Welcome to Memories and Stories
Chapter One. My Early Days.
Chapter Two. The 1940's
Chapter Three. British Boys For British Farms
Chapter Four. National Service
Chapter Five. Wilton Driver
Chapter Six. Meeting Doreen.
Chapter Seven. Local Shunter.
Chapter Eight , Working as a Coach Driver
Chapter Nine. Holidays.
Chapter Ten. Health Warning
Chapter Eleven Rationalisation
Chapter twelve. Incidents or Accidents.?
Chapter Thirteen. Terminal Closure.
Chapter Fourteen. Our Move To Gloucestershire.
Chapter Fifteen. Concord.
Chapter Sixteen. Finally
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British Boys for British Farms.
At first Dad wasn’t very pleased with the idea of me going off to work on a farm but I'd made up my mind. Firstly I had to go away and be trained. The school careers teacher arranged for me to join the YMCA on a scheme called ‘British Boys for British Farms’.
Within days of leaving school I also had to leave home and go to a village called Mappleton, near Hornsea on the east coast of Yorkshire. With a kitbag belonging to my brother Ron holding my few possessions I was accompanied to the bus terminal by my sister Edna. As we waited for the bus Mrs. Graham came along and greeted us with the usual, “Hello” she asked me where I was going with the kitbag, was I leaving home? She smiled and Edna explained that I was going to work on a farm to which she replied, “Oh! But that must be better than going into the steel works”. She must have felt sorry for me for she took a sixpence from her purse and offered it to me as a gesture, a token of good luck.
With very mixed feelings I travelled by train to Hull and once there I had to change trains for Hornsea. I was greeted by a chap with an army type van, a Ford Tilley and he drove me the last four miles. Mappleton was a small village very close to the sea, there were a few houses, a church, a garage, a small shop come post office and a couple of farms. The coast line there was eroding very fast, the villagers reckoned that the original church was two miles out at sea. Large cracks had appeared on the cliff top and within a very short time owing to the water getting into those cracks another section would break off and slide down on to the beach where it was washed away by the sea. The hostel or camp as we called it was very near to the cliff top, it was just a matter of time before the whole site would be taken over by the encroaching waves. When I visited some forty three years later I found very little of the site left despite the Local Council having made vigorous attempts to stop the erosion, costing a very large sum of money.
The camp was made up of a collection of old army billets, for the village of Mappleton was on the edge of a huge military bombing range. On arrival I was taken to the principals office and welcomed in by a rather short,a chap by the name of Mr. Peeble's who explained to me the workings of the hostel.
First my wages, I was told that the camp was run by the Y.M.C.A. And as an association the money they paid was very low, I would receive one shilling (5p.) a week for the first two weeks. I'd be helping around the site and in the kitchen, the gardens, cleaning the living quarters and the surrounding areas etc., generally getting to know the workings of the place and the people who ran it. During this time they'd keep a careful eye on me to see how I'd fit in with the others there. The shilling I received as pocket money soon disappeared, I had to pay three pence a week to the club known as the family circle, a couple of coppers for a bottle of pop and sweets although still on ration from the corner shop would cost another two pennies leaving me with very little to last the rest of the following week. Most of the lads came from homes similar to me with very poor backgrounds, we were all clean in ourselves but we'd very few clothes. The Y.M.C.A. Issued us with some clothing from their store, we thought it was a very unusual colour, dark green. A bottle green with a diamond or triangle of bright yellow material across the back, we laughed and joked as we tried these unusual clothes on. Asking the meaning of the shapes on our backs we were told that they'd been prisoner of war clothing, the B.B.B.F. A charity had been given them as surplus stock from the Government. We were very grateful for them and they certainly kept us warm when we worked in the fields.
Although I was very home sick like most of the other lads I settled as best I could under the circumstances, living away from home and loved ones came as quite a shock. I made a friend of one of the lads called Lee. One day Lee came along and asked me how much pocket money I had left, I told him tuppence, he only had a ha'penny and he wanted to buy some sweets so asked if I'd loan him another ha'penny, I willingly gave him the coin but he said he only wanted a loan and insisted that he would return it the following day. I said there's no rush but he insisted. The following day Lee was to assist the gardener in his duties and he had been weeding a vegetable plot while the gardener watered the plantsin the greenhouse and he'd then gone on to do some other chore.
When Lee finished what he was doing he went in search of more work, he looked into the greenhouse expecting to find the gardener, he noticed that the heater had been turned off so thinking that it had been forgotten he turned it back on again sure in thought that he was doing the right thing. There was a considerable amount of water about and when he turned the switch the tragedy happened. Lee was electrocuted. Nobody missed him for a while as we all thought he was in the garden but eventually the gardener returned to the greenhouse and found him laid there, Dead! It was a terrible shock to us all when we heard the sound of the ambulance and found out that Lee had died. What a loss and he'd been such a good friend to me it took a long time before I got over his death. In the short time I'd known him we'd spent hours climbing the sandy cliffs together, playing on the beach and searching for the nests of the birds that burrowed into the sand, it made it seem as if I'd known him for a long time.
After the first two weeks in the hostel we were each sent to a farm to work during the day. The farmer had to give the lad or lads that worked for him pocket money, two or three shillings (20p. or 30p.) a week. This helped a great deal, I could now afford to go into a trip into Hornsea.
The farm that I and another lad were sent too was a mixed farm, and did a little bit of everything. They had cattle for beef and for milking they also grew cereal for feed stock and the market. Also working on the farm and in charge of us lads was a worker from War-ag he was supposed to keep an eye on us young ones but for some reason he took an instant dislike to me. We had to remove manure from the farmyard to a nearby field then stack it in a tidy heap. This chap drove the tractor and cart, he'd never allow me to ride on the vehicle and took great pleasure in goading me. As soon as I had the manure stacked he would push it over for me to rebuild. I know that sounds silly now, but as a young lad I felt I was being insulted by this bully, as soon as I rebuilt the stack of manure he'd come along with the other lad and laugh and joke at my expense. I soon found that my patience was wearing thin and after the third time of rebuilding the manure stack I turned on him and said, “No, rebuild it yourself”. His response was to order me to rebuild the stack again but I replied by raising my fork and pointing it at him. He threaten me with a good hiding but I held on to the fork and he could see that I didn't intend to back down. I meant business. Someone was going to get hurt and it could quite possibly be him. At that he turned away, picked up his fork and said to the other lad who was looking very frightened, “come on you, you lazy......... Help me to build this heap of........... Up”. When he'd finished he apologized to me knowing that I could have reported him. He asked me not to say anything about what had happened. Although I accepted his apology I could never trust him or make a friend of him and for the rest of that day he was most helpful. I don’t know whether the other lad had told anyone back at the hostel or whether someone had been watching us but the next day I was asked to do the chores around the farm buildings. I helped the farmer’s wife to hang a very large carpet on to the clothes line and beat the dust from it, then I cut the lawns. There was no sign of the chap from War-ag. A couple of days later I was transferred to another farm, in the village of Mappleton. |
Mr Basham.
