In Alan’s opinion, for what it was worth, the grammar school he attended could not have been situated in a more idyllic location. The walk to school each morning took him first through the main road of council estate built next to the one where he lived. The new houses still had fresh paint and newly laid out and well maintained gardens. The occupants happy to have been given the option of living there, as just beyond the estate was farm land and woods. A wonderful location in which to raise children, something which seemed to be the main preoccupation of the majority of the tenants of the homes.
Each morning Alan would walk quickly through the estate, a strip of ten minutes or so, then through a wooden five barred gate into the first of the fields belonging to Jim Breakspear and his wife, Marge. They kept a small herd of milking cows a few pigs in a sty by the path leading through the farm, and several chickens for eggs. Summer and winter alike Marge would twice a day bring in the cows from the fields to milk them. Some of the milk she kept for their own use and to make a little butter, but most of it was sold to a newly created government body, The Milk Marketing Board. During the worst part of winter the cows were brought into the farm from the fields for the last time and kept in the cow shed. Their lowing could be heard as Alan walked along the cobbled path through the farm. He was always a bit wary of these cows. Once during a winters afternoon on his way home from school the cows were being herded in from the fields for their afternoon milking. The stout figure of Marge bring them along close to the head of the small herd. Dressed in her normal floral dress and clutching a short leather coat to her body she clucked and chivvied the beasts along the path towards the farm buildings when one of them suddenly lunged forward and made a beeline for Alan. Swinging his school bag over his shoulder he made a dash to a side path leading from the main path through the farm closely followed by the cow and Marge shouting at the top of her voice. “Get out of her way, she’s a bugger this one”. Alan was already yards ahead of her instructions and safely made it into one of the open doorways of the farm house. The cow kept on running, being chased by the heavy weight behind her wielding a long stick to encourage the beast.
Normally though there was little excitement on his walk through the farm. As he made his way gingerly through the sea of mud which in winter was what the path became, he stood on small islands of dry mud to move to his right to take a look at the pigs. Reaching out from the final hillock of dry mud he reached out to rest his hand on the top of the stone wall of the pig sty. The stone was a sheet six feeet square and was attached to its neighbour by a metal tie. He leaned against the wall and looked over into the floor of the sty. Four pigs, one enormous like a grounded barrage balloon, and three slightly smaller ones, were snuffling noisily in the mud for the kitchen scraps Marge fed them on. The biggest pig, a sow, stopped and raised her head for a moment to look quizzically at Alan. With a bored grunt she stuck her snout back into the food, determined to get what she could before the others took it.
Next along the path was the cow shippon where the cows spent their nights in winter. Then a large rough local stone built barn with a small round window set almost in the eaves of the roof. Jim kept his store of winter hay there, and all the local kids would take it in turns to jump from the top of the pile of bales to the lower one, once his harvesting had been done for the summer. Jim was a cleaver man and knew that he could never be around all the day to shoo off the kids, so he tolerated them. The kids, for their part, played only as long as their energy lasted, which was never very long as the barn was always the last calling point on their afternoon adventure in the fields and woods. After the barn it was tea time.
Leaving the farm along the cobbled roadway the route to the school took Alan through a woodland area planted perhaps a couple of hundred years ago. Deciduous trees clung to the sides of a steep sided stream which started life on the moorlands above the town and wound it’s way down through the hills until it hit the woods. In the middle of the woods was a Mediaeval Hall and chapel set right in the middle of farmland and bordered by the woods. Part of the complex of buildings was an almost derelict stable block with a double door wide enough for carriage and horses and inside was stabling for several horses. It’s black and white timbers were almost hidden during the summer months by the overhanging branches of Oak and Beech trees, whilst in the gardens by the side were Rhododendrons which displayed countless multi coloured blossoms for many months of the year.
Alan strode on through the stables and out again into the last of Jim’s farmland, and finally onto the road which lead to the school. Twice a day he made this trip. Twice a day in summer and autumn he sweated, and in winter twice a day he moved just fast enough so that he could keep warm. To the north side of the school were the edges of the woods. To the east lay the woods as well, through which football team in winter and cricket teams in summer had to walk to play their games on the playing fields which lay to the southern edge of Jim’s farm and to the east of the estate where Alan lived.
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