Farmhouse mishap

My family would frequently stay in a countryside bed and breakfast in rural Devon - it was a working farm, so me and my older brother had plenty to keep us occupied - watching the sheep or cows, exploring the barns and woodland areas, whilst my mother read or painted. My father was working during the weekdays and would come and stay with us during the weekend that we were there.

It was an idyllic time, with my brother (9) and I (7) playing around the farm with very little supervision. One time, we came across a very large bull in a large pen that was between two concrete walls and surrounded by high fences. My brother and I knew that bulls charge at things that are red - and I was wearing bright red wellington boots. So, off the gumboots came, and over the fence they went - first one (which the bull did not even notice), and then the other boot landed closer to the bull - who looked at it for at least 2 seconds, and then just went back to eating. My brother then decided that he needed to retrieve the furthest boot, to throw it closer to the bull and get a reaction. He started to scale the fence, but the bull did not like his territory being compromised, and started to charge towards the fence. I've never seen my brother climb so fast before, or since, as he got out of the bull-pen with no boot, but a pounding heart. Of course, this meant that I had to walk barefoot through the mud and cow-pads back to the farmhouse. My mother was not amused.

The old farmhouse was full of squeaky floorboards and low doorways, but I always remember the large kitchen - both for the amazing cooked breakfasts and roasts, but also my mother's excitement over the large Aga stove. The farmer's wife was always in the kitchen cooking something, and I remember that she was very generous to me and my brother - feeding us morsels of scones or off-cuts of the roasts. She was a large woman with red cheeks, and always had a smile. Except when my father was around - she did not like him at all. He tells us that it all started when he first met her - she was removing a roast chicken from the lower oven of the Aga, and he declared "what wonderful, large breasts!", and then he kept on putting his foot in it with comments that sounded like an innuendo. He is the sort of person that enjoys winding people up, and so I think he actually looked for any innuendo he could impart in his interactions with her during his short weekend stays. Because of this, the farmer was not too happy with him either.

One dark Saturday night, as I lay in bed, I could hear an occasional tap on the window. Tap … then a pause of a few seconds … tap. I was a scared little 7 year old, so I did what all scared boys do, I pulled the covers up closer to my face. I then went to sleep.

What I did not know at that stage was that it was my father outside. He had just returned from the pub, and knew which room my brother and I were in - it was the only one overlooking the gravel driveway. He had picked up little bits of gravel, and was throwing them up at the window to get our attention. As we had not woken and let him in, he had to find another way in. Due to the way that he was not on best terms with the farmer's wife, he decided not to ring the doorbell or knock, but to look for another way in. He thought that there would be a back door open, but they were all locked. Then he spied a window that was open - a small slit about a foot high, but about 5 feet off the ground. He then moved an old crate to the window, and climbed up on it. It was enough for him to get to the sill, just as the crate broke under his weight. He pushed his head and body through the window, and then wiggled his body through until he was almost through. The window had an arm that held it open, and this was secured with a stay - a little spike about an inch long. This had dug into his trousers near the thigh, and he was wedged. As he leant forward, he noticed that this window was over the toilet - and as he wriggled, his head was getting closer and closer to the toilet pan. He could feel the blood rushing to his head as he rocked backwards and forwards as he was trapped. For some reason, he decided that he needed to remove his trousers as the only logical way to dislodge himself. He undid his belt, and dropped out of his trousers - straight into the toilet. Only the top of his hair got wet, but he managed to dry it with a hand-towel that was nearby. In his focus to get his hair dry, he forgot his trousers and started to head to the bedroom where my mother was.

Unfortunately for him, the farmer's wife had heard the crash and splash as he had removed his trousers, and had come out to investigate. She then saw my father, trouser-less and with ruffled hair and red eyes (from the blood rushing to his head), and screamed - just as the farmer came out, to find his wife in her night-gown, with my father, and no trousers in sight.

I was awoken by shouting and noise, and I again hid under my covers. My brother was more adventurous than me, and he looked out through the crack of the door. He turned to me and said, "I don't think we are getting breakfast tomorrow".

We left early, and I really miss those great breakfasts.