I awoke to a cool rush of air from the open window. It looked like being another fine day! From this window a stile and path was visible. A path that would take me up the hillside amongst the sheep. Although it looked a weary climb, the view from the top would certainly give a better view of the surrounding woods and fields. But today, I was going in search of the river.

With breakfast over, I hastily made a few sandwiches and a flask of drink. Throwing a light jacket around my shoulders, excitedly I walked along. Passing through a gap in a high hedge, a meadow, yellow with buttercups, lay ahead of me.

Occasionally, a kestrel hovered overhead. I thought of Rene. As a child she must have played in these meadows, picking the flowers, or making daisy chains for her mother. Any baby lambs, had been kept safe in the orchard, next to the house. She loved to help feed the small lambs with a ‘tit-tee’ bottle (as she put it).

The last of the flock were for sale, and would soon be collected by lorry. The sheep market, which was held once a fortnight, proved to be a great attraction. Not only the farmers, but local residents would make it a ‘day out’.

Jumping over a narrow ditch, a different scene met my eyes. Gorse bushes were in bloom. Away in the distance I could see the stream, it should lead me to the wide river.

Rene had spoken of sheep that would often come down to this stream, to stand in the shade of the hawthorn bushes that overhung at the waters edge.

It was here I noticed a thrush building a nest, busy collecting the moss and clay from the bank. Further along, the stream grew faster, winding its way towards a copse of mixed trees.

A brown squirrel ran in front of me, busily searching for a bite to eat. His long bushy tail, bobbing along the ground as he hurried from place to place, not minding me at all. I stood very still, until he went up the slope to the oak tree, then disappeared.

A field mouse scuttled beneath my feet and darted into the hedgerow, followed by another, that gave a leap in the air and slid down the bank by mistake. I smiled to myself as quiet as those two little mice. I stealthily crept my way further along the bank.

It was indeed a beautiful morning. In the warmth of the sun, I felt quite drowsy. Pine trees on the further bank were making whispering sounds. Their branches reached upwards to the sky.

Spring had come early here in the valley. The woods are green, leaves are large and long. A grasshopper flits above the bracken.

I rested awhile beneath an old oak tree. Clumps of reeds and primroses grew on the bank beside me. From the branches of the tall trees, I faintly heard the call of the ringed drove. Some of these birds frequent the farmyard in the early evening.

Presently, a waterhen appeared at the waters edge. Had I seen the blue dragonfly, hovering near the mossy log!! It wasn’t long before the waterhen had disturbed it. It flew further downstream.

The rippling water was very clear. Pebbles could be seen on the earthy bed. Breaking a reed, I sat making wavy circles in the water. The circles grew and grew, until they reached the further bank.

Not far ahead the sound of fast flowing water grew louder. The stream had now become a wide river. A nearby wood seemed alive with bird song.

Much comings and goings by the birds, as they came down to the river to bathe, or perhaps a short drink. Then to fly away to preen themselves on a nearby branch. Looking upstream, there was the water-willow, so gracious as its bought gently touched the water. The green leaves of the maple tree, which seemed to shake hands with the tall poplar, so slender with its head in the sky. Many happy hours can be spent in the shade of the oak trees, when the sun is full and hot.

Downstream raced the river, over boulders that stood in its path, around the bend at the edge of the wood, and onward in such haste. Standing there, too weary to go any further, I sat down on the bank once more, gazing into the water, I looked for a fish, but there were none.

While I rested, I ate my sandwiches, and took a long drink. Perhaps walking by the haystack at the top of the meadow would be in the shade, it was worth a try.

By midday, I had come up the slope of the meadow, through a wooden gate, and now stood in a narrow leafy lane, where tall foxgloves grew in the hedgerow, together with wild honeysuckle.

Overgrown branches seemed to block my path. The rampant growth of ivy grew on almost every tree. Not far from me, a grass snake slithered past, disappearing into some tall grasses.

All God’s creatures seemed to be out this morning. Using a thick stick from the hedgerow, I hacked my way through the brambles and walked slowly on. Some of the time I found it hard going. Ruts were partly filled with water, as this lane was hidden from the sunshine, they had never really dried out.

It was here I saw a little jack rabbit. So very small, he could have only been but a few weeks old. Turning his head towards me, he stared, and then with a few short hops, he bobbed into the undergrowth.

Coming round a bend, into the sunlight once more, I found myself in a valley. Ahead, a fir plantation stretched upwards and upwards, to a height that outstretched ones imagination. It certainly was an awe inspiring sight.

Here I could see someone had been trespassing. A fire had been lit recently, judging by the heap of ashes, they had camped here for quite some time.

It was now late afternoon. Reluctantly, I retraced my steps. There sat that little jack rabbit again. Days later, I saw him again in exactly the same spot.

Climbing over a stile, I spotted a sign nailed to a post. It read ‘Linhay Bottom Farm’ - followed by an arrow pointing to the left. Indeed this pathway proved a much shorter route back. It led into the orchard.

Sadly, many apple trees had died, they lay where they had fallen, covered with fungi and disease. Except for the lavender, with its purple spikes, the orchard was now just a garden of weeds.

Wearily, I walked through the long grass, soon reaching the opening in the wall, which I knew led into the farmyard. With a sigh of relief, I went indoors, and promptly sank into a comfy armchair.

Sometime later, after I had rested, I cooked a hot meal after which I sat outside on a bench beneath the window until it began to grow dark. Away in the distance a church bell was ringing. It did not go on for long.

With the daylight almost gone, I collected kindling and logs from the hovel across the yard and lit a fire. Before long, the smell of woodsmoke filled the room. A damp chimney no doubt. I decided to let the fire go out and go to bed.

I awoke very early. A thrush was busy cracking a snail on the cobbled stones beneath my bedroom window. My family of cats had also arrived early today for a few scraps. As the days passed, they had become a little tamer. I could get to within ten feet of them, then they would hastily dash away and hide. But hunger was on their side, food and victory on mine. The old Tom Cat was the bravest. He would sit on top of the wall by the scullery door to receive his share. But the others only came to watch at a safe distance. The only food they ate would be stolen at night.

After a few days, the weather changed dramatically and for the next three days a thick mist hung over the whole valley, with no sign of it lifting. There was no reason for me to stay any longer.

Bidding ‘Linhay’ a fond farewell, I returned home. Thankful for the days I had enjoyed in the lovely warm sunshine, days that had made my holiday so memorable.

‘Linhay’ was sold in the summer of 1963.

Barbara Kerrison ©