Roar of the Wind

Roar of the wind rattles the blinds
Thrusting through a nearly closed window
And I hear your voice remembering
When wind howled down the chimney
Reminding you of the farm so remote
‘Mournful’, you said, ‘Through the chicken runs’
As gales blew down from bleak moors
Yearning for a view yet you ran away
To hide in uniformed freedom
Drilled lines fed your longing mind
Intellect held soundly in wired code
Secret world of dashes and dots
You lived in the spaces between
Held a key of gifted understanding
An enigma that remains mum
Forever obscured now the storm is done

From the window of the house Mum ran away from to join the WAAF.
She yearned for the moors, but not the life.


Bilberry Moors

You picked bilberries when you were young
Around remote Digley and Bilberry Reservoirs
West Riding of Yorkshire where you played
Now your photo sits within the stone wall
On Hoo Wood Farm by the Pennine Moors
Such wild heather beauty was always yours.

Hoo Wood Farm

Hoo Wood Farm

Digley & Bilberry Reservoir

The Holme Valley, West Yorkshire. Walking the scenic track from the Digley Reservoir car park to the highest view, you pass a ruined farm house in a field. A sycamore tree stands by the crumbled walls. My Great Grandparents (the Tinker family) owned this land before the waterboard compulsory purchased it, creating Digley Reservoir from the original Bilberry Reservoir. Mum always wanted to return to her beloved moors. I placed a photo in a crevice of the wall.

More history:

Flour Weevils

Flour Weevils

Flour weevils nestle comfortably
Buried in a soft blanket
Of a powdered quilt
Black beetles bedded
Down with age.
I see you checking
Now I check
Lifting the lid almost
Wishing to relive
That startled moment
As insects roll
In the snowy dust
Memories of dust
I hear you say,
‘Don’t let them out.’
It must be a Yorkshire thing
I have your ways.

Written by Debbie Freeman