Cultureshock

You need Adobe Flash installed to watch this movie.
Get Adobe Flash

Video transcript

The smell of wood burning brings back memories of childhood. Every Saturday morning my friend Katherine and I would visit her aunty on the farm. We walked down the garden walks, a steep bank with allotments on either side. Old men would be tending their gardens, onions on strings hanging out to dry, potatoes and carrots, flowers of every colour and hue. At the bottom of the gardens there was a lane known locally as Johnny Bell's lonnen. The farm was only a short walk from there. We carefully entered the gate and walked along the path not wanting to startle the geese, if startled they would chase us hissing and flapping their wings. On the left hand side of the path a bank sloped down to a small brook, in the Spring the bank was covered in daffodils bowing and dancing in the breeze. We made our way to the farmhouse passing two terrier dogs Loppy Lugs and Tinkerbell. On one wall of the house there was a plaque which read:

The Kiss of the Sun for Pardon The Song of the Birds for Mirth One's nearer God's Heart in the Garden Than anywhere else on Earth

On cold winter mornings a log fire would be crackling and spitting in the black leaded fireplace. We would warm our fingers and toes before running out in to the barn. The smell of fresh hay and leather harnesses mingled with the smell of animals. We would run excitedly to a small pasture where Toby, a black Shetland Pony, grazed. Katherine would ride him but he took great delight in unseating her. We had great fun, soon the morning was over and we made our way home. If the daffodils were out we would stop and pick armfuls to take home.