As Fred and his brother in-law George were finishing work on the farm George said “What you say to us going out tonight to that little field up Hinton corner. I’ve seen a lot of rabbits up there lately.” Fred said “Why not?  We may as well make a few bob and I can do with the money. There’s no moon tonight either.” They agreed to meet at eleven that night and net the field. As Fred arrived at Hinton corner he called out softly to George. George walked over and speaking in a whisper said that he thought the rabbits had had time to leave their warrens and spread out to feed in the field. With practiced ease Fred and George moved silently along the edge of the field pegging their fine meshed net. It was about three feet high and long enough to go from one side of the field to the other. They had placed it against the hedge where most of the warrens were.

They then walked out of the field and made their way to the opposite end of the field. They carried a long rope with them. They both took an end of the rope and walked to either side of the field letting the rope out between them. When they reached the corners of the field they started to walk towards the end with net, dragging the rope between them as they went.  The idea was to scare the rabbits into the net as they tried to reach the safety of their warrens. The only sound was the swish as the rope dragged over the field. During the whole procedure hardly a word was spoken and then only in a whisper. They knew the risks of being caught by the game keeper could be severe.

When they got to the ends of the net the procedure was to move towards the middle. Untangling the rabbits and despatching them as they went. They moved along in the blackness of the moonless night, becoming more concerned as they approached the middle of the net. When they met in the middle Fred said “I don’t know what the hell is going on here but I don’t like it.”  George said “I think we should get the gear together and get out of here fast.”  They went off to George’s cottage carrying all the gear and a sack of rabbits. When they got to safety they hid the rabbits and were much relieved to have not had their collars felt by the not so long arm of the law.

Next day Fred was working in the field when the local game keeper wandered over wearing a smug expression.” Hello Fred” he said smiling “you had a late night with George last night then.”  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I stayed in last night” Fred replied. “Oh did you hear about them rabbits up by Hinton corner?  Committed suicide I hear.” Later that day when Fred saw George he told him of the conversation with the gamekeeper. “You know what George?”  He said “that bloody gamekeeper took all them rabbits out of the net and killed them then left them laying neatly in a row. I think he was just having a joke on us the old bugger. And letting us know he’s about.”

Fred was my father George his brother in law

1. Another night shift hell I am getting tired
   So little sleep that I am feeling wired
   Driving home I want to stop lay back rest
   But I carry on window down music up

Turn into the drive, dogs are watching out the window
Happy greetings what a welcome
We sit and drink a cup of tea, breakfast a chat then take a walk
I need some time to be with you after twenty four hours at work I need to talk to you

Its grey so grey the landscape doesn’t want to greet the day.

The sun has decided it doesn’t want to shine on us today.

It looks like the colour has been bleached from our world.

The trees look forlorn on this damp grey morn.

The lawns and greens are slowly turning into mud.

Global warming has failed we just get wetter, but not so cold.

Are the winters getting wetter, or am I just getting old?

Are the people getting grey, or just covered in mold?

Perhaps I should move to the Sahara, where the weather suits my clothes?

I live in the driest part of Britain, but the damp just aches my bones.

In the Sahara my UK pension would let me live well.

Perhaps that is the government’s plan starve the old out.

I hope the bastard’s burn in hell.

While walking through a shady glade.

I came upon an elf like figure.

He beckoned me come hither, then said impatiently don’t dither.

Under his all-knowing gaze I’m afraid I did wither.

Don’t be afraid of me he cried I am a friend you have not met.

I approached with trepidation, not wanting to meet my maker yet.

He softly said don’t be afeared when I leave you will not be dead.

Come close he said I will not shout, you never know who’s about.

He spoke softly but carried a big stick.

He spoke of the knowledge that arch bishop and pope don’t know.

He gave me reassurance for the things I needed to know.

After many minutes the sun had lost its glow, he said I’m afraid I have to go.

I walked home in the darkness, but without fear.

No fear is the blessing that has been whispered in my ear.

I hope I will meet him again in a shady glade.

I hope to show him the upright unfearful man he has made.

A disconnected life lived in three worlds.

One is home with comfort and pleasure and you.

One is work with tales of woe, can’t wait to go home.

One is in my car a place of peace and thoughts running free.

I miss the continuity of a life with normal hours.

Feeling that I exist in one place.

This disconnected existence could be mine for five more years.

My problem is I would find it hard too only have two days off every week.

I love my time at home working or relaxing in the garden, taking the dogs to roam.

If I had a choice I would probably spend most of it at home.

Working in the shed making driftwood lamps.

Making home more gentile and relishing each minute spent with you.

Being a wage slave is not a satisfactory existence.

No wonder that employers meet with such resistance.

They treat people like machines, but don’t maintain them.

A human’s life is much more than the profit that retains it.

A life should be more than a struggle to survive.