 Farmer Basham
This farmer was a very friendly man although much older than the previous fellow I'd worked for. He was called Mr. Basham and his cool blue eyes gave the impression that he was always ready to break into a smile. He always took everything in his stride. “Come on son” he greeted me “I’ll introduce you to Harry he's the other lad we have helping here”. I followed him into the stock yard where a lad a little older than me was forking hay into a rack for the beef cattle to feed on. “Harry this is the young lad who's going to help us around the farm” and at that he turned and carried on with what he’d been doing before I turned up. This left me in the stock yard with about forty very large cows milling around, I just stood there afraid to move, Harry could see my problem. “Come over here” he shouted above the bellowing of the cattle. He realized that I didn’t dare move so he made his way over towards me gently pushing some of the animals out of the way, he squeezed through to where I was standing. “Come on” he said, “I used to be just the same as you a couple of weeks ago but you'll soon find that these animals are very tame”. I stuck very close to him while we made our way back through the beasts. Harry treated it as a big joke. The following day, it was in early April and the weather was fine but cold, I was greeted by Mr. Basham wearing a huge grin on his face, the other lad must have told him about the previous day and how I was afraid of the animals. “Come on George you'll be working with me today there'll be no animals, we're going to drill seeds”. I followed him into the dutch barn, he picked up a large hessian sack. “Here” he said, “help me to fill this sack with straw as you'll need it today”. I took the sack of straw and we crossed the yard to the barn, he opened the double doors. I could see a large red tractor, it had iron spikes on the metal back wheels, it looked rusty old and a little worse for wear. After going through the procedure of checking the fuel, oil and water levels he explained to me the basics of how to start the engine. I noticed it had two fuel tanks, Why is one tank larger than the other I asked? “Well that’s easy” he replied, “One tank is for petrol and the other is for tractor vaporising oil, ‘TVO’ for short. Petrol is needed to start the engine then when the engine has reached a certain temperature it can be switched over to the ‘TVO’, that needs a higher temperature before it will ignite. It's not possible to start the engine the other way round”.
There was no starter motor on the trcator so Mr. Basham demonstrated the use of the starting handle, “You can quite easily break your thumb if you're not careful when trying to revolve the engine. Here have a try” he said with a wry smile on his face. I willingly grasped the handle, put the end into the pulley on the front of the engine and pulled for all I was worth. The compression of the pistons was far too high for me to turn the engine. I pulled and pushed that handle until I was red in the face. “Here let me show you” and with a twinkle in his eye he pushed me to one side, took the handle and with a quick push and pull the engine fired into life. He climbed on to the tractor and still smiling shouted above the noise of the engine, “follow me” and drove off out of the building and by the time I'd caught him up he was reversing towards a four wheeled trailer at the back of the shed. “We need this” he said coupling the drawbar of the trailer to the tractor then again called to me to follow him as he crossed the yard to the granary. I walked into this very dark building it was stacked on one side with a number of large railway sacks full of corn and an unusual looking sack barrow. The handle when turned lifted the heavy sacks to the required height. The sacks were massive, “How much corn does a sack hold I asked” trying to move one along the ground. “We are lucky today” he said jokingly “the corn is barley and that is lighter than wheat, there's fourteen stone in each of these sacks if it had been wheat they'd have weighed in at sixteen stone”. He must have been reading my mind for I was wondering how on earth I could carry one. He got a grip on one of the sacks, dragged it towards the sack barrow then putting both his arms around it and leaning it slightly backwards, he lifted it just off the floor, turned and rested it on the barrow. “Right young man now turn the handle” he said. I struggled with the handle and turned it until the sack of corn was about the height of his back then I stopped for a breather. “Now take hold of the sack he said, lean forward until you can balance it on your back but bend your knees slightly” he said. I tried eagerly to get a grip on that sack but it was far too high for me. He lowered it and I tried again, this time the sack tilted forward and rested on my shoulders. I thought well that’s not too heavy, but then he said lean forward and lift the sack off the barrow. In doing this I then had the full fourteen stone on my back and it felt as though it was trying to push me through the floor. The farmer thought it was a huge joke. “Now walk forward and put the sack on the trailer”. The weight on my shoulders was crushing me, I tried to lift my foot to walk but found it very difficult to move, slowly I staggered towards the trailer which was about fifteen feet away, my legs were starting to buckle beneath me. “Come on you can do it” encouraged the farmer, “Come on you're nearly there” he said. All the time he was watching to ensure that I didn't get hurt. At last I was there I'd managed to get the sack on to the trailer with some help from the farmer of course. I sank down on the steps of the granary, my legs felt like jelly and my heart was thumping as though it was going to burst through my ribs, I was shattered and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was he expecting me to load the rest of the bags on the trailer? He was watching the expressions on my face. “That was a very good try” he said, “I didn’t think I could manage it” I replied. After loading the other bags onto the trailor.He climbed aboard the tractor and I stood on the drawbar holding on as best I could as we bumped out of the yard along the farm track. We approached a gate and I jumped down and opened it, once through it he moved across from where he was sitting and positioned himself on the mud wing of the tractor. He called to me, “Have you ever driven one of these machines?” “No sir” I replied. “Well climb on to the seat and have a go son, don’t be afraid”. I climbed on to the tractor and sat myself on the large metal seat, “Now you see that gate in the far corner of the field” I just nodded, “well drive across towards it. First depress the clutch and select a gear”. I pressed down the clutch pedal and with a lot of grating and grinding I finally selected second gear. “Well done” he said “now gently lift your foot off the clutch pedal” which I did and the tractor jumped forward almost throwing us off. “Careful, careful” he said smiling as he was trying to light his pipe. He settled down drawing heavily on his pipe sending clouds of obnoxious smoke into the air, I set a course for the other side of the field checking the steering every few feet , the tractor was going anywhere but where I wanted it to go. When we arrived I certainly felt great. The field I'd driven across was spring wheat about nine inches tall. “Well, well” said the farmer “I can just about make it out”. I asked, “What’s the matter?” “What did you say your name was?” He asked me. “George” I replied. “I thought so, look back across the field, your steering was so erratic anyone would think you were writing your signature”. Again he was laughing at my expense, nothing malicious but I had the feeling that he'd seen it all before.
We were to sow the next field with corn and he arranged a sack of straw on the back of the tractor and explained what I had to do. Sowing corn seed was a very exacting skill the driver had to make a perfectly straight line down the field drilling the seed. I then had to pull a lever, which dropped a disc on to the soil to mark the next row. To start with this job was very easy but after about an hour or so perched on the back of the tractor with the dust from the seed drills blowing up into my face I started to feel very cold and tired. It was a twenty three acre field and from one end to the other it seemed an eternity, I started to drop off to sleep and could so easily have fallen. He'd shake me when he saw me nodding off and suggested I walk for a while to get the circulation flowing in my limbs again. The drilling went on and on, five o’clock came and it was time for me to go back to the hostel but he asked if I'd stay until the field was finished as there was a possibility of rain over night, tired as I was I agreed to stay.
When we got back to the farm he phoned the hostel to say that I was having my tea with him and his wife and that I'd be back later. We had a wash and went into the kitchen for our meal, I was very nervous but his wife ushered me to the table. Hanging from the ceiling were sides of home cured bacon and hams. Home cured bacon when cut sparkles with the salt that its been cured with particularly when it's cold. I had never seen so much food it reminded me of what I'd seen on the films, the spread was mind boggling, I ate my fill and with the warmth of the big fire dropped off to sleep, the next thing I knew was when I was being shaken as it was time to go back to the hostel.
