High Ham and Somerset – Page 4 – For the fainthearted . . .

A well-built man

It seems to have been a good summer on the farms: good cuts of silage, hay made, and the grain harvested.

He is thirty years dead, but the fields of stubble still recall my grandfather. A picture of him remains from 1975.

Grandad stands on the left-hand side of the photograph below, a broad-shouldered man in flat cap, sleeveless pullover, white shirt, brown trousers and heavy black boots. The nine men with him include my two uncles, it is threshing time and every available hand was needed.

He was a …

Glastonbury Festivals of the past

It was an item on BBC Radio 6 that reminded me of a plaque on the wall of the building in Glastonbury that was once home to the town’s Assembly Rooms. The plaque records that the building was the venue of the original Glastonbury festivals, organised by Rutland Boughton from 1914 until 1926.

From a modest background, Boughton was able to study at the Royal College of Music through the patronage of Ferdinand de Rothschild and was influenced in his political views by the works of William Morris, John Ruskin …

Misty morning driving

A rabbit hopped onto the verge, out of the path of an oncoming car. The A38 is an inhospitable place for wildlife.

My father would have recounted the wildlife he saw each morning, he always left home early and rolled along gently on his twelve mile journey to work.

Sometimes descending from our village would have mean being engulfed in a thick greyness. On Sedgemoor, there is a dampness that never quite retreats, those who lived in low-lying cottages in former times would have talked of moistness filling the walls …

Pennies for eggs

The box of half a dozen eggs bought at a farm shop had, “lovingly laid by hens” hand-written on the lid. At £1.30, it was 30% more expensive than the £1 boxes to be found at many garden gates this time of year,

“Lovingly laid by hens:” it seemed an odd comment. It was not the sort of thing a country person would have written. Such anthropomorphism would militate against much of farming life, what next? Rashers of bacon with, “pigs lovingly slaughtered?”? Milk labelled, “brought to you by courtesy …

Whitmonday walking

An app on the phone told me that today was “Whitmonday.” It seemed an odd word from the past. Is there anywhere that still celebrates the day after Whitsunday as a holiday?

Whitmonday was the sort of day that allowed celebration in rural communities. I remember the excitement of what we called “club day arriving.” The sun shone and there was a mood of happiness in the heart of a small boy. The club members, my uncle among them, wore dark suits and rosettes and were led by a silver …

A nurseryman

This would have been the week when Don was at Chelsea.

Reflective, sedate in movement, Don seemed most content when driving the Land Rover. Rolling along at thirty miles per hour, with one of the old hands beside him in the front, Don was never a man to hurry. The rest of us sat in the back, on the bench seats that ran down either side, happy for the journey to take as long as possible.

The journey was made from a nursery in Langport in order to work …