Owd Fred's Blog

Exploring the Bacon Pits. (1948)

Thinking that we were being chased, an almighty scramble started,
Following the path we came in, and round first pit we darted,
A mate behind through in a stone, and frightened us the more,

It was always depressing, the thought of having to go back to school after an exiting weekend exploring up on the old airfield that had just closed. We were sent out from home  in good time, to walk the half mile up the village to school, but we met up with our mates on the way and walked even slower, more often than not the bell had gone just before we had arrived.  They had just started school dinners, for which mother sent us with one shilling and a penny for five dinners, (that just over 5p in new money for the week).  No choice you just had eat what was sent on the van or do without. On the whole we seemed to eat most things, and those that refused,  meant that we could have as "seconds", and an almighty clamour to get to the front of the queue for that. In certain class rooms you could see the church clock and could not wait for three thirty and home time.  

First day of the week to school

Monday morning what a drag, five whole days of school,
Get up slowly rubbing eyes, washed our selves in water cool,
Down for breakfast a glass of milk ,porridge in a bowl,
Tie our shoes and jacket on, out the door we strolled.

Up the village join our mates, dawdled all the way,
School bell it had just gone, what a long old day,
Strode through the gates, my brothers our mates and me,
 See what mood the teacher's in, try to educate you see.

Take the register, next assembly, then chant times tables all,
 English history geography, and learn all about Nepal,
We learned about the plants and trees, gardening as well,
Germinate a bean in jar, see its roots and shoots all swell.

Good to hear the final bell, home we race full speed,
There to see what mother baked, just to fill our need,
Change of clothes and out to play, often have some jobs,
Feed the hens and collect the eggs, all with fresh baked cobs.

Countryman

It was around the time the airfield closed in 1948 ,and I would be 10 years old we  found a way to get up onto the perimeter track of the old war time aerodrome.  The bomb dumps around the woods that surrounded the airfield still had the full fake grass camouflage netting over. We explored all round them inside and out, to see if any bombs had been left behind. There must have been ten or more of these dumps all round the outside of the perimeter track tucked under the sides of different woods. One wood that intrigued us was "Williams" wood, and we had heard the old men of the village taking about two pits in the middle of this wood that were called the "Bacon Pits". The gates were still closed and the airfield was patrolled by a guard to stop just such kids as us. So we were very frightened going in and even more frightened on the way out of the wood, so much so that with short trousers and brambles and nettles, we never felt them until we had a count up to see if we were all there, then there was evidence of blood, and scratches from coming out in such a rush.

I Remember Exploring the Bacon Pits. 

We went to Seighford Airfield, soon after it had closed,
To have a look for William's wood, and find the mystery posed,
We heard tales about the pits, in middle of the wood,
These were called The Bacon Pits, and thought we would explore.

On our bikes we did set out, along the perimeter track,
Turned off through the bomb dumps, into the far outback,
We came along the side the wood, and down we dropped our bikes,
Decided to go through the under growth, must be a big long hike.

We found a stick for each of us, to beat the brambles down,
A path to make so we could find, the pools of such renown,
Eerie echo's thought we heard, while progress it was bumbling,
Looking up for what we could hear, the sticks the scrub a thwacking

 Our legs were scratched and nettled, but soldier on we must,
Our nervous tension it was showing, the guard we might be cussed,
Out in an opening, first pit we could see, deep in the wood through the leaves,
The pool was dark, the water smooth, surrounded by tall trees.

Press on to find the second pool, onwards through the scrub to find,
Each step we took cracked the twigs, not knowing whose behind,
It was difficult to keep on moving, eventually we found it,
We all stood still and thought that we could, hear the enemy emit.

Thinking that we were being chased, an almighty scramble started,
Following the path came in, and round first pit we darted,
A mate behind through in a stone, and frightened us the more,
Shouting squealing cracking of twigs went even faster, such uproar.

Having got back to our bikes, we had a count to see,
If all the men had got back, none drowned or captured by a nazi,
We peddled fast all scratched and bleeding, home to safety to our mums,
Blood wiped off all patched and plastered, then had a meeting all us chums. 

Countyman

Feathers Floating Round the Light

With four lads in the house it was obvious that discipline was going play a big part of growing up. Father always wore bracers and had no belt thank goodness, but he wasn't shy of using his slipper.

No one nowadays lives in a house without some sort of central heating, but as a kid growing up, the only heat was the heat from the kitchen fire  ( the front room fire was lit on Sundays when we often had visitors) fuelled with best "steam" coal that had been rolled off the steam loco's that passed through our fields. It was the main line to Scotland, and the Royal Scott train went through at full steam every day at about four o'clock. It was a couple of firemen on the local shunter steam engines that rolled the coal off the tender ( see Blog Father grew Sugar beet 7th September 08 for a tipical shunter loco)  on a regular basis in return for taters or eggs and every now and then half a pig. They were all in the local Home Guard  but that's another story.

This is a picture of our suckler cows at pasture June 2007, it is the cover picture to my book that I am trying to put together. Folks localy seem to like whats in it and can relate to all the locations mentioned. I have tried to flesh out the stories a bit with some banter like on this blog and it has a fair sprinkling of pictures.

 How we Lived in the Old House

Insulations none existent, big jumper you must ware,
Half timbered single brick, few inches plaster of horse hair,
Frosty weather glistens inside, a fridge you could compare,
Roof half filled with starling's nests, built up over the years.

Kitchens the warmest place, coal fire in big old range,
Heats the oven and boils, the kettle on the chimney crane,
Boils the taters and stew, toast the bread on a fork,
From the ceiling hangs a cloths drier, lifts and lowers on cord.

Bedroom bove the kitchen, only room upstairs warm,
Usually the kids have this room, that is always the norm,
Other rooms are chilled and cold, cool in summer though,
This is how we lived them days, kids now will never know.