When I returned to the farm the next morning the weather had changed to heavy rain with a cold biting wind. Mrs. Basham beckoned me to go to the farmhouse. “Come in here” she said walking into the kitchen, “Go and sit by the fire its too wet outside, you won’t be needed, will you help me with the dairy chores?” She handed me a large cup of piping hot tea which I thankfully accepted and thought any inside work would be better than being out in such terrible weather. The fire was a large black leaded range, it had hooks hanging down over the glowing coals. From one of these hung a very large shallow frying pan, its handle looped across the top and inside sizzling away were strips of bacon. It gave off an aroma that was out of this world, my mouth watered at the thought of tasting it! The kitchen door suddenly opened, it was Mr. Basham, “My I know who’s got the best job today” he exclaimed looking across to where I sat, “I suppose we'll have to feed you as well”. He took off his heavy, rain soaked, ex-army great coat which almost reached to his ankles and hung it on a hook near the door. After his coat, off came his wellies which had a good covering of farmyard debris on them. “Just look at the state of my kitchen” cried Mrs. Basham pointing to the area around where he stood, he grinned sheepishly then turned and shrugging his shoulders made his way over to the fire. “Aye you need grin” she said mopping up the mess. After washing her hands she crossed to the table and started to slice a large loaf of white bread, “I do wish Harry would get himself in for he knows the breakfast's ready” she said. She started to remove the bacon from the pan and replaced it with eight eggs, I wondered how many people she was going to feed. Harry entered the kitchen, “Morning Ma”, he said referring to Mrs. Basham, “Don’t tramp any mud across my kitchen” she cried out, “leave your boots by the door”. Mr. Basham got up from the fire and sat at the table, Harry joined him but I remained seated not knowing what to do. “Well young lad I hope you're going to join us” she said looking across at me, “come on don’t be frightened”. She put two eggs on each plate then the bacon, being home cured it looked like strips of fat with a thin layer of lean running through it, the taste was something I'd never experienced before although I did find it salty. I took a piece of bread from the plate, pulled it apart and stuffed a piece into my mouth along with a fork full of bacon, the flavour was beautiful even though it was salty and it didn’t take long before all our plates were clean.
After breakfast Mr. Basham and Harry put on the wet clothes they'd taken off earlier and grudgingly went about their daily tasks. As for me, when Mrs. Basham had washed the dishes I dried them. She then took me into a room at the back of the farm house where various dairy items were stored. She walked over to what looked like a large barrel on a stand, it had a handle and when turned it revolved the barrel. “Do you know what this is?” She asked. “No”, I replied, she explained that it was a butter churn. “I’ll take the stand if you can bring along the barrel son” she said. I set the churn up in the kitchen while Mrs. Basham went to the dairy to collect two buckets of cream. I held the churn while the cream was poured in to it along with a couple of other ingredients. “Right now clamp the lid on tight and start turning the handle, take it easy for it takes some time before it turns in to butter” she explained. I turned and turned the handle for what seemed like an eternity, the cream sloshed backwards and forwards. The Missus during this time was baking pastries for the coming week. I stopped for a rest and she came across wiping her hands on her pinafore. “Well lets see what's happening” she said. She looked through the site glass on the side of the churn and standing up shook her head. “No, its not ready yet try turning the handle for another hundred times”. I turned the handle going on and on and on, ninety eight, ninety nine, a hundred then peered through the sight glass, the butter was starting to form, come and have a look I shouted quick come and have a look. Looking inside the churn the butter had collected in large globules and was floating in a semi-clear liquid. “Pour the liquid off into this bucket, that’s butter milk” she said, “and it can go to the pigs”. She collected the butter and placed it on a large board, added a handful of salt and with both hands and two wooden butter boards she patted and worked it until it was free of liquid then made it up into 1lb. portions. By the time the butter utensils had been cleaned and returned to the dairy it was time for dinner. I sat at the table with Harry and the boss and took a fair bit of ribbing because I’d stayed indoors doing the chores. According to his wife, the boss had promised for a long time that he'd help with this job but had never done so. |
Fred Perk's
 | | Fred Perks (0n the left) came from Middlesbrough, He was one of the lads who joined the BBBF hostel in Easter 1949. Fred was a likeable lad always getting into mischief, And would often disappear for hours.This was a picture we had taken in Hornsea ammusements. A couple of weeks later Fred did one of his dissapearing acts. The hostel staff were worried . The picture was pinned on the notice board with the wording .WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE . Just a bit of fun. |
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Hornsea Mere
 | Fred Perk's and myself on a motorised boat on Hornsea Mere.
In Hornsea the amusements were just starting up again after the war and we spent some time on the motorised boats sailing around the mere, we had our photos taken and really enjoyed ourselves. |
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Farming In 1949
After my eight weeks of training the time came for me to leave the hostel and start work on my first farm. I enjoyed the eight weeks I'd spent at Mappleton and the friendship of the other lads. It was good listening to their stories because we were all from different backgrounds, some far worse than mine , some were from middle class homes. They seemed to put on the airs and graces and expected to be treated differently from the rest of us, but on the whole we all got on very well together.
I had to travel to Northallerton where I was to be met by an agent for the B.B.B.F. Scheme Mr. Pilcher. He welcomed me saying that he had arranged for me to go and work at a Castle. The name Castle conjured up pictures of ramparts and a moat and although I looked out for a castle on my journey I never saw one. Mr. Pilcher stopped the car at the farm, It was on the top of a hill with scenic views to the west looking over towards the Pennine hills. He lead the way to the back of the farm where we met the owner Mr jones, after exchanging greetings he took me into the kitchen and offered me a chair in the corner next to the Aga cooker. Mr. Pilcher after seeing me settled but before leaving said that if I ever needed him in the future I could always get in touch again. He turned and after a few brief words with Mr.Jones went on his way. Mrs. Jones gave me my instructions on the do’s and don’ts. She led the way through a small door in the corner of the kitchen, up the winding wooden staircase to a room above the kitchen, Where there was two beds and pointing to one she said, “That's yours” She then went on to say “you are only allowed in two rooms, one being your bedroom the other the kitchen, on no account must you go in any other room”. I sat on the edge of the bed wondering what I'd let myself in for, had I moved back in time to the days of serfs and masters. |
Milking Time
 | The next morning I was awakened by the daughter of the house crossing my bedroom, she was carrying a ham taking it downstairs for breakfast. Mr. Jones was a man in his seventies and after I’d had my breakfast he took me to a stone building overgrown with ivy. On entering I noticed it had an arched roof, it was the only part of the castle left standing, there were no windows and inside it was dark and eerie. There were five cows tied to the wall, a greyish blue and white cow turned her head in our direction then carried on munching her breakfast of hay. I noticed that one of her horns pointed upwards and the other downwards and it reminded me of the nursery rhyme, the cow with the crumpled horn. “This was once the dungeon of the castle” said Mr Jones. I could imagine it and thought of the men who'd been tied to the rings on the walls. “Have you ever milked a cow?” Asked the old man pointing to the cows tied in their stalls. “No sir” I replied, “well you’ll soon learn” he said sitting down on a three legged stool while placing a bucket between his legs. “This is going to be your daily job, you have the five cows to milk on a daily basis.
Any young heifers that calve, I expect you to help with them and also get the young stock (Meaning day old calves) ready for Darlington market”. He demonstrated to me how to draw milk from the cows udder then offered me the bucket. I'm sure that old cow knew that I was a novice because as soon as I sat down very tentatively beside her she became restless. Slowly I grasped hold of two teats, at that point she decided to move her back end sending me tumbling over backwards. I lost my grip on the bucket between my knees and the contents spilt into the straw. Mr. Jones turned away and I’m sure he was thinking these townies. “Don’t squeeze so hard” he said to me smiling and helped me to my feet. “Try again”. He told me to press my head into the cows side and gently squeeze and pull, a few trickles of milk landed into the bucket. “Good” he said and started to milk the other cows that were waiting their turn, he’d finished all four before my poor attempt at one. However, between getting lashed around the ears with the cow’s dirty tail I did eventually manage to collect half a bucket of milk. |
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A Townie and a Bull
 When the milking was finished the boss told me to clean out the byre and said that he'd be back shortly. He returned after about an hour and said, “Come on son we have business to attend to, let’s go and get the young bull”.
