Memories of Figheldean

Figheldean Manor

In 1945, just before VJ day, I moved from Scotland with my mother, to Figheldean Manor, to join my father who was then based at RAF Netheravon. I had never seen houses with flint walls and thatched roofs before, moreover, I had never experienced the type of food that was then available. My first experience of asparagus, watercress, fresh trout and partridge, all food provided to or by residents at the Manor, to supplement the then rations that were available with coupons.
We shopped, such as was necessary, in Netheravon. I remember Sammy the barber with a lisp, who, in winter time, kept his hand held clippers beside the gas fired heater; these would burn the neck occasionally, which he said was just a part of the hair cutting experience, as he puffed away at his Woodbine, numerous of which he smoked continually and were permanently in his mouth.
I remember the breaking up of hundreds of the gliders at RAF Netheravon and the huge parachute drops on Salisbuty plain. Gliders or bits of gliders appeared as greenhouses, conservatories or in our village, after we relocated, a complete fuselage as a pub summer extension.
We moved from Figheldean to a house in Chisenbury East sometime in 46 and I went to Avondale prep school on the outskirts of Amesbury. I clearly remember the heavy snows of I think 47, when our village was completely cut off; then, relief as a few hundred DP's, as they were then known, former POW's, who dug through from Upavon to Chisenbury, just with shovels to enable food and coal supplies to get through. Then came the floods. but happily, our house was about 18" above the maximum flood level.
My father would cycle from Chisenbury to Netheravon to save petrol coupons, so that we could go to the markets in Salisbury or Marlborough at the weekend. We grew as many vegetables as possible to supplement the rations, any extra eggs that we obtained from local farmers, were stored in crocks, in something, I think called Isinglass, for later use. The local Pub, the Red Lion, landlord Mr Coombes, was an exchange point; spuds for carrots, beans for cabage etc. One highlight of village life, was when the pub licence was extended from beer and cider, to include wine and spirits; I remember a huge party to celebrate the event; I was left at home with my visiting Grandmother acting as child minder.
In these post war years, there were many shortages and many difficulties, however, the whole village seemed to combine in a form of mutual support. One slight problem was what to do with the contents of our thunderbox (Elsan) toilets during the heavy snows. At other times, the contents could be burried in the garden or surrounding area, under several feet of snow, this was a real problem.
Thieving, stealing, did not happen, save that we kids, would occasionally go scrumping apples. If caught by the local policeman, who visited the village on his bicycle from Enford, he would take his belt to us and beat us, worse, he threatned to inform our parents which would double the pain. Happily, he usually just let us off with a beating and by and large, we did not repeat the offence. Today, I suppose the poor policeman would be charged with some offence by the Social Services types and kicked out. Pity, that beating seemed to work.
Despite shortages of most things, life in the village was generally happy and certainly from the aspect of we kids, it was excellent. I have the fondest memories of my life from that period in Wiltshire.