Old iron bedstead webbed with steel, straw mattress on the top,
Then feather mattress covered with a white sheet she'd pop,
Mother made a groove up this, dropped us into bed,
A sheet two blankets and eiderdown, feather pillow lay ya head.

Best front room not often used, too posh to use every day,
Used over Christmas and party's, best crockery out on display,
Fathers roll top desk in there, his bills and letters wait to pay,
Always locked cus of cash in their, he always had last say.

Now heating was a big open fire, ingle nook chimney above,
Logs as long as ya can lift, one end on the fire to shove,
The bigger the fire, bigger the draught across the floor,
The heat goes up the chimney, fresh air comes in under the door. (in the form of draught)

A cellar beneath front room, brick steps leading down,
Couple of vents to the garden, the mesh with weeds overgrown,
Air circulation its not good, and musty damp and wet,
Timber in the floor above, gone weak and springy pose a threat.

A room with settlass all way round, there to salt the pig,
Been used now twice  a year, doesn't look so big,
Salt has drawn up the brickwork, all through to outside
Bricks are flaking and rotting, replace section of bricks decide.

Mother kept a big tin bath, hung on a nail outside back door,
Brought it in to the hearth, filled with kettle and big jug she pour,
Youngest first then nother kettle, warm it agen for the second,
Cold night our steaming little bodies, hot crisp towel it beckoned.

So we kids lived in the big kitchen, our bedroom top of back stairs,
Long old sofa under the window, father had his own armchair,
Big old peg rug in front of the fire, we played and sat on that,
Large old radio in the window, then hurray first tele in front we sat.

Countryman

With four lads in the house it was obvious that discipline was going play a big part of growing up. Father always wore bracers and had no belt thank goodness, but he wasn't shy of using his slipper. It was always the way he came after us that put the fear if god in us, he would slap it hard on anything that made a noise and growl as he gave chase, but he rarely hit us unless it was really serious. When we got above five years old we could move very fast and unless he ran us into a corner, or got mother to stop us he stood no chance. Looking back I think he did not try too hard at times, but then when he eventually sat down at night after a hard days work, chasing kids was not very high on his list of things to do. It did not help that we had a front stairs and back stairs, and also our bedroom was above the kitchen, so bumping and banging jumping on and off the dressing table onto the bed and sometimes missing, made the white wash flake off the ceiling over dads chair.

White wash was what the cowsheds and dairy were painted with, its bag of burnt lime mixed with water and brushed on the walls or in the case of the kitchen ceiling, and its added to every year or so and biulds up to a brittle thickness that can't stand vibration.     

Father Used His Slipper

Father always used his slipper, when we were being naughty,
But we were quick and dodged about, for he was over forty,
He chased upstairs into our room, he thought he'd got us now,
We dived under both the beds, to reach us he dint know how.

Looking back he never hurt us, he slapped his slipper on the floor,
The noise and shouting gave us speed, that we never had before,
The Beeches had two lots of stairs, up one set and down the other,
Dad soon got out of puff; and shouted for our mother.

A couple of smacks across the bum, and on he put his slipper,
And told us off when we did wrong, but never was he bitter,
Respect was what he taught us, and elders must not cheek,
Listen to what you're being told, with P's and Q's must speak.

Pillow fights at bed time, when we should be fast asleep,
Jumping high up to the ceiling, were not counting sheep,
Our room was buv the kitchen, and noise he couldn't stand,
Heard him rushing up the stairs, for piece and quite demand.

When he came in, were in bed, feathers floating round the light,
Pretending were asleep, bulb still swinging from the fight,
Settle down we had to now, if he came up a second time,
We'd all be in trouble, twas the stairs that he had to climb.

He had done a hard days work, and had settled in his chair,
And running up the stairs at night, enough to make him swear,
Slipper slapping on the treads, we knew what he had got,
So fast asleep pretend to be, looked like he'd lost the plot.

Countryman

Not until just before dawn do people sleep best; not until people get old do they become wise. 
             Chinese Proverb

Climate Change, the hot topic (or cold depending what year it was),

When the ice did break in the middle the tractor dropped about eighteen inches and had a job to get it out , then could not use that route for a few weeks due to the deep steps down off the ice at the sides of the ford.

I recall the winter of 1947 when we had a lot of deep snow which filled the roads and lanes level full to the top of the hedges in places as deep as ten foot. There was a continuous period of cold weather that the snow hung about for all of a month, and frost most nights freezing the water bowls in from of the cows tied in their stalls. The cows were loosed out each day for a couple of hours for exercise and if they had no water in the shed, we had to break the ice on the flowing brook. Nowadays we do get a bit of snow and often melted away by mid morning

That's me on the right in 1947 , when the roads were  blocked for almost a week. In places the road was filled up to the top of the hedges eight or ten feet, almost walk on top of the fences and hedges.
Picture was taken with the Beeches Farm in the back ground, and the original old beech trees. The tall chap with the leather jerkin was a bus driver,John Lowe, and the chap with his ass in the air was a cow man from Village Farm named George. My mum is the one in the light coloured coat at the back. On the left is John's daughter, and in the middle is Georges daughter.

I Remember Digging Snow 1947

I Remember digging snow, with my little spade,
I would be about eight years old, my friends and me we played
 Little caps and scarves we wore, and wellinton boots as well,
Digging under snow drifts, till roof top down it fell.

All the men from in the village, started to dig the road,
Drifts for over a mile each way, they all toiled and strove,
To get the hay from barn to shed, out lying cattle to feed,
Even the tractors couldn't move, or get to hog of swede

The village it was totally cut off, for about two days,
Us kids we dug up to houses, digging out the pathways
For this we got a piece, of home made cake with jam,
Or a drink of Corona pop, just a little dram.

