I’m not sure how long we talked nor can I remember exactly what was said but what I do know is I was gently led on to the right path for me

Most people left on Sunday afternoon but because of transport arrangements, Mahri and I had to wait until Monday.

The other people staying over on Sunday night were Jonathon Clifford, the organiser and editor of Pause, the winners of the competitions, one or two other poets, and the Duchess.

The Duchess was an American lady married to an Italian duke. She was a poet, a friend of Clifford’s but also, it was rumoured, she was to help to pay for this glorious event in the Grand Hotel.

After dinner the remnants of the ‘get-together’ met in the sumptuous bar complete with marble pillars. For a while the Duchess, dressed in flowing silk, kept us all amused with the fantastic stories of her life. Mahri got into conversation with the girl who had won the poetry prize and her mother who had come with her as chaperone. Howard was sitting on my other side.

“Well Margaret, and where do you think your poetry’s going from here?” he asked. After that question there took place one of the most interesting discussions I had ever had.

Understanding

It was something that I very much needed. I was coming to the climax of the long religious path I had been on since an argument I had with the church 14 years previously over the christening of Kathleen. I needed someone to talk to.

I never dreamed it would be Howard but he was the right person. He had a deep understanding of people’s inner needs.

Also having once, when young, seriously thought of becoming a Methodist minister, he could understand what I was talking about and it was understanding that I needed more than anything else, being listened to rather than being given advice. Everyone has to work out their own solutions.

Howard did this service for a lot of his poets, I think. He was a man with a wealth of understanding and a dedication to poets and to the dream of his own poetry.

The rest of the people in the Grand Hotel that Sunday evening, sitting round the old oak bar table, faded into the marble pillars.

I’m not sure how long we talked nor can I remember exactly what was said but what I do know is I was gently led on to the right path for me and this was to help me greatly in the difficult years that were to follow. That was the only long conversation I ever did have with Howard. It was enough.

It may have been an hour, it may have been half an hour before Mahri plucked my sleeve. “Mum. It’s after midnight. Is it not time we were off to bed?” The Duchess had already gone, unnoticed by me.

She stayed in the Grand Hotel for another three weeks, I learned later, and left without paying her bill!

Conference

The farm that once had required a lot of men to work it now needed only two. Ronald had pursued his lowcost policy of farming; few animals, not too big a diversity of crops, some land let to merchants for peas and potatoes.

For the past few years we had been left with two men but now Dave Scott was of retiring age and ready to give up.

The boys were gathered together and a farming conference ensued.

“Someone will need to come home,” said their father. “Either that or we’ll sell up.” Ronald had grown increasingly pessimistic about farming.

“It doesn’t matter how hard you try, it’s never going to be anything else but difficult,” he said. “You do very well for a while and then everything seems to go against you again; the weather, crop failure, the government. I’m tired. I don’t feel like taking on a new man.”

As Richard was the eldest, he asked him how he felt. “I’ll think about it, Dad,” came the reply. “Perhaps I’ll give it a try. That’s me finished at college now. With the qualifications it has given me I intended to look for a job in the merchant navy but I know it’s going to be difficult.

“All these container ships nowadays, they’re so big fewer crews are needed.”

Within a week Richard had decided he would come back to the farm. “But I’ll need a house of my own,” he added. “I’m too old to be living with my parents any more. I’ve been too long away from home.”

And there would need to be changes. He’d want to do things differently. Ronald agreed this must be so.

I could foresee problems just the same as there so often is in farming families between father and son. “I’ll keep my flat on in Aberdeen in case I change my mind,” added Richard. “I’ll let it out in the meantime to any brother or friend that wants it. It’s useful to have somewhere in Aberdeen.”

Grant, number four son, thought this a good idea. Since leaving school he had been working off and on spasmodically on the farm, feeling he would have to stay and help. Now he was free. He could have adventures like the rest of them, find out what life was all about.

The harvest was good that year. Things went well. At the end of October a postcard came for Richard. I noticed the signature was Linda.

“A girlfriend?” I said lightheartedly. The boys didn’t discuss their girlfriends much with me. Richard had never mentioned Linda.

“A girl I met when I was on holiday in Greece last year,” was all that he said. A couple of days later there came a phone call from London. It was Linda. She was coming up for a few days.

Attractive

I looked forward to meeting this mysterious Linda, an Australian. It was bonfire night when she arrived. We had got into the habit every year of having a bonfire night for the young folk. We never held it exactly on November 5 so that all their friends would come from the village and not be distracted by any other bonfire.

It was always a night of excitement; a huge blaze from wood and rubbish collected over the year, a falling guy consumed by flames, fireworks, sparklers twinkling in the air, excited voices and the smell of hot sausages and potatoes in the dark November air.

I was busy in the kitchen when Linda arrived, filling the ovens with baked potatoes and apples for the evening feast. Richard brought her into the kitchen.

She was an attractive 20-year-old with long, dark, glossy hair that had a natural wave, big, brown, trusting eyes and the kind of face, Ronald said afterwards, you find on a Greek icon.

Linda’s origins were Yugoslavian, both her parents having originated from there. She was different but we liked her immediately.