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Wherwell

Wherwell photos

Displaying the first of 12 old photos of Wherwell.   View all Wherwell photos

12
View all 12 photos of Wherwell

Wherwell maps

Historic maps of Wherwell and the local area, hand-drawn by Ordnance Survey and Samuel Lewis.   View all Wherwell maps

Wherwell area books

Displaying 1 of 24 books about Wherwell and the local area.   View all books for this area

Memories of Wherwell

Wherwell memories
Read and share Wherwell memories

Displaying a selection of personal memories of Wherwell.
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Sweet Shop Run...

Village 1901, Wherwell
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this street is the scene of many a frantic cycle to the sweet shop (aka village shop) at the bottom of the hill, eager to hand over our week's pocket money to Mr Knight who ran the shop.

This view is roughly from the pub on the corner (the red lion?), that was run by a landlord that strangely became rather irate when his triumph stag was pelted with mud balls from a strategically positioned hedge. happy days...

Hampshire memories

Paddling And Picnics

The Common c1965, Chilbolton
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The water meadows have many happy memories. We bought the wired stopper Corona Lemonade in the village shop run at that time by Mrs Hunt. This was carefully carried to the stream and placed in it where the little 'island' is on the left of the picture. It was always crowded on the bank with people having picnics, children paddling in the very clear waters. On the other side of the bridge you could get down a slope where there were tiddlers to be caught in a jam jar. Most of the land was very marshy and we had to keep to the main paths or we would get wet feet. I believe the water table is much lower now. If you went over the bridge towards the long bridge there was a deeper bit of river where teenagers could swim and a concrete block which had at sometime held a small diving board. From the recreation ground there was always lovers... Read more

Drove Road

Village Entrance 1951, Chilbolton
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In the 40's and early 50's the Goodland family lived in one of the pair; with their son Norman, and during the war a boy called, I think, John Hunt lived in the other. No relation to the Hunt family who ran the Post Office and shop, and had a son called Bruce (nic name Rooster). This bus stop was just far emough from Wherwell School (run by the fierce Miss Strugnel) to qualify for a school bus pass, though we often walked to school, via road and foot path, from age 5 or so. Just over the road was a cottage where buses stopped to leave parcels, and sold newspapers. It burnt down during the war, exposing the original hurdle and wattle construction.

Opposite The Bus Stop

Village Entrance 1951, Chilbolton
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This lovely cottage in the village street at the bottom of Drove Road was where locals could leave their bicyles while going to school or on the bus. Unfortunately it was 'modernised', most probably in the 1960's, and is now unreconisable.

Age Old Custom?

St Peter's Church 1899, Lower Clatford
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Is this the church where brides 3/4 length wedding gloves were hung from the rafters till they rotted off? Upper Clatford snobs born in a bucket christened in a tub!

Village Days

I was born in Upper Clatford in 1945. I have fond memories the good and bad times. I went to the local school where we would draw on slates with chalks. I used to live in cottages now pulled down. There was a well at the bottom of the path where I drew water in a wooden bucket. I had a dog, Tiny was his name. My friends and myself often went to play in the old chalk pit. I was brought up in a family by my mother, May. Sister Dot, father John and myself, Maurice Owen. If anyone has any memories of my family please contact me on: maurice-66@mail.com.

On Parade

March 1954. I had been in the RE's 10 months when I first set eyes on the transit camp in Barton Stacey better known as Barton Stalag. I was sent there on transit for Korea along with another half a troop ship load of squadies. I remember a Sergeant Major who lived there and had a wooden bungalow with what seemed umpteen kids and was in charge of our draft. For some unknown reason we would parade each morning on the concrete paths around our huts and in front of his bungalow and not on that huge square for some unknown reason. He would carry a large stick this a big knob on the end which he used to demonstrate a point when telling us some of the type of women we might encounter on our travels.
I remember many guard duties there walking round the camp thorughout the night in the rain or standing in that little sentry-box outside the guardroom.
... Read more

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