Now as most townies like myself know a bull is or is supposed to be a very fierce animal ,you can imagine what was going through my mind. I didn’t know whether to make a dash for the toilet but then, I didn’t even know where it was so I followed him keeping an eye on the nearest door in case I had to make a run for it. We entered one of the sheds and there stood this black and white animal, no turning back now I thought. “Pass me the halter” said Mr. Jones. “I’ll show you how to put it on Ferdinand, don’t be afraid he's a very quiet animal”. I tried to keep a safe distance and make sure that Mr Jones was between me and the bull but that didn't last , as soon as the halter was over its head he said, “Come on”, and handed me the rope. “You take the front end and I’ll take the rear”. At that he took hold of its tail and we left the shed and set off down the lane, the bull seemed to be used to the walk and knew what was going to happen. (I DID NOT) We walked slowly along the lane and I was still very apprehensive holding on to the front end, I thought we must look a right threesome. A young lad of fifteen and an elderly chap of seventy three.
After about half a mile quietly walking on this warm summers morning, we came to a field where a number of young heifers ( unmarried cows) grazed, the farmer let the tail go, and came to the head of the bull and said, “Don’t you let go, else we will be in trouble, I will open the gate”. It was then that the bull started to get restless at all the young hiefers grazing in the field. He started bellowing to the cows and they in their curious way started to run forward as if to greet him. By this time Mr jones could see that I was really worried so he said, “don’t let go of the rope or we'll never catch him”. He took hold of the halter and led the young bull into the herd of cows, singling one out he offered the bull to her and after a few minutes the bull and heifer had let nature take its course. One happy bull, one happy heifer, one happy farmer and one very very pleased young lad content in the knowledge that all bulls are not so vicious after all.
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The Stinking Loo.
It was my second day at the Castle and I'd still not found the toilet, I asked where it was. The old man smiling said, “It’s in the farm yard” but I'd already looked round all the buildings and hadn't found it. Later that day after lunch I had to help with a very unpleasant task Mr Jones took me to a shed near the house, he opened the door and inside was a box, the lid covered two round holes, this was the loo, at last I’d found it. “This place is not for you its for the ladies” he said, “and on no account are you to use it”. Green as I was I asked where's ours? He just grunted and said “over there in the yard”. What a place, no electricity, no running water, no gas and no toilet! He removed the front off the box and inside was a metal container with two handles, “get hold of it” he said, I dragged it out but it was too heavy for me so he took the other handle and we carried the foul smelling contents and tipped them on to the manure heap, it turned my stomach and for the rest of the day I could smell it. I decided later in the day I'd get cleaned up and have a bath so when I was having my tea I asked if I could use the bathroom but was told no. “How do I get a bath” I asked? Mrs. Jones said, “Have your tea and I'll explain later”. |
My Bath Time.
She took me to the wash house where there was a stone sink, a water pump and a brick boiler similar to that which Uncle Dick used to boil pig swill in, there was also a wooden bucket and a tub. “Right” she said, “Your bath, get the bucket and fill it from the pump, fill the copper with the water, put some kindling in the fire hole and light it and when the water's hot enough transfer it to the tub. Make sure you leave the washhouse clean when you've finished”. I picked up the wooden pail which was very heavy and set it down below the spout of the pump, I worked the handle up and down, up and down but nothing happened. I went to ask for help but the lady in a terse voice told me that the only way I could draw water from the well was to prime the pump first, pour a small amount of water into the pump to cause a suction. I filled the pail a number of times and emptied it into the boiler, nothing seemed to be going right for me. I tried to light the fire but the wood was damp, I pushed more paper into the hole and tried to get it going by wafting a piece of card to cause a draught but it didn’t seem to work. Very frustrated I found a tin with some paraffin in it and threw a small amount of that onto the fire, it only made a lot of smoke but no flames. I bent down to have another go at blowing it as that had always worked when I was younger and playing in the woods, lighting fires to roast tatties. I was at the point of giving up when I decided to have one more try, one more blow. Holding my head as near to the fire as I dared I blew hard and whoosh, the paraffin ignited sending a large flame out of the stoke hole, it singed the hairs on my face and burnt my bottom lip. I shot backwards across the shed in total disbelieve, what a stupid thing to do. I still bare the mark on my lip to this day. It made me realise just how dangerous ‘Fire’ can be, I learned to respect it and treat it with caution.
My moral by this time was very low and I thought of home, although we'd always struggled to make ends meet it was never as bad as this. We did have a proper bath to keep ourselves clean even if at times two or three of us used the same water one after the other, we ate together, helped with each others problems and there were many of those. Anything seemed better than this lonely life. When the water was heated I filled the tub, undressed and wallowed in the hot soapy water for a good hour with my knees almost up to my chin. Sitting bathing in a wooden tub was an experience I would remember for a very long time. |
A lonely life.
After my unusual bath I took a walk along the lane to decide whether I was going to pack up and leave or stick it out. I met one of my friends from school and he told me he was working on the next farm, we discussed how we felt about being away from home and working in the strange environment of a farm. It turned out he was just as unhappy as I was if not worse. The folk he worked for were just as strict and he wasn’t even allowed any time off, He was allowed to eat his meals in the kitchen with them but had to sit in a corner at a separate table and he wasn’t given the same food as they had. He felt so alone and dejected that he was trying to decide whether to move on to another farm or go home.
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The ukrainain.
Four or five other men worked at the Castle, two of them were from the War ag Hostel in Brompton. I think they were displaced or homeless men from the war. They hated working at the castle but felt grateful to have work and the hostel was a dry and comfortable place to rest. One said that he had a little bit of beer money each weekend and what more could he expect? Another man was a refugee from the Ukraine, he was a very big man called Basil Sekoria, he had a very large neck like a bull but was a placid fellow, quite friendly and although he spoke very little English we could communicate quite well. He'd make little jokes about my prisoner of war clothing and asked if I was a prisoner and had I got the outfit from the Boss. I used to lark with him and told him that one day I'd get my own back on him, that proved to be much sooner than I'd expected.
It was my job to collect the morning allowances from the farm and take them to the men in the fields, this day I went to the farmhouse and sat waiting in the kitchen for the food. The daughter was to make up the sandwiches and she took a large cheese off the shelf and unwrapped the muslin cover, she called her mother to come and have a look at it. Mrs. Jones frowned and said, “Oh, it'll be alright a few of them wont do any harm”. I picked up the basket with the sandwiches and the can of tea and set off for the field in which Basil was working, before I got there my curiosity got the better of me so I stopped and lifted the cover, I opened the slices of bread and found cheese but also live maggots. Basil was sitting in the hedge smoking his pipe and a smile came across his face as he saw me with the basket. “Come and sit over here on the bank side” he said. I started to take out his share of the food. “What have you got in there?” He asked, “Cheese and something” I replied and watched him as he took a bite of the sandwich. “I really like cheese, why don’t you eat yours?” He asked in broken English. “Oh I’m not very hungry” I said looking at the sandwich and laughing. “You can have mine”. He looked at me, then at the sandwich he was holding, he opened it and saw what was in the cheese. “You little swine” he said making a grab at me but I was one step ahead of him making a beeline for safety. I put a fair distance between us and then turned back to explain that I hadn’t put the cheese in the sandwiches. “Come on back” he said as he took the cheese out and just ate the bread, “the joke’s on me today”. After his snack he got on with his job of hoeing swedes.
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Threshing Day.
