Meeting Dad Ruth wants her childhood memories to live on. Share her memories of meeting her father returning home from his daily toil on the farm >>

Ruth is 50 years old and lives in Lincoln with her husband Dave and two grown-up children, Donna and David. Most of her childhood was spent in Saxilby. She enjoys cross stitching, reading (especially historical romances) and is a keen collector of Bamford Victorian Songcards. She has written two children's books and her ambition is to complete a novel she's writing!

I love telling stories of my childhood especially to my daughter and son. I began to wonder, what if one day I was unable to relate these stories again to them or even their future children. I decided to put pen to paper to recapture them once more. Meeting Dad is a very special memory.

I was born in a farmhouse in Ingleby. A little place nestled between Saxilby and Sturton. My father worked as a labourer on the local farm. His work started very early in the morning and did not finish until it had been done for that day. Work was hard and pay was poor.

I remember when I was about four years old, my sister and I would meet our father when he was expected home for dinner. Mum would constantly peek out of the back door and when she saw him coming over the brow of the hill, she'd see us across the road. (When I say road, I mean a quiet, country road that saw no more than a dozen vehicles a day, if you were lucky.)

We could see Dad in the distance, his body weary from work, making his way along the track towards the wide farm gate and us. I one side of the track and my sister the other, we'd race to meet him.

There wasn't time to pick any of the daisies or buttercups, which flooded the field we were in, and believe me, there were many. Our aim was to meet Dad and once we'd reached him, each take hold of one of his work-worn hands and hold onto it tight.

We'd all walk home for dinner, leading him to Mum patiently waiting by the backdoor.

by Ruth Speed