There is a new programme beginning on TV tonight and for the next four nights. It is called Harvest and catalogues the autumn harvest of various crops in the UK.
I know I go on about this each year, but it never ceases to amaze me. Last week they harvested the wheat in the fields opposite our farm. Within a day of cutting and leading away the corn they were there collecting up the big bales. The next day they manured the two fields (the crows loved that) and yesterday they ploughed in the manure. The fields looked beautiful - brown and so fertile-looking. Tonight - in the dark and with lights blazing down the field, two units are now sowing next year's crop. How our ancestors would have gazed in awe.
Last week in our local paper they published a photograph of a local town in the past. I looked at it - the buildings were more or less the same, but the cars, the clothes, everything else, looked as though they were from antiquity. Then I looked at the date. It was taken in 1950. I was eighteen years old and I thought I was the bees' knees with my hairstyle, my dress, my demeanour. Oh how time marches on.Oh tempera, oh mores.