We take for granted the wasted carers lives.

The families that can no longer cope, entrust them to lesser beings.

Pay them the minimum to keep them from the reality that they are fleeing.

Social care needs a revamp to bring it into reality.

If it’s not done soon for many it will be too late.

Social workers that rarely know the people on their books.

Private care providers owned by doctors who want to be millionaires.

Before I was born my father and his brother in law Bill known as (Crown) were ploughing a large field in Suffolk. It was not uncommon to have two tractors working in the same field to save time. This meant that the field could be finished before the winter rain set in. when it got to time for elevenses they stopped and sat down together by a hedge at the side of the field. As they were chatting and eating their sandwiches Bill said I’m fed up with these bloody teeth Denny (Bill always called my dad Denny) and took them out he then put them in the hollow of a nearby tree. He had recently had false teeth and was not getting on well with them. They finished their break and carried on working my dad didn’t give it another thought. About a year later they were both ploughing the same field again. They stopped for their elevenses and were chatting away when Bill suddenly said “I left my false teeth in a tree somewhere near here last year I think I’ll go and see if they are still there”. He walked along until he found the tree and put his hand into the hollow and pulled out the teeth. As he walked back to my Dad he put the teeth in then said they seem to fit better now finished his break and they went back to work. Bill happy with his teeth, my Dad speechless.

This story was told to me by my father.

I suspect that Bill’s gums had shrunk and that made the teeth more comfortable it does not explain why he put them in with no more than a wipe. After they had been in a tree for a year.

On a grey and misty morn

By the river with foghorns mournful

Stomp along damp and happy

Dogs are happy waggy tails while they sniff and scent.

Sounds come to me muffled and low

Conversations heard but not understood

Feeling cosy in the enveloping grey

Safe within the stillness all around.

Glimpses of the river drift in and out of view

And tell me that autumn has arrived.

I had a friend called Den who spent time now and then working on his boat.

Eventually he felt he’d done enough and declared she’s shipshape and his boat would float.

Ahoy there he cried come with me we’ll give it its first trip.

So on the next weekend into Walton backwater my dingy we did slip.

Merrily I rowed us out the boat was gently tugging at its mooring.

We clambered aboard and made the dingy fast to the mooring buoy.

We hoisted sails and off a sailing we did go.

Den was looking proud his years of work was sailing now we wouldn’t have to row.

But as we approached the first bend in the river the rudder floated up and promptly fell off.

Don’t worry Den said I I’ll attach the outboard motor and you take down all the sail.

I’m not sure but I think I heard an anguished wail.

I clamped the ancient seagull to its bracket, I should have put it on with nails.

We wound the starting cord and gave it an almighty tug the ancient engine spluttered into life.

It pushed us along and a kindly passing yachtsman grabbed our wayward rudder.

We had to turn around go back to from whence we came we had lost the rudder and didn’t have another.

I pushed the ancient engines tiller so we could retrace our course and then we had more strife.

The engine didn’t fit the bracket and started to come off this was turning into a day I would remember all my life.

It worked but only wanted to go straight ahead.

With luck and lots of care we got the old boat round but we could really only go straight ahead.

We saw my dingy sitting there we were nearly home and dry.

It was when we got so very near that things again went awry.

I couldn’t stop the engine I don’t remember why.

Now my dingy was on the bottom and anything but dry.

I had run my own dingy under over the painter we did fly.

Old Den had spoiled the ship for a ha’porth of tar, actually a five pence split pin would have kept the rudder on.

As far as I recall Den never sailed her any more he sold his old boat on.

He should have known maiden voyages can be fraught.

In school about Titanic he was surely taught.

It’s as if there are emotional holes in me.

They appear every time a loved one dies.

I suppose eventually there will be so many holes in me.

That I will disappear and that will be the end of me.

If I am one of your loved ones perhaps I’ll leave a hole in you.

We carry on – no physical sign to show the pain that we have gained.

It isn’t unbearable but very undesirable. No more please no more!

Let’s have a rest from all this grief recover and renew.

We carry on and hide the scars that life has bequeathed us.

Eventually we will probably find that sorrow is behind us.

We will learn to laugh again be happy and move on.

We will not forget those that can no longer move on.

We will remember with affection the ones we left behind.

While we progress along the path to meet them all again.

The unallocated chair sits under the pear tree.

It sits and waits patiently.

It’s not strictly speaking unallocated.

It’s waiting for a time when it will be needed.

I call it the dads’ chair.

If one of our dads comes to pay a visit.

There will be a place for their ghostly presence to sit.

I move it when I cut the grass then put it back so it will always be there.

It is a reminder makes us think about our dads.

Not in a sad way but of how they loved to sit and watch the dogs.

The wild life in our garden would make their old hearts glad.

I’m sure they will appreciate that we have saved them a seat.