Father Used His Slipper --219

Don't know whether anyone remembers what whitewash was/is, its burnt lime mixed with water in a bucket or tub the brushed onto the cowshed walls. It dries very white, and very often also used on the ceilings in the house. After the coating of lime had been refreshed a couple of times a year for the previous forty or fifty years there builds up a thickness of lime and this eventually becomes brittle. 

When us kids started jumping about in our bedroom above the kitchen, flakes of whitewash would fall onto fathers head and into his paper as he was resting and reading after a long day’s work. This he did not appreciate.

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,

Old farmhouse 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

Life’s Time Clock You Cannot Beat --218

You get up in a mornings and have a good think, not so much of what yuv got to do today or at any time in the future, but back in life on what you could have done if ya ad ya life over again.

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 to turn the year, new 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

Counting livestock --- 217

Counting livestock

It may seem to most folk a simple thing to do to count a herd of cattle or a flock of sheep, but quite often you don’t get a second chance to re-count at that time or in that place. If you miss count and your one down or perhaps gain one, and think they are alright you clear off to your next job thinking they are all okay, when that one you mis-counted might be stuck in a peaty ditch or in trouble away from the main group of animals, and left overnight could be found dead by morning.

With sheep, counting them as they leave a fold, they will run out at high speed, so a narrow gap wide enough for two sheep to get through is usually about right, any narrower and two will wedge in the gap and block the flow of sheep. It was an old practice to count the sheep by the score, (in twenties), if you look at that counting up to twenty, they are all one syllable words, into the twenties and beyond they are two syllable which does not make for fast counting.

So count up to twenty and drop a pebble into ya pocket, or if you have less than two hundred sheep you just curl one finger up for every twenty you've counted. That’s okay as long as no one or nothing distracts you when you grab or need to prevent a hurdle from falling and you cannot remember how many fingers you had curled up. Pebble in the pocket was a surer way of recording how many score of sheep you have, and can go beyond how many fingers you own.

Cattle I find easier to count from slightly higher vantage point when they’re spread out grazing, I take the view of the group like the top half of the face of a clock, and bring the imaginary finger round the clock counting all whom it passes over, then do a check count going the opposite way across them to get the same count again. This way of counting is okay when you have cattle all of the same age and size, the problem come when the suckler cows have calved and young calves are wandering about around and behind their mothers. It’s best to establish that all the cows are there, then go round and count all the calves in a separate count, check counting each time, it just reassuring when you get both counts the same.

When one is missing for some reason or other, you count and recount just hoping that the count will come right, then begin the search for who is missing, most of the older characters of the herd would be missed and know who you’re looking for. Some of the younger ones, all of whom would no doubt have the same father/sire may all be the same or similar markings and out of a group of fifty or more its near impossible to know which one is missing.

Cows that are calving will go off on their own, and very young new born calves will get their first belly full of milk and find a bog of rushes or a bog of nettles or even duck under the wood fence and lay down and hide in the under growth, as nature tells them to at that age. 

Very often the only way of finding them, is to find the mother who when alerted will raise her head looking in the direction of where she knows the calf is, very rarely will she walk and take you to it.

This was our leader (a good leader) for almost ten years.

So counting is not just for fun, it’s a serious matter to know if one is missing, if they get out through the broken fence it more often than not be a number missing, if you have a bad leader of the herd (If she gets in the habit of getting out) the lot will have gone.  Keep the leader happy and contented and the herd will be happy. As with people, they are all individuals, all have their own characteristics and mannerism, and you can almost read their minds as well.

 Owd Fred  

Mother had a tea cosy --216

I winter most of us wear a hat, or sommat ta keep ya ed warm, but with mother doing most of her work in the house, and all of the 'work' hats already out and in used (by us), mother grabbed the tea cosy off the tea pot and pulled that well down over her ears. 

It was knitted from thick unravelled wool, which was curly from it previous job as a jumper, the jumpers always wore out up the front and the sleeves, but the back was always knit (by her) in a separate panel and she could salvage a good couple of big balls of wool to knit again into scarves of gloves, in this case a tea cosy. 

 Mothers Tea Cosy

Mother had a tea cosy, to keep the tea pot warm,

Used it for other things, that’s not quite the norm,

It was all home knit, out of thick unravelled wool,

From warn out jumper unpicked, so curly was the wool.

