I guess the first rule for any writer is to write and write regularly, something that isn't always that easy when you are running a business or have a family to take care of, when it's both it becomes nigh on impossible, but writing is a bug that doesn't suddenly pop up and bite your ass one day, it is with you all through your life, you just need to recognise it, some people do this at an early age but for some its not that simple as like me they can have their artistic leanings put on the back burner while they try to make a living out of any job they can find.
I left school with one English O level and a wide eyed ambition to see the world. Money (or lack of it) saw me end up on a small hill farm tending 1,500 sheep at 16. I guess the novelty of your first job takes a little while to wear off, mine was no exception, I thought i had found happiness but, as has been so often the case in my life, I had only reached a stepping stone. I tried all my early life to emanate my big brother and sister by getting a job on the land and settling down to what my beautiful County had to offer but it would not take me long to soon realise that beautiful as she was, Shropshire could never hold me.
After a seemingly endless 2 years on the hill farm i got fed up of the constant arguing between the boss and his son and the contradicted orders that came my way so one day after yet more double orders, i just grabbed the spade i was using to dig a ditch with and walked back to the farm yard, threw the spade in the log shed and told them to go and get f#cked.
It was one of those defining moments in your life you always remember, not that i am proud of what i did as its no way to leave your employer, but it said a lot about my state of mind at the time as i was actually a polite well mannered lad, if a bit wild, but could give as good as i got, so in a way perhaps it was somewhat deserved that day.
The following morning i woke up in bed, i was living with my Nan at the time as i had done since i was 15 turned 16 because me and Dad could not get on at all. We were always arguing and it was leading to some pretty brutal stand-offs so i left to live with Nan and anyway i could walk along the fields to get to work so it all worked very well, until of course that morning.. when Nan shouted up the stairs, "Tom (farmer boss) is on the phone he says if you are there by 9 a.m you can have your job back!", of course being 17 and full of spirit i said "stuff him i ain't going back there" to which Nan did not reply, but it said a lot about what i could expect when i DID get out of bed.
Nan was definitely the one who wore the trousers in the house, Grandad was always telling jokes and laughing and seldom got upset about anything but when he did Nan knew exactly when to keep quiet. Grandad would usually defuse most situations by going outside and cutting logs for the ever lit Rayburn or just standing outside with his pipe and staring out into the wonderful flowing Shropshire countryside, he always wore a pinstripe like shirt with the sleeves rolled up and braces that crossed over at the back, he always had turn-ups on his trousers and mostly had his hands in his pockets, his trusty pipe and 2 ounces of "Franklyns" tobacco were never far away, he smoked quite heavily but i guess that was all part and parcel of life for that generation, typically he would have wellingtons with the tops turned over, which to everyones amusement he wore everywhere, including on the beach at Tenby one year!..
Anyway, I sloped downstairs at about 9.15 and Nan was busy cooking and cleaning as usual, the air was thick with things Nan wanted to say, but you could tell she was just waiting for the opportune moment, she was very much like that, waiting for the right opportunity to arise and then she would wade in with what she thought about the situation with all guns blazing...not always the best way to treat a head strong 17 year old!. The wafts from the oven of the fruit cake Nan was making smelt delicious and i sat at the old table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in silence. It was like Nan was daring me to speak first so she could angle the conversation towards work, but it was the last thing on my mind that was for sure...
I went outside and walked into the front garden where Grandad..as always, was chopping logs, his big calloused hands grabbing the end of the split log and lining it up for the next hit with the axe always a feature of how i remember him, he didn't say a lot, Grandad would rarely get involved in such things, he would just natter about the weather or about the next door farmer, anything but confrontation, that was how he was.
I spoke about the weather, my motorbike, the geese, (which they always kept for a Xmas cull) in fact just about anything other than leaving my job that morning. That suited me and Grandad just fine, but I knew that at some point Nan would be let in to the conversation and all hell would break loose, not something i was relishing but in some way i thought i deserved it, underlining yet again the proportion of blame i was carrying at such an early age.
I grabbed some logs from the pile that Grandad had just cut and walked in through the door, the smell of baking still wafting through the kitchen as i stacked the logs in a wicker basket next to the Rayburn, Nan had her back to me and was still silent, I couldn't let this continue, so i backed my arse to the Rayburn and twiddled the stainless towel rail with my hands behind my back and spluttered "I am not going back"... this is what Nan had been waiting for, this was her moment to go in for the moral speech and take the higher ground and i braced myself for what was to come..."You will never stick at anything or get another job as good as that" and with that she walked into the living room to light the fire.
I was left stunned, I didn't know how to take what she had said to me, she seemed resigned to it, she seemed to almost accept (though begrudgingly) that I was not going to return. I walked in to the living room behind her, "I will Nan, I will find something a lot better, you just wait and see"... "I doubt it, nothing will ever be good enough for you" came the reply, I realised this was a battle I was not going to win so i retreated upstairs to my music, Michael Jackson's Thriller album in vinyl played the soundtrack to the rest of my day while I lay on my bed in a strange yet perverted way proving just what Nan had said to me, that i would never make anything of myself, it was a hard lesson for a young easily influenced lad to carry and something that only to this present day do i fully understand was not a real failing of mine...but it would haunt my forming years and leave scars that would heal but always be a memory...
