Childhood In Powerstock And Eggardon

Powerstock was my local village from 1951 to 1963. We lived at Kings House Farm at the foot of Eggardon Hill. My father Eddie Whitaker farmed (the hill rented and his 13 acres) for 12 or so years before moving to Somerset. I have visited with my family several times over the years and stayed at the Three Horse Shoes pub on one occasion, there I met one of my peers from school and caught up on people and places from the past. These visits ignihted fond memories of the past together with periods of acute anguish as only can be felt most keenly in the childhood experience. I remember cycling to school - always late! - and flying down the steep hill from Kings spurred on by brotherly challenge not to touch the brakes until the very last bend at the bottom (Wetley). It is now obvious, with the wisdom of years, that we were preserved from harm by the grace of God, because with narrow single track roads with hedges either side, any encounter with car or tractor on any one of the blind bends would have had disasterous consequences. Happily David and I were preserved to live and tell the tale. I hold fond memories as a six year old of being taught in the infants by Miss Dawe in Powerstock School. She was a kindly soul and seemed very ancient to me at the time. I remember her mischieviously sending one of the pupils through the big sliding screen which divided the infants from juniors to ask the head master for some 'Elbow grease'. I didn't understand the joke at the time but saw the obvious amusement of the teachers. Some of the playground memories come to mind, of when deciding I could carry one of my peers on my shoulders and trying to run resulting in us both pitching forward, resulting in grazed knees from short trousers and bloody noses on impact with the tarmac. I also remember Michael Fooks diligently ploughing the playground, trotting around and around in ever decreasing circles on his imaginary tractor with full sound effects. The village contained many colourful characters, full of humour and local gossip. A place to shine was the the local harvest supper held in the 'Hut', a timber building which served as the village hall adjacent to the school. (It was still going strong at my last visit.) The hearty meal served by the local farmers and their wives was followed by 'entertainment', songs and sketches making fun of local characters. I remember one memorable performance by the vicar, his son and one other I can't remember, singing in falsetto voices - "Three little maids from school", from, I think, a Gilbert and Sulivan opera. I also remember Shep ... from the coucil houses at the bottom of the hill, singing "Uncle Tom Cobly and All" to gales of laughter as he used local names and changed hats at the same time. I remember we used to visit an ancient lady who was hard of hearing. It was such fun as she used to shout at the top of her voice pointing to her ear trumpet "Speak into eer". I was always in trouble getting home late from school, as there was so much to do - like visiting Isobel on the Knapp and milking a cow (she had eight cows which she milked by hand). I once fell in the stream beside the cider apple orchard at the bottom of the knapp. And I remember visiting Mr Norris as he milked his cows at Whetly, sitting in the hedge on the weary climb up the hills and getting my trousers full of ants! Oh, happy days. Enough of my ramblings - I will be 65 next birthday! I now live far far away in Wales after spending thirty years in Cumbria rearing a healthy brood. Peter Whitaker