Part 2) (D.H.Brooksbank (1936)
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Memories Of Old World
Village
Sliding Down
Bannisters
Of Life
By
Dora H. Brooksbank
SLIDING down the bannisters" of
life, we come to pauses which
mean turnings, and very often a
complete change in our outlook
and surroundings.
It was at one of these turnings that my
husband retired from the Army. We
had been married two years, and suffered
constant moves - Aldershot, Shorncliffe,
India. We longed for a settled home,
and decided to live in the country.
Seeing the advertisement of a house
in Nottinghamshire which read attrac-
tively, we went one warm, sunny day
in November to view the place.
Arriving at Newark, where, by the bye,
are tho ruins of a very fine castle - King John
is supposed to have died there after his
adventure in the Wash - we drove for six
miles along a good undulating road; then
turning into a lane leading to the vil1age of
Caunton, we came to the entrance gate of
the Manor.
Driving in, we saw a red brick, squarely built
house, and awaiting us on the doorstep stood a very
tall, well built, elderly man, with a strong, rugged,
clever face and a most charming smile. It was the
Dean of Rochester, famed as Dean Hole, the
Rosarian, but even more for his literary talents,
ready wit, and great personality.
Before going inside, we stood near the porch
looking over the lawns, on which were some fine
trees, towards distant woods, then to the Dutch
garden on our left, which led to ths walled in
rose garden. Over the wall we could see the
church and village, separated from the Manor by
a little stream which must be crossed by a bridge -
a quiet sluggish stream as a rule, but very dif-
ferent in winter time after heavy rains. We then
went indoors to the kitchen garden, stables and
farm buildings. A lovely old world place, a home
to rest in, a garden to dream in.
My husband and I looked at each other and the
thought flashed between us. "Here is the Garden
of Peace that we have been looking for." It all
p!eased us so much we at once decided to rent it,
and here we "paused," spending five very happy
years.
A Surprising Analysis
Previous to taking possession we asked for the
drains to he examined and the water analysed,
to which the Dean gave consent, although quite
certain all were in perfect condition and the
water excellent.
A sample of the water was sent, and the verdict
was that they "Found it a most interesting
specimen. more than 90 per cent. being pure
sewage!" A new well aas sunk, and the s?
of the analysis became a standard joke.
Our arrival was dramatic. Having carefully
arranged for the three vans (from three different
firms) to arrive on different days, they, of
course, all arrived together late one afternoon
in January, just as dusk was settling down, and
night coming on. The first van, finding the?
"turn in" rather awkward went over on
its side, effectively blocking the entrance
The sun was setting, and the lovely crimson
sky promised a frosty night, as we hurriedly
oought a packet of candles at the village shop
but nothing could be done. After releasing
the horses the first van spent tho night on its
side, the other two in the lane, and we at the
hotel in Newark.
We had spent interesting days, visiting old
furniture shops, picking up some quite nice pieces
and very well they looked, especially in the din-
ing-room against a background of silver
curtains and a deep copper coloured carpet. The
room had two very handsome carved mahogany
doors. On the lawn we put up two good-sized
aviaries, and friends gave us some very interesting
birds; in particular, two pairs of Trumpeter Bull-
finohes from the Sahara Desert - their call (can
hardly call it singing) is just like a tiny ?
trumpet - also some Chinese Painted Quail most
fascinating birds. In add1tion we had Golden
Pheasants, Cockatiels, Java Sparrows and Chaf-
finches, and most of them nested. We never lost
any from cold, however severe the Winter.
Although six miles from station and telegraph
offic, we were never dull. We reared pheasants
and partridges on the lawn, and they were so
tame that although, during the summer, they
would wander away to the woods across the
fields, they would come back again confidently
when we whistled, right across the garden to the
house, even on to the window sill to be fed, and
in the Spring some of the hen pheasants always
came and nested in the orchard whero I kept
the chickens, and the dogs never interfered with
them. We each had our dog, buying them as
puppies of six weeks old, my husband a flat
coated retriever, and I an Irish terrier. They
were devoted friends.
