SPACE FOR THE YOUNG ONES TO GROW-Bye Worzel

A welcoming place, was Sonsie Farm, Beatrice’s home in Wales. She had been born in the Puce colored stone farmhouse, built in 1828, the date was carved above the lintel of the front door. “Our only boundaries as kids, she explained, were the edge of town, and the crest of the hill with the standing stones. We were free range youngsters.

The Mulgrew’s house was always good for a snack, we hid from Godfrey’s cranky Ma and Bosomsworth’s place, as he kept geese. Another local curmudgeon, “The Sorcemer” was feared, said to poison his strawberries, which made no sense to us. The farm valley was our play ground- a fine place for young things to grow.

…We knelt in her damp garden, Beatrice and I, thinning carrots planted a long, straight row, a job I enjoy said she, making space for the young ones to grow.

When later we rested in the shade, eating carrots and parsnips wiped clean on the grass, we could hear children laughing down the hill by the stream. Beatrice told me this story of when she was just a small lass.

Ponies stand neath the trees switching flies from each other. Across the fields hear the hollering of Godfrey’s mother. Run, Godfrey run to the stream deep and cold, and remember how it felt when you were 8 years old.

The day I met Godfrey back  when we were 6, He’d been pelted  with beets, chased to school with manure and sticks. He did not lash out, and he never cried, I alone knew the poetry  Godfrey kept deep inside.

Summer meant freedom from bullies and school, and oft we played with Abner and Sugar Mulgrew. Having such a large family no one really noticed the two. There were so many girls they named three Mary-Anne, so one was called Sugar, and across the paddocks she ran.

In Fall after harvest, with ice on the puddles, our pony’s coats shaggy, days short, the light low. Godfrey’s mother round the fire told us stories  of her girlhood in Glasgow…”I wanted a wide open space, said Ma for my young ones to grow”.

How would one describe the smell and taste of fresh bread? Sugar’s Ma baked on a cold winter afternoon. We ate it hot, dripping butter and jam, she made us great big mugs of cocoa. She let us warm up by the stove, then back out to play we would go.

Olive Mulgrew said all she asked of life, was a peaceful place for her young ones to grow.

Tell me what became of Sugar Mulgrew? She went down the road, as most young seekers do. Those are her kids splashing in the creek down below. She came home when she needed, a place for her young ones to grow.

..Ponies stand neath the trees switching flies from each other, across the fields hear the hollering of Godfrey’s mother. Run, Godfrey run to the stream deep and cold, and remember how it felt when you were 8 years old.

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