Year: 2021

alan skeoch

august 15, 1021

Our garden is out of control.  I have been reading about the Carboniferous era in 

geologic history 265 million years ago when the earth was hot and giant 

plants covered the globe.  I became a bit distracted until today when

I got back to the garden.  What a sight.   Some strange plant has taken over.

Huge leaves and snarly tendrils have crowded  out the pepper plants. But

The tomato plants are still in place gleefully producing tomatoes under 

the umbrella leaves of the mystery plant. 

strange.

Weeds can usually out compete the garden plants and by mid-august we

sort of give up after rescuing dozens cucumbers and other assorted vegetables.

We rescued nearly a bushel  of red tomatoes cooling themselves under

the great umbrella leaves of the mystery plant whose tendrils are now,

as I write, heading for the barn.

Two weeks ago we thought we were about to have a bumper crop of cucumbers.

Then these big yellow flowers began to appear beneath leaves the size of ash can lids.  The cucumbers gave up the battle.

Surprisingly the tomatoes are just fine after I slashed my way through to them

Under those leaves something big is growing.   getting bigger. each day…and it is not alone…six, eight ten of them inflating like hot air 

balloons.   Taking over 

We will  keep you posted.   Meanwhile I recommend you find a copy of John Windham’s great science fiction novel ‘Day of the Triffids’

in which a mysterious plant from outer space began to take over the world.   I think we have a Triffid in our garden.   

EPISODE 401    THE SHORT AND HORRIFIC LIFE OF GEORGE EVERITT GREEN, HOME CHILD ,  PART FIVE

alan skeoch

august 2021

George Green

MR. MCKINLEY, sworn and examined by Mr. Mackay

Did you know the boy George Green?

Yes

Did you see him when you were sewing grass seed.

I did not see him.

Did you hear him?

Yes.

Doing what?

First he was calling the cows, then he semed to go back to the house and then I heard Miss Findlay scolding

and then I heard blows and the boy crying.

How many blows?

Several…five or six

Followed by what?

Crying

You could not see them?

They were at the other side of the house…fully 80 rods away.

Would the blows necessarily be very severe to enable you to hear them 80 rods away?

They would have been.

Do you remember pulling peas?

We were busy pulling peas and I heard Miss Findlay start to scold and I heard blows again.

Ordinary scolding?

Swearing…and I heard the blows again and the boy crying same as before.

What were the blows on the first occasion like?  Slaps of the fist?  What did they sound like?

Like as if you were chastising a horse with a stick or rope..

  Can you give me another date?

 Well on or about the last of October we were busy digging potatoes and I heard a boy calling

the cattle.  Then the boy did something that displeased Miss Findlay.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        She told him she would knock his damn white head off.

  

Mr, Mackay seemed to get worried.  Mr. Tucker defended Rose Findlay by creating doubt. 

Was it a horse she hit and not ‘George Green? Was George simple minded?

Did he have a voice impediment?

MR. MACKAY 

How would Miss  Findlay react if you had interfered?

She would have ordered me off the place.

(In fact she did order the McKinley’s off her farm)

Is there anything at all plausible about the theory that the woman struck the black colt?

No, sir.  The Findlays would not strike a colt.

NOTE TO READERS IN 2021:   THERE WERE MANY MORE WITNESSES CALLED TO TESTIFY IN  1895

MOST OF WHOM I HAVE IN MY ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT.  TOO MANY.  SO LET ME END THIS HORRIFIC

STORY WITH THE TESTIMONIES OF TWO 12 YEAR OLD CHILDREN WHO WORKED FOR MISS FINDLAY

WHILE GEORGE GREEN WAS STILL ALIVE

ALEXANDER GILCHRIST, JUNIOR

Did you know George Green?

yes

Did you ever have any conversation with Miss Findlay as to how she used him?

When she was doing the harvest she told me she got down off her load and gave him two bootings. She also told

me she threatened she would shove the pitch fork through him.

Did you see anything yourself?

No

CONCLUSION:   ONLY READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NERVES OF STEEL

THE EYE WITNESS TESTIMONY OF

MARY BROWN WHO WORKED ON THE FINDLAY FARM THE SUMMER OF 1895

How old are you Mary?

Twelve

Were you there at Miss Findlay’s along until the boy died?

Yes, sir.

Can you tell me how Miss Findlay used the boy while you were there?  What did you see her do?

I saw her kicking him around and I saw her taking an axe handle to him.

How do you mean she used to kick him, was it an easy or hard kick?

Sometimes she used to kick him hard.

Did he ever cry?

Yes

She used to kick him five or six times.

