The Darlingtons of Corner Farm, Wettenhall

As a background to explaining the 'Darlingtons of Corner Farm, Wettenhall, I have provided my Cambridge Graduation picture (1965) above. This shows 'my family' - me in my finery, with Meg, Horace and sister Sue.

It sparks thoughts of the incongruous composition of our group. The heart of oak, plain-speaking yeoman; the academic, eager to please young graduate; the young nurse and farmer's wife; and Meg.

Horace looks distinctly ill at ease - perhaps reflecting on the strange 'cuckoo' step-son who he had reared (or maybe, much more simply, not feeling so well - he had already started to get angina pains).

Looking back, as I have frequently mentioned to my sister, we owe an enormous debt to Horace. He gave us a place to stand - the Cheshire countryside. He provided a secure home and livelihood. He taught us hard work, story-telling and humour.

He was very much loved.


HORACE AND MEG’S SIGNATURE TUNE

WONDERFUL ONE
(Best presentation Glenn Miller)

.. that I love you so
Awake or sleeping
My heart's in your keeping
And calling to you soft and low

My wonderful one
Whenever I'm dreaming
Love's love-light a-gleaming I see
My wonderful one
How my arms ache to hold, dear
To cuddle and fold you to me

Just you, only you
In the shadowy twilight
In silvery moonlight
There's none like you, I adore you
My life I'll live for you,
Oh, my wonderful, wonderful one.


MEG

Meg was as her brother Ron commented, at her funeral, ‘life itself’. She was very hard to ignore and sometimes quite challenging.

My ‘cousin’ (actually Meg’s cousin but the generations got out-of-step) the younger Reg Salter (grandson of Joseph Salter) had the last word in an email ….

"I always had great respect for your Mum....she spoke in a way which I had never encountered, of things of which I had never heard.....politics, current affairs, relationships, sex....

It gave me a view of what in those days seemed like a bohemian slant on life.....so novel to my ears.

You may feel there was a price to pay, but you were nevertheless very lucky to have such intellectual stimulation on tap.

As Oscar Wilde remarked:

“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious”

Meg was rarely tedious.

Horace Darlington (5th June 1917 - 4th August 1968)

Although he belonged to an old and well-established Cheshire dairy farming family, my step-father Horace Darlington had a pretty rough upbringing.

He somewhat bitterly recalled being put in the dolly tub (the fluted galvanized barrel into which laundry was placed to be pounded by the pronged 'dolly' that served as a hand-driven washing machine agitator) - to be kept quiet and out of harm's way.

He also bore something of a grudge against his father Herbert for not giving him enough credit for his rabbit snaring prowess. Apparently, Horace would bring in his rabbits, his mother would stew them, and Old Herbert would dole out the stew, giving the best meat to brothers George and Dick - and leaving the ribs for Horace.

Anyhow, he appears to have grown up to be a significant and admired ladies man who gained a good deal of kudos from running a three-wheeler Morgan sportscar.

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER

[by Robbie Burns, 1782]

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O;
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O;
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O;
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O;
My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O:
Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O.

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O;
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O;
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.

Then sore harass'd and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O;
The past was bad, and the future hid, its good or ill untried, O;
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat, and moil, and labour to sustain me, O;
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O;
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O:
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O;
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.

But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in his palace, O,
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O:
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O:
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.

When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O;
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur'd folly, O:
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.

All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O:
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O