24 June 2012
Her childhood was simple and idyllic much of it spent walking through fields with an older man an allotment keeper who knew the land so well.
Whenever she went he greeted her with handfuls of beautiful sweet peas that had a fragrance which was unforgettable. If hungry , fruit and vegetables were freshly picked and pure, no harmful chemicals used for quick growth and money.
Mushrooms grew in those fields and she would squeal with excitable delight when she found them. She' d learnt that they were sporadically placed amongst the longer dewy grass and fresh manure.
Blackberries harvested from rough overgrown hedges, where birds nested and old mans beard grew, the same places that the cob nuts fell from, when the seasons changed.
The thrill off picking a warm egg from the coup where he kept his chickens and tossing them a handful of grain, almost like a thankyou.
He was a fascinating fella full of glorious stories of his own childhood. It always seemed hard to imagine his era time sure does change childhoods. Gone were the days of haymaking, the dangers now apparent and encouraging a child to climb on a rickety old tractor and hold tight to the bales of rye, which were precariously poised seem unheard of.
Pooh sticks she played in the glistening streams full of fish and waterboatmen, oh the joy of watching her stick twist and turn ahead of his , down the shallow trickling water. A game from a childhood book from someones imagination.
It was different then, she was never taught to worry about pollution or harmful bacteria that lurked in these places ready to spread disease or perhaps it just didn t exist .
Perfume he said came from flowers not from bottles, games from string or elastic that made skipping ropes or catapults, not from computer games and hand held devices, knowledge from books and experience not from the internet. Love and care was given in abundance, never questioned if he held her hand or put a plaster on a cut. Sorry was a word meant and not just said because.......
Tears wiped away with the back of his sleeve or a nettle rash treated with one if his dock leaves of course whatever it was he always made it better.
Daisies weren't weeds, they were pretty white jewels bringing a smile to her face as she sat surrounded by them,making chains or caterpillars and running happily home with her incredible creations.
Seasons seemed divided spring saw lambs born and the most amazing cherry blossom, Summer was long and hot with balmy nights, she would paddle in anything to cool her toes, autumns beautiful changing colours, the trees aching as they shed their leaves and winter hosted the delight of snowflakes which tickled as she caught them on her Tongue.
She never needed money never asked for it , what was there to buy, her special days weren't spent on commercial beaches with kiss me quick hats or candy floss, hers was a special place, besides she went home if thirsty and supper was a family affair." Home before dusk " her mother would shout and rarely did she push the boundaries instilled in her.
He was much older and wiser and she only hoped he knew what a difference he made, perhaps part of her grew ,from what she learnt when she was with him, still having the beautiful tablecloth that his wife had hand made and he ' d given her just after her passing. She was always grateful . He'd certainly had made her world a sunny, happy and carefree place.
He's gone now and I miss him
By helene
Childhood • Opuss № I