My sister's village
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Year: 1994
My sister's village
My sister moved from Manchester in 1990 to Keinton as her husband was working in Shepton Mallet. We have been visiting the village at least 3 times a year, Easter, Summer and usually Christmas. Our children say they can smell Somerset - they mean fresh air, fires burning etc. Keinton has shown us a different way of life, we love to go to the local church on Christmas Eve and a walk on Christmas Day. We love the quiet and the peaceful streets and the smell of people's fires burning. We would love to move to Keinton and hope one day we will. We are really thankful that it has become such a big part of our lives. I love Keinton.
Shared on 05 January 2007
Comments
Year: 1946
RE: My sister's village
Jennifer Palmer's children have it right. I left Somerset in early '49, but I can still smell the new mown hay, the cattle in the fields, and the pecurliarly special scent of horse chestnut trees in Glastonbury. There's also the hot and almost charred smell of the spuds we boys roasted in a forbidden fire behind Edgarley Hall. Edgarley is also the place where I saw my first barn owl, floating like a ghost along a summer woodline while I laboured with Caesar's Gallic vagaries in a smallish and somewhat darkened classroom. Lovely. All of it.
Shared on 10 March 2009
Year: 1946
RE: My sister's village
Jennifer Palmer's children have it right. I left Somerset in early '49, but I can still smell the new mown hay, the cattle in the fields, and the pecurliarly special scent of horse chestnut trees in Glastonbury. There's also the hot and almost charred smell of the spuds we boys roasted in a forbidden fire behind Edgarley Hall. Edgarley is also the place where I saw my first barn owl, floating like a ghost along a summer woodline while I laboured with Caesar's Gallic vagaries in a smallish and somewhat darkened classroom. Lovely. All of it.
Shared on 10 March 2009
Year: 1946
RE: My sister's village
Jennifer Palmer's children have it right. I left Somerset in early '49, but I can still smell the new mown hay, the cattle in the fields, and the pecurliarly special scent of horse chestnut trees in Glastonbury. There's also the hot and almost charred smell of the spuds we boys roasted in a forbidden fire behind Edgarley Hall. Edgarley is also the place where I saw my first barn owl, floating like a ghost along a summer woodline while I laboured with Caesar's Gallic vagaries in a smallish and somewhat darkened classroom. Lovely. All of it.
Shared on 10 March 2009