You mentioned an axe handle, where was that used?

We were unloading wood.

I was on the top of the  load with George Green when she struck him with an axe handle on the back.

Just once?

No, she struck him two or three times then she would stop and he would throw a piece of wood down and if he

didn’t throw it in the right place she would strike him again.

Hard? How did she hold the axe handle?

She took it at the bottom of the axe handle and fetched it right down on his back between the shoulders.

How high did she raise it?

Over the shoulder

Did the boy cry?

Yes.

Did she strike him with anything else other an axe handle?

Yes, a pitch fork.

What part of the pitchfork?

With  prongs of the fork.

Between the shoulders on the back.

How did she hold the fork?

Just by the handle. Two hands, She raised it up and hit him on the back with it.  Hard.

What did he say? Did he refuse to work?

No. He was working only not fast enough for her.

Was he in the habit of giving her impudence or refusing to do what he was told?

No sir. He was quiet. He would never speak unless spoken to.

She was often striking him in the field and threatening to run the fork through him if he didn’t hurry up

Tell me now if you ever saw her strike him with anything else?

She struck him with the broom handle and broke it.

Where was this?

I didn’t see it as I was in the bedroom but she told me se broke the broom over his back.

You heard him yelling…crying?

He just cried hard.

Anything else?   

We were unloading wood and a stick he threw bounced and hit my shoulder . She jumped off the rig

and started pounding him with her fist.  Then she took off her rubber boot and was pounding him with that.

Do you remember an incident around the pump?

Yes    But I was not there. She told me she hit him with her slipper and a naIL cut his head.

You saw his head bleed?

Yes.

Was he crying

Not when I got there but he might have been crying.

Was there any other occasion that you recollect?

Yes, with a table fork. I was outside the door when she struck him with the table fork.  

 There was blood on his cheek when he came out.   The fork was lying there broken.’

I never saw it broke until she struck him.  Blood was running down his cheek when I went in.

She never said anything about it.

You were in his bedroom from time to time throughout the three months you were there?

Yes

Did you ever make George’s bed up?

No sir.

Did you ever know her to make it up?

No sir.

Do you recollect anything being the matter with George before he took sick in bed?  Take

his fingers for instance.

As far as I know his fingers got sore when the first snow came.

It would be a month or so ago

What do you mean by his fingers got sore?

The skin all came off.

From the first joints to the points?

Yes.

What about his nails.?

Well I saw one of his nails come off when we were splitting kindling  wood.

Did you ever see Miss Findlay take him into the house?

I saw Miss Findlay dragging him up the steps a week before he died.

How did she drag him?

Well, I thought she took him by the collar

The week that he was sick…the week he died?

Was there ever a doctor called?

No sir

Who took care of him? What did you ever do for him?   How often did you take water to him to wash

during the time that he was sick?

I never took it unless Miss Findlay did.

Did you ever see Miss Findlay take water up to him while he was sick?

No only the Saturday morning he died.

What did she do that morning or did she do anything?  Was he changed from one room to another?

Yes , she changed his room Saturday morning.

Where did she go that day?

Owen Sound

What time did she get back?

About 9 0’clock

What time did she leave?

About 12 o’clock (noon)

What was the boy doing?

He was moaning…could not speak.

Was that bed made up or changed during the week he was sick?

Not that I saw.  It was dirty all week.

I believe he dirtied it himself?

Yes

Do you know if Miss Findlay supplied him with a crock as a toilet?

One chamber pot broke  Replaced with a pail.  Not emptied.

Can you tell me whether the boy was dead when Miss Findlay got home at nine o’clock Saturday?

Did she go up to see him?

After she got warmed she went upstairs  She said he was was either dead or dying and she didn’t know which. 

Then she went out to tend the cattle then came in again and made herself a cup of tea and went to bed.

Did you sleep with her?

Yes.

Did she get up again that you know of?

No sir

When did she learn that he was dead?

When she went up in the  morning she said he was stiff.

Did you see him”

Yes.

Were his eyes closed?

No

Was his mouth closed?

No.

Both open?

Yes.

You gave evidence at the Coroner’s inquest in Big Bay, didn’t you?

Yes

Did you tell the same story at the inquest you are telling now?

No sir.

You didn’t tell the same story, why?

Miss Findlay scared me.

NOTE:  Fear is the enemy of truth.  Mary Brown, a 12 year old farm labourer spent the summer of 1895 watching

the abuse and terrible death of George Everett Green.   Mary Brown was afraid of Rose Findlay.  They shared the 

same bed. She saw the violence Miss Findlay directed to the boy.  With great courage and no doubt, careful

priming by Mr Mackay, Mary Brown explained why her evidence in Owen Sound contradicted her statement in 

Big Bay.