 I was told to get a good nights rest as there were four stacks of corn to be thrashed and it was very hard work.
Extra help was always required and a crew with threshing machine turned up.
Next morning by the time we arrived at the field the machines were already set up ready to start, the threshing team moved from farm to farm and had a limited time at each place. It was all very well organised. There were eight to ten workers each with their own task. Two men on top of the stack fed the two men on top of the machine with the sheaves of corn, they passed them to another chap who cut the bands and fed it evenly into the machine. Out of one end of the thresher came graded corn corn was filled into sacks and taken to the granary. The waste straw passed out at the other end of the thresher on to a baling machine and one person stacked the bales. The dust and chaff blowing from the huge machine was deposited onto an open sack and then removed away from the machine. I was given this job to do. It wasn’t too bad on the first stack , that was wheat but when they went on to thrash a stack of beans the wind had got up and it blew the chaff and black dust everywhere, in my eyes, nose and mouth. I was coughing up the black particles and even a handkerchief over my nose was useless. I was in difficulties as the heap of waste chaff got bigger and closer to the machine, it would soon clog the outlet.
Basil who'd been carrying the bags of corn stopped and gave me a hand and together we managed to clear the chaff before the waste outlet clogged. I felt and looked like a coal miner.
That night I filled the wash tub to overflowing put in some washing powder to soften the water and soaked my aching body. Scrubbed clean I felt like a new person, really shattered, but clean.The castle like most castles was on a hill and from it there were the most beautiful views across the Pennines. I enjoyed walking around the fields and watching the rabbits playing.
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Rabbits
Rabbits there were hundreds of them, the disease myxomatosis had not reached this country at that time.
On a Saturday afternoon I'd go with Mick, Mr Jones son shooting rabbits. Walking along we'd disturb the rabbits from the tufts of grass and once they were on the run they became easy target to shoot and killed. On Saturday evenings I was allowed to go into Northallerton but even though I was among crowds of people and many of the men who I had seen working on the farm. I still missed home, I was really home sick. I went to the pictures and had fish and chips before trying to catch the bus back, sometimes I'd have missed it and then I was in trouble unless I could find one of the men from the War ag who'd be willing to give me a lift back, it was usually in a van that he'd taken from the hostel unofficially.
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Cargo Fleet Steel Works
My wage at the castle was one pound five shillings a week and this made it possible for me to go home every third weekend. After six months I decided that I'd had enough so I gave in my notice and went home.
The following week I took a job at Cargo Fleet in the Steel Works driving a crane. The lad who usually did the job had broken his arm and I was to take his place. The crane I was to work on was known as a grab crane, it was about forty feet in the air and ran in front of the mill boilers. My task was to drive the crane along a track and check how much coal was needed in each of the bunkers below. Depending on whether the boilers were using waste gas from the blast furnace or coal from the bunkers determined the amount of coal required each day. It was a very simple job and some days it only took ten minutes but on others a couple of hours. Most days there would be nothing to do and I found it very boring. To go to work and just sit in a cabin with a number of other men all day waiting for the time to pass wasn't my idea of a job. The crane was very old and draughty and it often broke down then the electrician would have to be called. There was an old man whose job it was to call someone for me, he emptied railway wagons laden with coal into a pit for me to remove, he was a nice old man but very deaf so he'd often look up towards me to see if I was alright. The crane did occasionally break down and I'd have difficulty in attracting his attention, it was no good shouting to him the noise from the boilers was so very noisy it was impossible to hear over them so I'd take the fire extinguisher and squirt it at him, he'd then send someone to carry out the repairs. If it was raining I had to just sit and wait for someone to realise that I was in trouble. After about three months the other lad returned and a problem arose as to who should do the job.The foreman told me to carry on but the other lad wanted his job back which was only fair. I said I'd leave but they didn’t want me to do that so a decision was made. I was to do the work one day and the other lad was to do it the next. This went on for some time, stupid as it was and it became even more boring so I asked for a move. The condition of the crane was deteriorating and it kept breaking down more often, I was always waiting for it to be repaired so having watched the electrician make the repairs to the motor I decided I'd have a go myself. It really was a stupid thing to do and very dangerous.
A week or so later the foreman approached me and offered me a job on the coke-ovens, he said it wasn’t a very good job so if I wished I could stay where I was until other work came along. At home that night I told Dad about it and he explained to me what the work entailed. I'd be on the top of the coke-ovens and the job was to release the coal that had baked on the sides of the ovens, it would be very hot and dirty and there would be a lot of fumes to contend with. He said that he'd never consider work of that nature and advised me not to even think of it so the following day I went into work and handed in my notice. |
I Go Back To Farming.
I contacted the agent acting on behalf of the Y.M.C.A. regarding work back on the land and was offered a job at a small village near Bedale, I could start as soon as possible, the next day in fact. When I arrived at the agents office the farmer was already there so we shook hands and exchanged greetings. He was quite a young man about in his thirties, he had a thin clean shaven face apart from the tufts of hair high on his cheek bones that he never shaved off, he wore a flat cap and a shirt without a collar and this was held together with a brass collar stud. He wore a decent jacket and cord trousers but his footwear was most unusual, he wore wellingtons with their soles cut away over his boots, they'd been brushed with a yard brush to remove the farmyard debris Mr Broadstone turned to me and said, “I'm told you weren't very happy at the last farm you were on son, why was that?” “Oh, there was a number of reasons” I replied. “Never mind, I understand that one of your reasons was loneliness, if you come to work for me you'll be treated as one of the family. I can pay you £1.10 shillings a week plus your lodge and when I can afford more money I'll increase your wage. What do you think?” I thought £1.10 shillings isn't much, not nearly as good as the steel works. I know the work will be harder, cold and dirty but at least I’ll not be breathing in the fumes of the mill boilers like my last job so I said, “OK, I'll try it”. The farmer's name was Fred and he said, “You'll be alright with us George”.
He signed the piece of paper on the agents desk and after shaking his hand he turned and said “Come on George there's milking to be done lets go”. Once outside he pointed to a shiny black Rover car and said, “that’s mine” then walked across and climbed in.
On the journey to the farm he pointed out other farms and told me the names of the farmers that owned them. When we arrived at Bedale as we bumped across the rough railway crossing he said, “Look that’s the goods yard, we'll be returning tomorrow to collect some coal”. The road started to get narrower, we twisted and turned until we came to a stop at a gate, the entrance to the farm. I got out and opened the gate and looked down the rough track to the group of buildings which were built of a mixture of brick and stone, the farmhouse was attached and covered in ivy. Fred drove the car through the gate and I closed it behind us. I was feeling very apprehensive as we entered the house by the kitchen, it was hung with the usual sides of home cured bacon and ham, the fire range, I think it was known as a ‘Yorkshire’ range was very highly polished with black lead, it had metal hooks hanging down over the heated coals where various pans could be hung to cook food. On the left of the fire was the oven for baking and the right hand side was where the water was heated. Covering most of the floor was a large ‘hooky’ mat made from old cast off clothing cut into strips about three inches long, doubled and hooked through a piece of hessian or sack cloth, most of the materials were dark colours, browns, blacks and dark blues.
Sitting in an old armchair darning socks was Fred’s wife. “Come on in” she said “sit down there by the fire”. “Well George, meet the wife Marjorie, and this is Alan and Sylvia” he said, “Marjorie will show you to your room while I see to the animals”. Mrs. Broadstone got up from her chair, walked across the room and opened the door leading to the stairs, “Right lad go on up the stairs your room is the first door on the left”. As I entered the small room I noticed how clean everything was and how white the sheets on the bed were. Beside the bed there was a chest of drawers and a small piece of carpet on the floor but that was all. I sat on the bed and looked through the window across towards the Hambleton Hills, the sight was very bleak as there were no leaves on the trees and most of the fields had been ploughed , it was winter.
