Another Old Character of the Village 53

 

Old Characters of the village  Albert 1940's

Albert Hine

As the summer days got longer, so pick the leaves did he,  (tabacco)
And hung then in the living room, the ceiling could not see.

When dry and almost crisp they got, into a draw he pressed
To keep them through the winter, by large old chimney brest.

These are charactor of the village nearly all of whom worked about the farms, few if any traveled out to other parts for work. This is what I remember of Albert in the 1940's when I was a little lad


Albert Hine was a hard working man only short in stature, and quite round in his latter years. He had a weather beaten face and small red veins showing on his chin and nose and red rims to his ears. More often than not he had a dark three or four day stubble on his chin . He always wore a cap as most men did at that time, on the few occasions that his hat was removed, or blown off, it revealed thinning flattened hair that had a permanent line where his cap fitted round his head, showing even more when he was sweating or when it was raining.

 He always wore a waist coat , an old jacket and a well worn old leather jerkin. This was usually fastened round his middle with a piece of binder twine. On his feet were good stout hobnail boots that had been mended many times. Most men in the country areas all had their own lasts, and a box of hob nails. There was quite a few varieties of these nails, the single ones were nailed all round the edge of the sole with triple nails spread around the centre of the sole. On the heel was a blacksmith made U-shaped tip and a smaller tip on the toe of his boots. Round the calf of his legs he always had leggings which buttoned up the side of his leg and a small buckle at the top to protect his corduroy trousers.

On the club room night once or sometimes twice a week, the men of the village would meet for a game of snooker or games of dominoes and cards. On this occasion out would come his second best cap jacket and corduroy trousers (or put another way next years work clothes).

The only other thing he wore (as opposed to carrying) was his pipe. This was not always lit, but when it was it was prodded full of tobacco with his fist finger that was permanently the same colour as the inside of his pipe. Out with his Swan Vesta`s (matches to those who don't know) match pinched between his thumb and first finger cupped with the lighted end in the palm to protect it from the wind and rain. Then he introduced it over the pipe, the flame now being drawn through the tobacco with intermittent clouds of smoke rising around his cap until it was well alight. This cupping of the hand was always the way it was done even at the Friday night whist-drives in the old club room, when there was no wind and rain.

                                                               Ivy Cottage

This is one of a pair of farm cottages known as "Spight cottages", situated on the vicarage corner theywere built to prevent the view from the Old vicarage to Seighford Hall half a mile away. ( The vicar and the Lord of the Manor did not like each other and these cottages wer put up to block the view from the vicarage hence the name "Spight Cottages")The other cottage is situated between it and St Chads Church, see picture. As a tied cottage it belonged to the Yews Farm, and at one time it was occupied by the cowman, then latterly by Albert Hine who was the wagoner. In the 1950's it was stripped of its ivy and both cottages were cement rendered and painted white.


Albert lived at Ivy Cottage (on the end of the Vicarage drive) and being only a short man he kept all his hedges quite short as well. Most of the garden was cultivated .Starting with the tallest items it was runner beans and as the row always seemed to run away from the road hedge, you could see the Church clock from any where along that part of the road. The next tallest thing was tobacco and as this was his largest crop area. When it came to maturity in September (it got to about three feet high) you could not see the clock.. This crop was cut in large leaves and hung to dry in the house to preserve them, then stored in a cupboard alongside the chimney breast, pressed into draws and then into the cool oven over night as and when required dry enough to be crisped up and rubbed into usable tobacco.

Living next but one to St Chad's Church, he was a bell ringer, Thursday was the chosen night in the week was always kept as practice night, then every Sunday night between six and six thirty the bells were rung, then a few other special occasions like weddings or visiting ringers. In the belfry there was sometimes maintenance to be done, and if you look on the window sill of the south facing window you will find some cement that had been lettered with the names of all five ringers from the 1940's.

It was said in his younger days that he could walk out of the hills with a ewe under each arm such was the strength of this little man. As I said he lived at Ivy Cottage which was a farm cottage to Yews Farm where he worked as Wagoner for Charles Finnimore. You could not get a greater contrast of the sizes, between him being not a very tall man and the shire horses he worked with.

When muck carting with a tipping cart that had five foot iron hooped wheels with one shire in the shafts and another in chains in front, he would walk along side with long plough lines(reigns) guiding the chain horse in front, travelling across the village green and up the Moss Lane to the fields belonging to the Yews.

