Child from Home by John Wright

said to be one of the oldest religious beliefs. To the Brigantes, the ancient Celtic tribes of the region, stones, water and trees held real spiritual significance and pools, springs and rivers were regarded as entrances to and from the underworld. Many of the villages and farms were said to have their resident ‘wee folk’ and some said that creatures such as hobs helped with tasks, as long as they were not spoken to or interfered with in any way. There were stories circulating of folk being spirited away by the little people. Old Spaven added, ‘Aye, not far from ’ere at Fairy Call Bridge near Lastingham, fairies used ter blow out t’lanterns on t’carriages; and other strange beings, such as bargests, if seen, foretell of a death in t’family.’
    We enjoyed taking short cuts through the dense forest where, year upon year, the pine needles had drifted down to form soft brown carpets for us to bounce up and down on. We would often see Mr McDonald, the Keldy Castle estate gamekeeper, in his tweed suit as he patrolled the woods in leather gaiters with a double-barrelled shotgun broken over his forearm. To him and the local farmers, a gun was like a third arm. After the long winter we enjoyed playing in the fields on the fringes of the forest and were taken to the forestry workers’ bungalows. Here we saw the gambolling lambs and thought it odd that the grey, slow-moving Masham ewes could give birth to such frolicsome offspring. We loved to see their long tails shaking from side to side as they pushed under their mothers’ bodies to suckle. In the early spring sunshine, when everything was new, the dazzling whiteness of their wool stood out sharply against the lush green grass.
    So, in these idyllic surroundings, I experienced the bliss of being and I loved the miracle of spring, the season most propitious to all living things. Wild violets, primroses and the blue periwinkle were now in flower and on April Fool’s Day 1940 we played silly tricks on each other. George and I received birthday cards from our relatives and family friends in Middlesbrough, delivered from Cropton post office on foot by Ez Thorpe who wore a black, serge uniform and a flat-topped cap. He even worked on Christmas Day, walking long distances between the scattered farms regardless of the weather, unless the roads were completely impassable.
    I was five years old on the fifth of April and George turned three the following day, which fell on a weekend that year. They were soft, warm days of changing sunshine and cloud and we were delighted when Mam and Dad came to visit us and stayed for a special birthday tea in the bothy where we had jelly and custard and fairy cakes. Mam usually managed to make the long, difficult journey about once a month, and whenever Dad managed to get leave and come with her, we were over the moon. We ran about on the springy turf of the lawns, and when he dropped to the grass we clambered all over him. We were given pick-a-backs and never gave him a minute’s respite. It is amazing what young children can make otherwise sensible parents do; we were in raptures of delight and scarcely left his side. When Dad was with us we felt safe and secure and that all was well with the world but, all too soon, it was time for them to leave again. Each parting became harder to bear and Mam tried her best to hide her pain, not letting the tears round her heart come to her eyes in case it upset us. No doubt she let them flow once we were out of sight.
    The next day we were taken to see Mrs Stancliffe’s recently born foal, with its big, mournful, brown eyes and long eyelashes, while the shiny-coated mare grazed on the lush, new grass within the rustic fencing of the paddock. The foal stood wobbling on long stiff legs as it tried to nuzzle up to the black teats on the mare’s underbelly, and its skin was as smooth and sleek as the skin of a mole. The mare was usually harnessed to the trap when