Bread man was the first, to venture in on foot,
Helped along the way, on our sledges bread he put,
The postman he was helped, slippery paths we ran up,
Paper lady old Violet, her papers did not turn-up.

Milk from the farms still their, to double in two days,
Take to Bridgeford Garage, across the fields on drays,
Bring back the empty churns, all clanging on the back,
To fill again them over night, and back along same track.

Third day we went to school, Miss Pye from Doxey walked, (our teacher)
Only six of us turned up, on board in front of fire she chalked,
Chairs and a table pulled to the fire, roaring up the chimney,
Compared our notes about, through snow we had to journey.

When the snow ventualy melted, lumps of drifts stayed put,
It took weeks for this to go, from under hedge and butt,
Floods came out all over low ground, silt and mud abound,
Pleased when the spring came along, thought the grass had drowned.

Countryman

After mains water came to the village in the 1950's I remember one very hard frost, that went on for a week and it froze the mains water pipes which supposed to be three foot down. The week after water still would not run and they brought in a man with a big welding generator, and connected his live cable to one fire hydrant, and run a long cable to connect his earth to the next hydrant, and run a currant though the pipes for about twenty minuets or until the water run. It took him all day to do the half mile length of the village.

There had been a covering of snow off the road line and that seemed to prevent most house pipes freezing to the house, but those that did the man connected his cable to the tap under the sinks.  

In that same year when I remember the ford in the village had frozen over that solid that it carried the tractor and trailer, for a two day muck carting spree without breaking through, When it did break in the middle the tractor dropped about eighteen inches and had a job to get it out , then could not use that route for a few weeks due to the deep steps down off the ice at the sides.

In the 1970's ( think it was 75 or 76) we had that very dry hot summer that burned off all the grass and I resorted to grazing my cows down the cow lane which is almost a mile long and stayed with then for an hour each morning for them to eat off the hedge banks and lane verges, then taking them onto the peaty meadows where the fields were green no grass but just green and down there for water. The wheat and barley had quite good heads considering but the straw was about six inches high, the combine was licking it off the ground. No straw to bale on most of the fields.

The Millian Brook that flowed through the ford stopped flowing for the first time in living memory, there were still deep pools of water along its length but the different herds of cattle drank more than what came from the springs that fed it.

Church Farm is just up the lane off the picture to the right This is the ford and the foot bridge where most of the cows would prefer to queue up and go over single file, although odd one would always go through even when it was in flood and almost four foot deep. When it froze over it was around two foot deep, some water would find its way over the top and freeze again at night giving and ever stronger icepack.

The Millian Brook

The Millian Brook from fields filtrate,
All the water from the Seighford estate,
Same steady contour for years gone by,
Nothing to stop it, even if you try.

Through pools and weirs all man made,
It burst its bank its time outstayed
Through drought and flood to the ford
Its waters gouge its path contoured.

It winds its way through fields and meadows,
Under dark shade beneath the willows,
Between the alders hold banks well rooted,
Foot bridge now once it was waded.

The brook alive with wildlife so shy,
Wade and nest and burrow rely,
From flies and fish to mammals and birds,
All can be found as it wends seawards.

Countryman

Advice is like snow; the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and deeper it sinks into the mind.

Samual Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

The Great Escape "Getting out of me chair".

I was stranded. The misses was out of earshot, and it was too dangerous for her to wander about in the dark and come down stairs.

 Well it happened, it was going to happen some time, and it happen the other night, and we had a power cut. Sitting comfortable as you do in the evening watching TV, we had just had a cup of tea at supper time and the misses had gone up to bed, I was half an hour behind her but just before my programme had finished the electric went off.

This is a view of our what we call our "Front Back Door" where we can sit out under the shelter to have an afternoon cup of tea, often with some of the chaps who help me from time to time.

As you know the family bought me a new chair for my 70^th and I was well flat out on it feet well up and head up just enough to see the TV, and as I said the chair is operated from the plug on electric, so I was stranded. The misses was out of earshot and was too dangerous for her to wander about in the dark and come down stairs as well, so as described in my thoughts about this situation (see the tag Me Chair) where I warned myself about a power cut.  Having sat for five minuets thinking it might come on again shortly, it did not happen, so like a tortoise on its back I started swinging my legs  up in the air and eventually managed to roll out of the chair over the arm rest, landing on my "tin" knees (see tag for Metal joints) on all four in the middle of the carpet. This was the safest way to move about to the door when I clawed my way up the door post, felt my way along the hallway to the office where I knew where I had got a windup modern torch. All this took best part of fifteen minuets and went up to check her indoors was Okay.

We both sat in the dark on the bed discussing the programmes we had respectively been watching and sat laughing about my "great escape".  However the power was restored after about an hour and half and I went down to "drive" my chair back into its parking position, ready for my next knap after lunch tomorrow.

On reflection if I had been patient I could have stayed in the chair until it came back on, but at that time of night I also have the need to "water me hoss" so I demonstrated to myself how agile I was, and just wonder how it will pan out in say twenty years time when I'm "old".

This Comfortable Chair of Mine

Now I've turned seventy years of age, the family bought a chair,
I had it for me birthdee, I was consulted and aware,
Had to have a go try it out, to make sure it did the job,
High enough back n' foot rest, n' not too soft a squab.

Its huge when it stands there, and a cable from the plug,
A controller in ya right hand, and I fit in it nice and snug,
A button to lift ya feet up, and a button to lower the back,
And one to lift you up again, was soon getting into the knack.

Now I fear a power cut, when me feet are up in the air,
Back is down and ya feel a clown, and conner git art o' the chair,
Like blady big tortoise on its back, belly up swinging ya feet,
Shouting fa help come and get me, help me git art o' this seat.