I put on my working clothes and returned downstairs. Mrs. Broadstone held out a lighted ‘hurricane’ lamp and said, “Here take this you'll need it, we have no electric here. You'll find Fred feeding the stock in one of the buildings”. It was now dark and very cold, there was a biting wind lifting the wisps of straw and turning them into mini whirling currents. I tucked the bottom of my trousers into my socks thinking of rats that could be scurrying about and set off down the yard, I passed the dutch barn that was full of the harvest that had been collected earlier in the summer. I could hear the sound of an engine running in one of the buildings. Opening a door I found myself in a very dark passage, there was a dim light glowing at the far end so I headed towards it.
Fred suddenly appeared and he thought it rather amusing that he'd startled me, “Ah, I see you've found me” he shouted above the noise of the engine. The engine was driving a machine for shredding turnips and mangols, for cattle feed, and nearby was a heap of unchopped mangols. I picked up a fork and started to feed them into the machine, Fred placed an empty skip underneath and swinging the full one on to his shoulder he turned and disappeared into the darkness
On completing that job we set about milking the cows. “Have you done any milking George?” Fred asked, “Only hand milking” I replied. “Good here's a bucket you can strip the remaining milk from the cows that I've used the machine on”. The milking took about an hour then we returned to the house for tea, I thought that wasn’t too bad for a start.
As Fred washed his hands he was smiling to himself and turning to me said, ”I see you tucked your trousers into your socks”. “Yes” I replied “I was thinking of rats”. “Aye” said Fred. “My brother came to see us a while back and after having tea and a chat we went round the buildings to look at the stock, all went well until he entered one of the loose boxes, then he froze and said, “Oh my God”. He grasped his side just above his waist, his face was ashen. “What’s wrong?” I shouted, “Shssss wait” he replied and stood there for a long time clutching the top of his trousers. “Right” he said and slowly releasing his grip he shook his leg vigorously. Out from the bottom of his trouser dropped a dead rat.
All my brother could say was, “It was a good job I had my Long Johns on, I couldn’t let go until I was sure it was dead”.
We had a good meal and by nine o’clock I was in bed.
It was six thirty the following morning when I was wakened by a tapping on my bedroom door. “It’s time to get up George” A voice called quietly not wanting to waken the children “Fred’s already gone down”. I quickly dressed and went down into the kitchen, the stone sink with one tap didn’t look very inviting however I rolled up my sleeves, turned in my collar, turned on the tap and quickly swilled my face, by was that water cold? I swear one degree colder and it would have frozen, it was a real morning wakener. Fred had started the morning milking by the time I arrived and he had quite a smile on his face when I mentioned about the cold water. |
Coal From Bedale Coal Yard.
We set about the daily milking and foddering of the animals, when completed Fred loaded two eleven gallon cans of milk on to the tractor and took them to the farm gate ready for the dairy wagon to collect. I washed the milking machines and cleaned the dairy then it was time for breakfast. A piece of home cured bacon lay on the table, the white fatty rashers sparkled like flint as Marjorie placed them into the hot pan above the fire, within minutes the breakfast was on the table. After breakfast Fred said to me, “George I want you to take the horse and cart to the Goods Station, where we came past yesterday and start loading it with coal, I have spoken to the goods master and its all arranged, I'll follow down later”. The horse a Clydesdale was a very placid beast of burden as most of those animals are. It stood motionless while I fitted the collar over its head, then the blinkers and finally the harness to take the weight of the cart's shafts. I'd climbed up on to the cart when Marjorie came running from the house calling to me. “Here take this” she said and handed me a heavy military coat, “you'll need it, it's very cold”. “Thanks” I replied. It was only three miles in to town but the journey to the coal yard seemed endless, my fingers were frozen and my rump was sore through sitting on the edge of the cart, although Tom's slow pace was very relaxing. As I entered the coal yard a chap called across to me from the cabin. “Hello there, are you the young lad from Low Barn?” “Yes” I replied, “Ah well, weigh off the horse and cart on the weigh bridge yonder, then across to bay four and load your coal”. The shovel held about a stone of coal and when full it had to be lifted up over the side of the cart. I found this shovelling and swinging quite boring but after about two hours I'd almost filled the cart, the shovelling of coal into a large hole at Cargo Fleet now seemed quite easy in comparison. I'd completed the loading and weighing and signed the invoice by the time Fred turned up. “Sorry I got held up” he said, “I’ll see you back home” and off he went.
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General Farm Work.
Any person driving through the country lanes in winter could be forgiven for thinking that farmers have an easy life during the short dark days of winter. Looking across the fields all ploughed ready for spring planting, no cows grazing and the sheep resting behind hedges sheltering from the cold biting winds, but that's not so for the work had to go on. Most farming days started with milking, then we'd have our breakfast and followed on with feeding the animals ( Foddering as the country folk call it). We'd prepare more feed for the animals later, Mangols, turnips, hay and straw. The cow sheds needed cleaning so we'd swill them and lay fresh bedding for the cows to rest on. There was plenty of outside work needed doing such as laying drains and lifting turnips and mangols, these were very cold thankless tasks. To lift these vegetables we used a ‘snagger’, a nine inch blade with a small hook on the end to pierce the turnips, then we could pull them from the frozen ground, the blade we used to cut off the roots and tops. The cuffs of our sleeves and our clothes got very wet and our fingers and hands tingled with the frosted leaves. Overgrown hedges had to be clipped, thinned and laid, to make them a useful barrier. Any land still needing ploughing had to be done in readiness for the spring and there was seed planting. Later each day the milking and feeding had to be repeated. The modern day methods where much of the feeding and milking is carried out by machinery has made a big reduction in the need for farm labour.
I settled down quite well and Fred taught me many things in the two years I was living there, it was a homely place and I was treated well even though my wage only rose to two pounds a week. When Fred and the family visited his parents or brothers farms I was invited to go with them and I could go home to see Dad every fortnight.
I was taught how to drive the tractor and given easy work to start with. Harrowing, breaking the soil down to a fine tilth ready for sowing the seeds. Ploughing, seed drilling, cutting the long grass to make hay and waiting a couple of days for it to dry then turning it again to dry the other side. We heaped it into what was called ‘hay cocks’ and after drying for a few more days we'd collected it and take it to the yard to be stacked. We had to keep a close eye on the hay stacks for fear of overheating as fire could occur due to internal combustion, usually caused by the hay having been stacked before it was completely cured (dry).
I also learned how to rear calves. Fred kept a record of the gestation of each cow so that he knew when to expect her to calf or go into labour for many animals needed a little help. As soon as the calf showed its nose and front hooves to the world we'd attach a thin rope to them, then as the animal strained, we'd pull, so helping to ease the calf out with the minimum of effort to the cow. It wasn’t a very pleasant sight but we were relieved when all went well and we had a good healthy calf. If it was a bull calf it would be taken to market and sold to a beef rearing farmer, if it was a heifer it was kept to increase the herd.
