Auntie,eager to see what she said. She picked our Stephen up out of the cot, and mum said, "Change her for me Beat" Imagine our Aunties face when the nappie was unpinned and she saw the baby had a water spout, as dad called it. We all doubled up laughing.
Our parents were so proud to show they had at last produced another son to follow in dads foot steps.
THE RATS
Now with the stream running right through the farm, and the slurry pit as well, we discovered there were rats aplenty. We had a false ceiling in the kitchen with a trap door in it that lead to a very small attic.
Sitting down to meals, we could hear the rats running about up there. Dad would keep his eyes away from mum and hope she didn't hear them, but, she would put down her knife and fork and say to my father "Can you hear them up there Bill ? Something will have to be done about those rats". Poor dad would say, "I don't think its rats, Brenda, more like mice". "Rats or overgrown mice, Bill, they got to go. Sounds like the Grand National up there". So, my father would put a plan of action together. This would involve putting ferrets up in the attic and the out buildings, then he'd position us kids alongside the ditch in the yard that ran into the slury pit, armed with thick sticks. As the ferrets drove the rats out into the open, it was our job to whack them with the thick sticks we had. I would raise the stick ready to whack the offending rat as it ran for its dear life along the ditch, but long before it reached me i'd close my eyes and lash out with the stick never ever scoring a bulls eye. My father would shout at me, "You're supposed to hit them, not fan them child". I hated rats, still do. I was always glad when dad gave up.
We would go in the shed where we stored the cattle cake and the corn for the chickens and nine times out of ten there would be a rat in one of the barrels we used to store the food. It was best to look before you put the scoop into the barrel. The best thing to do was to call one of the farm dogs and tip the barrel, thus the rat would try to make a getaway and hopefully the dog would get him. You could get a very nasty bite off a rat if you weren't careful.
Sitting down to meals, we could hear the rats running about up there. Dad would keep his eyes away from mum and hope she didn't hear them, but, she would put down her knife and fork and say to my father "Can you hear them up there Bill ? Something will have to be done about those rats". Poor dad would say, "I don't think its rats, Brenda, more like mice". "Rats or overgrown mice, Bill, they got to go. Sounds like the Grand National up there". So, my father would put a plan of action together. This would involve putting ferrets up in the attic and the out buildings, then he'd position us kids alongside the ditch in the yard that ran into the slury pit, armed with thick sticks. As the ferrets drove the rats out into the open, it was our job to whack them with the thick sticks we had. I would raise the stick ready to whack the offending rat as it ran for its dear life along the ditch, but long before it reached me i'd close my eyes and lash out with the stick never ever scoring a bulls eye. My father would shout at me, "You're supposed to hit them, not fan them child". I hated rats, still do. I was always glad when dad gave up.
We would go in the shed where we stored the cattle cake and the corn for the chickens and nine times out of ten there would be a rat in one of the barrels we used to store the food. It was best to look before you put the scoop into the barrel. The best thing to do was to call one of the farm dogs and tip the barrel, thus the rat would try to make a getaway and hopefully the dog would get him. You could get a very nasty bite off a rat if you weren't careful. Our Bonny
Now my dad decided he needed a new horse. Violet our old cart horse was well past her sell by date. She was ok for my wooding trips and the coal snatches, but serious farm work , like ploughing etc . was not Violets forte. So, on visiting Abergavenny market, he bought Bonny a grey mare, thick set and about 12 hands tall. "She's quiet " said the former owner. I was set to ride her home. Well, from the word gee up, Bonny didn't want me on her back and certainly didn't want to go to her new home. She was a nightmare in traffic, dont think she'd been on the highway much and it took all my wits to keep on her back. We did manage to get back to the farm, although no thanks to Bonny.
After a couple days we all realised that bonny didn't live up to her name at all , in fact ,she should have been named temperamental, because she was all of that . She had a nasty habit of bolting for the stable door as soon as you jumped on her back, leaving you dangling from the troughing as she went in. If you put a bridle on her, she would, if she could, when you went to lead her out ,try to get your hand. She bit dad a couple of times. I bet her former owner was so pleased when my father took her off his hands.
One day i was leading her up and down the field as my father operated the plough she was pulling. "Dad" i said "This horse is leaning on me" "Don't be daft" my father said, "Just keep going" I did and my arm was aching as that wiley old horse put more and more of her weight on me. Come back Violet all is forgiven. Bonny was on the way out the day she decided to bolt with our young Stephen in the cart . I can laugh now, on looking back at that day, as Bonny went up the track at a gallop with Stephen bawling his little head off , dad chasing in hot pursuit , mum wringing her hands shouting "Stop her Bill ". Dad had no chance, and if the farm gate had been open instead of closed Bonny would still be going. "That's it" Dad said, when he got his breath back, "That bloody horse has got to go". Mum just grabbed the light of her life, young Stephen, and giving my father a look that spoke volumes, went into the house. So, Bonny was on her way back to market and i wasn't about to ride her there The Haymaking Season Our first year on the new place was passing so fast. I still hadn't settled and hankered for the old homestead often, but the hay making season was ahead, and non of us would have a lot of time to think. My father would be like a coiled spring and my mother would be stressed out, as soon as my father started cutting the grass in the first field. Dad would cut the field as soon as he arrived home from the pit , then the grass would lie on the field for the top side of it to dry. We would all pray it didn't rain that night, as first thing next morning armed with long wooden rakes we'd be out turning every bit of the grass for the under side to dry. That took most of the day and i've often wondered why, when we were working our butts off, did my father turn away help. Several youths from the village would be hanging over the dry stone wall that bordered the field watching us girls in the field working, and would shout to my dad, "Need any help, mister?" Dad would glance up and shout "You bugger off boyos, you got more than haymaking on your minds" It just didn't make sense to me.
