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Swanton Abbott, Church 1901
Swanton Abbott, Church 1901 Ref: 46554
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westwick A memory of Huntworth, Somerset I was born in a farm estate cottage amongst the fields at Westwick. My father had been born in 1919 just up the road on the edge of Swanton in a small cottage , two up,two down , his father had lost a leg in the great war and had been set up as a shoe maker there ,during the fifties we had moved away but even now i think of that little house where my grand mother lived,as home,Dad went to school in a small weatherboard place up near what the locals still called , the high road , or the turnpike, My father alledgedly shot the hands of the school clock, it made a change from poaching! When i was small there was still people getting around with a pony and trap, and horses were still commen, There neighbour was a mister Rump , a shepherd on the estate , The thing that stays with me is the silence, on a sunday ritual visiting nanny, i remember the silence, people could be heard speaking several hundred yards away, indeed most people spoke in whispers, the local saying was that "These walls have ears" and was almost true, the odd motorcycle could be heard up on the "pike"usually a B.S.A. or Norton single, popping away, sometimes a train whistle, but almost nothing else, how times have changed, In my dads youth the road to Nth Walsham went past "the seat"and the road was called "many corners" for obvious reasons, and in winter sometimes almost impassable,as were most of the villages, I remember Mr and Mrs Howlett , a gentleman farmer ,he had the first lovely old Riley car i had seen , Sadly memories are slowly fading.But i still think of the fields of grain and beet , the chickens, wandering free range , and locked in little mobile sheds at night ,The horse and carts spreading the muck from the cows in early spring , clods of it along the laneways, Pheasants and rabbits scattering as i rode along on my bicycle on a sunday morning, the almost total lack of traffic once off the main roads, The smell of a flower garden drifting in the warm air, roses and wallflowers, hollyhocks, and apple and pear trees in spring blossom, and my grandmother leaning over the garden gate waving goodbye, that will always be the westwick of my youthfull memory. Posted: 09/01/2008 04:23 by First Name Last Name |
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Canon Peter Nicholson A memory of North Walsham, Norfolk I was a pupil at the Paston Grammar School from 1936-42. It was a wonderful school where boys from all over N.E. Norfolk made many friends so that when they left school and started work in the area, they co-operated in so many ways. Major Percy Pickford D.S.O., M.C. (Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry) was the headmaster. He had served with great distinction in the First World War and was very keen that we should all join the school Cadet Corps. During the war, the East Lancashire Regiment drilled in the playground and we all stood around and watched and looked forward to the day when we could join the Forces. On the playing field, the soldiers would carry out signalling practice with Aldis lamps so I leaned the Morse Code so I could note down what they were saying. This served me in good stead when at seventeen and a half I joined the Royal Corps of Signals and served in Italy and India. I bought my first foreign stamp album at Leeders shop for the princely sum of one shilling. I think stamp hinges were a penny a packet. We had some very good teachers: Mr P. B. Birkinshaw gave us a solid grounding in English; Mr N. S. Lachlan taught Latin; Mr Norman Cutting, organist of Cromer Parish Church, taught music; Mr S. G. Hare taught science; Mr S. Hare taught History and Geography and always gave a special lecture on Empire Day; Miss Emma Limb taught art; Mr C. G. V. Couper taught History and P.T. and Captain Brown taught wood and metalwork; Mr H. Grantham-Hill taught Maths. During the war three senior boys took turns to firewatch each night. We would sit in our two-hour shift in the staff room window and watch for "enemy action" One evening, a farmer's son was on duty with me. He brought in several eggs from the farm and so we crept down to the science laboratory late in the evening and started to cook the eggs over a bunsen burner. The door opened after a while and Mrs Pickford walked in and said: "I don't really think you should be doing this in here". We felt sure we would receive the cane from her husband the next day but, no, she did not tell him. However, when I became precentor of Peterborough Cathedral, a party of ladies from Norfolk came for a tour of the cathedral and the Dean told me that as I, too, came from Norfolk, I had better take them round. The last lady through the door was none other than Mrs Pickford. She recognised me at once and said "I'm sure they don't let you fry eggs in here". Happy, happy days. Thank you! North Walsham. Last edited: 18/06/2008 11:07 by First Name Last Name |
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 Belaugh, "John Barley Corn" children c1930 (ref: b495003) |
Year: 1920s
Old John Barley Corn.... A memory of Belaugh, Norfolk Known as the 'John Barley Corn' children because at the Staithe where they all used to play, there is an inlet. In the 1920s, when boats came past, the children would sing 'Old John Barley Corn if you throw us a penny we will sing you a song'. Sometimes handfuls of pennies would be thrown. The people on one boat 'Nelson' were always quite generous. It was quite a scramble to each get a couple of pennies. Posted: 06/04/2006 16:20 by The Frith Memory Archivist |
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Year: 1953
A R Taylor A memory of Hoveton, Norfolk I left school at 15 in 1953, and like many others of my age went to work at A R Taylors timber merchants. I first worked at the Tunstead road site. It was hard work and unlike today there was no such thing as a contract of employment so you did whatever anyone who was older than you told you to do. I remember one of my jobs was to go around every morning to take orders from the workers for cigarettes, tobacco and sweets and such and then in all weathers cycle into the village and purchase the orders. I remember Alfie Ransom asking me to go to the Ironmongers and get him a left handed hammer and a bubble for his spirit level. Good one Alfie. It took me a little while to work out that I could make a few pence a day by adding a little bit to the daily bill. I don't know if the men knew what I was doing and dread to think what they would have done if they had found out. Ah! fond memories. Last edited: 20/06/2006 09:53 by Calvin Simper |
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Year: 1943
Evacuee A memory of Huntworth, Somerset I have strong memories of Barton Turf as a 5year old boy from London's East End. I was shipped to Bartom Turf to escape the Blitz after our house in Vallance Road was demolished by a bomb. My dad was on active service in the army and my mum stayed with her parents. I arrived at a large assemby hall to be selected by my new family (name of Shepherd). I came back to London at war's end totally traumatised as I could not understand why I had been sent away on my own. I am now 71 and still have dreams of this period. Last edited: 25/03/2008 09:24 by Allan Sanders |
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