NEVER SEEN LONDON

Wairarapa Times-Age, 8 June 1940, Page 8

NEVER SEEN LONDON

happiness IN SOLITUDE. IDYLL QF DARTMOOR HILLS. It was in the heart of the Dartmoor hills that I met her, followed by _ a dozen calves, write? A.L. in the ‘Christian Science Monitor.” She must have observed my smile; for, with goodhumoured heartiness, she exclaimed. “How be you?” “Splendid, thanks, mother, I replied, envying her strength as she lifted two great trusses of hay into the pen where the calves had assembled for their evening meal. “Yours is a greedy family.” „ , “Them’s jus’ like children, she replied. without looking up at me, and giving a too attentive young brown calf a slap which sent him away at a gallop. “Us understands ’em. Us has done ’e same thing this last fifty yer, since day us married.” “Married fifty years?” I questioned., looking at her sturdy figure. “Us married fifty yer last month, she smiled at my wonderment. “And lived here all the time?” I inquired further. “Lived here!” she ejaculated, and stood upright, facing me. “Us lived here seventy-three yer next week. Us born in ’e thatch house yonder. What’s 'e matter with ’e place?” “It’s beautiful, but so small and quiet. Have you never been to London?” I ventured. “Lunnon, Lunnon,” she laughed heartily. “Us never want to go. ’Em what live in Lunnon see nothing like ’e tors,” and her eyes wandered over the vast stretch of countryside, indescribably rich in colour as the last rays of a golden sunset lit the gorse fires on the surrounding tors and beacons. “Lunnon,” she repeated, “is all noise, houses, crowds, with no room for ’em to move. Lunnon hasn’t got’ air like this moor. People there see no country as us see, Lunnon; no, us would not go to Lunnon if you take us in a car.” The old woman looked out over the twilit moors, shook her head, and mumbled something inaudible. ( “But London is big and fine,” I pro-i tested.

“So be these moors and tors,” she rejoined. “Have you seen an aeroplane, mother?” I asked, hoping to hear her enthusiastic about something modern. “Cnee us seen ’en,” she replied, her face growing excited as she related how she had seen an aircraft pass over the farm.

“Would you like to fly?” I ventured. “Us fly! Why should us fly? On top o' Yes Tor us see more ’en they in ’e flying machine, and you’m no fear. No use to fly in Dartymoor. Us live high up all ’e time.” We sauntered down the lane, toward the farmyard and met her husband, who invited me to a glass of cider, and we settled down on a wooden bench to talk of unchanging Dartmoor. When I rose to go. his wife smiled humorously, her eyes shining with the glory of the lonely moors. •■You’m going?” she asked, in her musical Devonian brogue. “I’m afraid I must,” I answered.

“Us be sorry of ’em in Lunnon,” she mused.