Claywood And The Teem Valley Home 1949 To 1969

A Memory of Menithwood.

How wonderful to hear of one of my dear friend's memories of 1960s Menith Wood. Although I was actually born at "Eardiston" Farm called Moor Farm, in one of the converted barns in 1949, I spent all but the first few months of my life living at Upper Claywood, which was situated just below Menith Wood by a quarter of a mile.
The position of the cottage was to look out over the Teem Valley to the west and the east, those of you who lived in the area will know what I mean when I say it was the most beautiful setting you can imagine.
My father was a world war two Italian p.o.w. based near Tenbury Wells, as most will know, he and the others were used to keep the farms turning over, if you will pardon the pun. This is where he met my mum, Ethel (Phylis as she was known to all around) Wall, and subsequently bagan a coutship that resulted in marriage. Along came five children, Olivia, Janice, Nicolas, Francis and lastly Martino, my fathers name sake.
I have only fantasic memories of my child hood to teen age years in that house at Claywood, not all though, as all families had their ups and downs and mine was no exception. But the valley and all its surroundings was my my back garden, Menith Woods Forest a deserved status, where I spent most of my time with the Hall family, mainly Martin who I was joined at the hip with for approx 8 years. We did every thing together, went every where together etc, and grew as one. Dereck and sister Pam were my friends also and joined in most of our escapades, down to entertaining his family and neighbours to a circus act on one ocasion in the back garden.
The scenery was wasted on my young years although I did appreciate my surroundings greatly and loved running through the fields watching each changing season of the four. Winters cold grip on the countryside, that though most people hated for the cold, I found only excitement for the snow, and its tracking games and animals prints. The fog for its mystery of what was around the corner or bush, the ice for the fun of seeing how far I could slide and the hours of competitions of who could do it the farthest, the sleeping trees and the extra vision they gave without their leaves and how they still managed to dress formally with snow on their branches giving the most romantic impression to all and the Christmas cards. The spring for the awakening of all the flowers and the warm sunshine it brought to the cold bones, the primrose, violets, snow drops, daffodils etc filling the air with new scents that seemed to fill everyone with a feeling of promise. And summer, giving what only summer can, the world in which we lived a flower of pure wonder as to where all these riches came from. the walks to "Eardiston" to see my friends and school chums, the Bentleys, Chances, James', Taylors, Woolleys and so on.
We played football, cricket, and my passion, rugby, on the Moore's field at the back of the council houses all day, resulting in me missing my meals - only for the other kids to bring me out a sandwich or two to keep me going to night time. When I ended up walking either up through the fields and orchards which were full of all the fruits you can imagine, or the woods to Menith Wood and back down that steep bl ***y hill that always gave the thrill of a life time on my peddal bike to my tender years of whizzing down it trying to see how fast I could go down it, just missing lorries and buses (from Yarringtons" garage) and the odd few cars on my way down. Or be a whimp and walk around the roads still scared in case the bogey man got to me in the dark, one of many tales our parents in those days told us to keep us out of mischief.
The games we played on the river Teem, where most people gathered to watch fish, or swim or just sail by on an old inner tube gained from some where it shouldn't have been.
The trips to Tenbury Wells market day and the famous Saturdays where all the girls and boys would eye each other up,laugh and giggle and generally show off in sometimes embarrassing ways, each dressed up in their best to impress.
The gymkhanas, the flower shows where my father won for most of my growing years, the motor cycle scrambles meeting, the Three Counties show just outside of Worcester to the south. Watching Ken Nind coming up the hill outside my house on his lovely B. S. A. 352 cc b40 - a wonderful sounding machine, red in colour and a seemingly very fast machine to me, what a buzz, - thinking to myself I will have one of those when I'm old enough, and I did.
Those wonderful blue sky days, when all in the world seemed as one and love flowed through your very soul, it was good to be alive in every way.
Then autumn, the changing of the guard as mum would say, and it all changed through glorious colours of amber and gold, the hop picking was underway and the cold began to greet you every morning.
This was my playground, the Bradleys Youngs, Birches, Hathaways, Edwards, Coopers, who owned our cottage and ran the farm below us, Williams, so much and so little time to tell you.

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