The Pool

The water glistens, shimmers
not a ripple stirs,
Privacy prevails
Totally alone I dive into a world
of warmth, softness, freshness, blueness
A cleansing overcomes me,
as I slice through the surface
up and down, back and forth
not thinking, not caring
letting the day wash from my tired body
Finding the strength to once again
face another October day.

The final week

It's been a funny old week
in "Suffolk" speak
In seven days GOH goes
on his way
seeking his current dream
leaving mine in tatters
I am not however too distraught
I still feel that sense of freedom
that somehow this was meant to be
Three discarded wives cannot all be
at fault
Bags are being packed, skips filled,
lawns cut, cats fed
Some of life goes on as normal
parts take on a surreal feel
Meals somehow cook, shirts get ironed
cars washed, fields ploughed
All the time the air hangs heavy
with gloom and expectation in equal measure
I am down but not out
Friday looms.

The Start

Here I stand at the start of a
very long and rocky road to
freedom, alone, unknown and
untried.
Scared that what I have started
I will never be able to finish
He chose to cheat, I chose to let
him go
Would it have not been easier to forgive and
forget
To hope that every time he left the house
He headed to someplace he should
I feel deep in my heart that he was lost to me
long before the day I discovered a receipt for a dinner
I did not eat, and diamonds I do not wear
bought by a man I no longer know
So, as the starting pistol fires
I am off, running, searching, turning back,
looking forward, making mistakes
seeking the fork in the road that will take
me to a place I deserve to be
to once again smile, breathe and feel like me.

Confessions of a serial mower - getting back to normal

Normal, what is normal I wonder anymore.

Well its been quite a summer and not one I will forget in a hurry, if ever.

Suffice to say, as I cannot blog about it yet, my life as I know it changed for ever on Saturday the 4th of August. Well it had changed for ever before that date; I just didn't know it!

My health has improved funnily enough as my personal life has gone "down the pan" as they say here in Suffolk. So there you have it, Mousie is about to be on her own. GOH is moving on to pastures new and with whatever strength I can muster I intend to cling on here to the farm.
It may or may not be possible but I will give it a bl++dy good try. Sorry folks I don't usually swear but am sure you will allow me this little one!

I have not been able to blog of late; partly it is true to say because of harvest and all that entails but also because of this huge crisis in my personal life. Some of you will be aware I know and for the rest I hope you will now understand and forgive me for not going into the details here in the public eye.

So, in the coming months I will probably subject you to all sorts of comings and goings here,the sale of things if and when they happen, etc. etc.

I have a huge network of friends and family - much larger and kinder than I ever imagined actually together with my cyber support and am getting through the days somehow. Some are dreadful and some quite frankly have been fun. Fun at a time like this seems an odd expression but sometimes the thought of my impending "freedom" feels like perhaps it might be fun.

I should in fact be in Aldeburgh for lunch today as the Suffolk Three, but Suffolkmum and Tattie have gone together as I have to go back to the hospital for another scan today. Nothing dreadful just to check another part of my back it would seem. I have some discs that are a bit ropey and I think they are checking others higher up my spine.

So, a brief and not very explanatory blog, and I hope you will bear with me and read between the lines and just send me a hug now and again.

Despite all this, I have not lost the urge to mow!!! love mousie

At the Races

Every week should start with a day at the races don't you think.

Perhaps it always does for some, but not usually for us Suffolk farming folk. So it was on Monday, we got all dressed and dolled up and headed up the A12 to Gt Yarmouth and the race course there, overlooking the dunes and the beach.

Some very close and dear friends sponsor a race in memory of late relatives, and hire one of the executive boxes overlooking the course and invite around 25 friends to join them. So here is a picture of what the inside of one of these "boxes" looks like. You have your own bar, waitresses and on this occasion a running buffet of hot and cold food. Champagne and canapes on arrival, lunch at 1.00, and then afternoon tea, as if you would still be hungry. If you spot anyone you know in there, don't tell on them!!

Its all frightfully pukka, with a loo opposite, the Tote down the hallway so "one" doesn't even have to venture out of the building to bet if "one" didn't feel like it! GOH of course loves the thrill of the on course bookies and is out of the door like a whippet after every race. He said he had a few winners but was very coy about the exact amount. He did look very smug at times.

