The Great Escape 20

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 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.

Owd Fred

As you know the family bought me a new chair for my 70th 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".


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.

Owd Fred


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

Feathers Floating Round the Light 19

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) fueled 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.

Owd Fred


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 builds 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.

Owd Fred

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

A Hand Can Tell Your Fortune 18

Have a good look at ya hands, see all the calluses, the scares, the ragged nails, the lines across the palm of your hand, the lumpy knuckle and crooked thumbs, the hard skin, and appreciate all the work and abuse that they have been used for over the years. Burnt and scalded, cold and frozen, they are electrocuted on the fencer, and are ripped on the barbed wire, they scratch when you itch and they comb ya hair, they write your cheques, and are put forwards to receive, they lift your pint, and they feed you, what more could you expect from a loyal pair of hands.

I had the skin on the end of my index finger ripped off, at the time I thought it would have made a good tap washer, (they used to be leather)

Hands , they take a lot of rough treatment around the farm, my own father lost two fingers as a lad in the blade of a horse drawn mowing machine, see the tag Fingers for the full story on that and the poem "Fathers Fingers". Another chap who does a bit of my machinery maintenance for me, (the sort of jobs where ball bearings are likely to run all over the yard or where its difficult to get access to), he has lost quite a number of fingers, another lad who left school at the same time as me he lost three fingers on one hand in the first few months of leaving school, and left him with a little finger and a thumb.

Myself I had a bit of a close shave when I had the skin off the end of my index finger ripped off, about the size of a sixpence, the chunk of skin at that time I thought it would have made a good tap washer, ( the old tap washers were always leather) I thought I had lost that finger print for ever. Its taken a couple of years for it to become tough enough to use as normal but now five years down the line its still not as thick skinned as the other nine. And yes I do have a finger print again but do not know if it is identical to the one that was torn off.



A Hand Can Tell Your Fortune

A hand can tell your fortune, and fingers for the prints,
Nails to stop them getting ragged or they look like splints,
To have a scratch or comb ya hair, reach in a bag o mints,
Useful for when ya want to eat, ya shepherds pie and mince.

Everyone has long arms, and what is on the end,
To reach around the corner, in the middle bend,
Fingers at the far end, for feel on these depend,
To hold them all together, a hand and palm extend

Hands are thin, hands are fat, some are large or small,
Most are there to match the body, writing with a scrawl,
Picking up and carrying, everything's a bloody maul,
Big hand for goal keepers, to grip and hold the ball.

Put ya hands together, and in appreciation clap,
With ya hand closed tight, on a front door tap,
To congratulate a friend, on the back you slap,
Sitting in ya armchair, hand clasped in ya lap.

You hand in your home work, but its hand outs that ya like,
Its hands that you steer with, when out on ya bike,
And its hands that you sing down, holding a black old mike
When you look at them together, they both look alike.

There's a left hand and right hand, and each has its own side,
When ya want to rest them , in ya pockets hide,
Writing's only done with one hand, to the pen applied,
Other holds the paper, only there to guide.

Hands you hold each others, a helping hand to give,
Sharing out and a caring, with your hand relive,
A whole lifetime together, whole lifetime we live,
Holding hands together, each other must not outlive.

Owd Fred



I have lost count on how many finger nails went black and dropped off after being pinched or hit with a hammer, and talking about finger nails, you often get a ridge across your nails growing out of the cuticle (if that's the right word) after some deep emotional shock. You see it some weeks after calves have been dehorned, they get a ridge growing out round the top of the hoof, the same with horse's hooves, it marks the time of stress such as laminitus,and you can tell how long ago it happened by how far to the end of the nail or hoof it is. Stress marks can be seen on cattle with horns, and you can always tell how many calves a cow has had by the number of rings or ridges round the base of the horn.

The first numbering of cattle that father did was with a set of branding irons, not the ones the cowboys used on the hides, Kansas would tell us all about that, but smaller ones to burn the number into the horn or when we started to dehorn the cattle they were branded on the hoof.
Hoof branding was okay, but the hoof grows and the number had to be re-branded in again each year, and not only that you could only read it when the hooves were clean.

The first ear tags we had that had the herd number on as well was when we went TB tested and got an all clear herd, and every cow had a tag. The boundary fences had to be double fenced, and we got a bonus on the milk produced on top of the farm gate price. The milk cheque came around the 20th of the following month, as it did for everyone, and was a long strip of type written paper, with only one line with the milk delivered and the price given and the total, now we had a second line on the chit with the bonus for being tested. It bore no resemblance to the milk chits that come now all spit out of a computer with a couple of lines for additions and umpteen lines of deductions and penalties.

So have a good look at ya hands, see all the calluses, the scares, the ragged nails, the lines across the palm of your hand, the lumpy knuckle and crooked thumbs, the hard skin, and appreciate all the work and abuse that they have been used for over the years. Burnt and scalded, cold and frozen, they are electrocuted on the fencer, and are ripped on the barbed wire, they scratch when you itch and they comb ya hair, they write your cheques, and are put forwards to receive, they lift your pint, and they feed you, what more could you expect from a loyal pair of hands.

We were always told, if we were not getting on with the job at hand to "PULL YOUR FINGER OUT".





It was on my fifth birthday that papa put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Remember my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one on the end of your arm'Sam Levenson. (1911 - 1980)