Memories of Bearsted
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From 1944
Memories from that long ago tend to stick in the back of the mind until an association brings them out. Being a small child, the village green at Bearsted seemed gigantic and the village pond was just a pond. We used to paddle in the pond up to the top of our wellies, hoping that the water wouldn't run over the top and give us wet feet. The green was a favourite gathering place for a lot of children. One particular place was the village pump. There was no pump, only accomodation which looked like a church lich gate with seats around the inside. As kids we had a lot of freedom to wonder the local fields and the golf course. We even went as far as the hills where there was a ruined church/castle. In those days we didn't appreciate the archaeological value of a castle built of flint stone which had fallen into ruin and was largely buried, even tho' there was a standing wall with an arch. Another of my favourite places was a pond just inside the fringe of the golf course. On summer days, during the school holidays, we'd go to the pond and catch a newt in a jar get some frog spawn. From there we'd wander through the woods and into long grass looking for snakes, lizards or slow worms. On other occasions we'd walk along a lane called Malling Lane, through the railway bridge, along the railway bank to a stream. Sometimes we'd walk all the way along Malling Lane to the big manor at the top near the Pilgrims Way. There had been a big fire so only the outer walls of the house remained. To me, as a child, it seemed strange to look into the house and see three fire places at different heights on a chimney stack, with no floors between. As lads we could choose to go in any direction from the village green. Just after the war when food was still rationed, we would somehow obtain a loaf, a bottle of water and, naughtily, pinch a couple of fags and a few matches and make off to the hills. The bottle would be passed around for each to have a drink. Between each drinker the top would be wiped on a sleeve to remove what we'd call germs. Eventually there would be loads of bread crumbs laying in the bottom of the bottle. Contrary to current ideas, most of us had a knife in our pocket which we'd use to cut a stick and then carve a pattern in the bark. We never thought of hurting anyone with a knife. It seemed that most of the time we'd wear wellies and would have red rings round our legs where the wellies rubbed. If we came across a stream we'd dam it to make a waterfall. I enjoyed being in the village church choir. We'd have rehearsal once in the week and would attend church three times on Sunday - twice in the morning and once in the evening. On one occasion we were transported to Canterbury Cathedral, along with choirs from other areas and we all sang the Hallelujah chorus. There was a fairly strong class system at work in the village. My father, as village butcher, would pay attention to orders for meat from what he called 'big houses'. On one occasion I became friendly with a lad called Mark Litchfieldspear. It was said that his father was captain of HMS Vanguard. My father called a halt to the association saying "Know your place my lad". and Mark's mother called a halt to it saying to Mark "Stay away from those dirty village boys". What she didn't know was that at the back of her property we were raiding her chestnut woods and going away with pockets full of large ripe chestnuts. I once ventured from the wood closer to the house and noticed a horse drawn sled in a large garage. During the winter of 1947 when deep snow was the norm, my father had a sledge made for us by the local blacksmith. he used water pipes for runners which made it a high speed sledge wanted by everyone. However, I have special memories of the war years and long army convoys going through the village. The lead truck carried a red flag and the last truck carried a green flag. The vehicles in between were; large guns, tracked carriers, supply trucks, radio vehicles, in short a good mix for a young lad to watch. On one occasion a whole convoy pulled up on the village green needing fuel. This caused a lot of excitement among both the village children and adults alike. I was not allowed to get into a gun carrier, but two of the soldiers did pick me up and threw me from one to the other and back again. They called me snowball because of my light blonde hair. Refuelling was slow because the fuel pump at the local garage was hand operated. Some of the trucks were so heavy they left big ruts in the green. One of the big attractions of the village was the yearly fair held on August Monday. Attractions included; a rolling horse, archery, coconut shy, swings, pin the tail on donkey plus many others, and a big tent for tea and beer and, since our garden backed on the village green, we were asked to supply the water. A hose pipe was fixed to our tap frequently during the day of the fair. Living in a village meant that, at the time, I knew nearly everyone in the village. Living behind a shop helped in that respect. It seems hard to believe that the lads I knew then are now over 60 years old, some over 70. I suspect that many of the fields we roamed across are now housing estates and there will be a car or two in each drive. Last edited: 16/09/2008 09:09 by Beverley Simmons |
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Year: 1944
The Bearsted boys
I have put 1947 but infact it is from earlier than that to 1954. I think this was a great place for us as kids as we had freedom and not much parental control, I think mainly due to our parents who had just survived the war years, and thinking how lucky we were all to be alive and not under Hitler. One of my memories was being lifted from the tin bath to watch Spitfires chase 'doodle-bugs' over the village. I remember sleeping under the table made from steel with mesh around so if we got bombed we may survive. I also remember a shell or bomb going off very close to our house and we as kids were digging the shrapnel out in the morning, the blast broke tiles from our house and the blue tits nested in there every year. If they had any money for a drink they met with others from the village down at the Royal Oak, and got the piano going and someone playing the spoons, a good night was had by all and us kids got a drink called Vimto and a bag of Smiths crisps that had a packet of salt in a little blue bag inside. My parents had the butchers shop on the village green so they were both very busy trying to make ends meet and I think sometimes forgot about the kids. I with some of the other kids did things that I would kick a kid's bum for now. We got away with murder so to speak, just imagine putting a lighted firework into a letter box and running away it could have caught the house on fire. Also burning stuff in the paper shop window with a magnifying glass. My first day at school was a memory that I will always remember, dad taking me to school on the front of a tradesman's bike that has a small front wheel and is a bike with access on the front to put a basket in so that he could deliver meat. Of course health regulations would not permit that now. The school was up Thurnham Hill on the left. From that school we went to a chapel up Ware Street, dead opposite a road that I called Fosters Road. One day I came down the hill from Fosters Road on a fixed wheel bike with no brakes. I ran straight across the intersection and hit the railing fence in front of the chapel or hall. I ended up with a very large bump on my head and my bike was squashed, when along came a prison guard with a German prisoner of war who straightened it out for me. From that school I went to the village school opposite a pub called the White Horse until I was 10, then I went to Vinters Park. The school was old army huts and was part of East Borough School in Union Street, Maidstone. While at that tender age I worked 15 hours a week for 1 shilling an hour on a farm called Bridge Farm up Watery Lane. It was owned by Frank Williams who lived at Weavering Street. While at Bearsted school I had got into trouble with a teacher called Mrs Edwards and she grabbed a handful of my hair and shook my head to and fro. Unbeknown to me a lump of hair came out as big as half a crown, so when I went home my dad was cutting up meat and me being very young and small he could see on top of my head. He called out "Edie" to my mum, she came and they decided to take me to the doctors. After he had a look he said, "Because he had his tonsils out a few weeks ago, it is the shock coming out", and gave them a bottle of Metho in a blue fluted bottle to dab on to my head. My dad never ever knew the truth about that episode. Later dad bought an Austin 8 van and for some reason it was parked at a garage owned by Dick Thorp, between the shop and the school. Dad said "Go up and shut the windows in the van", so when I got there I could see two bottles on the seat, remember at this time lemonade was yellow and all the fancy drinks were not heard of. So I took a mouthful from both bottles. When I got home I asked "What was in those bottles?" Dad replied "antifreeze". So I went and sat on the toilet for ages thinking I was going to die, but I still never let on to dad. Had I died it would have been a mystery. At one time I was in the church choir, as we got access to the top of the church. I was also in the Scarlet Pimpernels scouts. Last edited: 16/08/2007 09:38 by Ian Simmons |
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