An Encounter With Norman.

 Tuesday 21st October 2025

Today I finished off a field by ploughing the headlands.

On the way back, I had to pass Norman’s old place. As I approached, I could see someone standing on the road, and as I drew closer, I realised it was Norman himself — hands on hips, staring down at something as though it had personally offended him. I would have stopped anyway, but that stance made me even more curious to see what he was up to.

It was a bit of a squeeze getting the tractor and plough into his little yard, but it seemed worth the effort — the lane might be quiet, but the minute you block it, you can be sure someone will want to come past.

He looked pleased to see me as I approached him.

“Hello Norman, how are you settling in? You’re not planning on coming back, are you?”

It was really more of an invitation to explain what he was doing rather than an actual enquiry about his future living arrangements. But as with any conversation with Norman, it’s never that simple. You have to hear about someone you don’t know, who lives somewhere you’ve never heard of, and about something that has absolutely nothing to do with the matter at hand.

Eventually, after chasing him around the houses about three times, I gathered that he wanted to dig up some bulbs and a peony from his front garden, but had neither the tools nor the transport to take them to his new place— as he’d come on his bicycle.

After giving the matter some considerable and serious thought (for about two seconds), I offered to help. There was still some time left in the day, so that wasn’t a problem. The only real challenge was getting Norman to stay put for half an hour while I went home to fetch what we needed.

In the end, I decided the safest way to keep him under control was to take him with me. I didn’t tell him that, of course — instead, I casually suggested he might like a ride in the tractor. His face lit up at once. I think for any old farmer, the chance to go for a ride on a tractor again is always welcome.

When we arrived home, I couldn’t see Dad anywhere, but his truck was parked up in front of the house, which was a good sign. I phoned him, explained the situation, and he seemed rather amused by it all. He told me the keys were in the kitchen.

So off I dashed — first to the tool shed to grab a spade and a fork, then into the kitchen for the keys.

Next thing I hear is:

“OY OY OY! What do you think you’re doing, young lady? Out — NOW!”

In my rush, I’d completely forgotten to take off my boots.

I made a hasty retreat, Mum snapping at my heels.

“Go on — for the love of Mike — get out with you! Goodness me!”

The thing about Mum is that even when she’s furious, she manages it in a way that isn’t nasty and even makes me smile somehow.

I apologised profusely from the doorway to the dairy and asked if she’d pass me the truck keys. She handed them over while asking where the fire was. I laughed and assured her there was no fire, promising to explain later as I had Norman waiting in the yard.

So off we went again back to his old place to dig up his precious bulbs and peony. Once we’d finished, I loaded everything, including Norman and his bike, into the truck and deposited the lot safely at his new cottage three miles away.

I got home just in time to clean the tools and change for afternoon tea in the summerhouse with Mum. Over tea, I was able to recount the full saga — every twist, turn, and tangent of the afternoon — along with the latest morsels of gossip I’d managed to extract from Norman.

By the time we finished and walked back to the house, the light had turned golden and soft, spilling through the glass of the kitchen window and glinting off the jars of marmalade still on the counter from yesterday. It looked for all the world like they were lit up. Mum was laughing so much from telling my tale to dad as she poured him tea, and even Eric, passing by with his mug, paused at the door to shake his head, half smiling. Then the day settled gently around us — one of those small, good evenings that seem to belong entirely to home. I concluded that I would never have a boy friend simply because I could never give up times like this.