This morning I can see that the car windows are covered in frost and the few people braving the cold morning are huddled into the warmth of their coats as they hurry across the road to the newsagents or down the road to the convenience store. I have to state that I am definitely biased in favour of warm days, although I love the appearance of fresh, virgin snow in certain circumstances. Generally speaking, nowadays that means from the comfort of my lounge, but there was a time when a walk down one of the lanes or across one of the fields of my youth when my footprints were the only marks in an otherwise pristine white blanket of snow, was an exhilarating and magical experience.
I am often led to the conclusion that I'm privileged to experience the magic of nature due, in part, to my poetic soul. One particular memory that I have goes back to when I was around fourteen years old, and down at Park Farm for the early morning session of kale-cutting, a task for which I was given a machete. The objective was to cut the kale with one slash and stack it into a large tub for taking in for the cattle to feed on. The morning that comes to my mind today was extremely cold, and the hoar frost was thick upon the leaves of the crop. I was glad of the warmth of my coat and the advice that one of the older farmhands had given me to stuff newspaper into my wellington boots, the result of which meant that at least my feet didn't freeze. I busied myself at cutting, wanting to get the task over with and back to the yard as fast as possible, for once there I could unfreeze my hands by wrapping them around a warm cup of tea.
It was said that in order to beat the cold it was a good idea to plunge your hands into freezing water and hold them under for about five minutes. It was claimed that the rush of blood to try and combat the cold would keep your hands warm all day. I'd love to be able to report that this worked wonders, but the truth is that I didn't dare try it out!
Anyway, back to the kale cutting. I was happily --- well reasonably happily, at least! --- cutting and stacking when I noticed that some of the leaves had red on them. I wondered for a moment what it was. I soon found out, for it transpired that I had caught the back of my hand in my work and failed to notice it because my hands were so cold! Oh, how readily I realised the absolute necessity of keeping my thick leather gloves on from that moment. I guess that I learned the meaning of the expression 'the folly of youth' on that day.
Farms can be dangerous places for the careless, a lesson that I learned on other occasions as well, but they were all lessons that, being learnt through experience, were learnt well. Despite the odd accident such as this one, if I had my youth over again I would still be the same lad that I was then, enjoying and exploring the fields and furrows around about the Corsham area where I grew up. So many of my happiest memories from the early years were established there.
I'm not forgetting that I started this passage thinking about snow and frost, and certainly I have many special memories of my early morning walk across the fields to get to the farm, or simply to be out in the glory of the winter scenery, simply absorbed into it as just another part of the picture. It's nice to see unbroken snow in your garden, but to see it stretched across a field of many acres, broken only by the darkness of the hedgerows and the leafless trees dotted here and there, is an image that remains etched on your memory for ever. Sometimes I would look across a ploughed field in the early Spring when the snow had fallen lightly on it during the night and the resultant picture reminded me of the icing on a chocolate cake which had been dusted with icing sugar.
I am often led to the conclusion that I'm privileged to experience the magic of nature due, in part, to my poetic soul. One particular memory that I have goes back to when I was around fourteen years old, and down at Park Farm for the early morning session of kale-cutting, a task for which I was given a machete. The objective was to cut the kale with one slash and stack it into a large tub for taking in for the cattle to feed on. The morning that comes to my mind today was extremely cold, and the hoar frost was thick upon the leaves of the crop. I was glad of the warmth of my coat and the advice that one of the older farmhands had given me to stuff newspaper into my wellington boots, the result of which meant that at least my feet didn't freeze. I busied myself at cutting, wanting to get the task over with and back to the yard as fast as possible, for once there I could unfreeze my hands by wrapping them around a warm cup of tea.
It was said that in order to beat the cold it was a good idea to plunge your hands into freezing water and hold them under for about five minutes. It was claimed that the rush of blood to try and combat the cold would keep your hands warm all day. I'd love to be able to report that this worked wonders, but the truth is that I didn't dare try it out!
Anyway, back to the kale cutting. I was happily --- well reasonably happily, at least! --- cutting and stacking when I noticed that some of the leaves had red on them. I wondered for a moment what it was. I soon found out, for it transpired that I had caught the back of my hand in my work and failed to notice it because my hands were so cold! Oh, how readily I realised the absolute necessity of keeping my thick leather gloves on from that moment. I guess that I learned the meaning of the expression 'the folly of youth' on that day.
Farms can be dangerous places for the careless, a lesson that I learned on other occasions as well, but they were all lessons that, being learnt through experience, were learnt well. Despite the odd accident such as this one, if I had my youth over again I would still be the same lad that I was then, enjoying and exploring the fields and furrows around about the Corsham area where I grew up. So many of my happiest memories from the early years were established there.
I'm not forgetting that I started this passage thinking about snow and frost, and certainly I have many special memories of my early morning walk across the fields to get to the farm, or simply to be out in the glory of the winter scenery, simply absorbed into it as just another part of the picture. It's nice to see unbroken snow in your garden, but to see it stretched across a field of many acres, broken only by the darkness of the hedgerows and the leafless trees dotted here and there, is an image that remains etched on your memory for ever. Sometimes I would look across a ploughed field in the early Spring when the snow had fallen lightly on it during the night and the resultant picture reminded me of the icing on a chocolate cake which had been dusted with icing sugar.
One more memory that comes to mind as I write this is that of the picturesque Flemish Buildings at the far end of Corsham High Street, originally occupied by Flemish weavers. The golden colour of the plastered walls and the cobbles of the path in front of them given an added touch of magic by the snowfall that had cotton-wooled their roofs overnight. This image is the stuff of picture postcards and the fuel for a million cameras.
The Flemish Buildings are but one gem in this town on the edge of the Cotswolds. There are many more that make a visit to Corsham both worthwhile and memorable. Of course the Corsham of my youth, of which I write, has long gone. Now there is a shopping precinct where once there were the gardens of friends and neighbours, and vehicles skirt the town in order to get to the new(ish) car parks that were established in other gardens. Yet, despite the changes, so much that was still is, for the buildings that I knew as a boy remain in all their decaying glory, and sometimes I think that the ghosts of people long-gone perhaps still inhabit the houses and streets where I visit on my trips down Memory Lane.
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