A day in the life of Kathleen Hood.

COWLAM:
A day in the life of Kathleen Hood.

I've been asked to speak about a day in my life between the age of thirteen and fourteen. I've decided to write about a day I shall never forget.

We lived on a farm high on the Yorkshire Wolds six and a half miles north of Driffield and two and a half miles east of Sledmere, where we went to school having to ride our bikes to get there. This day was during the holidays, my Dad asked me if I would take our pony to Driffield to get some new shoes on, it had only been on the farm so didn't need shoes, but my Dad had bought a Buggy, a type of cart with comfortable seats in it for people to ride in and for the pony, called Polly to pull. So Polly needed some new shoes to be able to go on the road, to pull the Buggy and take us out for a ride.

This morning I set off in good spirits to ride Polly to get her new shoes and to pick up the Buggy at Driffield to bring back with me. I loved riding Polly and used to ride her all over the farm helping to round-up the sheep and bullocks when needed and taking "luance" a mid morning cup of tea and snack, to the farm men in the fields at Harvest time.

I set off to Driffield in good heart, all went well for the first two or three miles. I rode on the grass whenever possible to save Polly getting sore feet, but when we got to about half way there, Polly started to falter, she was a wise old bird and began to think she was getting too far away from home. I had to coax her to keep going and then she started to show signs of limping, so I got off her back and lead her for the last two or more miles coaxing her all the time, and by the time I got her into Driffield to the Blacksmiths I don't know who was the most foot sore Polly or me. It was hard work walking on the tufty grass and harder still for Polly on the road. We ended up in George Street in the middle of Driffield a very weary and foot sore pair. Polly had to stay at the Blacksmiths for a day or more to get her feet right, she couldn't be shod till her feet were better, I had a lift home in my Dads car. Needless to say I didn't volunteer to bring Polly back home I let one of my older brothers do that. She came home spick and span pulling her new Buggy, never faultering because she was coming home and didn't need coaxing. We enjoyed lots of rides round the country-side, but I'll never forget that long weary footsore walk, I thought we would never get there.