Memories of family, single parenthood and sheep in the remote wilds
of Wales.In the first 150 pages of her memoir, Clare describes the
courtship and marriage of his willful, endearing, frustrating
parents. Though Jenny and Robert were journalists in London, she
insisted on buying a farm in Wales for weekend getaways and, as the
months rolled by, wanted to spend more and more time there. But the
arrival of the children made it clear to Robert that they simply
could not afford the second property. Eventually, Jenny had to
choose, and went for the sheep and the Welsh landscape over her
marriage. Clare's descriptions of that landscape are evocative and
simple: "In the cold the mountains look like clenched fists," he
writes. Remarkably evenhanded portraits of his parents present
their flaws and foibles with generosity and sensitivity; without
editorializing, the author offers lengthy quotations from Jenny and
Robert's letters and journals. He falters, however, when discussing
his boyhood. Conversations with Jenny about the possibility that
the farm is haunted are a bit too precious, as are transcribed
"chats" with cuckoo birds: " 'Cuckoo,' he shouted. 'CUCKOO!' I
answered. 'Cuck-coo?' he replied. . . . 'Cuckcoo,' I affirmed."
Fortunately, the memoir comes back around to Jenny, who decided
after a failed love affair to sell the farm. Clare renders the
leave-taking beautifully. " 'Well, goodbye, little farm,' Jenny
said. . . . It sounded strange and unconvincing, as though neither
she nor the place really believed she was leaving."Generally
uneven-at its best, this recalls Jill Ker Conway's Road from
Coorain; at its worst, a school theme paper. (Kirkus Reviews)
One summer's day in the late 1960s two young Londoners fell in love
with a hill farm in South Wales. But they had almost no money, no
idea about sheep, and their marriage was uncertain from the start.
Their new home was a mile up the wild mountain, one end dug into
its damp flank. It was ancient, cold and unbelievably primitive,
with a view like a prospect of Africa. On a fair day it was
paradise. But it was a working farm, cut off from the world and
condemned - they found out, after they bought it - as 'unfit for
human habitation'. This is the story of a passionate adventure; it
is also the biography of a relationship, a portrait of an
extraordinary way of life and an account of a bewitching childhood.
From memory, conversations and the diaries of his now-separated
parents, Horatio Clare reconstructs their relationship with each
other and their mountain farm, and tells the story of his
astonishing upbringing. At the fore is his mother, a wilful
romantic, who chooses to make a life on the mountain
single-handedly, and to raise her children there. Running for the
Hills is a vivid memoir of love and struggle in a remote and
magical place.
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