that held all his worldly possessions. He had a dirty, straggly beard and long matted hair and wore torn and filthy clothes. We cowered behind Kittyâs skirts as she assured us that, âHe is a well-educated man who has fallen on hard times and he is quite harmless.â But we were not so sure and kept well out of the way when we saw him begging at the bungalows. When he knocked on our kitchen door, Dinner Lady always gave him something to eat in return for small jobs, such as chopping up logs into sticks for the fire.
On the spruce trees the pale green tips of the yearâs new growth contrasted sharply with the dark green of the older leaves. A large area of the forest had recently been cleared and squads of soldiers were erecting Nissen huts. Army officers were moving into the recently commandeered Keldy Castle, which was a few minutesâ walk away from Sutherland Lodge. The site was being made ready to receive the many infantrymen who would soon train here. Metal stovepipes stuck up through the semi-circular, corrugated tin roofs of the huts, which would soon house eight soldiers each. Large areas of the moors had recently been made inaccessible to the public as they were to be used for military manoeuvres and as firing ranges.
Keldy Castle was not really a castle at all, but it had been made to look like one. It was really a large, castellated, country house with landscaped grounds, gardens and terraces. A long drive led up to an arched doorway with a two-storey wing at each side, and well-groomed lawns swept down from colourful shrubbery. The wooded estate covered some 7,000 acres that included around fifty farms and smallholdings. Purchased by Sir James Reckitt, the founder of the nationally known firm of Reckitt and Colman, at the turn of the century, it had a well-stocked fishpond with its own boathouse. Their products had been household names for many years and included the widely used Reckittâs blue bags for washing clothes and the world famous Colmanâs mustard. However, its huge factories at Hull and Norwich were soon to be bombed by the Luftwaffe.
The main structure had been rebuilt to Sir Jamesâs specifications. Its battlemented walls surrounded an inner courtyard, and merlons and embrasures crowned every parapet and corner tower. We were taken through the trees to the fishpond where we expected to see frogs basking on the shiny lily pads. As we got there we heard them croaking, snoring and bubbling contentedly but we made too much noise and they rapidly plopped into the pond. We saw the wriggling tails of lots of little black tadpoles as they swam about in the shallow, sunlit water. Sadly, the army caused extensive damage during the war years and the âcastleâ had to be demolished in 1956.
When Mam visited she often brought us goodies in a wicker picnic basket, and if the weather was fine she would bring out the HMV (His Masterâs Voice) wind-up gramophone, inside the lid of which was a picture of a small white terrier dog sittting with one ear cocked towards a large horn. She had a pile of twelve-inch, shellac records in paper sleeves. Holding one by the edges with her fingertips she placed it on the turntable, and taking the arm from its cradle she swung it out and carefully lowered the needle onto its edge. After some crackling, we would hear childrenâs songs like Old Macdonald had a Farm, This Old Man and Girls and Boys Come out to Play. Three of the nursery rhymes I recall were Hickory Dickory Dock, Wee Willie Winky and Lucy Locket. When a record ended I was fascinated by the scratching sounds as the needle swung back and forth in the grooves round the hole in the centre.
Mam loved to read to us and we were told lovely stories about giants, magic carpets that flew through the air and suchlike. With my curiosity aroused, my imagination grew wings and took flight and I sailed away into realms of fantasy. I was scorched by the flame of her enthusiasm and was
On the spruce trees the pale green tips of the yearâs new growth contrasted sharply with the dark green of the older leaves. A large area of the forest had recently been cleared and squads of soldiers were erecting Nissen huts. Army officers were moving into the recently commandeered Keldy Castle, which was a few minutesâ walk away from Sutherland Lodge. The site was being made ready to receive the many infantrymen who would soon train here. Metal stovepipes stuck up through the semi-circular, corrugated tin roofs of the huts, which would soon house eight soldiers each. Large areas of the moors had recently been made inaccessible to the public as they were to be used for military manoeuvres and as firing ranges.
Keldy Castle was not really a castle at all, but it had been made to look like one. It was really a large, castellated, country house with landscaped grounds, gardens and terraces. A long drive led up to an arched doorway with a two-storey wing at each side, and well-groomed lawns swept down from colourful shrubbery. The wooded estate covered some 7,000 acres that included around fifty farms and smallholdings. Purchased by Sir James Reckitt, the founder of the nationally known firm of Reckitt and Colman, at the turn of the century, it had a well-stocked fishpond with its own boathouse. Their products had been household names for many years and included the widely used Reckittâs blue bags for washing clothes and the world famous Colmanâs mustard. However, its huge factories at Hull and Norwich were soon to be bombed by the Luftwaffe.
The main structure had been rebuilt to Sir Jamesâs specifications. Its battlemented walls surrounded an inner courtyard, and merlons and embrasures crowned every parapet and corner tower. We were taken through the trees to the fishpond where we expected to see frogs basking on the shiny lily pads. As we got there we heard them croaking, snoring and bubbling contentedly but we made too much noise and they rapidly plopped into the pond. We saw the wriggling tails of lots of little black tadpoles as they swam about in the shallow, sunlit water. Sadly, the army caused extensive damage during the war years and the âcastleâ had to be demolished in 1956.
When Mam visited she often brought us goodies in a wicker picnic basket, and if the weather was fine she would bring out the HMV (His Masterâs Voice) wind-up gramophone, inside the lid of which was a picture of a small white terrier dog sittting with one ear cocked towards a large horn. She had a pile of twelve-inch, shellac records in paper sleeves. Holding one by the edges with her fingertips she placed it on the turntable, and taking the arm from its cradle she swung it out and carefully lowered the needle onto its edge. After some crackling, we would hear childrenâs songs like Old Macdonald had a Farm, This Old Man and Girls and Boys Come out to Play. Three of the nursery rhymes I recall were Hickory Dickory Dock, Wee Willie Winky and Lucy Locket. When a record ended I was fascinated by the scratching sounds as the needle swung back and forth in the grooves round the hole in the centre.
Mam loved to read to us and we were told lovely stories about giants, magic carpets that flew through the air and suchlike. With my curiosity aroused, my imagination grew wings and took flight and I sailed away into realms of fantasy. I was scorched by the flame of her enthusiasm and was
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