This hasn't happened but I fear, could when I'm home alone,
Going to sleep that is easy, but then I shouldn't moan,
If someone knocks at the door, takes a while to lift me right up,
They knock again and again, I feel like a fly blown old tup.

I must tell you the cover is leather, cow hide has gone into that,
The cost of it was tremendous, the cow she must have been fat,
What we paid we got short changed, insides of the cow had gone,
Price of the chair, price of a cow, beef and steaks we had none.

Now I've got well used to it, my inhabitations flew out of the door,
Sit in it after my lunch and tea, go to sleep and have a good snore,
My appreciation what they bought, it suits me down to the ground,
Thank my family again and again, this comfortable chair they found.

Countryman

Life's Time Clock You Cannot Beat

You wonder where the time, and all the years have gone,
They pass so quickly now, going one by one,
Season's sequence come in turn, no control have we,
Wind and rain and sunshine, day and night decree.

Snow and frost in winter, good start for New Year,
Spring and summer showers, and the sun appear,
Autumn fruits and berries, winter for the birds to eat,
Repeat with little change, life's time clock cannot beat.

Countryman

 The best way to escape from a problem is to solve it.
                                                                   Alan Saporta

Need long toe nails like claws to grip onto the perch

Dad always said that, "you're only as good as your feet,"
But then he was talking bout, horse's cows and bullocks for meat.

Anyone who died in the village were said to have "fell off the perch"

 Yes this is a picture of a picture, and my place is the farm top left with the eight bay hay barn, top in the middle on the same side of the road is the pub, and middle on the left is the village school, they have over two hundred kids from all the villages around and some come from out of town. Right of middle is St Chads church and guess who lives under the star (The Vicar in the vicarage.) There used to be four farms and four herds of cows in this area of the village but mine is the last one to survive, when I give up my tennancy even that will go as well.

 As Old as What you Feel,

They always say that your only, as old as what you feel,
Now I like to have knap, after almost every meal,
And in the night get disturbed, got to water me hoss,
So now I think I must be old, me legs I cannot cross.

The old body that I've worked with, all my living years,
Getting tired and old as well, confirming all my fears,
Joints get stiff and muscles ache, cannot move so fast,
Stumble over rough ground, getting all harassed.

I cannot read the paper, until my glasses I must find,
Remember where I put them, must be getting blind,
The misses she has got them on, cannot find her own,
Each of us both as bad, but then we shouldn't moan.

Feet I cannot reach right now, back won't bend so much,
Got to have chiropodist, corns and toe nails to retouch,
Dad always said that, you're only as good as your feet,
But then he was talking bout, horse's cows and bullocks for meat.

Hair it has all gone grey, and very thin on top,
Need a hat in winter, the freezing cold wind to stop,
No insulation gainst the cold, a wig I got in mind,
But then its two lots of hair to comb, as well as going blind.

Ya mind is getting slower, reactions far too late,
The young ones like to drive, my driving they berate,
A dent or two I don't mind, but it frightens them to death,
When they're sitting in the back and cannot catch their breath.

So now I try to look relaxed, put me feet up on me chair,   
Central heating turned up, find me glasses and combed me hair,
Slippers on oh what bliss, the telly's far too loud,
Lost the bloody controller now, good job were not too proud.

Countryman         (see tag for "Me Chair)

It funny how your mind can wander when you're thinking of nothing in particular, thinking about mothers old soft water tank outside the back door and the sock come filter tied round the tap to filter out the house sparrow droppings, and how she used to wash our hair in it because it lathered better, all this when we were kids,

The different coloured bottles that medicine came in up on the top shelf, very few if any tablets as I can remember. The only "tablet" I can remember was disguised as dark chocolate, and after we had each had a square of it, were told it was for worms. I can remember the strong  taste of it now, and it put me off chocolate for life.

The wobbly stool, the dragging wicket, and the postman with no nose, he had had a close encounter with a bullet or shrapnel in the war and lost his nose, there was just two holes in his face between his eyes, and he cycled eight to ten miles out and back to the village six days a week. A very brave and respected man for his courage working as a postman in all weathers. 

Now We've Got a Leaking Tank

Now we've got a leaking tank, soft water leaking out,
Got to find a bung for it, a cork or something stout,
A cork from in a bottle, would do the job okay,
Bottles in the cupboard, we've got a good array.

Tall bottles short bottles, white or blue or green,
Embrocation medication, colour codes it seems,
For coughs and colds a spoon full, taken every day,
Bumps and bruises rub it on, oily vapour say,

Way back on the top shelf, most of them half used,
Find a chair to stand on, now I'm all confused.
Old chair it's wobbly, one leg is short and loose,
Take it in the workshop; it's had some abuse.

Other three cut them off, make legs same length,
On the leg bit of glue, stick it to give it strength,
But the saw it's lost some teeth, and it wouldn't cut,
Gate into the back yard, and that it wouldn't shut.

Timber on it rotten and hinge it would not hold,
Aught to have a new one or that is what I'm told,
Keep out intruders, this it wouldn't do,
Post that it hangs on, that also must renew.

There's another sort of post, which goes in a letter box,
Brought by the postman, from his bike he always locks,
Parcel to deliver, on the door he always knocks,
On his round six days a week, wearing out his socks.

It was always an old sock, which was tied around the tap,
This it filtered all the water, floating bits to trap,
On the front of this old tank, I think I've found a cork,
Stop the water leaking, out faster than it aught.

 Countryman

No more old ones after this one, I will go back to being a kid.
They alway said that your once an adult and twice a child in life.

When Gravity Takes Over

It is not until people of your own age,
Start falling off perch begin to engage,
Your mind to thinking what you will do,
When you're the last one at hundred and two,

Gravity takes hold and pulls everything down,
From your cheeks on your bottom to facial frown,
Everything sags and get a lot shorter,
When you get into that last century quarter.