To be continued...
I left school with one English O level and a wide eyed ambition to see the world. Money (or lack of it) saw me end up on a small hill farm tending 1,500 sheep at 16. I guess the novelty of your first job takes a little while to wear off, mine was no exception, I thought i had found happiness but, as has been so often the case in my life, I had only reached a stepping stone. I tried all my early life to emanate my big brother and sister by getting a job on the land and settling down to what my beautiful County had to offer but it would not take me long to soon realise that beautiful as she was, Shropshire could never hold me.
After a seemingly endless 2 years on the hill farm i got fed up of the constant arguing between the boss and his son and the contradicted orders that came my way so one day after yet more double orders, i just grabbed the spade i was using to dig a ditch with and walked back to the farm yard, threw the spade in the log shed and told them to go and get f#cked.
It was one of those defining moments in your life you always remember, not that i am proud of what i did as its no way to leave your employer, but it said a lot about my state of mind at the time as i was actually a polite well mannered lad, if a bit wild, but could give as good as i got, so in a way perhaps it was somewhat deserved that day.
The following morning i woke up in bed, i was living with my Nan at the time as i had done since i was 15 turned 16 because me and Dad could not get on at all. We were always arguing and it was leading to some pretty brutal stand-offs so i left to live with Nan and anyway i could walk along the fields to get to work so it all worked very well, until of course that morning.. when Nan shouted up the stairs, "Tom (farmer boss) is on the phone he says if you are there by 9 a.m you can have your job back!", of course being 17 and full of spirit i said "stuff him i ain't going back there" to which Nan did not reply, but it said a lot about what i could expect when i DID get out of bed.
Nan was definitely the one who wore the trousers in the house, Grandad was always telling jokes and laughing and seldom got upset about anything but when he did Nan knew exactly when to keep quiet. Grandad would usually defuse most situations by going outside and cutting logs for the ever lit Rayburn or just standing outside with his pipe and staring out into the wonderful flowing Shropshire countryside, he always wore a pinstripe like shirt with the sleeves rolled up and braces that crossed over at the back, he always had turn-ups on his trousers and mostly had his hands in his pockets, his trusty pipe and 2 ounces of "Franklyns" tobacco were never far away, he smoked quite heavily but i guess that was all part and parcel of life for that generation, typically he would have wellingtons with the tops turned over, which to everyones amusement he wore everywhere, including on the beach at Tenby one year!..
Anyway, I sloped downstairs at about 9.15 and Nan was busy cooking and cleaning as usual, the air was thick with things Nan wanted to say, but you could tell she was just waiting for the opportune moment, she was very much like that, waiting for the right opportunity to arise and then she would wade in with what she thought about the situation with all guns blazing...not always the best way to treat a head strong 17 year old!. The wafts from the oven of the fruit cake Nan was making smelt delicious and i sat at the old table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in silence. It was like Nan was daring me to speak first so she could angle the conversation towards work, but it was the last thing on my mind that was for sure...
I went outside and walked into the front garden where Grandad..as always, was chopping logs, his big calloused hands grabbing the end of the split log and lining it up for the next hit with the axe always a feature of how i remember him, he didn't say a lot, Grandad would rarely get involved in such things, he would just natter about the weather or about the next door farmer, anything but confrontation, that was how he was.
I spoke about the weather, my motorbike, the geese, (which they always kept for a Xmas cull) in fact just about anything other than leaving my job that morning. That suited me and Grandad just fine, but I knew that at some point Nan would be let in to the conversation and all hell would break loose, not something i was relishing but in some way i thought i deserved it, underlining yet again the proportion of blame i was carrying at such an early age.
I grabbed some logs from the pile that Grandad had just cut and walked in through the door, the smell of baking still wafting through the kitchen as i stacked the logs in a wicker basket next to the Rayburn, Nan had her back to me and was still silent, I couldn't let this continue, so i backed my arse to the Rayburn and twiddled the stainless towel rail with my hands behind my back and spluttered "I am not going back"... this is what Nan had been waiting for, this was her moment to go in for the moral speech and take the higher ground and i braced myself for what was to come..."You will never stick at anything or get another job as good as that" and with that she walked into the living room to light the fire.
I was left stunned, I didn't know how to take what she had said to me, she seemed resigned to it, she seemed to almost accept (though begrudgingly) that I was not going to return. I walked in to the living room behind her, "I will Nan, I will find something a lot better, you just wait and see"... "I doubt it, nothing will ever be good enough for you" came the reply, I realised this was a battle I was not going to win so i retreated upstairs to my music, Michael Jackson's Thriller album in vinyl played the soundtrack to the rest of my day while I lay on my bed in a strange yet perverted way proving just what Nan had said to me, that i would never make anything of myself, it was a hard lesson for a young easily influenced lad to carry and something that only to this present day do i fully understand was not a real failing of mine...but it would haunt my forming years and leave scars that would heal but always be a memory...
To be continued...
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