He kept a couple of house cows of his own, and a few young stock on what is now the school playing field, and the small field adjoining at the end of Oldfords Lane (we call this field "Albert's Patch") . During the winter there is always water in a pool in between the two patches of ground, but in dry periods this dried up and he had to carry water from the Ford for the cattle. By now (he had retired from employment but not from work) he had a little old tractor of his own with a carrying box on the back which held two forty gallon drums

A busy man, he mowed the church yard with a scythe. His principle reason was to turn it for a few days and make it into hay for winter fodder for his stock. He. also cut the grass verges all the way to Doxey (over a mile) this was for the same reason. This activity was done after work at nights and at weekends. The hay he carted loose, as in the days before balers and stacked it in a tin roofed shed loose that he put up in one of the paddocks.

During the war, he like all the other men in the village were in the "Home Guard" (as in Dads Army) .He had to do training and be on duty on rota, billeted in the wooden village hall at Great Bridgeford . On very cold nights the pot bellied stove would be stoked up to the top with coke and glowed red hot. To save having to take the ashes out side they found a convenient hole in the floor boards under the tin sheet in front of the stove, it was a wonder it never set on fire. Some nights they had to find there way to Milford on exercise on foot across field without being seen (about eight miles ). This was all without missing a days work.

The life span of Albert Hine ( he died in 1963) can be seen in the Church yard on his head stone where he and his wife are buried. A very cheerful and popular man among all the village people, he lived to the age of 70 and worked hard all around the "Village Green".

I Remember Albert Hine

Dated in the 1940's and 1950's

Albert was a Waggoner, for Charlie Finimore,
A strong and healthy man he was, and stood at five foot four,
In his younger days it's told, he would walk out of the hills
With a ewe under each arm, in winters cold and chills.

He lived at Ivy Cottage, where he grew his own tobacco,
For to keep his pipe alight, it was not a laughing matter.
As the summer days got longer, so pick leaves did he,
And hung then in the living room, the ceiling could not see.

When dry and almost crisp they got, into a draw he pressed
To keep them through the winter, by large old chimney brest.
He rang church bells on Sundays, with a team they were so loyal,
They practice in the mid week night, as if expecting royal,

He had a box, of twelve inches, though he was in his prime,
The little man he rang the tenner, keeping stead time.
The team with him at that time, they are well remembered,
It written in the belfry sill, names and bells all numbered.

All day he worked with horses, a carting muck with two,
He had the one up in traces, as the load was from the Yews,
Up to the Noons Birch field, where he hooked it out in rucks,
Ten paces up, ten paces wide, so even was the muck.

Descibe the man were looking at, a jerkin he did ware,
Tied round the middle with binder twine, to hold more than just a tare,
Cordroy trousers tucked in spats, round his hob nail boots,
Cap raked left and pipe raked right, pouch and matches in a box.

His old waist coat worn and taty, kept his big watch n matches dry,
The shirt it had few buttons , and the colar he kept it by,
For high days and holidays, when everything was clean,
And home guard duty, when the sergeant, he was very mean.

His platoon was made up of men, who worked around the farms,
They mustered in the village hall, to train as fighting men at arms,
The pork and bacon beef and taters, butter eggs and creme,
All of these were traded, mongst the brave old fighting men.

Albert kept his pipe and bacca, it was woodbines for the rest,
As the smoke it was so dense, no room for enemy they jest
This ploy worked well , no men got lost, and warmer they could keep,
Til sergeant came and caught them, so loaded up his jeep.

Two cows he kept and young stock, and a few old tatty hens,
The fields where he kept them, had sheds and tidy pens,
He mowed along the grass verge, all the way to Stafford,
To make his hay to keep them, and drew water from the ford.

All his life he worked dammed hard, but slower he did get
Albert met his maker, he was one you can't forget,
Popular and cheerful, he lived to seven,tee
Buried in Seighford church yard , remembered by me and thee.

Owd Fred

If there is no gardener there is no garden
--Stephen Covy

The village wheelwright and his family 32

When Jim was walking off down the village, with a long notched stick in his hand, we knew he was off to measure a body for the coffin.

They had a little grey Fergy tractor, which was used to cart the muck out to the field in winter, and in the summer, they would mow the meadows for hay.

This is the village shop on the left, a farm cottage next along and the third one along was the White Cottage the smallholding which was also the wheelwrights shop. On the extreme right is the village pub the Holly Bush


The White Cottage. [ Or The Smallholding ]
This cottage opposite the pub was occupied by Mr and Mrs Clark. It was a small holding of about forty acres, as on all the farms on the estate, it had some close land, and some on the meadows down the Moss lane, and some over the railway down the Moor lane. This house had only one main room, and a scullery, then a lean-to on the back of the house, this was used as a dairy to cool and store the milk churns over night, until the milk man came the following morning. Upstairs it had two bedrooms, and the only privy was a little brick and tile loo, under a bush, down the garden path. In this house they brought up a family of six children.

