DIARY 5: Motherhood and Pies

There could hardly be a greater contrast to the breathless account of revolutionary Tehran than this diary of the year in our cottage, ‘The Dovecote’ – not just a sweet and fanciful name but a real converted dovecote in the Fenlands of Cambridgeshire. And now, to go with the cottage we had a baby (referred to here by his initials, HSB) which changes everything, and so we slipped into the routines and rhythms which that implies. Life in the flat lands of open skies, wind and weather of the Fenland countryside, seems to have produced a serene and satisfying routine which I would have liked to continue for more than just the year we were to be allowed.  The first entry records:

On New Year’s Eve a flock of geese flew overhead. Heard them first before they appeared, honking: several small skeins joining to form a V formation.  Crisp clear weather: about 3pm.

Then, on January 1: It had been a brilliantly cold night and there was a heavy frost in the morning. The grass was hoary and white and the flooded fields were frozen almost solid.  The rain of the previous two days had swollen the brook and the River Ouse. The brook had overflowed into the field opposite and the water was four inches above the footbridge. We waded across the footbridge – brilliant sun across the fields and quite a wind.

The diary is full of page after page of hum-drum notes.  We lived in a small village and there were other new mothers with babies and children. We met at each other’s houses or pushing prams (yes, prams still back then!) to the village post office and compared notes on matters of absorbing interest while our men were occupied with their own business.  My records include details of the baby’s progress, grasping a toy, making noises, sleeping, waking, feeding. He was the most doted on small centre of the universe that has existed.  

I was fascinated by the beauty of the Fenland landscape and on January 4th we made a trip to Ely to see the Cathedral. It loomed out of the mist above the flat black fields.  inside we admired the coloured windows and the magnificent ‘lantern’ tower. Then homeward:-

A misty-smokey moist afternoon. Drove back in the dusk; layers of colour in the sky and dark land and houses beneath – glints of flood-water, the evening star ahead of us as we drove the straight road to Earith.

Our dovecote stood on the far edge of the village, opposite the Brook with its footbridge and footpath leading to another village a mile across the fields.  Next to it was the recreation ground - fairly deserted in winter – and the rough road leading to the gravel pits and the river Ouse a mile away between fields and waving sedges. The weather was all around us and it seems to have been a hard winter.

Jan 12  Amazing hoar frost coating everything – trees, grass, plants, cars.

Jan 13.  Another frosty morning – the washing left out overnight was stiff as boards. (n.b. In those days nappies were made of towelling and went through the washing machine to be hung out on the line.)

Jan 14.  An even hoarier frost! A coating nearly ½ inch thick over everything. Visibility low – temperature likewise.

And so it goes on. As the month progresses I record glorious sunny day: then, A lovely sunny day again, then: frosty dry and clear, then back to Gloomy cold damp day – cold gloomy mood! And at the end of the month A little warmer and brighter. Lots of crocuses coming up in the garden.

It’s clearly not the quality of the descriptions that is exceptional but the fact that these everyday details were the important things that were worth noting down. Apart from motherhood and watching the weather, cooking took up plenty of time and attention.:-

Jan 7.  Made pate, mended clothes etc

Jan 8.  Did some gardening

Jan 10.  A cooking day!

Not many apple pies were made but I was collecting a recipe series from the Observer newspaper and keen to try them out. On Feb 1 it was Sauté de canard au Madere for a special visitor. Other menus apparently of note included, roast beef, roast port, curries, boeuf bourgignon and terrine de campagne.

In June we made a trip to the Lake District, staying in a cottage on the edge of Lake Coniston and going around the sites of Wordsworth and Ruskin, the Langdales and Blae Tarn, places we had visited the previous year when I was heavily pregnant.  Then back to the Dovecote recording How nice to be back! And the baby, HSB, who had found the moving around disturbing also seemed pleased: Very smiley and happy all day.

Re-reading these entries is a strange experience. I find myself deeply immersed in this episode of my – our- life and emerge from it disorientated and somewhat disturbed – goodness knows why! Listen to this, written on February 25: So much tranquillity and contentment would have seemed impossible five years ago and now - a Dove Cote and a family!

But in September it was time to move on.  We were posted to Cologne in Germany where life as a British Council spouse awaited and as a posting Germany had the advantage that we could get back to the Dove Cote for Christmas breaks and summer holidays without too much trouble. Just before we were due to leave, on September 6, I note alarmingly that the baby fell out of his pram and was very white for an hour.  The doctor was rung but seems to have reassured us that all was well and on September 7th, a Sunday, I see that we Left the Dove Cote at 10.15…. A glorious sunny morning; if one had to leave and say goodbye, a good day.