Posted in Essays, Fishing, History, War, Writing, tagged 7th West Yorkshire Regiment, Charles Clark Frank, Essays, family history, Frank, grandfather, Leeds, PoW camp, Prisoner of War camp, World War 1, writing, WW1, Yorkshire on December 12, 2013|
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“Honestly, your writing’s terrible!”
Grandfather looks up from the fly he’s tying – a March Brown, he told me as he settled at a table covered in small boxes of silks and feathers. “What are you reading, lass?”
“It’s this” I waggle his Army Field Message book in his direction. Army Book 153.
“I had been shot in the shoulder when I was captured.” he reminds me, exasperated.
I sigh. “I know, Grandfather, forgive me. It’s just… well, I really want to be able to read it”. He looks at me – carefully excluding from his glance the book in which he’d scribbled bits of his life in 1916 . “I’d like to find out more about your time in PoW camp.”
“Well, lass.” His hands fall from his work. “I came back. It should rest there.”
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Posted in Animals, Countryside, Essays, Family, Fishing, History, Sport, Writing, tagged blogs, England, Essays, family history, fishing, Frank, Genealogy, grandfather, Leeds, nature, Paul Pry, Ryedale, William Shepherd, writing, Yorkshire on February 13, 2013|
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‘Off masks; and let me applaud a brother, [and] a fellow countryman…’ enthuses ‘Paul Pry’, and ‘Sigma’ concurs, although with more restraint ‘… it is longer than T.M.P.’s average, but not long enough’ while ‘Agricola’ keeps it simple, stating ‘A beautiful corner of England beautifully described.’ All twelve critics were delighted by TMP’s 15-page submission of July 1928, ‘A Corner of England – Douthwaite Dale’.
CCF’s fellow SES members are right to praise him so wholeheartedly (although ineveitably, one or two can’t resist a niggle – this is an essay society, after all!). This essay is serene and evocative and is from the heart of a countryman who truly understands the land and the seasons. A countryman ‘in exile’ living in Leeds – and perhaps that is what lends the writing such gentle power. He welcomes us to share his delight in his beloved Yorkshire landscape, but it’s a wistful reminiscence, written in a city terrace.
‘” Let us stroll over to Yoadwath bridge and watch the fish rise” This has been the standing summer evening invitation and custom of our house for two generations past…’ So grandfather accomapnies us on a walk along the River Dove – evoking rich pictures of the scenery, and remembering companions over the years. The narrative detours to take in Douthwaite Hall, and he tells us that the estate belonged to the Shepherd family for centuries, until sadly the last Squire of Douthwaite, William Shepherd, became a reclusive eccentric and let the Hall – and it’s unusual ornaments – fall into ‘ruin and decay’ (‘them’ in the first line refers to rabbits, hundreds of them!):
Tired and ready to return we head home, grandfather lingering a little behind us:
His little son, my father, did ‘grow up to be a … fisherman’. However, he didn’t fish as much as he would have liked, I think. In the early days of my engagement, dad taught my fiancé (now my husband) about fly-fishing and how to cast. Oddly, lessons took place in the garden – not a drop of water, never mind any fish, in sight. 😉
I couldn’t resist inserting a bonus pic:
Surprise View at Gillamoor, North Yorkshire
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