On cold days she would ware it, outside in a storm,

Already warm and hot, from keeping tea pot warm,

Feeding hens or getting coal in, always pulled it on,

Hair stuck out the holes, where handle n spout were from.

Owd Fred

Mother’s Peg Rugs -215

Before televisions came in, the dark nights would be taken up by some craft or other, one of which was making peg rugs out of old material, be it curtains clothes blankets or anything of any colour. It was cut into long one to two inch strips and then into four inch lengths, the bodged into the hession. Mother had plenty of pairs of scissors, one for each of us.  

I Remember Mother’s Peg Rug

I remember mother, when she used to make peg rugs,

There to put your feet on, while drinking ovaltine out of mugs,

As kids it kept us off brick floor, just before our bedtime,

Feet all nice and cosy, till up the stairs we climb.

She started with piece of Hessian, the size of rug she wants

Often it’s a big old bag, a thick one found on her farm jaunts,

Next she digs out all old cloths, of all the colours to find,

With these can make a pattern, with boarder and centre outlined.

Cut them up all into strips, and then to four inch long,

Father always helped with this, to groups of colour they belong,

With the bodger they got started, three rows round the side,

All of us we had a go, centre marked shape of pattern applied.

As it got near to the finish, essential colour runs short,

Up stairs into the wardrobe, through the cloths she’d sort,

To find a matching colour, someone’s shirt or tie submits,

Finished now and backing complete, and sweeping up the bits.

Owd Fred

Neck and Earhole -214

Ya may know what lads look like when they've been playing/working around the farm all day, then come in and only wash what they can see in the mirror, well mother was always on hand for the inspection before bedtime, the phrase was, "go and get a neck and earole" 

 Neck and Earhole Wash

Mother always told us, to wash behind our ears,

Neck and earhole what she called it, in our early years,

This is where she always looked, for grime not yet reached,

It’ll end up on the pillow that is why she always preached.

At the sink with bar of carbolic, soap to those don’t know,

Lather on your hands and flannel, sleeves rolled to the elbow,

Watched that we made good job of it, never did she miss,

Must admit it felt so fresh, we went to sleep in bliss.

Owd Fred

What you never had you never miss --213

  They always say what you never had you never miss, and I've no doubt there is one or two who will read this will think back  on how they felt when growing up just after World War2.


The war time food rationing, petrol rationing, the blackouts,  the clocks were moved two hour for summer time for a while,  I remember the poultry and laying hens out in field pens would not go to roost to be shut in until nearly mid night sometimes.  

The things we never had (In the Forties Fifties)

On looking back on how we lived and the thing we ate,

Every day of every week, had plenty on our plate,

Rabbit Chicken beef and pork, taters carrots and beans,

All caught and grown and dug and cooked as well as all the greens.

No such thing as cooking oil, that’s to oil ya bike,

Lard was what we cooked in, for everything we liked,

Bread and dripping, fried the bread, floating in the fat,

From cooking all the bacon, in the frying pan it spat.

No such thing as frozen food, and a fridge we never had,

Only had a meat safe, way back when I were a lad,

There to keep the flies at bay, the meat from day before,

Eat it up before it turns, good food they won’t ignore.

Orange squash and lemon squash, with plenty water drink,

Never had the fizzy stuff, till Corona Pop to village shop they linked,

Bottles had to be returned, so we looked after them,

Money back for every bottle, from that our savings stem.

A phone box in the village, and the farms they one for each

A wireless in the widow, for the wartime news to reach,

All around the countryside, the news it travelled fast,

Nowadays its picture phones, I feel I’ve been outclassed.

Be careful with ya money, that’s what our parents preached,

Don’t waste anything you worked for, as out ya pocket leached,

By all and sundry they will ask, lend us this and that,

It’ll come back bent and worn-out, chipped or even cracked.

But overall we had everything, that life for us we need,

We never had to do without, cuz our parents set the creed,

Life’s only what you make of it, work to earn ya crust of bread,

And anything on top of that, helps smooth the path ahead.

