Child from Home by John Wright Read Free Book Online Page B

that my pal Eric was one of them. However, young children adapt quite quickly and I soon got over it.
    We went back the way we had come before turning left at a wooden gate; this led onto a narrow stony road and passed between the tall sentry-like conifers whose tangy aroma scented the air. At the side of the tree-shaded track – that led up to a large stone farmstead called Spiers House – small brightly coloured birds darted about. We climbed ever upwards through the hushed beauty and solitude of the forest until the coach turned right by the big farmhouse that stood in an open area of wide grassy meadows.
    Climbing up from a gurgling runnel the track passed between hundreds of densely packed green giants. Tiny black and brown birds flitted in and out and Miss Thorne said, ‘Those shy little birds that you see there are coal tits.’
    Halfway down, a short track led eastwards to the rear of Sutherland Lodge, which was owned by the Stancliffes. A short gravelled drive, big enough for a car to turn round on, ran along the back of the house that had no formal gardens as such. There was just the odd grassy area to the south and east, otherwise it was hemmed in on all sides by the vastness of the forest.
    On our arrival, the driver carried our luggage through an old nail-studded oaken door and left it in the passageway. From here a narrow servant’s staircase led straight upwards and a door on the left opened into a large kitchen. We were warmly welcomed and shown round by the deputy matron Miss Rosemary Waters, a tall young woman with short, fair wavy hair that was parted in the middle. Mam was shown around the huge old-fashioned kitchen at the eastern end of the house where there was a large well-scrubbed wooden table in the middle of its stone floor. A Welsh dresser stood against the back wall and a wide stone fireplace and chimneybreast occupied most of the gable end. In front of it was a range of fire irons and an old wooden rocking chair stood to one side.
    â€˜â€™Ere, I’ll ’elp thee with thy baggage,’ said an elderly, bow-legged man and Mam left to go off with him. He was wearing a soft, checked flat cap; a waistcoat; riding breeches and leather gaiters, and we learned that he was called Spaven. He carried Mam’s luggage along an earthen path to her lodgings and she told us later that the trees had a tangy smell similar to carbolic soap. Between them she caught glimpses of lovely wooded hills stretching away into the distance. She was to lodge in an old stone farmworker’s cottage, called Keldy Cottage, which stood in a forest clearing about a mile away. Her cosy bedroom lay directly beneath the red pantiles of its steeply sloping roof and she said the view from her dormer window was magnificent. Spaven, who took care of Mrs Stancliffe’s horses, lived with his daughter and her husband in a large stone house at the far side of the meadow to the east of Sutherland Lodge. It had been the estate gamekeeper’s house at the turn of the century. In time, we learned that Spaven was a little too fond of visiting the local hostelries, and he sometimes arrived back a bit tipsy after sampling the potent ale available at the New Inn at Cropton. We would see him reeling around like the top of a spruce tree in a gale. He was a smallish man of medium build and it was said that he thought more of his beloved horses than he did of people. He was convinced that they were plagued by witches saying, ‘T’osses ’ave bin found first thing in t’morning agitated and lathered in sweat after bein’ ’ag-ridden durin’ t’neet.’ As a preventative measure he hung small stones that had a natural hole through them above each of the stalls. These were known locally as hagstones.
    Mam was kept very busy in the kitchen, but on most days she would stay with us for a while when her work was done. We were taken to her cottage on her off-duty days, and this helped us