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Thursday 4 April 2013

# The farmer wants a...

wife...
E - I - Adio 
The farmer wants wife #

The story of the farmer, his wife of five years 
and her 1930's Austin Seven.


This isn't it!*
I ought to say now, this little story doesn't have a happy ending.

It's snowing in the Weald of Kent, and yes I should be ironing, however...
I find a little light blogging eases the pain of a throbbing thumb.

Back in the day; on my return from the Highlands, after five years of 
living a self sufficient life, I returned to York.

I needed a job, and managed to land a well paid job selling chemicals and fertiliser
to farmers.  Don't ask... yes me from living an organical life to that!

Needless to say I was absolutely blooming hopeless.
My boss used to say
'Linda the only thing you sell is yourself!' 
Well it's before the 9 o clock watershed so we won't go into that! Joke!
'The dour Yorkshire farmers' warm to your bubbly outgoing personality,
it's just a pity you can't sell the products!'
I didn't last long; no surprise there.
Along the way I met a young farmer, eight years younger than me.
He I think, saw an unpaid helper hoving into view, plus a means to
get away from his father and brother.
Me, well I don't know what I saw; perhaps in my naive way I
thought farming with the use of tractors must be a lot easier than
the life I'd just left... wrong!

The days of unending toil on a small dairy farm, I just can't begin to
tell you.  The highlight of my day was scraping out the muck on my little 
red Fergie tractor. I drove huge trailers with big round bales through the
Vale of York.  Loaded and unloaded thousands of small bales of straw.
The reason I now think, for my very worn out thumb.
Life was hard... bloody hard.
During that time, my father died.  He lived about fifteen miles away,
and because of the workload I didn't get to see him as often as I
would have liked.
I phoned one Sunday afternoon of a very stormy weekend to see how he was. 
 A police officer answered the phone.

'He's dead isn't he!'

'I'm afraid so!'

Dad had died that Saturday night alone in his lovely little
cottage and I wasn't there for him.

Something in my heart changed, I could see the grinding toil of my life
stretching ahead without cease.
I knew, I just knew.

With some of my inheritance I bought myself an old
Austin 7, 
British Racing Green,
BOL 715
The numberplate amused me, what with me living 
such a champagne lifestyle.
I loved that car, although it cost me a fortune.
It continually broke down on my trips into York;
husband with serious hump would come out to tow me home.
Being towed at 40 - 50 miles an hour along twisty
country roads is not an experience I would recommend to anyone!
His way of getting me back I thought, for spending the money on something totally unsuitable: and yes I suppose he had a point.

One bleak morning I got up and knew I had to go.
I threw some clothes into a bag, got my little car out
and drove away without a word.  Still milking, he didn't see me go.

I drove to my father's cottage, which luckily I'd kept, for this reason?
I think so, that's a lie, I know so.

That evening he arrived
'I've come to take you home!'
'No, I'm sorry!'

Why, did I say yes when he asked me to marry him?
A question I've asked myself many times.
There is no answer! 



* Can you believe that the only record of my little car and time on the farm, is on the Masterchef tapes?     





4 comments:

  1. It is nice getting to know your past adventures Linda. Where were you in the highlands? I was happy and sad reading this post and smiled at the number place of your little car! jayne x

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  2. I went from bottom left hand corner, a village near Tunbridge Wells to top right, North West coast, 10 miles north of Lochinver.

    I think it was the snow yesterday making me feel melancholy. The bottom line for me is... enjoy. My trouble is, as Ted often says I do tend to put myself down. I think perhaps he's right, although I'd never let him know! As you might imagine that wasn't the full story. Thank you for commenting, it cheered me up, because I thought I'd frightened every other bod off!

    LLX

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  3. Your Austin Seven brought back bittersweet memories for me - I was about 12 and it belonged to Alan next door, with whom I was in love. He called his car Ying Tong (he painted this neatly on the bonnet) and he played in a skiffle band. Swoon!

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    Replies
    1. My Uncle Jack had an open top Austin Seven and as kids we all thought it was a scream; not knowing really whether we were ashamed or delighted to be in it?

      Donkey years ago when I worked on the Kentish Times, I well remember taking an advertisement for one for the princely sum of 18 quid, can you believe that? And worse than that I didn't frigging buy it! Happy days.

      LLX

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