Further up the Lane

Further up the footpath were a couple of cottages. The derelict one long since vacated by Mr Russell, a local carter who had long since moved up into Marlpit Lane. (Mr Russell lived out the rest of his life at the last cottage on the left going down the lane, his abode instantly recognisable by the sadly decaying remains of his upturned cart resting against the front wall). His old derelict home, a crumbling ruin, surrounded by an overgrown hedge and knarled old fruit trees, this was a place of fear, not to be visited under any circumstances. Old Mrs Bryant lived next door in the other with her son Alf. She was always old and bent over, having worked as a permanent drudge cleaning at the farm. The sight of her crossing those sodden and muddy fields on a wet November morning, wearing a tattered old brown coat, leaking Wellington boots, and clutching her patchwork shopping bag, brought home the miserable existence she endured. Despite her circumstances she always greeted you with a lovely smile, never complaining and never miserable. This was in direct contrast to son Alf, who suffered constantly from leg ulcers, and constantly gave an up to date report on their progress. Alf helped out on the farm at busy times, usually sat on a tractor seat to avoid using his legs as he expounded on his wide knowledge and opinions, of which he had a lot! As I remember he did a bit of moonlighting at the now demolished Star and Garter pub at Crabbs Cross, so perhaps that is where he acquired his vast knowledge. He can't have been that lame though as the journey was about two and a half miles each way!

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