The new workshop that Jim amd Bill built is on the left, the two chimneys above were the two new council houses that they lived in later in life. The two chimneys in the centre are that of the village shop,(looking from its rear), and below on the right was the original workshop that their old man used from the 1900's

Old Harry Clark, I can only just remember, not a very tall man, and quite round in his later years. He was a wheelwright by trade, and worked in a low tin roofed shed down below the wooden pole hay barn. He was a man who enjoyed a joke, and quite mischievous in a nice way. It was said that when bagged fertiliser first came out, Charlie Finnimore, [of Yews Farm] sent a new man to spread it on the meadows under the Ashes Wood. It turned out he had spread it on one of Harry's small fields down there. Later Mr Finnemore realised the mistake, and went round to see Harry for recompense, only to be told very politely that he did not want it, and that he could send the man down the following morning to pick it up again, as he did not mind at all!.

Mrs Clark, Harry's wife, could only just get about, and getting a very old lady, like Harry she was quite round, and had her own chair by the fire where she could easily reach the kettle, without having to move. In fact as a child I was amazed that when Mrs Clark was sitting down she seemed to have no knees. Her part in the carpentry business, over the years, was to line the coffins that Harry made, for the local people, who were then buried in St Chad's churchyard.
They had six children, Henry [called Harry] the oldest, Jim, Bill the youngest, and three daughters in between. Henry worked for the post office as a postman, and travelled to work in a little old Austin 7 car, the one that had a straight up windscreen and a starting handle permanently out in front. Henry was the smallest of all the family, and walked with a heavy limp; this was due to him having a short leg and had a boot with a four or five inch sole.

Henry lived with his wife Nell in the cottage next to Lower Cooksland Farm gate, on the other side of the lane was a small garage for his car. Nell worked up at Cooksland House for Major Eld, and her father lived in a small room, or lean-to, on the end of a house on the end of Smithy Lane. He was Bill Ecclestone a very old man when I was a child; he helped around the different farms when needed. His worn-out body seamed to lean forward, almost forming a loop under his bracers, where his chest had been. He wore corduroy trousers that were tied below the knee with string, and old boots that had worn out laces. The shirts worn in them days all had loose collars, his shirt at work had no collar or stud to hold the neck hole together, and looked as though it had seen many washes [ and missed a few as well]. He lived an independent life in his small room, but well looked after by his daughter Nell.

Jim was the tallest of the family, and when married lived in the second house up the Coton lane [turn left at the west end of the village second house on the right]. This had a craft, [Crofters have crafts- small field] where he kept hens and reared a few pigs, I think it had two pig sty's. He worked as carpenter for the estate along with Eric Kilford who was the builder bricklayer; Eric built up Kilfords the Building firm and employed quite a lot of men. Jim took over from his father, when his father became too old to continue, having learned all the skills needed to become a wheelwright, and all the traditional tools that had built up over the years for that trade.
When the Cumbers council houses were built, in the 1950s, Jim moved into No10, and Bill moved into No9, right opposite the farm and workshop. By this time Jim was full time, having taken over from "The old Chap". Jim and Bill built a new workshop, with double doors that would lock, a great deal higher and bigger than the one the old chap used. A complete farm wagon could be built and painted all indoors, and a good deal lighter as well.
As I said Jim was tall, all of six foot, but I expect that working all his earlier days in low cottages, and always ducking his head, he carried his head slightly forward, giving him a slight hump on his shoulders. [Not quite as tall as he should be], they all had caps on in them days, and Jim had his pipe always in his teeth, not always lit. It was St Julian tobacco, that he smoked, and I got as much pleasure, from the smell of the smoke, as he did smoking it.
You get the ambiance of a room when you walk into it, so you did from Jim's workshop, with the smoke from his pipe, or the new cut oak shavings, or the fresh new paint when he's finishing off a job.
  His pipe spent that much time, in his teeth, that it wore his teeth away in that one place, to the extent that he could clench his teeth tightly, and the pipe would still hang comfortably. In normal talk, he would talk with the pipe in place. But if some cussing was to be done, it would be a prodding motion with the pipe in his hand. But more often than not it was tongue in cheek cussing.
It was always a big joke when Jim and his wife Minnie, went on holiday for a week to the seaside with friends. Minnie would have Jim move all the furniture, to dust and polish, "even behind the bl---- wardrobes had to be cobwebbed" he went on, in case someone had to look in, while they were away. Minnie was a big friend of my mothers, and was very proud of her new house, number 10 The Cumbers. She was also keen on her flowers garden, and front lawn. Jim had to do the lawn mowing and dug and planted the veg patch. His comment to these jobs was "Why didn't they build the B motorway across my front lawn, or at least tarmac it" he went on, "I could sweep it off and paint it green each spring and save all this work."

