I'm not sure how true this memory is, as it happened before I turned four and could well be the result of rose tinted glasses after one or two mulled wines.
I had a pretty idyllic early childhood, my parents moved from Scotland to a two hundred year old whitewash cottage on a hillside overlooking Lough Foyle, in a place called Carnamuff outside Ballykelly. It was a a lovely location and a super playground for kids. There was an old walled garden down the road beside the wall was a well, where the Qwerpuddle lived. The Qwerpuddle was an imaginary monster who lived in the well. An evil drawing was produced to keep myself and my sister from investigating too far. Down the lane was Farmer Blair's sheds, we used to scamper over the potato piles and play round the machinery. Not too far away was Mrs Dallas and her rather grand home, complete with a beautiful rocking horse, we would be encouraged to play on it whilst Mrs Dallas and my mother would have coffee in the morning.
The Townley brothers owned the local shop, I can still remember the taste of my first quarter of brandy balls, walking over the wee bridge to vist the horses.
Anyway around this time of the year we would get wrapped up with hats and scarves and welly boots and set out across the fields to the holly bush with berries. Dad found this bush when he was out shooting and it became an annual pilgrimage to collect holly for the house. The route took us over the river that we would dam in the summer. Judy our dog would follow along running ahead and poking in rabbit holes.
It was a big walk for wee legs and we would return exhausted to steam dry in front of the Rayburn. Socks would be hung from the towel rail, boots would be lined up to dry and the kettle would whistle as it was boiled.
It's my Dad's birthday today, that's what got me thinking about this post..happy birthday.