I went along with the family one July evening to pay a visit to Freds brothers Charles and Richard near Thirsk. (Herriots Country) Once there the men chatted about every day things on the farm before going around the outbuilding looking at the stock and then the conversation got onto that years crops. “You will have to see the barley in yonder field” said Richard ‘it’s going to be a very good crop’ When we reached the field Fred walked so far into it before pulling off one or to ears of barley. I must have been standing there with a blank expression on my face”Look at this lad” he said as he counted the grains of seed on each ear.”Thirty two seeds per head, “By Richard this is going to be good”.There as a very slight breeze causing the whole field of ripening barley to wave about slightly causing the heads to wisper slightly. I asked how did he know when the corn would be right for harvesting. Fred took a grain and broke it between his teeth and explained how the grain of barley should look.
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Thornton Watlass.
The village was a friendly place. It had a triangular cricket pitch in the centre with a large mature oak tree on the lower side with a road running around the perimiter. I started going into the village for a chat with the other teenagers and joined the football team run by the school headmaster. Ha, ha, me with my two left feet. We competed against the other local village teams, We all enjoyed it and had a good time. We were rubbish as far as scoring goals and usually got beaten ten or twelve goals to nil. If the opposition had one leg tied behind their back they would have still won but having said that it made a good break on a Saturday afternoon.
Apart from playing football I became friendly with a young girl from the village called Margaret. She would come to the farm gate and wait until I'd finished work then usually we'd take a slow walk around the green, just chatting about our families and the usual silly things. On a Saturday night half a dozen of us would go to the pictures in a friends car, I would take Margaret and we’d enjoy the film, then call at the fish and chip shop for supper before going home. |
The Friendly Ferret.
On other occasions Fred would take me with him shooting game or rabbits, he said he'd like a ferret and I knew where I could get one for my Uncle Dick kept a ferret on his allotment to keep away the rats. Now ferrets or polecats as they're sometimes called, can be very dangerous especially if treated cruelly, it's said that if they bite your finger they either cannot or will not let go unless you choke them off.
Uncle Dick’s ferret was very tame, he called it Ferdinand. “Here George” he once said “I'll show you how tame he is” and bending he put the ferret at the bottom of his trouser leg, “go on Ferdinand show him” he said winking at me, “this is my party trick”. The large cream coloured ferret set off on its journey up the inside of his trouser leg, you could see it moving around his waist so he unfastened his belt and it eventually emerged up the back of his neck. “Here you can have him for pound” he said. “I’ve won many a pound with a bet in the pub doing that”. I was glad he let me have it but laughed and said, “I wont be doing any tricks with it, have you a box I could have to carry it back to the farm”, he shook his head. “No, but I have a canvas bag, he'll be alright in there”. I explained that I had to go back on the United bus, and wondered if it would be alright to take him. “Of course it will” he replied. I took him at his word but all the way back Ferdinand made such a noise scratching on the canvas bag, trying to get out ,all the other passengers kept looking up at the parcel shelf wondering what it was all about. Many times I've wondered what would have happened if the ferret had got out, I sold it to Fred for £2 and made a 100% profit.
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Masham Show.
It was a couple of weeks later, time for the Masham show Fred had decided to to show off his young bull Snotterton Democrat along with a shorthorn cow also some farm produce. we got a place with both the cow and the bull That ment I would have to walk the ring in the grand parade with one of our animals in front of a large crowd of spectators.Shy but proud of what we had won I decided I would lead the shorthorn cow. Slowly as the prossesion of animals walked around the parade ring listening to the crowds of cheering people we all had to form into a line in front of the judges. As I slowed turned my animal she decided to tread on one of my feet and stood there. I tried pushing her back but she was staying put, the pain was terrific . the crouds seeing I was having a problem and started to laugh and cheer, but like a donkey the silly animal stood her ground. What a relief it was when one of the local farmers seeing my predicament came out of the crowd and moved the animal into line. |
Baking day.
Fred’s wife baked only once a week and it took her all day to make enough to last. She cooked bread, pies and cakes in the oven at the side of the fire for there was no gas or electricity. She stored the food in the only cool place, the larder. At times this caused problems. I once picked up a piece of custard tart and found it had mould on the top so I scraped it off. The next day I picked up a nice portion of apple pie, my favourite and for some reason I turned back the pastry, only to find the apple filling was covered with green fluffy mould. I'd always been finicky about what I ate since the time when I bit into a chip sandwich and food something crunchy in it. It turned out to be a beetle of sorts and I was violently sick. So without causing a fuss I put the apple pie to one side of my plate, it was too late I'd been spotted. “What’s wrong with it” Marjorie asked, “It’s mouldy inside” I replied. “Mouldy” she said knowing that they'd all had a piece, “mould wont do you any harm” and she removed the offending pie and threw it on the back of the fire. “I’m very sorry” I said, “but I wouldn’t be given it at home”. Fred spoke up, “Come on now let the subject drop there’s no harm done”.
I add that 1949 there was very few mod cons
in the country side. Think about it, No such thing as an Electric Washer.or Hoover, Electric Mixing machines for the kitchen were not heard of . The main reason for this is they did not have electricity. All things like milking machines were driven by an engine.
So really it was wrong of a townie like myself to complain , because no such thing as a fridge all cooked foods were kept on a cold slab in the pantry.
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YMCA /BBBF Summer School.
In 1950 a letter came for me from Mappleton asking me if I would like to take the oppertunity to take a place at a summer school at Scarborough along with a number of other lads. I gave Fred the letter to read, asking him if it would be alright for me to go, He said by all means go along the experience will help you in the future.
A few weeks later,As I entered the Adephi hotel on the south side of Scarborough sea front where the summer school was to take place. I was introduced to other lads some older than myself some seemed to have a higher education than me , but what seemed to strike me most was certain lads had much more knowledege on farming and some of their statements were way beyond my comprehension. I got a distict feeling very few were from secondary schools like myself.
Each day during the course we had lectures on farming, animal husbandry, soil structure etc etc. We visited farms and saw intensive chicken breeding thousands upon thousands of Rhode island red hens all in cramped single cages epecially bred for laying eggs. Feeding troughs were running up and down the lines of cages giving the birds enough time to feed. All the lights in the building were on all day and night to give the animals the thought that it was always daytime with the hope more eggs would be produced not a very pleasant sight.
On another ocassion we had a competion with the local Young Farmers Club on judging a good milk cow.Even though I say it myself and as young as I was my short time in farming I excelled. Fred had pointed out the good features of a good milk cow. such as a good square udder a large milk vein, a fine head with white horns , straight back and slender ankles. I laugh at it now was it all really good advice. How ever the experience of the summer school was a good one and I am glad to have been given the priviledge to go there.
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The Butcher.
This next passage is about a not very pleasant experience that I had and one that I'm not proud to have taken part in but it was all part of country life.
If you do not agree with killing animals for food just pass over this next passage.
