WINTER IN THE COUNTRY

My childhood was spent in a very rural environment,very little had changed since before the second world war, in fact not that much had changed since the first. Electricity had barely arrived by the time I was five, ours was one of the few farms with a telephone and that was a party line and there was no mains water in the village.
Most of the farms had their own well while others shared a water source and this was the cause of much trouble at times.

The well on our farm ran in to a small stream and fed several other farms further down the hill, as we were at the top of the hill we got our water first. It was not often that the well dried up but extremely cold weather could and did cause the pipes to freeze. The system of pipes used to carry the water from farm to farm were ancient and liable to become clogged by the fibrous roots of trees as the water course ran beneath a wood, and then along these side of the lane which ran through the village
. Men could often be seen digging here and there in an attempt to find the blockage. The water ran for quite a distance beneath our land and my father made it his business to ensure that the pipes remained clear and the well maintained. Unfortunately on or two of the other farmers did not have such foresight and neglected their part of the pipe work until the water stopped running. Without this water the cattle, housed in barns during the winter months had nothing to drink,and the farmer himself would go short of his cup of tea.
No one wanted to take responsibility for the pipes that ran alongside the road and so this was the usual cause of the trouble.

When the water refused to flow it would be necessary to fetch water from the next village three and a half miles distant, this enterprise was not undertaken lightly as although the well was for public use a farmers inability to keep his own supply running would be the cause of much comment and the unlucky farmer would be mercilessly ragged in the local pub by more prudent individuals.

All of this ran over the heads of us children, we were to busy playing hide and seek among the warm hay barns,or if there was sow sledging . Those hay barns were wonderful places on cold, wet or windy days as the hay gave off its own heat which made the temperature pleasant and the scent of hay was glorious. They became our refuge in times of bad weather or trouble, they were our meeting places and our playground. They became, with a little imagination, hospital wards, castle keeps, houses or pirate ships. As the hay began to dwindle we were allowed to make swings if the hay barn had a roof.
My favourite place was the hay loft above the cow house, a massive stone building, made to withstand the worst that winter could send. At one end of the loft there was a wooden door the size of a small window through which it was possible to see for miles down in to the valley, and the light from this window was sufficient when opened a little to enable me to read, a pleasure in which as a child I indulged constantly.
It also had the advantage that when full only a very small child could crawl along the roof ridge to the room at the end, not a proper room of course but a sort of bay measuring about six feet square, to keep the hay dry as the window was embellished with cut out hearts for ventilation. This time spent alone was precious as more often than not I was charged with the care of one or both of my younger brothers and their presence was not conducive to quiet reading.
Ventilation was vital in these stacks as the amount of heat generated by the hay was enough to cause spontaneous combustion, this did not often happen but when it did the result was devastating.

Here I escaped from my fellows, most of whom considered me a swat ( it was not the thing to be seen with a book too often) and reading was considered a waste of time when the eggs needed collecting or the cows mucked out.

When I was seven years old I read “The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe” and my life changed for ever. I was caught up in the magic of strange lands, myths and monsters. It led me to seek out other tales, Celtic mythology, Welsh and Irish folk tales, from this a passion for history developed and an interest in archaeology, all fascination subjects.
I have had pleasure and profit from this study for all of my life, yet somewhere deep down inside me there is still a small child looking for a door into another world,I feel that I truly entered Narnia on that freezing winter day, and I know that a part of me never left.