Middle England

I'm staying in a part of rural England that seems almost untouched by time and takes me far back to childhood memories. There are few houses that are not old in this hamlet; it can hardly be called a village, except that it has a Church. There seems to be no village centre, no shop and no pub. Except for signposts and the Village Hall you wouldn't know it was a village at all. The houses are strung out along narrow lanes that meander from farm to farm, eventually coming round in a long loop.

I took a walk along the lane, when it had stopped pouring down with rain, coming eventually to the Church in the middle of a field! No road or proper track leads to it; you walk across a field to get to it! I walked back along a farm track, sometimes squelching through mud, under overhanging trees, with the pungent smells of animals, earth, grass and unnamed herbs and flowering plants that some would label 'weeds'.

A large part of my childhood was spent in such country surroundings; up and down the country, wherever my Dad was stationed by the RAF, my Mother and I would find somewhere to stay nearby. They both loved the country, having spent their courting years walking and cycling away from the city. I find it hard to resist a footpath sign or leafy lane and when I find myself marching along a path like a foot soldier, I'm minded of walks with Dad as I tried to keep up with him.

I remember the village pump being the only source of water, washing hanging over bushes to dry, great carthorses pulling carts and ploughs and gleaning in the cornfield with the village children, the whole village helping with the harvest. One difference now is the well groomed riding horses in the fields, an indication of the affluence of at least some of the inhabitants here.