A couple of weeks ago, I sparked some interest by featuring a frankly, rather dull image of Sandhills on a grim evening commute home on my 365daysofbiking journal. That, in turn, prompted the indefatigable David Evans to recall some of his memories of the area…

Hi Bob

I wonder if you can place where this cottage once stood? It has featured in two articles on your blog over the past few months; Tools for the job, and the articles concerning the bomb that landed in Sandhills during an air raid in the last war.

This was Jenny’s home, in fact. It was also the cottage which suffered extensive damage from the bomb blast. Readers may remember that one dear soul refused to take cover in the celler… and the false alarm proved to be something quite different that night!

with kind regards

David

Well I'm stumped. Anyone know the exact location of this compact and bijou residence? Picture kindly supplied by David Evans.

The Incontinent Donkey

The recent discussion of Sandhills and its former Leopard Public House brings to mind another of the local celebrities form years ago, the famous incident of the Incontinent Donkey.

This wonderful creature was a family pet and lived in one of the large local gardens. He had a fine life, good pasture, the merry song of the birds in his accommodating garden paddock. He thrived and enjoyed the companionship of attentive and caring owners, but , most of all, he had lashings of good fodder every day.

However, one dark winter’s evening he discovered that the gate had been left slightly open, and in the rapidly thickening fog he ventured and became lost. Temporarily, that is.

A local neighbour in his shiny new Mini Estate car was inching his way down the road in the thick fog, returning home after a day at work and with the new roses he hoped to plant in his front garden that week-end. Fortunately he was travelling very slowly, but, as it turned out, not slowly enough. The front of the car and the rear of the poor lost donkey suddenly “came into contact” with each other.

This resulted in the donkey and driver reacting in different ways. The driver slammed his brakes on. The donkey sat down sharply on the car’s bonnet, flattening it, and oh yes, he did something else before he fled the scene and ran away, back to the safety of his paddock from where he never ventured again.

Now whenever I drive past that bungalow I admire the roses in the front garden – and smile. I can only imagine the telephone call the car’s owner made to his insurance company, though.