Bonzer Words!: The Land Of Lost Content
Peggy Blakeley tells of being compelled to leave the farm where she grew up in a beautiful part of west Lancashire.
Peggy writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
My father had started hay-time early in 1940 and by the beginning of May he and my brother were busy mowing the meadow next to the orchard. Suddenly a bull-nosed Austin 18 appeared and came to a halt in the lane. Three 'men in suits' got out, opened the gate and approached my father saying that they were from the Air Ministry and that the farm was under a Compulsory Purchase Order since our land was needed for the building of an airfield. They also said that there was considerable urgency and stated unequivocally that July was the deadline for us to be OUT!
I can't imagine how this devastating news would have affected my parents and indeed the whole family and it is only with hindsight that I can reflect on the trauma they would have endured and wonder how they coped.
I was on holiday from College and at home when the auction took place and everything went under the hammer. EVERYTHING—from the Friesian herd and the bull to the milking machine, the mower, the scythes and the hayforks. Nelly, Peggie, and Auld Dick, the hen cabins, the incubators, the cart, the wagons and the wheelbarrows along with those three-legged milking stools. Hens and chickens, pigs and piglets, spades, pails—and even the butter churn with its wooden plunger—THE LOT. Indeed the creatures and the very 'tools' which had been central and vital to a whole way of life, disappeared from the farm on that July day. I can only hope that their sale brought some comforting lining to my parents' pockets—though that would have been small consolation.
Also, it would seem that the Government was very far from generous in its pay-out for the farm and the land—as indeed was the case for all those involved. So none were really compensated fully nor were they offered any kind of accommodation— even some temporary housing. 'Oh well there's a war on.'
So our land was taken over and a runway began to be built. The family was allowed to stay in the house for a short while until they could get organised, whereupon they packed their bags, upped sticks, said a sad farewell to concreted fields and left Penketh for some very different pastures new.
© Peggy Blakeley