When the turning was finished we'd then make little hay stacks all over the field. Next step would be, to load it all onto the crt and head for the barn where the hay would be stored for winter feeding. Only when the last load was brought into the barn would my father relax and enjoy a few glasses of home made cider, then we would all sit out and have a sing song, listen to a few of dads tales a real get togetherness would prevail for awhile, until the next milestone, that was our way of life. Going from one crisis to the next, but ask my parents, would they change their life for a city life and the answer would have been no.
This was about the time, us kids would make up games and fun. One of our favourite games was rounders, we used mums fire shovel for a bat and mum and dad would each pick a side, we'd then have fun, cos dad would try hard to get my mother out and she'd be doing exactly the same to him. Another good game was getting up on the bank with cardboard and sliding all the way down on it. The more you went over the course the drier it got and the faster went the card board with you sat on it. Simple games, but such fun. Someone always ended up crying cos their bum had slid off the cardboard and they had hurt themselves. That's when our parents called a halt, but such wonderful summer evenings. How i often wished summer would go on for ever. Josie comes to live with us. Josie was coming to live with us. That was what my mother told us one morning. Seems Josie was my aunties foster daughter, and my auntie could no longer look after her, so we were taking Josie. She was arriving today from Bournemouth. Off my parents went to meet her from the train, and we were all waiting for their return. When they arrived back with our Josie , she was very grown up and quite ladylike, unlike us, we must have appeared like the hill-billies to her. Auntie Phyl had brought our Josie up very differently to us, or that's how it appeared. My eldest brother John took a shine to Josie right away, and my mother said Josie was taking up an apprenticeship at a hairdressers in town, which, after a few days of settling in, she did.
Life went along smoothly for a week or two, with John swooning over Josie and her doing her hair dressers job. I was very jealous of her and for little reason, i just didn't want to accept her into the family circle, and to my shame,went out of my way to be sullen with her, getting digs in, whenever possible, at both her and my brother, who was going around the farm with a love sick look plastered all over his face. Things came to a head one evening. I was washing my hair. I'd filled a large jug with warm water ready to pour over my head to wash the shampoo out. When i was ready, i said, "Pour the water over my head, Josie" but she'd pulled a fast one on me for my past behaviour to her and had refilled the jug with cold water, which she promptly tipped right over my head. I came up gasping as the icy water took my breath away and as soon as I could breath again, i hit her, flying, she fell against the passage wall and bounced back right at me and a free for all broke out. Somehow the clock on the shelf, which we called dad's submarine clock, (cos he always said it had come out of a submarine) was knocked off, and the glass broke, i ended up with no pocket money for a month, to pay for the new glass and a very damaged ego. Whether i liked it or not, Josie was here to stay, my mother said, so ,id better get used to it first as last. School is in for us Now, having to go to school was not going down very well with me or my siblings. We had far to much freedom to want to be stuck in a boring class room, and I'm afraid we all rebelled in different ways, me? I rebelled in the only way I felt I was good at, just ignore them they may go away. So, dumb insolence was the club to wage my war, and war it was .
I was in trouble from the moment I got to school, 'til the moment the bell went for us to vacate the premises, and very often I'd draw my siblings in as well. I spent more time facing a corner then I ever did facing the class. Several teachers remain in my memory, for the way they behaved towards me and more to the point the way I behaved toward them. A Mr Hindle the music teacher was one, he had a very nasty habit of throwing any thing that came to hand at you if he caught you not listening, but i soon learnt to be excellent at ducking, and remember one incident when he threw a book at me, I ducked and it caught Mary Gough on the side of her head. Didnt she bawl, you could have heard her half a mile away. Mr Hindle was doing every thing to try to quieten her cries, when this didn't, he grabbed me by the collar shook living daylights out of me, blaming me for him hitting her. Now, I ask you, was it my fault? Of course not, and I'd be telling my father on him as soon as i got home. I promptly informed him, my motto was never let the bastards know they had you over a barrel. Another one who, if he was still alive, would hate to hear my name mentioned, was a Mr Freegaurd. Him and his spinster sister both taught at the school both must have had relations in hell. They were not nice at all, and hated me with a vengeance.
On going home one afternoon and telling my father that Mr Freegaurd had told me I was dense, my father said, "You tell that old so and so you got more brains in your little finger then he got in his head". All the way to school next morning, I kept repeating that saying in my mind, I couldn't wait 'til I had a class room of listeners to repeat it to sir at the top of my voice. When you say you could hear a pin drop, well in this instance you could have at fifty paces. I was banned from school for a month. Silly devils, that wasn't punishment, that to me, was crowning glory. I must remember this for future reference. |
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