The view afforded from the box is first class, and if you don't want to stand on the balcony you can watch the race on the TV provided inside the box. I noticed some people never left the

table. I was not one of them. I am far far too nosy and like to people watch, and chat, and peer into next door's box to see who is about.

I remember when I was invited to a very smart Box at Newmarket, where the neighbouring Box was that belonging to the Al Maktoum family, the famous horse owning Dubai rulers. Such wonders and treasurers I have never seen in a house, let alone a Box at a race track.

The steward there told me that the box has to be fully staffed, flowered, etc etc always, just in case the family visit. It even had a tented ceiling.

Anyway, Yaarmuth, as they say, is a bit more real life! The wind fairly whistled off the North Sea, and off shore, the 30 or so giant wind turbines were turning silently in the distance.

The world and his wife turn up - some folks looking as though they were straight off the beach - perhaps they were, and others, wore their Sunday or Monday best! GOH wore his linen suit and could easily have been at home at Goodwood with Blossom! There is a "dress code" for this stand but not elsewhere, so there is much to watch! Girls in tiny pink dresses and high wedges and rather older husbands, all looking very pleased with themselves! Red faced men, children, babies, mums and dads, lads. We could peer down on them all.

My task for the day was to judge the Best Turned Out horse for the said sponsored race. Whilst the horses are being paraded, I had to stand with a Steward and judge which one looked the best and had received the most attention and work by its groom. It was difficult I found this year as there were 15 runners and only a couple really stood out. I was in two minds which one to choose, when a stunning grey, almost gun metal colour, entered the parade ring a tad late and it just looked fabulous. It was plaited up, mane and tail, had oiled hooves, shone - no - more gleamed in the sun and there was my outright winner. The handler was late getting into the ring as she had a difficult horse to contend with from the previous race. She was very excited to win, I handed her the cash prize, and off she went. The horse actually finished second in the race. I didn't get time to put an each way bet on, so I got nothing! Well I got lots of attention in the ring actually and I did rather enjoy the moment.

I tried to look as if I knew what I was doing. I don't really, but have picked up tips etc over the years on what to look for. I couldn't for a moment do it myself.

So, if anyone invites you to a day at the races, don't hesitate to say yes, especially if it's a Monday - what could be a better start to the week. Say Yes Please, if they have a Box.

Harvest Home

Well harvest arrived this week and was somewhat of a desperate, grabbing when you could, type of affair. Extra labour was enlisted from a neighbouring farm along with an additional combine, tractor and trailer, and the ever present engineer. These combines are so complicated and electronic – onboard computers etc, that they are constantly being tweaked and reset. Gone are the days when dad sat in the full sun, with no cab, on his little 12’ cut Massey Ferguson that I swear he almost crank started. He would come in from a day’s labour, filthy, sunburnt, exhausted but fulfilled.

Now, little brother jumps off from his air conditioned cab, with his cd player, mobile phone and walkie talkie etc, still immaculate in his RL polo shirt and shorts. He even has a mini fridge thing in the cab for his drink and sarnies!! You almost need to be a Microsoft Nerd to work one of these implements.

Mum in her day would take a picnic basket up the field with “bait” at 11.00 am; probably cheese and a hunk of bread, and possibly, shock horror, a beer!! Then back again at lunchtime, and back again at tea time, leaving a flask of tea for the afternoon. Dad thrived on tea – no cold drinks for him, he found tea much more refreshing and thirst quenching he said. Mum spent a lot of harvest baking sausage rolls, Suffolk rusks and shortcakes (pastry curranty squares) which dad dipped in his tea, and large sustaining fruit cakes.

The summer holidays were solely about harvesting. This is of course why there is traditionally such long holidays for this time of year. Children would be expected to help bring in the corn. We never, ever, had a holiday when we were children. Maybe a day trip to the seaside on a Sunday, if the work was going well.

It was just dad, mum and I until little brother was 13 and able to drive the tractor "legally"!!!. He is 5 years younger than me.

Mum drove the tractor once. I say once, meaning she took in dad's instructions on her first lesson and drove the tractor straight out of the back of the shed, taking the shed with her.