Memory is one thing that you take for granted,
Forgetting to remember is not to be vaunted,
They say it's selective in what you do,
It's a privilege to have choice than get in a stew.

Toe nails can't reach and look like bald eagle,
Chiropodist trims and tells you they're fungal,
Gives you some cream and still you can't reach,
Old back bone won't bend but still got my speech.

The hair it still grows with the utmost vigour,
Round wrinkly face and chin it gets bigger,
Stretch and contort to shave it all off,
But some it gets missed when got a bad cough.

As you wobble out to the car that you drive,
Dented on the corners, too bad to describe,
Backing is dangerous blind as a bat,
Makes not much difference just one more splat.

To round up and sum up the older you get,
Experience all round but you do forget,
Long toe nail like claws to grip onto the perch,
Live on for ever not left in the lurch.

Countryman

The human race has one really effective weapon; laughter

I knew the old gypsy was about to "skin me"

The only horse to ever to pull it cart north bound on the M6.
I knew the old gypsy was about to "skin me" with what he wanted for the horse, and gradually got round to a price three times what I had in mind.

Boswell the old Gypsy

It was around 1975 when we heard that Boswell the old gypsy who lived on his own permanent site just outside Stafford wanted to sell his horse.

He was getting too old and infirm to work collecting scrap iron, as he had done round our area for years, he had got two daughters who used to work with him at times and knew the job. But they "modernised" and got a transit van, and found they did not have to work out in all weathers, and they seemed to be more the "rag and bone man" type of gypsies.

So I called to see him in his old bow top wagon, where he had slept underneath it all his life, and his misses and the children had slept inside.He was inside with his little cast iron stove going and a pipe in his mouth, Being the bloke he was, I knew he was about to "skin me" with what he wanted for the horse, and gradually got round to a price three times what I had in mind.

We walked across some rough ground towards where the horses were tethered, each one staked down to its own circle. The one we walked to was a half legged honey coloured dunn with beautiful dark main and tail and dark lower half to her legs and feathers. She was tethered to a shiny chain , the chain was directly round her neck with a nut and bolt through the links, the reason for this I discovered much later when we tried to tie her up by a stable. She did not like being tied short to a wall of fence, and she would pull backwards till the rope was tight and the lift her head with a snatch and break whatever was the weakest be it the fence, the ring on the wall, the rope or more usually it was the head collar.

Back to Boswell, he stuck and stuck on his price till I asked him to throw in the little four wheeled flat wagon and the harness, and he would have a deal. I won't divulge how much he charged, but he seemed pleased, and the cash was duly paid, and the horse "Dolly" was walked home.

Dolly enjoyed the freedom of being loose for the first time in her life, in a small paddock close to the house; she was eventually mixed with a couple more ponies who she dominated beyond belief. It was okay through the grazing season, but when hay or a bit of corn was brought into the field she was first in there, she would stand over the food and even we dare  not go near her, turning her backside round to you and threatening with her heals. She could be caught all right with a bit of corn in the bucket and keep hold of the bucket while slipping a head collar on and she led okay.

Our girls soon got a saddle on her and a bridle that had no blinkers, this she was not used to, and she soon got used to the idea of being under the saddle.
One slight problem when walking her on the roads, particularly narrow country lanes, was that she insisted on walking four foot away from the kerb or the hedge bank. This she had done all her working life pulling the gypsy's dray, and no matter how much the girls pulled on the left reign, all she did was turn her head round to the side and keep walking four foot from the side of the road. She never lost that habit all the while we had her.

When Boswell had her they trotted off as far as ten miles out from his camp, on the search for scrap iron. On this one occasion he was out at Penkridge, and had set off back home when he realised that the M6 had just opened a few days before. Not being able to read or write, he could not read the big signs, so proceeded to trot Dolly up the slip road of junction 13, his camp was half a mile off junction 14 so this was a good short cut for him and his horse and cart.

At this point I must say that it was only the short five mile section between 13 & 14 that was opened, by the then minister of transport just a few weeks before.

They had trotted along the hard shoulder and had got about half way when they were stopped by the police; all they could do was escort them the remaining way to J14 and home. This incident was reported on all the television news stations that night and in the new papers the following day as well.

Dolly was the first and only horse to use the M6 motorway. By today's standards it was very quiet only local traffic using it and also at that time there was no upper speed limit, and it attracted all the "boy racers" 

In time I acquired an old float, one that had been used to take milk churns to the station and pigs to market, not anything flash. It had at some point in time had its wooden wheels replaced with blow up rubber tyres, it had still got its original springs which made it a very comfortable ride.

Our girls would be 12 and 14 years old and they used to take Dolly out with the float, the only seat was a broad plank wood, then had the long leather reigns through a guide on the front board of the float.

They only walked her, but were often gone two or more hours at a time, the one time when they got home they were most exited about two daffodils they had picked. "You will never guess where these are from" and we did not guess. It turned out that they had travelled about six or seven mile round trip through Ranton, a neighbouring village, and just outside this village lived the "Black Sabbath" or most likely the lead member of that group, no other than Ozzy Osborne and his wife Sharron Osborne, and the little kids Jack and his sister.  The girls were big fans of Black Sabbath and played their records at home very loud.

It turned out that while they were spying on the house they decided to take home a souvenir, the two daffodils. Before they could set off home again, with the excitement they had to have a wee, and where better to have a wee than through a hole in the bottom of this old float.

While I'm name dropping we used to have Chris Tarrant come to our local pub, and Lord Lichfield I remember got refused entry to the Holly Bush one night because he was wearing genes, the land lord did not recognise him, and would not let him in. They had a strict dress code to keep out the "ruffians".

However back to Dolly, this is the same story in verse, which I had written some while ago          

I Remember Old Dolly The Gypsy Horse

We bought a horse her name was Dolly, a half legged mare was she,
A honey light coloured Dun, black mane n tail black feathers to the knee,
She had big feet and took big shoes, over six inches and more across,
And walk with feet dead in line, deliberate strides as if I'm the boss.