Owd Fred

we learned to not poke ya fingers ---212

This was looking back on how we learned to not poke ya fingers where they don't belong.   SNAP

Mother had a Mouse Trap

Mother had a mouse trap, to catch the pesky mice,

She always used to bate it, with anything but rice,

The rind of cheese old and smelly for them to entice,

Never failed always worked, from her you got advice.

The trap all set on pantry shelf, a dangerous devise,

Us kids to touch and set it off, never did it twice,

Catch ya finger in the trap, the result it isn’t nice,

We’re learning from experience, with danger do not dice.

Owd Fred

Mothers Mid Week Chicken Dinner ---211

Mother would never kill off a laying hen just to have sommat to eat for dinner, it had to be one with a pale wattle or a chalky back side, one that did not have a long life expectancy.

 Mothers Mid Week Chicken Dinner

In mid week we often had, “chicken” for our dinner,

Tough old hen more soup than meat, always it was a winner,

So after breakfast mother went, to feed the laying hens,

On her way she would note, the one who’s still in pens,

If it looked as if not laying, she would ring its neck,

Hang it in the coal shed, all flap and no more peck.

Pulling on the old tea cosy, well down over her ears,

And an old mac kept for this job, doesn’t matter how it appears.

Feathers and the fluff do fly, and also mites do run,

This is why she’s well covered up, as it is so often done,

With the news paper on the table, to be drawn it is now ready,

And out with good sharp knife, off with legs and neck all bloody

Nick below the parson’s nose, with hand the guts she pulls the lot,

Saves the heart and gizzard, also neck to make the stock,

Into the pot this tough old hen, no time for it to go cold,

Steamed for a good two hours, till lid is hot to hold.

Into the pot goes all the veg, and a heap of part boiled taties,

Given another half hour simmering, before it hits the platters,

We all come in for dinner time, lunch to someone posh,

Plates piled up, our bellies to fill, we loved our chicken nosh.

Owd Fred

These Little Creatures Burrow ---210

These Little Creatures Burrow

These little creatures burrow, and dig endlessly all day,

In total darkness all their lives, don’t have time to play,

Every here and there they push, mound of soil up top,

In the most annoying places, n’ nout to make them stop.

Their coat is fine and silky, and it brushes either way,

Because in tiny tunnels, shunt backward with no delay,

In good rich soil finding earth worms, catch them unaware,

To feed his busy little body, with no one will he share.

His feet are as little spades, to dig a longer tunnel,

And with his back feet shove the soil, up a little funnel,

This is when you see soil move, pushed up from below,

A mole is what I’m looking for, just to say hello.

Owd Fred

What Turns more Earth

Ever thought of what turns more earth, than any other means,

Draw down the compost in the ground, to disappear it seams,

Aerate the ground, leave drainage holes, do a power of good,

Improve the land beyond compare, appreciate them we should.

Can never see them while they’re at work, working in the dark,

Break down humus in the soil, so plant roots can embark,

On growing strong and well fed, from the fertility they bring,

Its earth worms that I’m on about, their praises we must sing.

Owd Fred

Worms in the garden

Worms in the garden, and worms in the fields,

Eat all the rotted vegetation, improve all the yields,

Drawn down into the earth, a worm hole there to leave,

Pushing up the worm casts, a little pile of soil is heaved.

Repeated over a garden, or over acres in the grass,

Drawing down the cow pats, does it quietly without harass,

Moving in its little way, tons and tons of soil,

Millions of them working hard, their little bit of toil.

Owd Fred

Mother Always Worked So Hard ---209

Sometime you look back at how hard you have worked throughout your life, but then you think back a how your own parents worked bringing up a big family, feeding and clothing them at minimum expense during and after world war two. The only ‘fast food’ we knew of or remembered, was a traveling fish and chip shop that came through the village one evening per week, and that was coal fired. (He certainly would never be keen to do an emergency stop) 

Mother Always Worked So Hard   (1945)

Mother always worked so hard, to rear her brood of kids,

As we grew bigger and in our teens, we must have cost her quids,

Four of us lads and our dad, Uncle Jack as well,

Looked after all of us, knitting socks and jumpers she excelled.

Big appetites we had, and thrifty she had to be,

Most things grown about the farm, including all the poultry.

Eggs and chicken, more often old hen, regular we had,

Potatoes beans and cabbage carrots, all grown by our dad,

Rabbit pie most every week, killed a pig and cured,

Only thing she did buy, big lump of beef well matured.

