Growing Up In West Herrington

A Memory of West Herrington.

I moved to West Herrington village in 1953 as a baby, along with my older sister and parents into a new house in St Cuthberts Road and this was to stay the family home until my mother died in March 2007. My brother was born here in 1954 and my youngest sister in 1959. Although this was a 2-bedroomed house, we managed. The village was the most fantastic place to grow up: it was a close-knit community and a very safe place to be. As a child the farm cottages at the top of the village were still there and we spent a lot of time in with the animals although we were always very aware and scared of Charlie the Bull). Our milk was delivered by the horse and cart in the early days and the dray bringing the beer to the Shoulder of Mutton was also horse-drawn. Once a month on the first Thursday (I think) St Cuthberts church was open for a morning holy communion and although we were too young to attend we often had a little visit inside a couple of days before as it was being cleaned in preparation for the sevice... it was a sad day when the church was demolished .. but many people in the village ended up with little mementoes either in their house or in the garden! We all attended Sunday School in the church rooms of St Aidans church and a lot of us sang in the church choir. For some reason or other the village always got the snow really badly (and still does) and we used to cut into the snow down the "mile bank" and make igloos that lasted for weeks (or so it seemed). During the snow we would spend ages sledging down Herrington hill, if you were really adventurous you could go from the top... we liked the hill to ourselves and when we saw the East Herrington lot coming we would make a pile of snowballs ready to start a snowball fight to keep them at bay... we were very territorial and stuck together. Another event was bonfire night when we made a huge bonfire "down the bogs" and we always had to keep guard on it as the "kids from Farringdon" would come along and try and light it early but we used to see them coming along the battery road, hide in the churchyard and pelt them with stones as they got closer. We also knew we were safe as they were too frightened to venture through the churchyard after dark but that never bothered us as we spent hours upon hours playing "pusshy down" in the ivy there as it was always a comfortable landing. We were never disrespectful of the churchyard and my friend and I used to think of it as our special garden and always made sure the glass chippings on the graves were neatly arranged and we picked wild flowers and took them to some graves to make them look pretty. The only negative time there was when a policeman arrived at our house enquiring about my brother who at the time was about 4 or 5... he had been playing in the churchyard with his little friend and when a funeral had arrived unfortunately the person couldn't be buried... someone had filled the grave in!! He thought he was being helpful !! As the village was surrounded by fields growing potatoes and turnips they were always available especially for halloween lanterns. We thought nothing about going up the woods to make a camp but very rarely ventured over to the Foxcover as crossing some of the fields was hazadous as the big field that lay behind the pub and Manor Grove was very boggy but a great place to catch tadpoles! The pub itself was always very quiet and the highlight was the annual leek show. In later years a marquee was erected for that and we were allowed to stay in it till late to guard it. On the green we would rollerskate or cycle around and around the triangle, play leap frog and "runny" up the pillars, we walked the pigsty pointed wall and often fell in and got chased by the sows. It was nothing unusual to have a huge cricket match on the green that lasted all day into dusk with the women of the village rustling up refreshments. Our evenings we spent playing "blockie" at the lampost across from the pub, climbing the big tree in the carpark into the crows nest and being chased for hiding in the anderson shelter in one of the gardens...all good harmless fun. We spent hours over the October holidays blackberry picking down the pit road returning home with purple stained fingers and not caring! During my teenage years while at college I worked "across the road"in the pub on an evening where I met great peple whom I have continued to stay friends with and the atmosphere was always lively in there especially when the A19 was being built and the Irish workers were living in caravans at the top of the village and came in to spend their wages on a Friday night!!! West Herrington has changed, there are new houses,the pub is busier and you can even have a meal in the old pigsty and there is a roundabout as you enter the village...whatever next?? My brother, sister and myself moved on(my older sister still lives in the village) The farm cottages have gone, the church has gone, the cottage next to the lodge has gone, my mam and dad have gone and soon their house is to be sold on but my memories live on with great affection.I do remember the names of the people I share my memories with but have chosen to keep their names to myself. Hopefully West Herrington (or the stackyard as it is known locally) we continue to be a happy, safe, quiet, friendly community.