Bought her off a gypsy, the Boswells from by Stafford Common,
There they had a bow top van, they had a permanent site for one,
Grazing enough for three horses, and a flat four wheel dray,
This they collected scrap iron, from far and wide they stray.

It was a day when he took old Dolly, with the four wheel dray,
All the way to Penkridge, collecting scrap along the way,
On the way back he noticed that the new motorway just opened,
So along the hard shoulder he trundled, him his journey shortened.

The short M6 Transport Minister, opened only a few days ago,
Didn't expect to see a horse and cart, police they told him no,
Couldn't read or write you see, big signs at Dunston mounted,
Continued up to Creswell junction, police him home escorted.

On midland news it made headlines, across the country too,
The only horse and cart to roam M6, to Boswell and Dolly it's new,
Now this same horse and cart, I bought it off him for a price,
His younger generation shunned this transport, Transit van surfice.

This horse it had a mind all its own, would not share its hay,
Stood in the middle of the pile, teeth and heels would kick away,
Every one and everything, defend it to the death,
No wonder she looked so big and healthy, savoured every breath.

First time we put on a saddle, she had no blinkers not perturb,
Walking down the road she walked, two paces from the kerb,
This was all of her experience, of pulling in the shaft,
No pulling on the reigns would make her change her way of graft.

Countryman

For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost,
for the want of a shoe the horse was lost,
and for the want of a horse the rider was lost,
being overtaken and slain by the enemy,
all for the want of care about a horse shoe nail.

                                       Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790)

Norfolk Four Course Rotation (1950's at college)

All the young farm college students will laugh me off this page, because there does not seem to be such a thing as a full rotation these days. It seems a rotation for pests and diseases, and that's all. What you young un's must understand that there is a rotation to cope with weeds, mostly annual weeds.

These are what build up in arable land into a "seed bank" this needs a break and a rest for a few years in grass. We were learned the basic rotation devised by "Turnip Townshend" back in the 18^th century, Roots , Barley, Seeds (two or three years), and Wheat.

Not all these old ideas can be rubbished off hand, and could well be adapted to suit the modern farming methods. You need to assess how much nitrogen can be "fixed" by a good two year stand of predominantly a red clover/grass mix, clover left to mature and flower into a tall crop of hay/silage, has a tremendous root system with the accompanying nitrogen fixing nodules, bigger the top growth the bigger the roots.

In years gone by there was no bagged fertiliser, and this method improved output and yield, only now a tittle of nitrogen on top of the above idea  could well would match many of the modern yields of today.  The moral of this story is to cut costs, i.e. nitrogen and not plant second wheat's.

Now oilseed rape will cover as a root crop in this rotation, and to those who have never heard of it, under sow the barley with the grass / clover mixture. Time the seeding right and a bit of good fortune with the weather, and you soon get the hang of a good rotation saving on sprays as well.    

 Norfolk Four Course Rotation (1950's at college)

 At farming college we were told, how important it was to learn,
The basic four coarse rotation, good yields and a living to earn,
Roots Barley Seeds and Wheat, it kept the ground in good heart,
This was the basic rotation, from which to make a good start.

Roots you hoed around until, the leaves met in the row,
Smother any smaller weeds, nowhere for them to grow,
Always left a good clean field, and always in good heart,
Next crop had the benefit, of getting a jolly good start.

Spring barley follows the roots, too strong a land and it will soon go flat,
Drilled in March when the soil warms, an even plant stand begat,
Under sown with grass and red clover, establishing the best
Docks were pulled and thistles ‘spudded', first crop for to harvest.

The seeds grow on, once barley's cut, light sheep graze in back end,
It tillers and bulks tremendously, for winter feed depend,
Red clover with its vigorous growth, its roots beneath to match,
Fixes fertility down in the soil, from side to side of the patch.

If you graze the seeds and keep it low, doesn't produce the roots,
Fertility from the sun to leaves, only small leaves stems and shoots,
Mown for hay grown to maturity, for two years if you can,
Will give you a wheat crop you never had, at least that's the plan.

When the hays been cleared, and a fresh good cover of green,
Plough it in, green manure, the clover roots have been,
To fix the Nitrogen in the nodules, best crop of wheat you've seen,
No sprays or artificial needed, to return to a proper rotation I'm keen.

Organically speaking, this is the way, make the sun and the leaves,
Draw the goodness naturally; a shower of rain receives,
Plants are working how they ought to, compliment each other,
A good plant stand, and big broad leaves, weeds you hope to smother.

Countryman

I was fortunate in that my father helped me set up on my own 96 acre rented farm, and helped in that I could "borrow " odd thing and machinery from time to time. I started with 26 milking cows, and he let me make my own mistakes, as he said you learn quicker that way, particularly if it hits you in the pocket.

But I have known a lot who have worked for or with there fathers, and have had to wait years before they are allowed to take the "reigns"

It's a Fifty Year Apprenticeship

The farmers still a learner, till his eyes begin to blear,
Apprenticeship under the old man, for at least fifty years,
Ruled in turn by his father, the old ways are always best,
What bit of money he ever made, in land he must invest.

From round the kitchen table, the orders given out,
What to grow and sell and buy, and what to do without,
Frugel's what you call it, but he always has last say,
All his life, make do and mend, only time for work, no play.

Seventy five is just about when; he says he's had enough,
Say to the young ones now, in their fifties, now its tough,
Modernize and hit the cheque book, let's get up to date,
First time after all these years, they say it's never too late.

Countryman

Old ideas and old ways have a habbit of being re-invented, so try to keep some old ideas in the back of your mind, they may come in handy some day.
I have'nt got a patent or a copy right on this page so print all the copies you like I dont mind.
Ideas have to be planted, before they can come into fruition.

