Among the notes that my father made at a time in his life when old age curtailed his ability to toil away in the outdoors, there are some verses that he put to one side. I think appropriate to share this one with you now. It is true to every line of his time growing up in Ditcheat.

A Country Boy

Many a time when I was a lad
I listened to tales from my old Dad.
Tales of joy and tales of strife
when folk enjoyed a harder life.
When man would toil from dawn ‘till dusk
just to earn an honest crust

I remember too when I was a lad
of all the fun there was to be had.
To stand by a field on a summer’s morn
and watch a machine make sheaves of corn.
We’d chase the rabbits for miles with sticks
and watch the farmer thatching ricks.

To ride on a wagon back to the farm
and play in the yard without risk or harm.
We’d wander for hours in leafy lanes
and hear the whistle of far-off trains.
I remember the rooks near the old church spire
and fresh buttered toast around an open fire.

But when I look at my young son
will he ever know such simple fun?
When grown to a man will he look back with joy
and be glad he was born a Country Boy.

J.H.S.