Cider with Rosie (1959)

A true glimpse into an English rural life, which now seems as distant as the days of the Romans.

I was born and have lived most of my life in the country on the edge of the Forest of Dean, separated from the Cotswolds by the Severn and by the way of life of the inhabitants - mostly mining, when I was a boy. The last national pit closed in 1965, link below. Hard to believe that in the early 1960's, the price of a cottage was around £150, virtually no one had a telephone in their house and cars were for the well-off only

The past is a foreign country, but you can't go there on a plane to experience it for yourself - reading a book like this is the nearest you will come to a journey in a time machine.

https://forest-of-dean.net/gallery/cinderford_2/pages/page_21.html ( )

There’s some beautiful writing in this (fictionalized) memoir. of a much slower, simpler time. Lee was a poet who knew how to perfectly convey a sense of time and especially place.
The author takes us through his poverty-stricken childhood and youth in rural England in the first decades of the last century. While the book is quite endearing, the author is a little too accepting of some very seamy, indeed criminal, behavior.
I did enjoy this one, but was disturbed by parts of it. ( )

An enjoyable trip into another world! In Laurie Lee's own words "The last days of my childhood were also the last days of the village. I belonged to the generation which saw, by chance, the end of a thousand years' life." His life was governed by how far his legs or the legs of a horse could carry him in a day. Young people lived at home until they married and never thought to question the rules or traditions of village life. Not that life was boring and uneventful, anything but! The imagery is brilliant, the stories heartfelt and although brief in the retelling, the reason for the title of the book is youthfully honest! ( )

Warm, humorous, but not entirely rose-tinted, stories and recollections of the joys and hardships of life in rural Gloucestershire just after the First World War. This beautifully written memoir published in 1959 contains lyrical prose describing the experiences of a poor rural childhood with fresh eyed innocence and beguiling charm. There is crime, but Lee describes it as being dealt with within the village, without recourse to external official authority.

An example of the humour:
”What’s the matter, Loll? Didn’t he like it at school, then?”
“They didn’t give me a present!”
“Present? What present?”
“They said they’d give me a present.”
“Well, now, I’m sure they didn’t.”
“They did! They said: “You’re Laurie Lee, ain’t you? Well, just you sit there for the present.” I sat there all day but I never got it. I ain’t going back again!”

For the occasional elegaic asides:
The village in fact was like a deep-running cave still linked to its antic past, a cave whose shadows were cluttered with spirits and by laws still vaguely ancestral. This cave we inhabited looked backwards through chambers that led to our ghostly beginnings; and had not, as yet, been tidied up, or scrubbed clean by electric light, or suburbanised by a Victorian church, or papered by cinema screens.

Highly recommended. ( )

It is 1917 and Laurie Lee and his family have just arrived in the village of Slad in Gloucestershire for the first time. Their new home is nestled deep in the valley, warmed by open fires and water is got from a pump outside the back door. It is two families that have come together, the elder children are from the first marriage; his father re-married when their mother died, and had a second family before going off to war. Even though his father is not there, it is a happy childhood. The war reaches its end and the village celebrates; the family lives in hope of seeing their father again now it has ended. It was not to be.

Soon he was old enough to attend school. It was split into two classes, infants and Big Ones, separated by a partition. It was here that he was brought together with all the characters of the village and started to forge friendships that would remain with him. The teachers were very different to those today, harsher and often brutal, they had little scope for tolerance, demanding only obedience. Life in a rural community was as much about the daily life and way that the seasons slowed moved on slowly. Singing carols around the village at Christmas starting with the squire, skating on the frozen pond, to the balmy days of summer spent playing games in the fields.

Its roots clutched the slope like a giant hand, holding the hill in place. Its trunk writhed with power, threw off veils of green dust, rose towering into the air, branched into a thousand shaded alleys, became a city for owls and squirrels. I had thought such trees to be as old as the earth, I never dreamed that a man could make them.

Lee is such a lyrical author, writing about this tiny piece of England that was forever changed after the First World War. It is not shown through rose tinted glasses; this was tough at times, death was a frequent occurrence in his family and with neighbours and other villagers. The hard work was tempered by simple pleasures. This glimpse of a time long past, of a place that he loved and made him the man he was to become when he walked away at the age of 19. Thoughly enjoyable book that is really too short. ( )