Bottled all the fruit she could, and salted down the beans,

Got the meals and baked the cakes, did washing in between,

Baker came three times a week, six loaves every call,

Corn flakes she also brought, lot of boxes I recall,

Through the war and rationing, never seemed go short,

Well fed, we all worked hard, and not much time cavort.

Owd Fred

FWi Forum meeting Jan 2011 ---208

My Village 207

Next year there will only be one farm left in the village

There is about fifty houses in the village, there used to be five farms, now only two farms left

Right up in the top left corner of this picture is one of the woods that surrounded the old war time airfield, and down both side of it were bomb dumps which were covered over with cama flarge netting  to hide them from being attacked during the world war two 

Who would like to be a farmer?

You've got to love the country, you've got to love the land,

Got to put the time in, and to anyone lend a hand,

It’s a lonely job at times, work for hours out in the fields,

To grow the grass and rear the stock, and aim for better yields.

Early morning milking’s, and all day to growing crops,

A long day mending fences, the work it never stops,

The working week 40 hours, done that by Tuesday night,

Every week and every month, end of the year in sight.

You stop to help an injured bird, binding up it wing,

Or tend a birth of calves and lambs, new life the world to bring,

Day and night you’re on call, to help all those in need,

To all the folk and stock give life, on this we set our creed.

 Owd Fred

New Book The Longest Furrow by Owd Fred 206

New Book The Longest Furrow  by Owd Fred

These blogs and poems are nearly all in these books, they have been written from sixty years of working experience on the farm. Just put in the title 'The Longest Furrow' and the authors name into Amazon UK and you can look in and read some pages before you purchase them

Money 205

I had a conversation with me sen about money tuther day, and this is the gist of how it went. By the way I think I'm just about up to what's writ in the last verse right now

Money, in life it is a must.

If there’s one thing ya conna do, without in life it is a must,

Fa comfort and for energy, it’s always boom or bust,

Ta buy or sell, to try to swell, to savings bank ya thrust,

Surplus money, it’s hard to save, when yov earned an onest crust

Ya money’s what ya need right now, n’ savings got to raid,

With all the bills paid up to date, as the tax man wields his blade,

With nothing left on the bottom line, red ink now displayed,

Ya start again n’ work like ell, in blood n’ tears n’ sweat yuv flayed.

Be persistent don’t give up, it’ll come right in the end,

Money now, you’ve got it saved, and too dam mean to spend,

Tight as a ducks arse, that you are, still make do and mend,

Ya conna tek it with you, when six foot down impends.

Owd Fred

At a ploughing match in 2006 'The Elusive Cup' 204

I must point out here that this poem  The Elusive Cup was the very first one that I ever wrote, some eight years ago, all the writing of the books and blogs and all the poems on this forum pages have been written since them. 

It's all brought on, with the disappointing outcome of the Stafford ploughing match 16 September 2006,   Using the E27N and Elite trailer  plough for the first time. 

 The Elusive Cup

Off to the ploughing match with great intent

Good weather helps but the land is wet

Off down the field on the first run

Back up the second the twists begun.

Tipping in the third as though no skims

Blocking up the plough and the trouble begins

Coming up the fourth won’t bury the stubble

Land wheel slipping and we’re in trouble.

Off up the side of the neighbouring plot

Tape measure out to see what we’ve got

To start the cast it must be parallel

Or the finish, odd sized will give you hell.

Even furrows with good in’s and outs

Firm for a seed bed well turned over each bout

No hand work or gardening is ever allowed

But it happens quite often when the judge turns around

To measure the land each bout is a must

As narrow it gets down to three or bust

The penultimate run is always shallow

It’s to hold the plough firm as it turns its last furrow

Everyone’s an expert who watches your last run

But get in the seat to feel how it’s done

They block your eye line at the end of the stint

All standing astride, its all wavering and bent

Everyone says we must not blame the tools

Not everyone there, that we can call fools

Experience shows by the polished plough
Who puts it away with a tinge of rust now

Never again, and the thought that it’s rotten

When the next one comes along and you've forgotten

Try once more for that elusive red card and cup

The knees will go weak, when you’re eventually called up.

