Country Boy

I feel I may have neglected my blogs over recent weeks. First of all I'm having complications after my hip replacement - my knees are acting up and I have been diagnosed with gout which isn't as funny as I think it sounds. Add this to the fact that this Friday I am in hospital for surgery on an impact tooth with a cyst on it and you will tell that my mind has been elsewhere. It also occurred that I haven't told you anything about where I live..

I have always considered myself to be a bit of a country boy, growing up in a rural village; the surrounding fields and woodlands were my playground when I was a child. Unfortunately the rural village has become a small town and I have long since left it behind. My next home was also what I would call rural – it was right next door to a farm and the tractors would often be seen and heard moving up and down the street on their various errands. Oh yes I was a country boy.

            Well as all things in nature change, so did my life and personal habitat, through a series of unfortunate events that are not necessary for the telling of this story. I found myself in my father’s house, a farm cottage in rural Northumberland. I very quickly had my preconceptions of my countryside heritage challenged. The relative isolation caught me completely off guard. Gone were the noisy neighbours and the sound of speeding cars and trucks; this was quiet with a capital Q.

            Gone was my leisurely stroll to the local pub; I now had to rely on a lift to get my refreshment; though this was no great loss, because the country pub (my new local) was to be a friendly and welcoming place. A log stove burning in the corner, fighting off the winter chill and providing an ideal platform for the roasting of chestnuts as we move towards Christmas. The same friendly faces and happy banter provide the perfect accompaniment to the odd pint.

            The friendly hospitality can also be found on the farm. The people living around us always say hello and enquire after everyone’s health. When summer comes around there are a good number of barbecues to be invited to, where the food and drink flows freely. After the dishes are cleared away it is time to sit, chat, reflect and wait for the bats to come out on their nightly rounds. There are a number living under the stone lintel of the farm cottage, and as if an alarm has sounded they emerge one after another in pursuit of their prey.

            The farm cat, in a wonderful display of hopeful futility tries to catch the bats as they zip past him. His method is simple, and wholly unsuccessful. He jumps, turns himself on his back in midair, waves his paws about and lands back on his feet, with an expression that says simply “what did I do?” The same cat could often be found lying inside the bird table. It is possible to imagine him lying there, mouth agape, waiting for an unfortunate bird to fly into his jaws. Of course it never happened, but the image will stay with me for some time.

            As the bats flit about it begins to get dark. This is another thing that catches me by surprise; just how dark it gets. I was used to the orange glow of sodium vapour lamps; out here it is only the glow of the moon and the brightness of the stars that break up the night sky. An owl hoots close by and there on the chimney top is the silhouette of a tawny owl; standing alert, watching, taking little notice of we people. This is its time – its habitat, we are only observers.

            Darkness moves in and it is time to call it a night and head for bed. A light rustling and a confused “moo” seems to come from nearby. That seems really close to be one of the farm cattle I think as I half drift off to sleep. I thought I must have been hearing things. However the next morning the evidence suggested otherwise. Right in the middle of the lawn was a huge cow pat. None of the garden furniture was disturbed, the bird table remained upright and all was well in the garden, except for the one little gift.

            The constant contact with livestock and the abundance of wildlife has been a continual source of entertainment and joy, but there was to be a new arrival. A goat was found running down the middle of a busy road in Newcastle upon Tyne. Quite how the beast came to be running down the road remains a mystery. There was some speculation that it was to be used in some sacrificial ceremony, but the truth will probably never be known.

            Anyway, through someone who knew someone, the goat came to the farm. It was put into the small field just behind the cottage, with a little shelter. This goat had other plans though – it simply would not stay where it was put. It wanted to be around people. Escaping on a nightly basis it would make its way down to the back door of the cottage and demand to be petted like a dog. I once made the mistake of  leaving the doors open and the goat roaming free, while I went to get something from the house. On my way back out I was faced with a goat standing expectantly in the living room. I eventually managed to encourage the animal outside, but it demanded attention, gently butting my leg until I stroked it. I couldn’t help but wonder if this happened anywhere else, and how fortunate I was to be there. Eventually the goat was to move on to another farm because of its mischievous behaviour, and by latest information she is perfectly happy in her new home.

            Wild visitors have also played a large part in my countryside education. The cats are let out to roam the farm on an evening, and one evening one of them was paying unusual interest towards the bin. There was a squeaking sound and the cat would jump back, then move forward again, head down, investigating something. Curiosity as to what could be making the cat behave like that made me investigate. There, trapped between our cat and the cottage wall was a young rabbit. The cat was intrigued by it, but needless to say the interest in being friends was not mutual. After some gentle encouragement, the cat was moved away and the rabbit made good its escape.

            Hedgehogs are also regular visitors during the summer. Sitting quietly in the garden there will be a snuffling, snorting noise as the little creatures make their rounds of the garden. The cat food left outside for them was not good enough for one brave visitor, who decided the food bowls inside the house were far more appealing. Snorting and snuffling it took the bemused cat’s food from right under its nose.

            I may have had a basic idea of countryside life as a child, but it was not preparation for the reality of truly rural life. The camaraderie, the constant surprises, the wonderful wildlife, the peace and tranquillity and the fantastic surroundings are all to be appreciated. When I get closer to home, as the road narrows and the hedges seem to move in, and the majestic trees spread their branches, I begin to relax and feel that I have returned to civilisation, rather than having left it.