大象传媒

When the war started in 1939 I was eight years old. After the bombs started to fall in Belfast my parents decided that, like a lot of other children, I should be evacuated out of the city to a farm in the country.

My father had an uncle who owned a farm situated between Crossgar and Saintfield in Co Down and I was taken there only to discover that three other cousins whose parents had the same idea were already there along with their parents. Consequently, there was a certain amount of overcrowding. I had been used to living in a spacious semi-detached house with only one brother and my mum and dad, and was happy with my own space. Circumstances had changed and whilst I got on well with my cousins occasionally adult tempers became frayed.

All this passed me by however in the excitement of a city boy living on a farm for the first time. There were chickens to feed, eggs to collect, cows to milk and, best of all, horses to ride. Whilst it took me a while getting used to the overcrowding and the taste of country butter which the farmer鈥檚 wife made by hand-churning milk once a week, I was having a great time. I loved drinking the milk direct from the cow, something children could not do now.

Of course, there was also the hard work in which everyone was expected to be involved, especially at harvest time. Farms were not mechanised in those times and digging potatoes and pulling flax by hand was very hard and exhausting work. Nevertheless, I enjoyed my time on the farm and in later years looked back on the experience with great fondness.

Unfortunately, it had to end. I think my mother who came to see me once a week got a little tired and fed up with the weekly journey. She travelled by train and had a three mile walk from the railway station to the farm, loaded down with shopping bags. Or I like to think that maybe both my mum and dad missed me! Anyway, the bombing of Belfast had long since ceased and they felt it was safe enough for me to return home.

In subsequent years, I returned to the farm on a regular but infrequent basis and was always made welcome. Unfortunately, the farmer and his wife passed away many years ago and the present occupants are unknown to me. However, occasionally my wife and I would drive past the farm when going to other places and it stirs up within me many pleasant memories of my attempts to become a farmer.

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