Owd Fred

You always get plenty of advice at these ploughing matches there was upwards of 40 competitors

You're all spoiled these days what with all the modern equipment, this old Fordson E27N does not even have diff lock, and with a trailer plough, you have to wind the handles like fury to shallow the plough to keep moving or trip it to lift it out and that will only lift with forwards movement. Neither of these actions help very much when your competing at a ploughing match  

The Dentists Chair 203

Reared back up in jerky chair, feet back on the floor,
Blood runs back into me toes, me bulging eyes back in once more.

This is a copy of a letter/email to a friend of mine down the road who is recovering at home from a serious operation.

Dear John,
As you may have gathered, we haven't got much on at the moment, and a bit of time to bgguer about writing. As you must know when I had my op on my knees they for some mysterious reason they insisted I see a dentist, somatt ta do with a rotten tooth could make the metal in the joint reject. But John you must have been told this for what op's you've been throooo.
Before my op, I had never in me life sat in a dentist chair, or had anyone fiddle with me teeth, so I booked in at Castlefields Surgery dentist, pay a monthly standing order ca-chinnnnnnng, (their cash till) , and pay them a visit every six months. I have been there now twenty times in the last ten years and still they have done nothing other than scrape and polish. I have cleaned (brushed is what they call it) my teeth once before each visit on the morning of the visit   (Nothing to be proud of according to Eileen, but then I call it sour grapes as she cleans her teeth two time a day every day and almost always has to have something done ca---chinnnnnnnng)
So I am getting to know my dentist quite well, for they know they only have to count them and poke round them, and find time to fill in the ten minuet slot allotted to me. She asked me (the dentist), as I think they are asking every customer, what is my experience or my views while in the dentists. (She will wish she hadn't). However when Eileen has to go back next week for TREATMENT on her teeth   ca-chinnnnnnnng, I will send the following.

 Are you Sitting Comfortably

 ( in the dentist chair with a cup of what looks like weak ribena ta rinse ya mouth)

Sit looking through dark goggles, up into a light,

Shining from a wobbly arm, just a tad off white,

Hovering just above ya head, no sun tan will you get,

Just a beam of light to shine, think it’s my sunset.

A two inch square to tissue, n’ a cup weak bilberry juice,

Open up me north and south, now there’s no excuse,

They always seem to work from behind, where you cannot see,

And speak in muffled tones aloud, casual and carefree.

The high-tech chair jumps down a step, head below me feet,

A clink of tools are gathered up, dentist adjusts her seat

Forelocked head of curls appear, eyes behind a shield,

A tool gripped in big knuckled fingers, now begin to wield.

A rear view mirror push down me throat, see my teeth all round,

Couple of inches further down, me tonsils will be crowned,

Only counting what I’ve got, choking on me tongue,

Call themselves a dentist, hope they won’t take long.

A hook appears before me eyes, gripped tight in dentist’s fist,

“Open wide and move ya tongue, see what’s on my checklist”,

Hoover pipe switched on too high, clean me mouth outright,

Wunder what’s found in the bag, when they clean it out at night?

The foundation of each tooth is cleaned, n’ fertilize the roots,

With gritty paste they brush right in, just like cleaning boots,

Reared back up in jerky chair, feet back on the floor,

Blood runs back into me toes, me bulging eyes back in once more.

They’ve no idea what we go through, the trauma and the stress,

Quaking in our shoes they ask, have we got your right address,

Your medication up to date, just got to tick the box,

N’ sign it at the bottom, “Oh I see you’ve had small pox”.

New appointment six months time, ring you day before,

Make sure were live and kickin, and brushed me teeth once more,

Got to have them checked agen, keep the rot at bay,

A healthy head of teeth’s the aim, is what I should portray.

Owd Fred

I think I should be charging them for ten minuets of entertainment and filling ten minutes of their day, there aint much wear and tare on their equipment when I go.
When you hear about the horror stories of people's visits to the dentist, it crosses my mind as what could happen if you really upset your dentist and what revenge they could inflict. So John I closed my eyes and this is what I envisaged.