Lessons were never mentioned again.

We first had a very old combine that you had to “bag up” – when the grain tank was full, we would hold the sacks underneath a funnel, standing on a platform and fill them, only the sacks were “coomb” sacks, weighing four bushel (volumetric measure) – which is unbelieveably heavy and not in existence today. Dad could lift one on his own. I think it would take three men in this day and age to do that. Health and Safety would never endorse this anyway.


Today the combine empties straight into the grain trailers and away to storage or straight to the buyer. Sometimes the barley is sold to maltsters for beer purposes, and sometimes it is just goes for animal feed. The wheat is for flour, the rapeseed for oil, and the field beans for animal feed again. Milled at the local merchants or on neighbouring farms where they still keep pigs and have their own mill/mix plant. We do not have the right soil I am told for oats which is a pity. I am sure we grew oats when I was little.

As you can see above, no blue sunny skies and picnics on the field edge, just grey gathering clouds, dark rusty dust and all hands on deck to “gather in the harvest”.

"Yow'll all wish when the winter come,
an yow ha'ent got no bread
that for all drawlin' about so,
yow'd harder wrought instead.
For all yowr father 'arn most goo
old Skin'ems rent to pay,
An' Mister Last, the shoemaker;
so work yow hard, I pray!"

[From Gleaning time in Suffolk by John Luchinton]

Dad stands scratching his head on the headland; one can only imagine what he in thinking. I know that if we had had this type of weather when we farmed at home with his little combine he would still be cutting in October. That’s an awful lot of picnics and flasks of tea!

Harvest and all that Jazz

We are in a state of expectation.

We are waiting for the rains to hold off just for a whole day so we can get into the barley.

I say we, rather like the Royal "we". I mean, of course, my brother and his huge monster of a harvester and all the paraphernalia that goes along with it. Two further men, two tractors and trailers to take turns in unloading the machine and carting off to the grain store. If we have some stiff winds and the corn dries there will be no need to go to the expense of artificial drying. Cereals of any description cannot be stored wet and the moisture content of the crop is measured frequently for the optimum content before cutting. To dry after harvesting costs huge amounts of money and of course this eats into profits; what little there is.

I can hear him now, he is cutting round the edge of the field with a clipper and cutting down the overgrown driveway where he will take his great lumbering machine. Its a huge logistical problem just getting the machine here. We cannot afford or indeed justify a machine of our own as they cost something in the order of £250,000.00. This jobbie has to cut around 2000 acres all told for the four farms it will service. It will labour from dawn to dusk.

It might be our turn first this year.

My brother contract farms for us and we have to wait our turn.

Its a case of whoever has the correct moisture reading on the day gets the machine first. Ours is looking good. We stand very high here and with a good wind and some strong sun we should be in pole position. Dad's farm lies just over the hill, across the river and he waits also. Second on the grid.

Harvest, a bit like charity, should begin at home I think he feels, but not when you are a contractor, oh dear me no. Poor old dad, he still finds this hard to stomach. He keeps ringing me to "see if they are here yet" so he can come up and watch proceedings as brother won't be doing it right - oh no no no. You can imagine. 82 years of experience versus 47. No contest really.

I took this photograph yesterday afternoon - Tuesday - whilst on my walk, looking back across the barley to the farm. I try to do at least 10,000 steps a day - the recommended amount. Who recommended I can't actually recall but it sticks with me. I have a friend who is a House mother in a Boarding House at the local Prep School in a huge old building and she recorded 15,000 steps just during a day's work!

I actually do something in the region of 14,000 on average as I am always outside, walking to and fro somewhere on this farm. It is 35 big steps from my kitchen sink, through the hall, through the dining room into the office so I can soon clock them up. 500 steps to the pond. You get my drift.

Anyway, on this particular day, I have my Ipod attached just to help me along a bit. All sorts of random bit of music, skipping from country to jazz, to rock. When I first got this little toy I was not connected to the internet and therefore it is just loaded with songs with no titles. So it sort of skips from one track to another, rather than plays a whole album. Anyway its a bit like me, skipping along to old Van M, and then racing along with Shania and dreaming with Josh G.

But all the time waiting.

Waiting for harvest.