NG16 JUNE/JULY 2021

OVER THE WALL by Gloria Morgan
I moved to Kimberley at the end of 1986, so I have
lived here for thirty-four happy years.
Before that, I was leading the sophisticated life down
south – commuting daily into central London to work;
travelling round on the tube; shopping in the West End;
seeing the latest shows at the theatre on Shaftesbury
Avenue; going to the proms at the Royal Albert Hall.
The other day I was at home, sitting on the lawn
reading my book in the warm sunshine. It was
perfectly quiet and peaceful. The spring blossom was
out. Everything smelled sweet and fresh.
one of the ‘volunteers’ drafted in by George to help
with the manoeuvre. He remembers that the sow
weighed a ton, and she fought and kicked frantically
as the chaps tried to lift her up. Eventually, in a heroic
effort, they managed to hoist her up above head
height, and heave her over the wall.
What he remembers most of all is the racket she
made – squealing and shrieking at the top of her
voice as she squirmed and struggled. He said the din
must have been heard all over Kimberley. And she
kept it up throughout the whole undignified procedure
until she was at last deposited back on her trotters.
The next day, on the way back from my daily dog walk,
I bumped into an old friend I hadn’t seen for a while.
He belongs to an old-established Kimberley family.
His grandfather built my house, in 1875.
My friend hadn’t met my dog before so there was a
mutually enthusiastic introduction. Then we got to
talking about making a garden suitably secure for a
dog. I pointed out that I have the original 6ft high brick
wall at the end of my garden (which is now topped
with a 2ft fence).
My friend laughed and launched into a story about
George Topley, a former resident of my house. George
kept pigs.
I had always associated the piggeries in my garden
with the original owners of the house in the 19th
century. Shades of Thomas Hardy’s “Jude the
Obscure” (published in 1895) always came to mind
with that graphically gruesome description of
slaughtering the pig.
But George and his pig handlers were not living in
the 19th century. We’re talking about 60 years ago. It
amuses and amazes me to think that my friend can
remember when there were actually pigs in residence
here in my garden, stinking the place out, producing
litters, and being manhandled noisily over 6ft walls.
The distance between London and Kimberley in the
1960’s was not measured only in miles.
My house was bought in 1986 as “cottage with
piggeries”. My garden shed and greenhouse and a
bigger out-building were all originally pigsties.
My friend could remember the occasion when George
had a pregnant sow that needed to be got out of the
garden. For reasons best known to George, it was
decided that the preferred method was to lift her over
the back wall where, presumably, there was a vehicle
waiting to transport her.
As he was a fit and healthy young man, my friend was
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