I'd Hate to Upset my Dentist

I'd hate to upset my dentist, the revenge they could inflict,

You cannot see their face at all, but their eyes you can depict,

A knee upon my chest to hold, me down while they inject,

Now I know what mole grips are, from my tool box nicked,

To grip and pull and twist with glee, a sound tooth they would eject,

With pain and blood and sweat and tears, I know that I've been tricked,

Touch of a button on the chair, and upright I am flicked,

To sway and stumble for my coat, this I should predict,

Tooth ache still there I am aware, no strength have I object,

May be better next time round, think this was why I panicked.

I wake up from my nightmare; on the calendar I've ticked,

When next to see the dentist, their appointment time is strict,

"Be here at ten, you know the rules", then with her finger clicked,

Computers will not bend the time, and cannot be unpicked,

So to Nicola and her crew I beg, your boots they will be licked,

I will tell all those I know, you are the best in this district,

And please don't bare a grudge with me, my age it does restrict,

I'm old and grey, come what may, so please let's change this subject.

Owd Fred

All the best Fred.

Dentist, n.: A Prestidigitator who, putting metal in one's mouth, pulls coins out of one's pocket.
Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)

Farm Sale 202

Farm Sale

No I am not having a farm sale here, but a couple of years ago a neighbouring farm sold up and I sent quite a few items up to be sold back then. Now another neighbour is having a dispersal sale and again I am contributing some more of my dead stock, to be sold at his sale this April 11^th . (2014).

I have been selling off items of machinery privately over the last three years as and when a buyer came up, but you get down to the last few thing that could still be worth selling for further use. I have been scrapping all that what I call "useful reusable metal", you know, the sort of metal that you can make or mend stuff with, but it’s got to go at some point in time.

 Everything is on a priority list, and I keep gleaning through my workshop scrap heap, some of my tools are the old Whitworth and AF spanners, but I fear they are getting frightfully close to going to the crusher.

The Farm Sale

The years have come the years have gone, its time to sell the lot,

And now I've got to organize, the sale of all I've got,

To pull it out the sheds and then, n’ lay it out in rows,

For all and everyone who comes, to have a dam good nose.

The tools and all machinery, bought it years ago,

Ploughed the land and worked it, encouraged crops to grow,

Harrowed all the grass in spring, soon as the Daff’s appear,

Cattle would be turned out, and sold that big fat steer.

Job to know where to start, and find things long forgotten,

Things we used like brushing hooks, n’ pitch forks stale gone rotten,

Shovels spades and muck forks, all standing where last used,

Some I've had a long time, and some they were abused.

Workshop that’s a nightmare, the scrap ruck will increase,

Wading through the junk to find, that lost now found tailpiece

All the things you save as spares, but things move on apace,

Out dated now and far too small, with newer one replaced.

The tractor that’s seen better days, reliable it has been,

Well used and got a loader on, could do with a dam good clean,

Worked it hard all day long, every day of the year,

Last day now it has arrived, and to the field must steer.

A second one it’s older still, with a draughty cab,

Tyres worn and torn about, n’ the paints a little drab.

Steering wobbles brakes no good, useful to have about,

Its winter when it wonner start, I have a dam good shout.

Be sorry to see an empty yard, and all the cleaned out sheds,

The damp old house abandoned, and empty old farmstead,

Silence now for few a weeks, until new folk move in,

Then once again start from new, new livestock make a din.

Owd Fred

My Parents Learned us Everything 201

Its not until you have your own kids to bring up, that you begin to realise the job our parents had bringing us four lads up during the war.

The rationing and the scarcity of things we take for granted now. I remember seeing my first banana in 1948, mother made us eat it mashed and spread on bread and butter. 

My Parents Learned us Everything

My parents learned us everything, how to live our life,

Helped to show us how to cope, and all about the strife,

Little things they matter most, and manners we did learn,

Respect for other people, and trust that you must earn.

Father taught us how to, feed calves and milk a cow,

Breed pigs and rear them, then taught us how to plough,

How to cut and lay a hedge, to fence the cattle in,

Hang a gate so it would swing, show us where to begin.

Mother showed us how to cook, from very early age,

Pick the peas and beans and mint, and parsley and the sage,

Tasted all that she prepared, even before it’s cooked,

It always met with our delight, tasted better than it looked.

Experience takes a long time, to build up over years,

Learning takes a lifetime, and sometimes brings you tears,

Knowledge is what you try to gain, path of life to smooth,

No one knows how long we’ve got, wounds in life to soothe.

Owd Fred