Quaint Village Life
During the Spring and Summer we devoted
many hours to work in the rose garden, where
we had some really lovely roses.
We soon settled in our new home, and found
the village life, with its quaint ways, most in-
teresting and a new experience, In a neighbour-
ing v1llage stood the maypole; we in our garden
had the old stocks, brought in from the village
to preserve them from being kocked about by
the children.
The villagers were quick to understand, they
appreciated sympathy and friendliness. Many of
the labourers were only earning 12s.oe 13s. a
week, yet the wives contrived to bring up
large families on it - wonderful!
There were one or two very old people I loved
to visit - quaint, shrewd and often witty. One
dear old lady after a while decided I was to go
and see her when she was dead - "Laid out." Over
and over again she begged me to promise. Of
course I always refused. So one day I asked her
why she was so anxious for me to see her "laid
out," ae when dead she couldn't know whe I
cme. "Oh, but, I should very much enjoying think-
ing about it, and it would be so nice to may my
neighbours jealous."
Queer Tales - But True
Another, a very dirty old woman. lived in a
still dirtier cottage, for which she paid 6d. a
week, and when I went to see her (which was
not often) I used to wish Providence had not
given me a nose. She had a son, a thief by
profession, who, when wanted by the police
would come to the village and hide under his
mother's bed. He never did us any harm, never
burgled anyone in the parish, so we didn't mind
and never told.
At a farm a mile or two away, Some years
previously, when the place was changing hands,
the incoming farmer took over the outgoing man's
wife at a valuation with the other live stock on the
place. I should not have believed it, but an old
friend living in Southwell told me it was abso-
lutely true, and at the time when it happened
she had in her service a young daughter of the
man who sold his wife. As a matter of fact, we
had the reputation of being the wickedest village
in Nottinghamshire.
In another cottage lived a nice old woman
really dreadfully poor, who was having great
difficulty in getting "Parish Relief." Apparently
the relieving officer did not believe she was as
poor as she maintained, because she owned a
family vault. "But," as she logically explained,
"a family vault don't fill your belly." When
given four shillings a week, she made out and
showed me - very neatly wrttten - her weekly
budget.
Dying Gamekeeper's Advice.
We had a very clever young gamekeeper, who
somehow managed to preserve. foxes as well as
the game, and writing of shooting reminds me of
a story the Dean told us. Once when living at
the Manor (he was then vicar of Caunton) a
message came that an old poacher was dying and
would vcry much like to see him.
"Sir, there is one thing I should like to tell
you before I go," the dying man replied.
"Yes," replied the Dean (then Mr. Hole),
quite expecting the old sinner was going to con-
fess to some of his misdeeds.
"Well it's this, sir. I don't mind telling you
now that I am dying. You always shoot the
Park Wood wrong. You will do far better If you
start from the opposite end." The Dean thanked
him, and acted on the advice, which he passed on
to us.
Our first winter was very severe. Being rather
in a hollow and on heavy clay, we registered on
four successive nights, seven degrees below zero.
Averham, a few miles away, also Oxford, regis-
tered the same. The frost continued for some
time, but luckily coal was cheap then, so we
didn't grudge good fires.
(To be Continued).
OUR village had some interest-
ing customs. When our two
children were born, the nurse
was invited on each occasion
to take the baby to call at one
or two farms. Apparently it was a very
ancient custom to present the infant, the
first time it was taken out to pay a visit
at another house, with an egg, a loaf of
bread (or a cake) and some salt, and
these the child received.
The egg was the sacred emblem signifying
the world, as it contains in it the elements of
life. The cake and salt have been used from
ancient days in religious ceremonies and
represent the neccssaries of life. So it was
believed that the giving of these three offer-
ings would be a happy omen to the infant on
first setting out in life, and insure for it a
continual supply. This custom is still prac-
iced in the East.
The mummers used to come and act for us in
the servants' hall on Plough Monday (the first
Monday after Twefth Night) the same queer old
play year after year. As the actors were shy
farm lads and gabbled their words, we could not
always understand what they said, but realised it
might be just as well, for tbe play was distinctly
course at times!
