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Up North!

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default Up North!

Post by MrsNesbitt on 16th November 2009, 8:39 am

I was born in what was then the North Riding of Yorkshire and lived here until my early 20's when I moved to Nottingham to take up my first teaching post. It was whilst in Nottingham I missed the sea as I was so use to having the sea just a few miles away. I would come home whenever I could.

In 1986 my dad died and I returned home to look after mum as I felt this was my duty as an only child.
My Dad was referred to as a "woolly back" as he was brought up in a tiny hamlet on the North Yorkshire Moors. He too had a great bond with the open spaces.

In 1988 I got married and 3 years later we moved to our present home set in a small village on the moors. We are 5 minutes from the sea/beach, a great place to take our dogs.

The North is often portrayed as a dim part of the UK but to me it is and always will be my spiritual home. I gain great contentment just walking along the many lanes only minutes from our house. I think the village way of life has become a massive part of our married life. We are very content and rarely go far. We both care for our environment and lead a simple yet fulfilling life.

My mum died in 1994 but she loved coming here and I feel her presence together with Dad's is here. Sadly Dad never saw our home but would have loved the village life.

Dad's favourite poem, Old Meg by John Keats encapulates the whole picture...

Old Meg she was a Gipsy
And liv'd upon the Moors;
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o'Broom,
Her wine was dew o' the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her brothers were the craggy hills,
Her Sisters larchen trees -
Alone with her great family
She liv'd as she did please.
No Breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon;
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the Moon.
But every Morn, of wood bine fresh
She made her garlanding;
And every night the dark glen Yew
She wove and she would sing.
And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited Mats o' Rushes,
And gave them to the Cottagers
She met among the Bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore
A chip hat had she on -
God rest her aged bones somewhere
She died full long agone!
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MrsNesbitt
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Post by Nick B on 16th November 2009, 9:10 am

That brought a tear to my old eyes Mrs Nesbitt
No more do I need to say. But Thanks
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Age : 58
Location : Ipswich / Suffolk, East Anglia

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Post by Compostwoman on 16th November 2009, 9:54 am

My mum used to say that poem to me...thank you Mrs N Sad Smile

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Post by MrsC on 16th November 2009, 9:30 pm

Very moving. I too was born in Yorkshire (although the Southern Riding) and love the county so much. Definitely would love to move back there one day. My parents had a house on the NY moors for a few year and it really is a magical place.

Mrs C

................................................................................................................................
My blog, Being Mrs C: http://www.beingmrsc.com
Mr C and my other project, UK Nature Blog: http://www.uknatureblog.com
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Post by windymiller on 17th November 2009, 8:03 am

Lovely Mrs Nes, I wonder if Meg was an old witch from Northumberland at Meggies Dene?

Any idea what year Keats wrote the poem?
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Post by Penny on 17th November 2009, 2:28 pm

When I was a child I traveled the world through books -- and poetry is better than anything to give a child a feel for the spirit of a place). Your home sounds so lovely and magical.

Penny

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What works, works.
What doesn't work, doesn't work.
Reality always wins.
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