A nice reminder …. in My things ……

Dad was from Derbyshire, a landlocked county in the heart of England, my Grandparents lived in Ashbourne when Dad was bourn in 1921, and soon after moved to Fenny Bentley a village a few miles north. Dad was a true country boy, his youth was in the hard time between the two wars, he walked the country side learning its way, he was very good at trapping rabbets and hares, and tickling the odd trout out of the rivers. He was quite lucky as many of his friends were sons of farmers, and I was able to gather food for the table within the law.

In those time of depression Granddad was often out of work, he earned a little cutting hair and mending shoes and boots. He also bread rabbets, to get fodder he looked after the church grounds and had two miles of railway to keep the grass down. All that grass was to feed the rabbets, he sold the meat locally and pelts to the clothing industry. Dad was doing the all sorts of jobs, he was welcome on the nearby farms for odd jobs, he also had a Saturday job with a clock maker, the old man looked after the clocks in the big houses, Dad was set to clean and polish the parts, the old clock maker liked to think his clients thought he was fitting new parts.

There was also a before School job, two or three hours with the backer, by school time the villagers bread was coming out of the ovens, once the daily bread was in-hand; then fancy buns and cakes keep the backer busy rest of the day. Childhood in the twenties was rather different than mine in the fifties, but Dad looked back fondly on those years. His versus odd jobs aloud Dad to save for a shot-gun, so as well the rabbets and hares he could add flying prey. In time he was supplying game to a hotel in Ashbourne, there Dad’s game was hung for two or three weeks; they liked flavour back then and probable more than we would enjoy today.

Dad would have been ninety three last month, come September it will be five years since he passed away, when I started up the computer this morning I found a entry about ‘Seven English Traditions’ one of them was ‘Well Dressing’ A tradition started in Tissington, probably to remember the clean well water that saved the village from the Black Death. We went with Mum and Dad to the Well Dressing several times; it would be nice to see the Dressed Well one more time - we'er a long way from Derbyshire now ……………...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Well_dressing