The actors wore high paper caps trimmed with
braid[?] and coloured ribbon, and lots of ribbon of
various colours would round their bodies, and
they carried wooded swords. The play was
called "Alexander and the King of Egypt." The
main[?] characters wer the King, the Prince, St.
George (champion bold and brave), Alexander a
farmer[?] and a doctor. It seemed to be in rhyme
and the players sang a good deal of it. There
was a great deal of fighting. First Alexander
fought St. George, who fell, and the doctor came
and restored him. Then Alexander fought the
King and killed him. When all was over, the
plough boys expected a good supper and money.
There was another play they acted once or
twice, a mock trial of Sir John Barleycorn, but
as we could not hear the words distinctly and
never saw the plays in print, I cannot remem-
ber very much. But it equally meant a good
supper and a gift of money. The first story was
the favourite.
There was another custom Mrs. Hole warned
me to be prepared for; on St. Thomas's Day
the old people came "a-begging."
it was while living in Caunton that an old
clergyman, living two or three miles away, and
"passing rich on £40 a year," told us the real
origin of the Passing Bell, for. like most people.
we always imagined it was sounded to inform
the village that someone had died. Our friend
told me that it dates back quite into the Dark
Ages. The Passing Bell is tolled to warn the
devil not to molest the soul on its journey to the
next world.
Immediately after Michaelmas Day was
"Goose Fair" in Nottingham, and those vil-
lagers who could paid a visit to the fair. The
old carrier told me a story of the origin of its
name, which is as follows:
A farmer, who for some reason or other, proba-
bly because his wife had left him, hated the fair
sex, brought up his three sons in totai seclusion.
They were never allowed to see a woman till
they were grown men. Then he took all three
to the October Fair, and he promised to buy them
each a present. They were astonished at all they
saw. Presently some laughing girls passed by,
and the young men asked what they were. "Oh;'
said the father, rather alarmed at their eager-
ness, those silly things are just geese." All
three at once begged, "Please father buy me a
goose."
February Fill-Dyke
There had been a long, sharp frost, snow
covered the ground when the silver dawn broke
one February morning, revealing as usual a world
of white monotony, but by breakfast time the sky
was dull and overcast. Then, noticing five wild
swans flying into the North, we knew a change
was coming. This was corroborated later in the
morning when removing the ice from a wooden
tub in the stable yard. On putting in some tepid
water, the raven, our pet and a great character
promptly jumped in and had a bath - a sure sign
that rain was imminent. Birds never make a
mistake. then the rain came down and February
justified its reputation of "Fill-dyke." The
Sluggish little stream which separated us from
the village rose rapidly. Returning home about
four o'clock in the afternoon, in the road paasing
our entrance qate we found the water was up to
the axles of the wheels. By six o'clock the water,
had reached the house door-step. It had flooded
the stable yard and garden, lifted a gate off its
hinges and the gate had floated away. Standing
at the open door we looked across a sea of water,
out of which rose the trees, and the tops of the
shrubs.
Completely cut off from the village with onlv
women in the house, my husband and I had to do
the best wc could. Putting on fishing waders
and mackintoshes, we went out into the drench-
ing rain. Passing across the stable yard, which
sloped a away from the house we found the horse
and pony standing patiently, but much be-
wildered, in about two feet of water. They
whinnied gratefully, sniffing at our faces as we
led them out of their loose-boxes, and splashing
through the flood, brought them to the coal-shed,
where there was only an inch or two of water.
Then, whilst my husband fetched some hens and
little chickend and the dogs to safety, I went to
the farm buildings, where the sow was shrieking
with fright, as only a pig can shriek. She was
standing on a mounting block, and when she
heard my voice calling to her, she grunted
excitedly, and tumbling into the water, swam
across the foldyard. She spent the night con-
tentedy in the scullery. It was a pitch dark
night, and icily cold. so after looking into the
fowlhouse, where apparently the birds were all
right on their perches, we went indoors. As a
fact, we found two of the birds drowned the next
morning. |
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