How it all began. . . .

This is a photo of my Grandad in the 1930s. He worked as a removal man in South London and his job was to look after the horses that pulled the furniture cart. I've been told he was a hard man who was very strict with his children. However, Mum remembers that the only time she ever saw him cry was the day the horse died.

I didn't grow up around horses but have always loved them. It must have been passed on in the genes.

1 comment:

  1. Hi JC

    Thanks for popping by my blog. I've been browsing your "a" posts and enjoying getting to know you.

    This one reminded me of my husband. His family background is farming in North Scotland. His dad was head garener at a place that had orchards, donkeys, horses and - best of all - a nearby field for the big shire horses that worked for the mill. Hubby says these horses loved kids and when they weren't working they'd line up against the fence so that the local farm worker kids could climb onto them. Then they'd gallop to the field end... and gallop back again. He says every child had their turn and the horses seemed to love it as much as they did. He remembers being in the fields when his uncles were working with horses instead of tractors. I envy him that, but I console myself with the fact I don't envy him living in a farm house with no bathroom and rats in the ceiling. ;-)

    I was born in Africa. Donkeys were always around. donkey carts brought everything to your door - fruit and veg, even chickens for dinner (which would be killed and prepared while you waited). The donkey carts always made me sad, Africa is not kind to domesticated/work animals. :-(


I always pass on yourcomments to Major. He loves to hear them!