It’s curious how seemingly ordinary and even mundane moments can bring on a flash of nostalgia. Twice a day I walk the dog around our beautiful village. I never find it boring – there are always new things to see, whether it’s the coming and going of storks, the gradual change of the seasons, the cutting of hay and other crops or the sound of a pair of hedgehogs engaged in mating calls. There are lots of animals – at least one dog in every home, cats, ducks, geese, frogs, birds – but yesterday it was this horse that caught my eye and sent me into a kink of laughter.
I could immediately picture myself, my sister and various cousins and friends back in the 70s when our mothers would cut our fringes. The fringe was often then dried with a big curling brush, bringing the over-trimmed edges even further up our foreheads. The horror would last a few days until the edges softened and began to creep again towards our eyebrows. I can see the dresses, the dolls, my mam with her scissors poised and ready, the birthday cakes that accompanied the special occasions that required the haircut. All in a flash. Thank you, Mrs Mare!