Bill, the youngest of the family, looked after the cows. Up until the 1950s they were hand milked, and then they had their first milking machine. Then followed a few years later with a bulk milk tank, they stopped picking milk up in churns shortly after that. Bill had 14 cows that was the maximum that the sheds would hold. They were well looked after, and heavy milkers, and nearly always turned out for the night onto the craft opposite the Holly Bush Pub. During the day they went down through the ford, to the banky field at the end of Moor lane, or the field at the top of the road bank on the right. At the ford the cows came from all directions, Village Farm cows came down the bank to the ford the up the Moor lane, Church Farm cows went down the same way as Bills. On the village green, Green Farm cows would be going out, and also Yews Farm cows went across the green to the Moss Lane.
On a few occasions Bill would have to encourage his cows to move across the path of another herd, or sometimes meet another herd head on. He always had a long nut stick, and always on his bike when on the road with the cows, and when a problem like this came up, he would get off his bike, and gently tap his cows on through the opposing "team ". He rarely lost any or picked any extra up, the cows knowing there own fields or sheds.
In his younger days Bill was in the village cricket team, often he was wicket keeper, then when in batting he would hit and run, and really liven the proceedings up, scoring some very quick runs, or getting himself or his colleague run out. The cricket square was in the middle of the present village football field. It was a football field then as well. During the week the cricket square was fenced off, and Bills cows would graze round it.

Bill in this picture is the small man fifth from the left behind the gentlemen with the bowler hat.


Always a joker he would examine a persons ploughing, to see if it was strait. If it was one of us younger ones, and it was crooked, he would be relentless in telling anyone who would listen, as to how many dead rabbits he had picked up. Telling them how they had broken their necks, running round the bends in the furrows. Another wease he had was when someone had spent a day working hard at cleaning or sweeping up, he would say "That looks better, which have you done ?", then watch for the reaction, then laugh.
Only a small man, he had a job to reach the floor when astride his bike, and with his Woodbine lit, and his nut stick across his handle bars, set off promptly at three fifteen to fetch the cows in. As long as everyone else was at the regular time, the herds would not clash.

They had a little grey Fergy tractor, which was used to cart the muck out to the field in winter, and in the summer, they would mow the meadows for hay. Then when they wanted timber for carpentry, they would be off down to Henry Venables timber yard on the tractor, sometimes for wide elm boards, still with the bark edges, for trailer floors, or oak for making gates, or timber for making a coffin.

If anyone died in the village, Jim and Bill would be called. I remember one occasion when Bill was not available, Jim called my brother and I to help him lay out a neighbour who had died that morning. The first thing we were asked to do was to lift the pantry door off its hinges, and put it on the floor and  helped lift the deceased onto it the door to lay her out,then up onto the table, this was a normal procedure as there is not much room in a lot of cottages, and pantry door or scullery door had hinges like a gate, and could easily be lifted off.
When Jim was walking off down the village, with a long notched stick in his hand, we knew he was off to measure a body for the coffin. People did not have long measuring tapes, as we have now, so a long measuring stick was used. [Carpenters usually had a wooden two foot rule]. If you are a person living in one of the Seighford cottages, you may never realize what your old pantry door had been used for, besides blocking a hole in the wall.
After having got the measurements required from the body, Jim would proceed to make the coffin. This would take all afternoon, and he would work into the evening to get the job done. On occasions Eric Bennion would call with his car, to transport the coffin to the deceased's house, discreetly covered with a blanket. His car had a large carrier rack on the back the right size. I heard a story about Eric, carting a coffin about on the back of his car, when food rationing was on.
There were strict restrictions enforced by the police, usually by the local bobby on a bike based at Great Bridgeford the next village. Eric, Jim and Bill had to move a pig that had just been killed at one of their houses, to someone who wanted it, but shouldn't have it because of rationing. So the obvious way was in a coffin, covered up on the back of Eric's car, and at night. I believe they passed the police but were never suspected.
Of coarse all the men of working age at that time, were in the "Home Guard" based in Great Bridgeford village hall. No end of contraband food exchange hands without a ration book in sight, not all of them worked on farms or were farmers.

