I loved springtime on the farm. Early
memories of the joys of spring are filled with instances of granddad Speakman.
He loved daffodils, “Dafferdowndillies” as he called them to me.
I must have been about 7 or 8 years
old when with a bottle of orange fizzy pop in hand, he’d take me around his
daffodils. He loved to plant bulbs in his lawns making mowing the grass a
nightmare but he’d also plant bulbs in the banks and the hedgerows around
fields, and in fact any patch of land that he thought would be improved by a
sea of yellow bobbing daffs. But they were not all standard yellow trumpeters; granddad
would proudly show off his miniature daffs and special ones with frilly petals.
He never liked the white ones much – it was yellow or nothing, except around
white flowering shrubs when he would bend to a few white daffs. And from then
on the sight of daffodils would remind me of granddad and thoughts of spring
and the birds busy singing and making nests – birds in their fancy mating
feathers iridescent in the sunlight.
Early mornings were the best times
for seeing wildlife on the farm. Mum’s favourite was stoats with their young –
they were so incredibly long with their tiny legs at each corner that made them
funny to look at. I liked Vixens with their cubs, whenever I got to see them
they were always playing and yet I would have to keep the sighting secret to
ensure that the gamekeeper didn’t get tipped off about them. I have always been
a lifelong anti-fox hunting supporter – especially so as I was scared of horses
up close as well.
So my love of springtime started with
granddad and the swathes of daffodils he planted all over the place that just
made springtime smile. Then with mum taking me out for walks in the early
mornings to see the wildlife and hear all the birds singing with their new
nests and broods of eggs, our crops would be starting to grow, trees beginning
to turn green, flowers on the apple and pear trees.
I miss it of course, but my memories
of spring are etched into my mind so deeply that closing my eyes with the
spring sun on my face I can still recall granddad chuckle at the ‘tutting’ he’d
make knowing, with a smile on his lips, the mayhem he caused where he had
planted all his daffs knowing the banks couldn’t be mown, lawns driven on etc.
What with that and listening to larks
singing their beautiful songs high up in the sky during a break and tilling the
spring soil ready for sowing. I loved the springtime.
Jeremy
