A true story that will have you laughing...crying...and running scared.
Living on the farm you had to take the rough with the smooth. The decor would also be in protest: the dampness of the walls was unforgiving to newly-applied wallpaper. The roof would leak from time to time which would only worsen as the wind and rain mercilessly bombarded the roof with gusts against the already loosened slates.
The winters were harsh. We would have real ice inside the old sash windows: it was so cold we would get dressed and undressed in bed. The only toilet we had which would always freeze was across the yard.
Poor Mum did her best with the decor but she was fighting a losing battle. We may not have had stylish things, but we had each other. Thinking back now, that was the most important thing.
Christmas was the most amazing time. Tinsel and handmade paper decorations would hang from the old beams. A huge Christmas tree would stand in the corner, giving off its sweet aroma of pine needles. We would dress it with fine splendour, with twinkling lights and baubles: dancing around in synchronisation, we would turn out the lights and wait with anticipation for the grand performance of the Christmas tree lights to be switched on. Boughs of holly fruitful with scarlet berries adorned tired spaces, the fire in its grate...it was magical.