MARY BROWN

MISS Findlay told me that I was to tell that she didn’t abuse the boy, or didn’t kick him around and them bruises was 

from him falling down.

Were you or were you not afraid of Miss Findlay ?

Yes.

Do you remember when she was arrested, when Mr. Pearce came for her?

Yes, I remember when he came. She told me I was to tell the same thing as I told in Big Bay.

CONCLUSION

I HAVE DECIDED TO END THESE EPISODES ABOUT GEORGE GREEN WITH THE  TESTIMONY

OF MARY BROWN WHO, YOU WILL REMEMBER, WAS ONLY 12 YEARS OLD IN THAT TERRIBLE

SUMMER AND FALL OF 1895.   MUCH MORE COULD BE SAID.  LIKE THE CONDITION OF GEORGE 

GREEN’S BED IN THE WEEK HE DIED.  THE BED WAS ‘IMPROVED’ ONCE BY THE ADDITION 

OF DIRTY STRAW FROM THE STABLE.  GEORGE GREEN’S CLOTHING WAS FILTHY BUT

HE HAD NO OTHER CLOTHES.  THE BODY  OF GEORGE GREEN WAS FOUND CURLED UP

IN A NEST OF DIRTY STRAW . FOULED BY GEORGE AS HE LAY DYING.

THIS TESTIMONY STARTLED MANY CANADIANS AS THE TRIAL PROCEEDINGS WERE  REPORTED

BY NEWSPAPERS ACROSS CANADA.

MARY BROWN’S TESTIMONY IS MUCH LONGER THAN I HAVE QUOTED BUT I THINK

READERS HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS HORROR.

THE JURY COULD NOT AGREE.  A hung jury. THE PREJUDICE AGAINST HOME CHILDREN

WAS SO PREVALENT THAT EVEN THE TERRIBLE TREATMENT OF GEORGE

GREEN COULD NOT PERSUADE SOME JURY MEMBERS TO CONVICT 

ROSE FINDLAY OF MURDER.  

IN A SUBSEQUENT TRIAL SHE SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN CONVICTED OF A LESSER

CHARGE…PERHAPS CHILD ABUSE…AND SENT TO THE MERCER

PRISON FOR WOMEN IN TORONTO…FOR A YEAR.   

alan skeoch

august 2021

PICTURES BELOW ARE NOT FROM THE GEORGE GREEN STORY.  BUT THESE 

PICTURES REINFORCE ELEMENTS OF THE STORY.

EPISODE 407:  “YES, NOLAN, OLD ENGLAND DOES EXIST!”

alan skeoch

Dec. 2017

Jan. 2018

This is Nolan Skeoch who has just turned  fifteen.  Without her love  affair with horses  OLD  ENGLAND  would never have  been

found.  She  was the  trigger for the search.  Not because she  was interested in the roads, pubs or folkways. But because  she

owned  the  horses and  the foals for which we were searching.  This story is a birthday  gift to you Nolan.  Of course Your mom 

is deeply involved in your life.  Not to be forgotten for she  found this little bit of Old England.

SIX CANADIANS IN SEARCH OF OLD  ENGLAND

alan skeoch

Dec.  2017

SIX CANADIANS in search for Old England. left to right:  Marjorie Skeoch, Kevin Skeoch, Nolan Skeoch, Morgan Skeoch, Gabriela Skeoch

and below them  Alan Skeoch ending a pint of  Old  England’s best bitter.

Once upon a  time two  months  ago as 2017 wound down and  2018 was about to be born six of us, Canadians,

decided to see if Old England still existed.   We had  criteria.  We had  doubts that Old England existed anymore.

1) Old  England had  to be found within a two  hour  drive of London.

2) Old  England would have ancient roadways … narrow and  deeply incised with towering oaks obscuring the sun.

3) Old England had to have  tiny villages with wood  bedecked bars  and  easy access to ancient ales.

4) Old  England had  to have slate or tile roofed barns with pigeon  roosts  and at least one large guard dog

5) Old England  had to have lots of horses of all ages

6) Old England  had to have rain otherwise the deep green of the countryside could not thrive.

7)  Old  England  had  to have wild creatures co existing with domesticated creatures.

8) Old  England  had to have a sense  of  mystery, even tension.

9) Old England must serve roast beef  with Yorkshire Pudding and trimmings 

So we  drove  westward from Muswell Hill and  Crouch End towards the hills of  Surrey.  We passed  beneath the thundering jetways of Heath Row international airport which raised doubts that Old England could be found.  Not to worry.

