大象传媒

We were living in Hull in 1940 and my grandparents had promised to look after my mother, my brother Ted and myself whilst my father was away in the Navy. When they decided to leave home for the safety of Herefordshire we followed them to rooms they had found for us at Nunnington Court farm. It was a revelation and a wonderful adventure for children coming from a 1930's bungalow on the outskirts of Hull to live on a farm and in a 200 year-old farmhouse. Unfortunately my mum and grandmother, who also came with us, didn't share our joy.

The farm at that time had no running water: all water was drawn from a pump in the yard, and a visit to the loo meant a walk to the two-seater earth lavatory at the bottom of the garden. Our kitchen facilities were just as basic: a paraffin stove and a deal table in an empty room with bare floorboards. In one corner of the 'kitchen' was a large wooden barrel that had held some of our belongings, and Ted and I used to roll around and around that room until we were both dizzy and my mum was driven frantic by the noise.

We didn't have any real understanding of the troubles of the adults. Like thousands of other women my mum was worried about my dad away at sea: he was a skipper of a minesweeper. My nan wasn't in good health and close to a nervous breakdown following the death in action in Belgium of her only son. They both found it very difficult to cope with the new life and as the expected blitz of Hull hadn't happened, we returned to Hull after about nine months.

Only when I was much older was I able to appreciate the kindness of the farmer and his wife, Mr and Mrs Jones. I remember Mrs Jones taking me to Hereford in her pony and trap and to the local harvest festival on the back of her bike. We had the run of the farm: helped bring the cows in for milking and knew them all by name; spent hours playing mad games in the hayloft and hours more building dens in trees that had been felled in the top field. Certain things were off limits though. We had to keep our distance when they killed a pig and were not allowed to see what went on when the bull came to call. And one afternoon I was in the garden by the lavatory and heard a dreadful noise coming from the cow byre down below. I was fascinated to see a cow calving, although I didn't really know what was going on. I rushed back to the house to tell Mrs Jones that there was a coww in the shed with its inside coming out and was seriously ticked off for looking at something I wasn't supposed to aee!

There was sometimes friction between our two families and I regret that because sixty-five years on, my memories of our time at Nunnington Court farm are still vivid and I see those months as simply the happiest of my childhood.

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