The definition of a weed ---  A weed is just a plant out of place.

To Farming College I Was Sent

Tipped us all out into a huge rhubarb patch, the clumsy driver was the head of department, that cart was decommissioned shortly afterwards as too unstable for the job.

This is a story as it happened, of some of the highlights of my year at college

This is a picture the old Hall, the windows on the second and third floors were the dormatories for the male students. One hot night one of the lads moved his bed out onto the narrow balcony above the french windows, (good job he got out of bed on the correct side). On one occasion an item of girls underware was flown from the top of one of the very tall fir trees just on this lawn, no one dare fetch them down, or admitt to putting them up there in the first place

Rodbaston Farming College  1958

In my late teens it was arranged that I would have twelve months at Rodbaston Farm College, this was when I lost touch with Eileen, and it was to be over sixteen years before we met again.  It was a residential course and I only got home every other weekend if father had time on a Saturday afternoon to fetch me and take me back on a Sunday evening. Some of the inmates took the course seriously and a few other younger ones fooled about and learned very little.

It was about this time that the first combines were just beginning to appear in our area and the very first sugar beet harvesters were being tried out at the college while I was there, both machines revolutionised farming, by eliminating a lot of very heavy hand work.  Another machine just coming out then was the crop sprayer and there were just about two options of spray to go into it. One dealt with thistles and docks in corn, the other did thistles and buttercups in grassland. There were no annual weeds to deal with to speak of in them days as every one followed a strict rotation.

Spraying allowed continuous corn cropping (Mono cropping) which in turn encouraged annual weeds.  The latest tractors were also tried out and demonstrated at Rodbaston some of the largest were over a hundred horse power, and with these bigger tractors came ploughs to match them and other cultivation equipment.

In the livestock section the first milking parlours were just appearing where the cows came to the milking units and not the other way round as in the old cowshed milking, and cow cubicles were just invented. The college still milked cows in a double cowshed tied up by self closing yolks.

On the social side of my stay at Rodbaston there were quite a few memorable incidents.  Every so often we (the students) would be invited to another college or a visiting college would be invited to join us at Rodbaston for a social evening. As you may realise there was a great demand for baths, not many showers about in those days.  Those in first or just early had the maximum hot water, the second lot the hot water system could not keep time with the demand and had cold baths, so as disgruntled students are, displeasure was shown in the testing of the drains around the student accommodation. (The maintenance man had been trying to clear a blocked drain all day)

This was achieved by the filling of all the baths (about ten as I recall) full to the brim with cold water and all the wash basins, then at a given signal  all the plugs were pulled, all the toilets flushed as many time as possible. 

On observing the manhole covers, the first iron lid by the kitchen door lifted and floated off then one in a rose bed lower down, over flowed washing the soil down the road side and a hundred yards on the into a road drain.  It was very fortunate that it was all done with clean cold water. The system passed its test but its capacity was a little suspect, and for a while the header tanks seemed to be under sized and took a while for the water pressure to recover.  A fire hose on the top floor seemed to be in vacuum (negative pressure) so it was a good job no one suggested testing the fire drills at the same time. 

On the middle floor lived the bursar, and at night he would go on patrol at a predicted time.  It was timed soon after one such patrol, that two of us were to down to the battery hen house, just down the college road to collect a dozen eggs for late night supper. 

Then quietly into the small room (one was on each floor) where there was a kettle and a toaster for the students use, when on early call for milking or stock duties.  All the eggs were quietly put into the electric kettle, filled with water and switched on, four slices of bread were put in the toaster ready to switch on when a bursar alarm was heard (his door opening).  All six of our group went hell for leather back into bed and was fast asleep in seconds, after half hour of prowling about the bursar settled and his door shut again. 

Gingerly but very quickly we went to rescue the eggs, it was too late, the kettle had boiled dry, the egg shells had turned black but very hard boiled.  The kettles did not turn themselves off at that time and the small amount of water in with the eggs soon disappeared, so the kettle was spirited into the dust bins by the main kitchens, and a fresh one acquired from the store room adjacent to the dining room.

The leader of our group at Rodbaston (there was six groups of six lads and two groups of six of girls) clashed with a lad in another group, so much that one day one ended up being thrown into the pool in the garden and horticulture section, I would call it a pit with dirty black mud in the bottom.

The launch pad was just to the left of the picture, the bottom of the pool was full of peat, or years of dead leaves, in my book I would call it a pit, but then it was landscaped and planted with shrubs, so now its a lake

 He was launched off the high bank head first into the pool, and came out with weeds round his shoulders and thick black mud from head to toe.  The second big clash came a few weeks late when the victimised victim had his hair cut off in lumps and steps right down to his scull, He never canted or complained to anyone in authority, but it was plain to see his haircut was involuntary.  On his weekend off he must have gone home and his parents; they were not impressed and reported their complaint to the top man the principle.  There was a full enquiry into the incident which ended up with the aggressor being expelled.  After that it left me as leader of a short group only five for the next two terms, all the practical work had been calculated to six in the groups so we had on occasions to work all the harder.

In the rotation of practical training we undertook, one was horticulture, and to get about the Halls extensive gardens a group of students and all the tools, they had a three wheel motorised tipping cart.  The single front wheel was the same size as a tractor rear wheel, and in the hub of the wheel was a single cylinder Petter engine.  The frame of the cart came up from under the body in a goose neck onto a king pin on top of the front wheel, the driver stood inside the goose neck at the controls and it had a vertical steering wheel.  It was designed to carry one ton, and at one time used by the county council highways department, who had any number of such vehicles.  When they were made redundant in that department one was assigned to Rodbaston Horticultural department. The head of that department was driving us briskly along side the walled garden in the three wheeled cart, and being a little unstable he had to concentrate hard on keeping on the narrow track.  On the back we all five of us were making it sway about, until we came to the corner, then we all threw our selves onto the wrong side of the cart. This had a dramatic impact on its stability; it tipped us all out into a huge rhubarb patch (a soft landing) the driver as well. No one was hurt, but our man in charge never knew that we were really to blame for the up tip; he hurriedly got us to right the cart and asked us not to report the incident.  With the clumsy driver being head of department, that cart was decommissioned shortly afterwards as too unstable for the job.