 The deeper we got into Surrey the narrower  were the roads and the more mysterious the land appeared as large oak trees spread their branches.  These were the same oaks that were harvested as timbers for the British Navy and the clipper ships that took our kin to Canada long years ago.  \

The road became a time tunnel.  These were medieval roads unchanged save by a skiffle of asphalt. 

This trip was becoming mysterious…magical.   Our very own  time machine.  These  same  roads had been travelled  by Romans long long ago

and centuries later medieval carts  had rumbled along in those long ages when most people lived on tiny farms and never ever saw big cities.

Then we cut through a leafy laneway where an ancient farm was protected by this Rhodesian  Ridgeback, a dog whose breed  reputation was unsavoury  But

this guy was lonely…glad to see us.

Looks like a pigeon apartment building.  Likely is.  There was a time when the gentry enjoyed  a  plate of baby pigeons when fine  dining.  Probably why

they  drank so much  and got that foot disorder called gout.   Subnamed “revenge of the pigeons”  

Now  this  is  really Old England.  Look at the  roof of the barn dead centre…heavy red tiles sloping almost down  to the ground.  Those white doorways  were

once homes  of  small domestic animals…pigs perhaps.  The harvest barn designed for a  team of horses with a wood  wagon  piled high with air dried  hay  or

hand tied sheaves  of grain ready for hand  threshing.  Old England.  Is that Thomas  Hardy peering through the title window on the left?  

The intense  oak doors to the threshing floor are studded with heavy hand  made bolts (nalls>) .  Must be a reason. Escapes me though.  Maybe the doors

were stolen from a moated castle long gone.

A couple of thousand red tiles  artfully arranged on the roof.  Only oak  framing could hold this roof in place.  

Eureka!  The horses!   Gabriela pulled  aside a plank door incised  in a huge pilaff square hay bales.  And there they were.  the foals…Five of  them. Tucked away a modern corrugated iron exercise barn.  Tow belonged to Nolan and Gabriela.

 “Why two? Was one  foal not enough? Why buy a second one?”

“I was afraid  he  would  be lonely.”

‘but there are five here…all this years  foals.”

“I did not know that at the time.”

‘Are they expensive?”

“That tanned coloured one certainly is … worth 30,000 pounds…$50,000 dollars.”

“You paid that for a foal?”

“No mine were very cheap…not everyone wants a foal.”

“What happens to unwanted foals.”

“Let’s not go there, Alan.”

(end of  conversation)  

“Is htis the $50,000 foal…colt is better name  now…getting bigger.”

“Yes, beautiful.  Rare colour…reason for price.”

“Is he  going to bite Marjorie?”

“Don’t you know difference between nuzzling and  biting, Alan. These cols

are all nuzzlers.  They like people.  They think they are people.’

“Believing that is akin to believing in UFO’s, Gabriela.  He is eating Marjorie’s scarf…smells silk worms maybe.  Keep him the hell away from me.””

“This is  our colt.  Knows us and loves us.  From the moment he dripped from his mother we have been with him.

Horses  are smart and  have wonderful memories.  Raise a horse with love and gentleness and he will respond  in kind.”

“When can  Nolan  ride him?”

“That is a slow process…perhaps  a year or more.”

“Then what can  you do now?”

“Hug him.”

“Hug?””

Here give him a hug.”

“Horses do not like me. Sorry, not a hugger.”

“He knows that…see how he looks  at you.”

(end of conversation)

“Alan, tis is George…a Spanish show horse…fully trained…has more dance steps in his  head than Fred  Astaire had in his feet.”

“Why are you spraying him with cold water?”

“Cool him down.”

“Why would  he need cooling?  Is he hot tempered?”

“You can be a  pain, Alan.”

“How can I get out of this barn?  He may bite  or kick me.  Marjorie’s horse tried to kick me one.  Jealous,  I think.”

“Why would  a horse  be jealous of  ou?”

“He had been gelded.  I had  not.”

“Stupid  comment.”

“Is  George a gelding or a stallion?”

‘Go take your pictures…we are busy.”

“But how  can I get by?”

“Sit on a  bail of bedding and pout…but stop your infernal chatter.”

(end  of  conversation)

This is me on George in the exercise ring.  He was trying to throw me off but I had a grip of steel. My knees pressed tight to his ribs. He got quite agitated.

See that white rail fence?  Well, he got up to speed and  took a gallop right at the fence…then flew in the air clearing all  three rails  and  landing on spongy creek

bed just below.  Being an  expert rider I leaned  forward when we cleared the  rails.  Then we splashed our way up a creek doing threes and  jumping boulders.

