A Lost Childhood

A Memory of Rode.

My beloved late mum grew up and lived in the stunning village of Rode, way back in the late thirties I think. Sadly she's gone now, and I wish I had written down more of her memories of Rode. Her family name was Humphries, and she told me of how her late father worked as a gardener in a big manor house there, and on a farm. She had memories of only being tall enough to actually walk upright UNDER the belly of a carthorse on the farm!
She recalled how kind the people who owned the big house were to my mum and her dad. She told me how her father worked with a sythe to cut down the grass, and the poor squeeling frogs hidden unfortunatly IN the grass at the time, a sound that stayed with her a lifetime, founding her hatred of all things froggie.
Sadly her little sister is buried in the parish church, in an unmarked grave, after being knocked down and killed, aged around nine I think. My lovely grandmother is buried in the churchyard too, which I shall be visiting this year. She was a Humphries too, sadly also in an unmarked grave, though I hope to do something about that soon, especially as I was saddened to hear the church has been made into someone's home now.
Rode is a beautiful, unspoilt village, thankfully. A quiet jewel in Somerset that I'm privileged to have family history connections with. My only regret is not documenting my personal family history of the connections with Rode.
Mum pointed out a picture box cottage that they all lived in at the time, a large family, my nan having five girls and a boy, although she lost twins too.
Again, I sadly was a child at the time, and can't recall the cottage now. Hence, a 'lost childhood', as I live in a big city now, and would love to live in Rode. I am in the process of gleaning more family memories from one surviving family member.
If you get the chance, take a quiet stroll around Rode, so you can see how beautiful it is for yourself!


Added 02 April 2010

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