Before Fred went out for the day he asked me to help the butcher with one of the pigs, it was to be slaughtered. Now hurting any animal goes against the grain with me whether it's for meat or whatever, it's cruel and I was very reluctant to take part in it. Fred assured me that he would try to be back before the butcher came then he'd help him as the butcher was getting on in years and needed assistance. No sooner had Fred left than the butcher's van turned into the yard and out stepped this small, red, whisky faced chap, he was smiling and said, “I’ve come for the pig’ where is it?” I took him into the small shed and pointed to this very large animal. “By she’s a big one, how many litters has she had?” “Four I think” I replied “what do you want me to do?” “Oh don’t worry it will soon be over” he said and took from his bag a length of cable and handed it to me and what looked like a hand gun he placed nearby. He threw a rope attached to a pulley over a beam. “Now when I give the word you go up beside the pig behind its head and as it opens its mouth loop the cable over its nose into its mouth and hold its head up. I'll do the rest”. I'd heard Uncle Dick in the past say that a pig always knew when its time had come, this pig certainly knew. As soon as I was by its side it pressed me against the stall trapping me, it started screaming and screaming and screaming, I was terrified that it might turn on me for I couldn’t move. I looked towards the butcher for I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I noticed that he had the humane killer in his hand and he nodded to me. I managed to get the cable into its mouth then turned my head away, there was a dull thud as the gun went off. I was so frightened I just couldn’t do anything. Everything went quiet, the pig dropped where it had stood. I couldn’t move my feet for they were trapped under it. “I can’t get out” I said, the butcher took the length of rope and tied it to its hind legs, it was still shaking as if in some sort of fit. “That’s it” puffed the butcher pulling on the rope “I’ll soon have you out”. The dead pig hung in the air, I was free. He placed a dish under its head to catch the blood that was pouring from the wound he'd made in its neck. From start to finish the whole operation took about two minutes. It was not a very pleasant task but sadly its one that happens every day for most of us enjoy a bacon sandwich. With a struggle we loaded the pig into the van and it went away to be cleaned and jointed. About three days later it returned, two hams, two sides of bacon which were so big that they had to be cut in two, a head for brawn and four trotters, and a large amount of ribs, back bones and pieces of fat to be rendered down to make dripping etc. We broke up large pieces of rock salt and put them in the bath, added water to make brine then placed the meat into it adding more salt and water until it was completely covered. Nobody could have a bath for the next three or four weeks until the meat was cured. Many of the bones still had meat on them so it was scraped off and made into the best pork pies I've ever tasted, and some was given away to friends, nothing was wasted.
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MY BSA.
I went with some of the village lads for a walk one Sunday along the banks of the River Ure, the weather was very hot and the water looked inviting. “Lets swim to the other side” said one of the lads. “Supposing someone sees us” another lad said. “Go on, who will see us” shouted the first lad excitedly and he stripped off his trousers and shirt, “the last one in is a coward” he called as he swam towards the other side. Now very few of us lads wore underpants and if you did you were deemed a sissy but in we went laughing like naughty boys, leaving our clothes on the grassy bank. Even though our ages ranged from Fifteen to twenty we made quite a noise splashing one another and fooling about, ‘horseplay’ it’s called. Suddenly someone shouted, “Here comes the Colonel” he was the owner of the land that we were on. We scrambled to the bank side but having nothing to dry ourselves on had difficulty in getting into our clothes. The Colonel with his black retrievers was by our side long before we could get away and to our surprise he smiled and said, “Good afternoon lads, what a pleasant way to spend a hot afternoon swimming” then he carried on walking his dogs.
It was that afternoon when we were chatting about nothing in particular that the subject of motorcycles came up. “I wouldn't mind having one to get me home at weekends” I said. One lad said he owned a BSA 250 cc. 1934 but didn’t use it. I thought 1934, it’s the same age as me. “Its old but in very good condition” he went on, “If you like I’ll bring it over to the farm to show you”.
The following afternoon he brought the bike for me to see, I was very pleased with it and Fred had a run on it. Now I didn’t always collect my wages every week and it had slowly mounted up so I turned to Fred and asked, “How much are you holding for me?” He said “£15, it would be handy for you and it would save me fetching and carrying you from the bus station every fortnight”. Turning to my friend I shrugged my shoulders and said “sorry but I haven't enough I can’t afford it yet”. He said “£15, Oh go on then it’s just stood in the shed, it’s yours and I'll teach you how to ride it”
My B S A 250 cc motor cycle, it had three gears, notice the gear shift by my right knee. Ron and Mildred acquired a warm kapok lined flying suit as new for the cost of one pound.
Over the following weeks I learned how to handle the bike, I applied for my test and passed it on the second attempt after having an argument with the chap who was testing me. Some weekends when I was at home I would try to teach our Ronnie to drive but it was hopeless, he would let out the clutch too quickly and stall the engine, he must have stalled it a hundred times. I was returning to the farm one Sunday evening when the engine seized and I was unable to get back.There were no garages open so I knocked on the door of the Bluebell Hotel and asked if I could spend the night there, I was charged ten shillings (50p).
I stayed with Fred for about two years then had a disagreement with him regarding Margaret and my work. He wanted me to stop seeing her and as I only saw her on odd occasions I refused to be dictated to. The argument got out of hand and as I was due to be called into the forces soon I decided that this was the best time to make a break, so I told him I was finishing. I got my push bike out of the shed it was getting late, I rode to Northallerton railway station twelve miles away and caught the last train home. I explained to Dad what had happened but he just said, “Well it had to come, sooner or later you’ll be doing your national service”. The next day Fred turned up at our house and apologized for the rumpus. He asked if I'd consider going back but I explained I couldn't. I took quite a bit of leg pulling especially from Dad for he kept saying that I'd left because I was getting too friendly with the village milk maid. |
Building Labourer.
The following week I got a job as a labourer helping to build the new Berwick Hills housing estate. There was another lad Joe, he was slightly older than I was and we had to dig the trenches to make the foundations for the houses. There were no mechanical machines in those days and most of the digging and shovelling was done by hand. The site was very wet and all the clay had to be carried away in barrows along boards which were laid out across the mud and water. After working on the farm in all weathers I was used to hard work but this was stupid, every day I was soaked to the skin with the rain. I went home one night not feeling so well and Dad thought I'd got the flu. I still went to work the next day for I'd only worked there a week and didn’t want to lose my job or let Joe down. On pay day the Boss handed Joe his wages including his bonus, then gave me my packet. “How much money did you get” Joe asked, I opened my wage packet, “£4” I said. “I’ve got £5 and you should have at least as much as me, we've both worked together so surely we should get the same amount of money, they must have made a mistake” he said. I ran across to the gaffer, “Er! Excuse me but I think you've made a mistake with my wages, I've been given only £4 and Joe says he's got £5”. “Joe's older than you” he said. “But I’ve done exactly the same work as Joe and he's only a couple of months older than me. I think I should be entitled to the same as him, surely that's fair” I replied forcefully. He turned and said, “No, if you don’t like it you know what you can do”. I decided it was no good arguing with him so I turned and walked back towards Joe. He looked up from the trench where we'd been digging and asked, “did you get the pound?” I said no and started to put my coat on. The gaffer must have been watching us for he came striding across to where we were standing and looking at me, said, “What’s going on, where are you going?” “Home” I replied looking him in the eye. “If my labour's not as good as his then I’m calling it a day, I’m off home”. I turned and walked away. “Here, here’s your pound” he said and reaching into his pocket took out a pound note and handed it to me. ”Now get on with your work”. “Thanks” I said picking up my shovel but I wont be back on Monday. He grunted something to himself as he walked away and I never saw that ignorant fellow again. When I got home I went straight to bed with a hot drink, a drink of ‘Indian bark’ it was supposed to bring down your temperature. Mine was running high so the Doctor was eventually called and he diagnosed pneumonia.
By 1952 I was coming up to my eighteenth birthday. I sent for information about the navy and the brochures looked promising, I fancied joining the navy to see the world and I dreamed of sailing to different parts of the globe. I'd come home from the farm I was working on for the weekend and showed Dad the brochures and asked what he thought of my prospects? “Whatever branch of the service you decide on it's up to you” he replied. My brother Ron was in the navy and he'd had a number of narrow squeaks, he painted a very black picture of it and he was speaking from experience. Two of the ships that he'd served on had been sunk by the Japanese and he was one of the lucky ones. So the navy was out. I didn’t fancy the Airforce, the ‘Bryll Cream Boys’ as they were known so it would have to be the army.
Onto Chapter Four. National Service.Take a look what life was like for me in the Army in 1952. |
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