George knew I  was  boss by then.  Fearlessly we climbed through the pastures  going at a clip so fast that it seemed we were doing the steeplechase at

Epson Downs…with the Queen watching and  Philip cussing.  “Who is that ass  on Georg? Rides like a western cowboy…giving George the Go Go  Go with his  knees in the ribs.  The bastard  might win for God’s sake and  my money is  on another, damn it.”  

Imagination is a wonderful thing.

Really tis is  Kevin exercising George in the show ring.  I was safe cowering behind the fence.

All the horses on this  farm were cared for by a man and a  woman who rented  the barns. They are not

wealth landlords more members  of the horsy set at Epsom Downs.  They live in a small cottage

beside the stables.  Really one big room.  A really comfortable room rich in colour and redolent

with the aroma of horses.  Comfortable.   Nice people.  ’Twas always  thus  in Old England as well.

Then our visit came to an end.  Slight rain fell as  George went back to his  big room with new straw bedding spread and

old straw had been  trundled to the manure pile.  Raising horses is not all riding and  jumping.  Most of the time

Nolan spends with her horses is spent cleaning out the stalls so the  horses live in comfort.  Remember that if

you buy a horse.  You need  to like  the smell of horse  manure.

So, this  part of  our search for Old England ended and we  ‘saddled up’ the Volvo, tightened the reins. hollered “Go” and

ambled  our way out the farm laneway to the tunnel of time below.

Much of  Old England  still exists…if you have the time to ramble around.  It helps to own  a few horses.

But Old England pub dinners…a must.  So we galloped the Volvo to a nearby village with narrow  laneways

and  whitewashed walls.  And  shop’s with quaint names like ‘Mad Jak’…see below.

What about the beef?  Coming below.

Plates piled high with slabs of well done beef slithering in fat accompanied by huge Yorkshire puddings and as many pints of

ale that the police would  allow ( one pint )    Old England lives!

Post Script:  Kevin giving George his exercise.  Seen it before.  But look beyond. Look at the tangle of trees…places where

the wild  animals of England  can coexist with humanity and  domestic  creatures.  That is where a family of badgers lives right now in  2018.

For how long?

THAT FOREST IS ALIVE?  MAYBE NOT!

“Any sign  of wild  animals around  here?”

“Whole bunch of badgers.”

“Badgers? How  do you know?”

“See them sometimes … like when we came back suddenly one day … whole family of them right here at the stable … seemed to be  playing.”

“What happened?”

“They took off fast for the hill …  wooded … lots of badger holes up  there.”

“I thought they were nocturnal.”

“They are…it was  dusk when we saw them last.”

“How many?”

“maybe six or seven…more.”

“I read in the Guarsdian that they are dangerous.”

“Not to us.  Used  tp be dangerous…blamed for spreading  bovine Tuberculosis…whole milk right from the cow’s udder was linked  to TBin humans… milk was pasteurized by force in 1950 …Badgers linked to the spread of  bovine TB…killing cows is  not popular…better to kill badgers.”

“All the badgers?”

“Big cull underway…20,000 to  be killed…kiliing on right now right now…”

“No kidding?”

“Nope a few years ago  the plan was 5,000…farmers  wanted more, conservationists wanted less.  Looks like

the farmers won.”

“Holy  Smoke..how many badgers are there?

“Who  knows for  sure…estimate is 40,000…half of  them  to be killed…gas and snipers.”

“Your badgers?”

“No the cull has not reached  us…ours  are safe for now.”

“No cows around here just lots of horses…and badgers.”

(end  of conversation…beginning of deep thought)

“Sad isn’t it?  No one is even sure  bovine TB is spread  by badgers.”

“They are secretive creatures…mind there  own business.”

“But they do  carry the T.B.”

“You know, our world is  getting more  and more frightening.”

“Do  you still believe Old England  can be found, Alan.”

“Only a tiny fragment…like this horse farm.”

“No room for the natural world  anymore.”

“Natural  world…what do you mean  by that?”

“The world of Old  England where there remained untended forest and moors and  miles and miles  of stone 

fences shielding  all kinds of  life not just badgers…and thousands of  hedgehogs.”

“Room  for all kinds of creatures in Old England.  Not so many people back  then.”

‘Victims  of our  own  success are we not?”

“What do  you mean?”

“IF  ALL THE LIVING CREATURES ON THIS  PLANET WERE PUT ON A PERCENTAGE  GRAPH, DO YOU KNOW

WHAT PER CENT OF WILD ANIMALS REMAIN?”

“No Idea, but lots I assume.”

