I'm always surprised by the memories we retain from childhood, not least in my own case. Given that the days seemed to blend one into the other and everything was a new adventure, it is often the smaller insignificant items that remain in my mind.
This morning, as I walked the dog, I saw something that took me back to a long summer afternoon that had been dormant in my memory, but long forgotten. The strange thing was that I had discounted the original event, but now it made me wonder.
I was lucky to be brought up in a village which at the time was still fairly rural. It was the kind of place where people knew each other and we still had innocence enough to play; do different from today it seems.
In the village was a character who struck fear into most of the children as well as a fair few of the adults. "Bob" was a farm worker who was more often than not sleeping. He had two loves from what I remember, talking and scrumpy cider which accounted for his nodding off so regularly.
On the afternoon I saw him, I would have been about twelve. I had cycled out to see some friends and found Bob sleeping off the last of the scrumpy cider in the verge. It never occured to me not to stop as I thought he may be injured being unfamiliar with the signs of a hangover.
Bob told me the farm he was working on was going broke and as a result he would be out of a job. That was cause enough for him to get the biggest bottle of rough cider and drown his sorrows (and his sorrows appeared to float quite well).
He told me the current farmer had brought his family in from the city and it had all been something of an experiment - not quite what he had expected. The farm would be shut and sold to someone from London to build an impressive country house. Bob told me he had been told this by the current owner and he had just had a dream about the new manor house all red brick with a dry stone wall and gates with the family coat of arms and a flag in the grounds.
Needless to say I put it down to the cider talking and thought I had forgotten about it.
A few weeks later, Bob was proven partly correct when the farm was sold - but then in the late 70's it was taken over and farmed successfully. No sign of building - Bob's dream had been just that, a drink induced vision with no truth to it.
This morning, some 30 years later, I walked the dog past the same location and was frozen to the spot for a moment by what I saw and the recollection of this forgotten tale.
The farm had been sold when the current family chose to retire - I knew that much, but hadn't heard what had become of the land. Today, I saw the farm entrance had become a building site. Apparently the small farm (little more than a small holding) had become uneconomic.
The year was now surrounded by a dry stone wall, newly built in a style that evoked thoughts of the Cotswolds. - A large portacabin and showroom was at the entrance which was locked with a large pair of wooden gates.
On the gates, the crest of the development company and behind the portacabin the building site with the addition of three flag poles to advertise the new build. - The development is to be called New Manor Crescent.
Wherever you are Bob ... I take back all I had thought.
