The Farmhouse - Part 1

The black gruel pot hung from the cast iron hook imbedded in the chimney wall. The open fire spanned half the length of the kitchen Stacked beside the grate colm balls that had been danced and shot earlier in the day now drying out and ready for burning. A skillet lay on the hob with home made brown bread cooling. A side of a pig also hung around the fire to aid the process of curing and smoking. Flagstones of slate grey covered the kitchen floor. In the corner an open dresser stacked full of crockeery and azure willow patern plates. Memories of the occupation shot from the window bullet holes lodged there - still remained. Auntie Kay sat in her arm chair crippled with arthiritis directed her work schedule for the farm with the aid of her walking talking stick. I see her make about threeto four attempts to get out of the chair a show shuffle walk holding on to the table then she was on her feet. Her fingers were twisted in the most unreal fashion like branches of a gnarled tree her pain on reflection must have been unbearable. A rural farmhouse set in the country - steps going down into the cobbled yard - history talked. Raymond Le Gros stabled his horses there at some time whilst in the Barony of Crannagh. In the parlour the haunting sounds of the clocks tick tock - the swinging pendulum crept in tune to life. The lino on the floor had to be shined regularly with lavender floor polish, a smell that lingers even to this day. She had many clocks - time walked - life talked. The pigs were kept in a barrel to preserve them dead - not alive! We did not think of food or the slaughter of animals - we ate to live. The smell inside her house was heaven. the mahogany table covered in linen table cloath laid out with cups and saucers for tea. Honey combs just brought in from the hive - served with home made brown bread - churned butter - from the morning's milking and fresh cream. Auntie Kay drank her tea in a saucer I think maybe to cool it down or she may have been burned by tea and was exercising caution. Country life - our life - our home - all part of a past that was - entinguished with modern technology. The rural farmhouse still stands haunted with silent whispers an era past - now a lost dream. A yearning to return to the safe haven of the rural country side - cries from the memores that - walked - talked held sunshine - heartache - pain blessed time and future generations. (c) Rea 19th July 2009