“Wrong…dead wrong.”

“THREE PER CENT…AND GETTNG SMALLER…a tiny diminishing fraction”

“WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER 97%?”

“30% IS  HUMAN BIOMASS AND  67% IS  DOMESTIC  ANIMAL  BIOMASS.”

“Where did you get that?”

“read it the other day in Scientific American… magazine for  scientists and  people like  us.”

“So  what should  be done about the badgers?”

“Vaccination…some are being  vaccinated…but thousands are being  culled…nasty word “CULL”

“Are scientists sure  badgers  are at fault?”

“Nobody is sure of anything.”

TEST QUESTION”: WHAT PERCENTAGE OF  LIVING THINGS ON EARTH ARE CLASSED AS WILD?

“I wonder  how Badgers were treated  in  Old England?”

“Not much  better than today.  People  would catch  badgers, put them in cages, then let them go

in the middle of  a bunch  of dogs.  To see who would die first.  Betting money.  Outlawed in 19th century.”

“What about those nice children’s books about Billy the Badger?”

“Just that…children’s stories such as  Wind in the Willows.  Children grow  up which  does not mean they necessarily get better.

Note:  The history of  badgers is fascinating…I  have  barely touched the surface.

alan skeoch

Feb.  2018

EPISODE 407:  “YES, NOLAN, OLD ENGLAND DOES EXIST!”

alan skeoch

Dec. 2017

Jan. 2018

This is Nolan Skeoch who has just turned  fifteen.  Without her love  affair with horses  OLD  ENGLAND  would never have  been

found.  She  was the  trigger for the search.  Not because she  was interested in the roads, pubs or folkways. But because  she

owned  the  horses and  the foals for which we were searching.  This story is a birthday  gift to you Nolan.  Of course Your mom 

is deeply involved in your life.  Not to be forgotten for she  found this little bit of Old England.

SIX CANADIANS IN SEARCH OF OLD  ENGLAND

alan skeoch

Dec.  2017

SIX CANADIANS in search for Old England. left to right:  Marjorie Skeoch, Kevin Skeoch, Nolan Skeoch, Morgan Skeoch, Gabriela Skeoch

and below them  Alan Skeoch ending a pint of  Old  England’s best bitter.

Once upon a  time two  months  ago as 2017 wound down and  2018 was about to be born six of us, Canadians,

decided to see if Old England still existed.   We had  criteria.  We had  doubts that Old England existed anymore.

1) Old  England had  to be found within a two  hour  drive of London.

2) Old  England would have ancient roadways … narrow and  deeply incised with towering oaks obscuring the sun.

3) Old England had to have  tiny villages with wood  bedecked bars  and  easy access to ancient ales.

4) Old  England had  to have slate or tile roofed barns with pigeon  roosts  and at least one large guard dog

5) Old England  had to have lots of horses of all ages

6) Old England  had to have rain otherwise the deep green of the countryside could not thrive.

7)  Old  England  had  to have wild creatures co existing with domesticated creatures.

8) Old  England  had to have a sense  of  mystery, even tension.

9) Old England must serve roast beef  with Yorkshire Pudding and trimmings 

So we  drove  westward from Muswell Hill and  Crouch End towards the hills of  Surrey.  We passed  beneath the thundering jetways of Heath Row international airport which raised doubts that Old England could be found.  Not to worry.

 The deeper we got into Surrey the narrower  were the roads and the more mysterious the land appeared as large oak trees spread their branches.  These were the same oaks that were harvested as timbers for the British Navy and the clipper ships that took our kin to Canada long years ago.  \

The road became a time tunnel.  These were medieval roads unchanged save by a skiffle of asphalt. 

This trip was becoming mysterious…magical.   Our very own  time machine.  These  same  roads had been travelled  by Romans long long ago

and centuries later medieval carts  had rumbled along in those long ages when most people lived on tiny farms and never ever saw big cities.

Then we cut through a leafy laneway where an ancient farm was protected by this Rhodesian  Ridgeback, a dog whose breed  reputation was unsavoury  But

this guy was lonely…glad to see us.

Looks like a pigeon apartment building.  Likely is.  There was a time when the gentry enjoyed  a  plate of baby pigeons when fine  dining.  Probably why

they  drank so much  and got that foot disorder called gout.   Subnamed “revenge of the pigeons”  

Now  this  is  really Old England.  Look at the  roof of the barn dead centre…heavy red tiles sloping almost down  to the ground.  Those white doorways  were

once homes  of  small domestic animals…pigs perhaps.  The harvest barn designed for a  team of horses with a wood  wagon  piled high with air dried  hay  or

hand tied sheaves  of grain ready for hand  threshing.  Old England.  Is that Thomas  Hardy peering through the title window on the left?  

