I CAME down a back lane from Leominster. On the downhill, where the car picked up speed, the lane, lined with white cow parsley, unfurled, as if blossoming itself. I dangled a hand out of the car window, intending to tattoo on the door Supergrass’s Alright, which was loud on the radio; and then caught the smell of incoming rain on the evening air. And that tension in the air that comes before rain, as the natural world, the flowers and the animals, gird themselves. Looking across to the west, I saw that the long wall of the Black Mountains had assumed the ominous dark hue that prefigures downpour. The instinct to hurry to my destination was strong, but coming lumbering up the hill there was a travelling castle of hay bales, so I pulled over into a passing place and waited.
Eventually, the Massey Ferguson 135 and its trailer, loaded to the sky, reached me. (Making hay always gives the farm vintage tractor its moment to star; the Massey must have been 50 years, not out.) The driver gave me the country greeting, a peasant’s economy of scale, a single index finger raised from the wheel. Then he peered closer through the ghostly murk on the glass of the cab door. I recognised him in the same moment. A former neighbour, we had both moved. He flung open the cab door, bent down and pleasantries followed, the ‘how ares’, the ‘whats’, and the ‘wid you knows’. Then a small vulpine smile slid across his face: ‘Don’t fancy helping me load that lot, before that lot comes in?’ Ian asked, jabbing his thumb across his chest to the field, to the stack of waiting bales and the rain gathering behind the mountains. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get this load in the shed and be back in a jiffy.’
Denne historien er fra June 28, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent ? Logg på
Denne historien er fra June 28, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery