'It was the best of times' : Memories of home, farming and Collie dogs

'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.'

Charles Dickens, (1812 - 1870) Opening lines from A Tale of Two Cities

This morning I was reminded of the opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities, that great literary classic by Charles Dickens, one of our all-time best story-tellers. I was thinking about the house in which I grew up. Perhaps the somewhat tenuous link comes about because in Dicken's classic tale, our heroine, Lucy Manette, discovers that her father whom she believed to be dead is, in fact, still alive. She goes to meet him at the home of the Defarges, Monsieur Defarges having been Dr Manette's servant prior to his incarceration. The Defarges own a wine shop, and it is this that is the link, for my father's wine shop, The Wine Lodge, was on the ground floor front of the large house where I grew up.

For me, as a growing child, it was often the best of times but also the worst of times; the former because the most major decisions that I had to make, apart from schooldays, involved deciding whether to stay in and play or go out and play; the latter because we were not allowed to have friends in to play in the house, and this meant that staying in would mean transporting myself in my imagination to one of a myriad destinations --- just so long as I was quiet!

Outside play was marvellous, for the world was my oyster, with hundreds of acres of parkland and wooded areas laying beyond the back of the house, together with its own lake. In those days it was quite safe for children to go out and play in the fields, provided that the owners had no objections. There were some fields that we were not allowed into, but generally speaking most of the land was available provided that it was treated with respect and care. So these fields became magic places, transformed by childish imagination into far-off parts of the globe according to the need of the game. With my friends I would climb trees, run through the woods, make dens, and explore as far afield as possible. I knew the trees and the hiding places, the meadows and cornfields, and, it seemed, almost every square inch of the land, and I loved it. The area belonged to the Methuen family who owned Corsham Court, and the land, Park Farm, was tenanted by Jack Vowles, a hard-working tenant farmer who served the land well. I spent many hundreds of happy hours at Park Farm, helping out wherever I was needed and allowed, and those times are firmly imprinted in my memory still.

I recall the time that a new dog --- a border collie --- arrived on the farm. It was my first experience of such a beautiful creature, and when Mr Vowles told me, in response to my questioning it being penned, that it was a 'working dog' whose task was to bring in the cows for miking, I couldn't believe it. In fact I didn't believe it! That's why, in order to test the statement, I opened the pen door and told the dog to "Go, fetch!" Of course it responded, much to my amazement, and then to my consternation, especially when a short while later I saw the cows being herded in for milking by the dog! The problem was that it was almost two hours too early! I decided that it might be better if I went quietly home, and so I did, hoping that Mr Vowles would forget that I had been there that day, although this was a vain hope of course, as I was to discover a few days later. I guess, looking back with the benefit of experience, that my sudden absence pretty well proved my guilt in the matter, but I also suspect that Jack Vowles had to smile at the incident in retrospect!

The lake and surrounding woodland was out of bounds, watched over by the game-keeper who seemed to have a sixth sense whenever boys were near. Despite this I would sometimes creep into the woods and go down by the water's edge, hoping to see some of the fish. The lake was stocked with carp, some of which were reputed to be huge, but also had many other fish which had arrived over the years, probably carried as eggs on the feet of ducks and swans from other waters. Amongst them were pike, and one in particular had the reputation of being able to take ducks and even small dogs who ventured out into the lake for a swim, it being the last thing they ever did. I suspect that most of the stories were exaggerated tales in reality, but they certainly managed to conjure up a somewhat scary image in the mind of small children. The lake was a dangerous place, with weed growing in abundance, reaching close to the surface. Later, when I was about twelve, I used to go out with friends from the Court in a flat-bottomed row-boat, and it was sometimes a little too easy to get the oars entangled with weed in some parts of the lake. I remember one summer when there were French visitors to the Court and I used to take them to the lake for a row. My memory of the two small boys is almost too hazy to recall, but I remember the young woman in charge of them far more. She was probably about seventeen, although I, then aged about thirteen, thought she was a real grown up, although this never stopped me having a crush on her! Aah! The innocence of youth, certainly in that distant scene.

Summer holidays would be spent, in large degree, working in the fields at haymaking time, helping to gather in the harvest. It was a period of long days, hard work, and great happiness. I was treated well by the other workers, and remember especially the times when we would relax in the shade of the trailer with our 'bait' --- our lunch of bread and cheese, and perhaps an apple, all of which would be washed down either with cold tea or cider. Returning to the farm at the end of the day, twilight beginning to fall, we would be given an ice-cold draught from the large barrel near the back door of the farmhouse, which contained water into which barley had been shovelled. It was always cold and always refreshing. I have no idea whether any other ingredient was added, but it was just another great part of a wonderfully magical part of my childhood. I loved working on the farm, especially so because Jack Vowles had a fierce reputation, and could not be bothered by time-wasting children around the place. This told me that I was allowed to go because it was recognised that I would work rather than be a nuisance --- despite the affair with the border collie!