The intense  oak doors to the threshing floor are studded with heavy hand  made bolts (nalls>) .  Must be a reason. Escapes me though.  Maybe the doors

were stolen from a moated castle long gone.

A couple of thousand red tiles  artfully arranged on the roof.  Only oak  framing could hold this roof in place.  

Eureka!  The horses!   Gabriela pulled  aside a plank door incised  in a huge pilaff square hay bales.  And there they were.  the foals…Five of  them. Tucked away a modern corrugated iron exercise barn.  Tow belonged to Nolan and Gabriela.

 “Why two? Was one  foal not enough? Why buy a second one?”

“I was afraid  he  would  be lonely.”

‘but there are five here…all this years  foals.”

“I did not know that at the time.”

‘Are they expensive?”

“That tanned coloured one certainly is … worth 30,000 pounds…$50,000 dollars.”

“You paid that for a foal?”

“No mine were very cheap…not everyone wants a foal.”

“What happens to unwanted foals.”

“Let’s not go there, Alan.”

(end of  conversation)  

“Is htis the $50,000 foal…colt is better name  now…getting bigger.”

“Yes, beautiful.  Rare colour…reason for price.”

“Is he  going to bite Marjorie?”

“Don’t you know difference between nuzzling and  biting, Alan. These cols

are all nuzzlers.  They like people.  They think they are people.’

“Believing that is akin to believing in UFO’s, Gabriela.  He is eating Marjorie’s scarf…smells silk worms maybe.  Keep him the hell away from me.””

“This is  our colt.  Knows us and loves us.  From the moment he dripped from his mother we have been with him.

Horses  are smart and  have wonderful memories.  Raise a horse with love and gentleness and he will respond  in kind.”

“When can  Nolan  ride him?”

“That is a slow process…perhaps  a year or more.”

“Then what can  you do now?”

“Hug him.”

“Hug?””

Here give him a hug.”

“Horses do not like me. Sorry, not a hugger.”

“He knows that…see how he looks  at you.”

(end of conversation)

“Alan, tis is George…a Spanish show horse…fully trained…has more dance steps in his  head than Fred  Astaire had in his feet.”

“Why are you spraying him with cold water?”

“Cool him down.”

“Why would  he need cooling?  Is he hot tempered?”

“You can be a  pain, Alan.”

“How can I get out of this barn?  He may bite  or kick me.  Marjorie’s horse tried to kick me one.  Jealous,  I think.”

“Why would  a horse  be jealous of  ou?”

“He had been gelded.  I had  not.”

“Stupid  comment.”

“Is  George a gelding or a stallion?”

‘Go take your pictures…we are busy.”

“But how  can I get by?”

“Sit on a  bail of bedding and pout…but stop your infernal chatter.”

(end  of  conversation)

This is me on George in the exercise ring.  He was trying to throw me off but I had a grip of steel. My knees pressed tight to his ribs. He got quite agitated.

See that white rail fence?  Well, he got up to speed and  took a gallop right at the fence…then flew in the air clearing all  three rails  and  landing on spongy creek

bed just below.  Being an  expert rider I leaned  forward when we cleared the  rails.  Then we splashed our way up a creek doing threes and  jumping boulders.

George knew I  was  boss by then.  Fearlessly we climbed through the pastures  going at a clip so fast that it seemed we were doing the steeplechase at

Epson Downs…with the Queen watching and  Philip cussing.  “Who is that ass  on Georg? Rides like a western cowboy…giving George the Go Go  Go with his  knees in the ribs.  The bastard  might win for God’s sake and  my money is  on another, damn it.”  

Imagination is a wonderful thing.

Really tis is  Kevin exercising George in the show ring.  I was safe cowering behind the fence.

All the horses on this  farm were cared for by a man and a  woman who rented  the barns. They are not

wealth landlords more members  of the horsy set at Epsom Downs.  They live in a small cottage

beside the stables.  Really one big room.  A really comfortable room rich in colour and redolent

with the aroma of horses.  Comfortable.   Nice people.  ’Twas always  thus  in Old England as well.

Then our visit came to an end.  Slight rain fell as  George went back to his  big room with new straw bedding spread and

old straw had been  trundled to the manure pile.  Raising horses is not all riding and  jumping.  Most of the time

Nolan spends with her horses is spent cleaning out the stalls so the  horses live in comfort.  Remember that if

you buy a horse.  You need  to like  the smell of horse  manure.

