Adventures Of The Yorkshire Shepherdess – Amanda Owen (1)

Rodney was the chairman of the salesrooms and could always be seen buzzing around the building. He was an old-fashioned charmer with tailored suits and the gift of the gab. Quick witted, he missed nothing, and all the time he conversed with people his sharp eyes would be darting here and there on the lookout for potential buyers.

He had a needle-sharp memory and could easily recall a conversation had weeks beforehand, remembering all the intimate details. He had, in essence, all the attributes of a great auctioneer. On one particular morning, I’d been directed to leave the ‘shop floor’ and go upstairs into the showroom that was reserved for the finer sale items. One of the ladies who manned the front-desk reception had glided over to me after seeing me and the children walking through the foyer.

‘You must go upstairs and see our latest collection,’ she purred. ‘In fact, I implore you to take the little ones up the stairway . . . they’ll just adore what is on display.’ I was always bowled over by these women, typically whippet thin, legs longer than those on a racehorse and always impeccably turned out, often in bouclé skirts and jackets. Young or old, they all looked achingly smart with sleek, shiny hair styled into low buns, perfectly applied barely-there make- up, dainty fingers and swanlike necks usually decorated with pearls.

I wished that I could ooze that sophistication. Then she beckoned me to come closer and, putting her hand partially over her mouth, whispered in my ear. ‘Lot fifty-eight . . . just look at its testicles.’ I didn’t need any more persuading to go and investigate further. There was going to be a taxidermy sale and having previously purchased the Blue Gnu they knew I might find something I liked.

The room was a macabre mix of trophy hunters’ large-game mounts, antlers and bleached bones. On tables stood domed glass cases filled with exotic birds of paradise, and draped over chairs were skins of zebras, antelopes and deer. The children stared open-mouthed at the grotesque figure of a stuffed monkey wearing a fez and smoking a hookah pipe. I methodically worked my way along the lots, but I knew long before I reached Lot 58 what it was going to be, for laid out on a table of its very own was the biggest dog I had ever seen.

It was a truly monstrous sight, a Great Dane stretched out as though lying in front of a fire. His long legs were extended, his head was curled around, his chin rested on the floor, and his eyes were closed. I say ‘he’ because there was no missing his sex – he was sporting a huge, overstuffed pair of testicles that protruded from between his legs.

In fact, they rather drew the eye from whatever angle you looked at him.

1 Goin’ to the Chapel 2 A Family Home 3 And Nancy Makes Nine 4 Smelling a Rat 5 Storm in a C Cup 6 Where’s Eartha? 7 The Beast from the East 8 The Adventures of Chalky 9 Wild Things Epilogue: A Day to Remember 1kitap1.com/en Introduction When gathering the sheep from the moors I have often looked down onto Ravenseat, sitting as it does in its little hollow, and been ‘tekken’ with the aura of contentment that envelops the farm that I have called home for two decades.

It isn’t the neatest or most orderly of places, but it exudes a warmth that is both heartening and welcoming. The first time I came here, what struck me was the sense of quiet. It’s so peaceful, but the place is rich in history, having seen so much life during its near thousand-year existence. The labours of people from times past were plain to see when I looked across the partly cobbled yard towards the timeworn buildings all surrounded by a chaotic framework of crumbling drystone walls.

In its heyday, a hundred and fifty years ago when manpower and horsepower ruled, nearly a hundred people lived at the top of Swaledale – now it’s thirty, and that includes my brood. In the eighteenth century, Ravenseat was a small hamlet with eleven families in residence. For weary travellers passing through, refreshment for both body and soul were available at the public house (which is now our farmhouse) and at the Inghamite chapel (which is now our woodshed).

For the residents of far- flung settlements like Ravenseat work was either to be found in the coal and lead mines or on the many small farms, but the decline of the mining industry in the late nineteenth century led to a mass exodus with two thirds of the population of Swaledale leaving to find employment elsewhere. Farming suffered too, the smaller farms becoming less viable. Some were completely abandoned, and the land amalgamated to form bigger enterprises.

Slowly but surely the lifeblood of the dale trickled away, leaving behind only isolated farmsteads and derelict mine workings, the relics of bygone times.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 6ebf70ce20f0c906
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 3,781,665 bytes (3.606 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 244
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 429.79 minutes
• Total Words: 85,957
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