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Sheepwrecked

the sequel to
Funny Farm

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I was born and brought up in darkest suburbia: Barnes on the outskirts of London.  As suburbia goes, Barnes is fine – there’s a pond and a common and lots of posh shops that weren’t there in my youth.  My mum, dad and I lived upstairs and granny lived downstairs in a tall house that was always freezing cold and seething with mice.   The lady next door smoked a pipe.  When she left, a chap in a sharp suit moved in.  He kept a goat that danced on the dustbin.  Not to be outdone, for a short time I kept three lambs, Hop, Skip and Jump in the old outside loo; it was my earliest foray into raising livestock, establishing a habit I have been quite unable to kick since. 

I went to Westfields primary in Barnes – I recall writing avidly even then - and then to Richmond County School for Girls, where excellent teachers encouraged me to believe I could try (almost) anything.   I’ve done my best: in my time, I’ve ridden horses at reckless speeds, cured sheepskins and hams, sheared sheep (bloodily), made hay, driven a tractor and shifted prodigious quantities of animal waste, although I am not entirely sure that any of this is what they had in mind. 

Malcolm and I married in 1976 and as he was a widower, I got a job lot - him and three daughters.  We lived in Walton on Thames and walked by the river on Sunday afternoons, hatching plans to escape to pastures absolutely anywhere.  In 1982, Malcolm hastened this process by falling off a horse, fracturing his spine and ending his career.  Undeterred, we moved to the Eden Valley in Cumbria and have been here ever since, with an assortment of cows, horses, pigs, sheep and dogs for company.    

If you’d like to get in touch use the email link and I’ll get back to you.  If you’d like to stay in touch, I’ll add you to my newsletter mailing list.

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                                                                                                            Jackie Moffat