John Brown's Cottage

I am feeling a little bit nostalgic and emotional about my past, these last few days. I have been harking  back to when I was aged nineteen. My mum and Dad loved each other, of that I have no doubt, but they couldn't live together. They spent 20 years coming together and then splitting apart. One of these splits, involved us , (the kids) and my mum, moving lock , stock and barrel, away from Ireland, away from my Dad, to the Yorkshire Dales. My Mum had a friend in her church who had a cottage we could rent. So it was we set off, with trepidation and a little excitement to find 'John Brown's Cottage'!

It seemed like we would never get there as we went more and more into the back country roads of the Dales. Here it is, I do apologise for the quality of my photo...

My sister sits on the step a little overawed I think, my brother in the doorway. It was a shock, we came from a city, to the middle of nowhere. As I looked around, and took in the old doors and windows, the wooden floorboards, an old Aga in the kitchen, and an old ball and claw bath in a bathroom that had no curtains, but looked out over fields of green with nothing but trees and cows, I thought that I had died and gone to heaven. This was the life for me....I was in love. The rest of my family took a little longer to come around to the idea of country life, but I embraced it wholeheartedly.

Neighbours came to our door, not straight away, they kindly gave us time to settle, but they came and brought us gifts, apples from their trees, tomatoes from their greenhouses, flowers from their gardens. They made us things too, cakes and pies and bread. We were overwelmed.

We were invited to a Harvest Festival at Kirkby Malham Church. Never having been to such a thing we weren't quite sure what to expect. Here's the beautiful old church.....

The church was full of flowers and food, even tins of food I remember. Two things stand out in my memory, the first, a man stood up and started to aution off the food. He must have been an auctioneer of livestock. I remember we all got the giggles, we were having difficulty enough with the accents, but when he started going,' thert y fave, for ty fave '

at a rate of notts, we just couldn't believe our ears.

The second, I shall never forget as long as I live. A little girl stood up, she must have only been 5 or 6, and she began to recite a poem about a lamb. She had such a lovely little voice with a Yorkshire accent and she didn't falter at all. I now know the poem was by William Blake.....

'Little  Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,

By the stream and o'er the mead,

Gave thee clothing, wolly bright,

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the Vales rejoice?

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made me?

 I ended up staying in Yorkshire when I met my first husband , and my family returned to Ireland. I will always love it, and the people in it.

I hope you don't mind me indulging in a little trip down memory lane, and I wish you all a.....

Love Linda x                             Images...my own, Pinterest, Google and Tumblr.