So, this  part of  our search for Old England ended and we  ‘saddled up’ the Volvo, tightened the reins. hollered “Go” and

ambled  our way out the farm laneway to the tunnel of time below.

Much of  Old England  still exists…if you have the time to ramble around.  It helps to own  a few horses.

But Old England pub dinners…a must.  So we galloped the Volvo to a nearby village with narrow  laneways

and  whitewashed walls.  And  shop’s with quaint names like ‘Mad Jak’…see below.

What about the beef?  Coming below.

Plates piled high with slabs of well done beef slithering in fat accompanied by huge Yorkshire puddings and as many pints of

ale that the police would  allow ( one pint )    Old England lives!

Post Script:  Kevin giving George his exercise.  Seen it before.  But look beyond. Look at the tangle of trees…places where

the wild  animals of England  can coexist with humanity and  domestic  creatures.  That is where a family of badgers lives right now in  2018.

For how long?

THAT FOREST IS ALIVE?  MAYBE NOT!

“Any sign  of wild  animals around  here?”

“Whole bunch of badgers.”

“Badgers? How  do you know?”

“See them sometimes … like when we came back suddenly one day … whole family of them right here at the stable … seemed to be  playing.”

“What happened?”

“They took off fast for the hill …  wooded … lots of badger holes up  there.”

“I thought they were nocturnal.”

“They are…it was  dusk when we saw them last.”

“How many?”

“maybe six or seven…more.”

“I read in the Guarsdian that they are dangerous.”

“Not to us.  Used  tp be dangerous…blamed for spreading  bovine Tuberculosis…whole milk right from the cow’s udder was linked  to TBin humans… milk was pasteurized by force in 1950 …Badgers linked to the spread of  bovine TB…killing cows is  not popular…better to kill badgers.”

“All the badgers?”

“Big cull underway…20,000 to  be killed…kiliing on right now right now…”

“No kidding?”

“Nope a few years ago  the plan was 5,000…farmers  wanted more, conservationists wanted less.  Looks like

the farmers won.”

“Holy  Smoke..how many badgers are there?

“Who  knows for  sure…estimate is 40,000…half of  them  to be killed…gas and snipers.”

“Your badgers?”

“No the cull has not reached  us…ours  are safe for now.”

“No cows around here just lots of horses…and badgers.”

(end  of conversation…beginning of deep thought)

“Sad isn’t it?  No one is even sure  bovine TB is spread  by badgers.”

“They are secretive creatures…mind there  own business.”

“But they do  carry the T.B.”

“You know, our world is  getting more  and more frightening.”

“Do  you still believe Old England  can be found, Alan.”

“Only a tiny fragment…like this horse farm.”

“No room for the natural world  anymore.”

“Natural  world…what do you mean  by that?”

“The world of Old  England where there remained untended forest and moors and  miles and miles  of stone 

fences shielding  all kinds of  life not just badgers…and thousands of  hedgehogs.”

“Room  for all kinds of creatures in Old England.  Not so many people back  then.”

‘Victims  of our  own  success are we not?”

“What do  you mean?”

“IF  ALL THE LIVING CREATURES ON THIS  PLANET WERE PUT ON A PERCENTAGE  GRAPH, DO YOU KNOW

WHAT PER CENT OF WILD ANIMALS REMAIN?”

“No Idea, but lots I assume.”

“Wrong…dead wrong.”

“THREE PER CENT…AND GETTNG SMALLER…a tiny diminishing fraction”

“WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER 97%?”

“30% IS  HUMAN BIOMASS AND  67% IS  DOMESTIC  ANIMAL  BIOMASS.”

“Where did you get that?”

“read it the other day in Scientific American… magazine for  scientists and  people like  us.”

“So  what should  be done about the badgers?”

“Vaccination…some are being  vaccinated…but thousands are being  culled…nasty word “CULL”

“Are scientists sure  badgers  are at fault?”

“Nobody is sure of anything.”

TEST QUESTION”: WHAT PERCENTAGE OF  LIVING THINGS ON EARTH ARE CLASSED AS WILD?

“I wonder  how Badgers were treated  in  Old England?”

“Not much  better than today.  People  would catch  badgers, put them in cages, then let them go

in the middle of  a bunch  of dogs.  To see who would die first.  Betting money.  Outlawed in 19th century.”

“What about those nice children’s books about Billy the Badger?”

“Just that…children’s stories such as  Wind in the Willows.  Children grow  up which  does not mean they necessarily get better.

Note:  The history of  badgers is fascinating…I  have  barely touched the surface.

alan skeoch

Feb.  2018

alan skeoch

August 2021