village memories

My Dad brought us to North Devon in 1967 after recovering from a stroke. I kind of minded at the time, even at ten I knew I was leaving swinging London. Arriving here was like going back in time 40 years.
Now I feel privileged to have glimpsed a vanished world. It was a live working village then, there was an old lady who kept two cows and who every morning put a pint of milk still warm on each doorstep. There was a butchers, a grocers, a post office, a garage.
Now there is just a pub. And there is hardly anyone left that I recognise, most people work away somewhere so it is a kind of commuter land, and many of the houses aren't lived in year round at all any more.
My Dad loved the village as it was and worked hard to integrate and to have a sense of belonging among the local farming people. He was the village postman for many years and so everyone knew him. He would be very happy to know that his picture is on this wall of remembrance in the pub alongside other venerable locals.