May in November

In June 2016 I blipped the view from this old hillside farm ( and included a picture of the house in an extra.)

I was pleased that I had captured the glory of the may blossom fringeing the fields - especially as it enabled me to weave in a story, as I like to do. 

At an earlier date  I had put a photo of this place on another internet site and it was found by a man whose mother had been a wartime evacuee  here. He contacted me to tell me about it, how she had been sent from London to stay at this remote spot under the care of a very  kind woman who had taught her about country life. She helped on the farm and  rode a pony to the village school. So attached she became  that she later brought her own children for their summer holidays, spending time again with the kind lady - whose name was May. By then May had moved down into the village where she lived until her death at the age of 98. (She didn't have any children of her own.)

Recently I told this story to a local historian who was intrigued and has used his contacts to discover more about May. At my suggestion he emailed the evacuee's son and got an immediate response: 
I had almost given up hope of hearing anything more about May and my mother's evacuation, therefore it delights me to know you have some information that will help me to have a fuller picture of my mother's life with May.


Today it was bleak and windy up here as usual, and  summer's may blossom has turned into bright red hawthorn berries that gleam among the gnarled branches. The warm welcome  that was given here so long ago is only  preserved in the thoughts and  memories of a few, but it reminds us that if there is nothing else we can do in these troubled times,  kindness costs nothing and has a lasting value.

The 2016 blip

Thanks to Len and to the late Sue George (who knew  May )  for their help  in  gathering information.