Same story but this time in verse 

    To Farming College I Was Sent

When I was in my late teens, farming college I was sent,
To learn the latest way of doing thing, but it only meant,
Living away from home all week, sometimes weekends anall,
First time slept away from home, strange hard bed by the wall.

No where else to sleep, but in this old and worn bedstead,
Its springs were slack and hung, like a hammock not a bed,
The mattress was so thin, had an imprint on its back,
Of diamond pattern bed springs, like sleeping on a rack.

It had iron bed posts one each corner, tilted to the middle,
Only narrow like a ladder, would make good tater riddle,
A couple of sleepless nights at first, then slept like a log,
Getting out next morning, it was a blooming slog.

Eight o'clock the breakfast bell, half an hour for that,
Plenty of eggs and bacon, cornflakes or porridge splat,
Tutors at the top table, in a row they sat,
Students were in groups of six, very quietly they chat.

Eight groups of six there was, time table of duties given,
Alternate weeks it was early start, to the livestock bidden,
A group for milking and a group for pigs to feed and clean,
Group for sheep and poultry, five thirty start  not keen.

The next week it spoiled you, lay in till breakfast bell,
Lectures every morning, from nine to lunch time I do tell,
Afternoons back to the farm, maintenance chore to do,
And the afternoon stock duties, till five pm and that'll do.

College was having trouble with the big house drains,
Rodding flushing and all the rest, had a hose pipe from the mains,
So word went round the students, thought we could give a hand,
A bigger flush was what they wanted, so together we band.

It was decided what we do, to store up water for very big flush,
Ten big deep baths on three floors, were filled and kept it hush,
Fourteen wash basins also filled, and waited for the bell to go,
All the plugs were pulled at once, and every toilet flushed also.

This surge of water lifted the lids, all the way the pipe did wend,
Flooded flower beds down the drive, happened to be weekend,
It cleared the drain of silt and ***, no more faffing about,
An enquiry was held, but it did the job, to no one they could shout.

It was curfew each night at ten, when hunger pains start to show,
I wasn't alone that same night, and we felt a bit gung-ho,
Boiled eggs we thought, with fresh bread and butter,
Fetched dozen from battery cages hen, all whispering in a mutter.

Tiptoed past the bursars door, for he was a light sleeper,
But got the eggs back to boil, landing kitchen kettle no cooker,
Got dozen eggs in electric kettle, filled to brim with water,
Then it had just got to boil, the bursar was seen by our spotter.

All back to bed in a rush, good half hour afore his door closed,
Crept round to the small landing kitchen, a smoking kettle nosed,
Eggs boiled hard black and burned, water boiled and gone,
Kettle started to melt, no auto switch to switch off and on.

It ruined our night and ruined our kettle, no early cuppa for us,
Binned the kettle and eggs welded in, cold drink cold morning we cus,
In a couple of days another old kettle we found,
Didna try that again, electric from main, in all cost us two pound.

Learned how to cut hedges, with brushing hook down wards strokes,
Bring the hedge to an ‘A ‘ shape, with hawthorn had good hopes,
The Principle cut his garden hedge, to demonstrate how to do,
This skill and method was short-lived, as machines invented anew.

Learned to shear the sheep, A New Zealand method by gum,
Clear the belly and up the throat, then down the shoulder and rump,
Pull the head up between ya knees, shear the other side,
Release the head ewe will rise and walk through ya legs astride.

Wrap the fleece should be all in one, tail end n flanks to the middle,
Roll it tight cut ends outside, with your knee bent double,
The neck you twist to form a bon's, long enough go round tuck in,
Pitch it into the woolsack, tread it well down within,

On the pigs we helped with the farrowing, piglets born by the dozen,
See they got under the lamp, dry out and suck on a ‘button'
In the first week they had, and injection prevent anaemia
Iron it was into their little leg, mid squeals made sure heard ya.

Cows were milked in stalls, tied with a yolk to the neck,
Milk was recorded every day; compare each cows ration a check,
Airshires they were quality milk, good colour and butterfat too,
Calves were reared as replacements', suckle by the livestock crewe.

Gardening n' horticulture also learned, no great interest in that,
Pruning and preparing apple trees, plums and pears we tat,
Seedlings in boxes put out in cold frames, harden off for while,
Sit on hot pipes in the green house, thaw out in case we got piles.

Sugar beet grown, all done by hand, from singling to pulling the root,
A harvester came to demonstrate, the first one I'd seen to boot,
It broke down a time or two, modifications made a many,
But the work it saved, and backache too, must be a pretty penny.

Dealers sent their latest tractor, for students to try and admire,
When we get home to old bangers, persuade the old man to retire,
So we could buy that new tractor, a diesel with starter and cab,
Spoils you when get back to reality, old tractor remains on the tab.

Countryman

 Educations What You Wan

Educations what you want, or that is what I'm told,
Get on in life and see the world, seek your pot of gold.
More to life than toil and sweat, let others soil there hands,
Let education guide the way, nine till five, five days a week demand.

Over the years most folk done this, for better jobs they travelled,
Men they left the land in droves, off into town they pedalled.
With better money they bought a car, get about much quicker,
Then travelled even further a field, became the city slicker.

 Countryman

Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten      

                                                                                 B F Skinner  (1904-1990)