rural

I had the good fortune to be born before the end of history. I'm not absolutely sure when history started to end, or when it actually ended, but it was definitely still going on when I was a child in the late 1940's and early 1950's.

Of course this statement only applies to this country, I can't speak for the rest of the world. in fact I'm pretty sure history is going on elsewhere. Nowadays the natural world hardly touches us. Most of us can have anything we want at the touch of a button. Instant gratification is the order of the day. And when things happen in an instant, how can there be history?

When I was little the natural world impinged on us. In winter there was not only ice on the outsides of the windows, it was also on the insides, and on a few memorable occasions, our breath was frozen on the blankets round our mouths when we woke in the morning. If we wanted to hear hi-fi, we had to go to a rare concert in Huddersfield. If we wanted to see moving images, we had to go to the "pictures". When we did those things we looked forward to them, and when they happened we looked back on them, and history was created.

In those days too, everyone in a rural community was close to the land. My mother was a school teacher, and my father a lecturer, but in summer I worked at the local farm, and in autumn, I stooked corn, and oats, and rolled through the village in a dangerous manner on the top of trailers loaded with straw. At the harvest festival we went to church, gave thanks and meant it.

		'T was early one morning at break of the day, The cocks they were crowing and the farmer did say, Arise jolly fellows, arise with good will, Your horses want something their bellies to fill. When four o'clock came my boys, up we do rise, And off to the stables we merrily flies, A rubin and scrubbin our horses we go, For we're all jolly fellows that follows the plough. When six o'clock came my boys for breakfast we met, With cold beef and pork we heartily ate, With a piece in our pockets, I'll swear and I'll vow, We're all jolly fellows that follows the plough. Then our master rides up, and this he did say, What have you been doing boys all this long day, You have not ploughed your acre, I'll swear and I'll vow, You are all lazy fellows that follows the plough. Then our carter stands up, and he thus makes reply, We have all ploughed our acre, you have told a damned lie. We have all ploughed our acre, I'll swear and I'll vow, We're all jolly fellows that follows the plough. Then our master turns round, and he laughs at the joke, It's past two o'clock boys it's time to unyoke, Unharness your horses and rub them down well, And I'll give you a jug of my very best ale.

The Magpie The magpie brings us tidings, Of news both fair and foul, Shes's more cunning than the raven, More wise than any owl. She brings us news of the harvest, Of the barley wheat and corn, She knows when we'll go to our graves, How we shall be born. One's for sorrow,Two's for joy, Three's for a girl,And Four's for a boy, Five's for silver,Six for gold, Seven's for a secret never told. Devil, Devil, I defy thee! Devil, Devil, I defy thee! Devil, Devil, I defy thee! She brings us joy when from the right, Grief when from the left, Of all the news that's in the air, We know to trust her best. For she sees at our labours, And she mocks us at our work, She steals the eggs from out of the nest, And she can mob the hawk. The priest he says we're wicked, To worship the Devil's bird, But we respect the old ways, And we disreguard his word. For we know they rest uneasy, As we slumber in the night, And we always leave out a little bit of meat, For the bird that's black and white.