Owd Fred

A verse relating to the wheelwright will have to follow on another blog so look out for it.

The consumer's side of a coffin lid is never ostentatious

Stanishaw J. Lec  (1909 - 1966)

Never discourage anyone........ who continually makes progress, no matter how slow. Plato (347BC-427 BC)

Village character 'Old Tommy' 13

This is about an old man Tommy who lived and worked about the village all his life, he lived with his sister, and farmed a few acres made hay for his three cows and their calves.
He had a big garden where he grew mangols for the cows, along with all the normal garden household produce. Tommy was in his sixties when we were growing up, and always came to help with singling the beet, though he was a bit slow, and helped to build the stacks and bays of wheat and oats, and then again when the thresher man came to the village, he followed that round all the farms. For the younger readers it took nine men to operate the old threshing box before the days of the combine.

Tommy was often the butt of tricks, one of which was when he and Nelly had their first television, ( mid 1950's) and had a new aerial put up on his chimney. We would be in our teens, and Tommy was "crowing" about what they had bought and about the expense. We also knew that he kept his now disused bowler hat on a peg just inside of his back door. So one dark night before he had locked his door we got hold of his bowler, brought up a long ladder from the farm, and with the aid if Nelly's washing line prop, hooked his bowler on top of his new TV aerial. Well he could not get it down and there it stayed for quite a few weeks until a strong wind dislodged it.

I know this is a long poem about him but you will get a fair idea of the kind of man he was and how cheerful he was every day . He would be born in about 1890 (its on his grave stone) , so very old fashioned and traditional, hence his carpet bag

Owd Tommy Abbotts

Owed Tom Abbotts lived in a cottage, with his sister Nell,
They kept three cows and calves, and a few old hens as well,
Cattle grazed across four acres, the rest was mown for hay,
In his garden he grew his mangols, fed in short winters day.

He helped his neighbours, when they're short handed,
With drilling hoeing weeding, with others he was banded,
At harvest time he stacked bays, till in the roof was bound,
Longest ladder then was cast, him get back to ground.

All the years I knew him, he always had some wit,
Smoked a pipe and chewed tabaca, and showed us how to spit,
He had a bike sit-up-and beg, handle bars reached his chest,
On Friday went to town on it, his hat he wore his best.

His shopping bag hung on his bike, a long carpet bag it was,
All stitched up on either side, flat by front wheel because,
When it was loaded it was safe, hung by strong loops of cord,
Should it be carried in his hand, it almost dragged with the hoard.

As a young man stood up straight, he'd be all of five foot eight,
Old and stooped and round of back, shorter still as life dictate,
Feet a splayed for easy stance, and knees a slight of bend,
One thumb hooked in waist coat pocket, tuther to pipe distend.

He always had a cheery smile, his eyes were almost closed,
When he had a dam good laugh, tears ran down his pointed nose,
His face was brown and ruddy, from working in all weathers,
On his nose and chin could see, red veins mapped his features.

On his feet were black boots, well up above his ankle laced,
His trousers had a gusset, hold his expanding tummy braced,
It was a different colour , and could see when he bent over,
And buttons of his bracers , straining hard to cotton anchor.

Waistcoat matched his trousers, a suit some point decide,
Ten buttons some were missing, four pockets two each side,
One it held his pocket watch, secured to button hole with chain,
Another held his match box, England's Glory was it by name.

His jacket didn't quite match, been stitched around the collar,
Pockets drooped like open mouth, weighed down as if to cower,
In one was his bacca pouch, top pocket reserved for pipe,
Pipe was mostly in his mouth, not always did he light.

He carried a little pocket knife, his baccy Twist to cut,
When he rubbed it in his palm, into his pipe he put,
With cupped hand around his pipe, he lit it with a match,
Puff and suck till it was lit, mid curls of smoke detach.

Eventually it went out again , and back into top pocket,
Out with the Twist and cut a knob, chew into old tooth socket,
This is where he learned all us kids, to squit with baccy juice,
It went with long streak so far, to reach his poor old goose.

Tommy had a bowler hat , kept on peg inside of his back door,
As kids he let us try it on, and asked him what it was for,
It was used to go to town in, now for only funerals touted,
He kept it brushed and steamed, though it become out dated.

Now it was only flat caps, that he was nare without,
Into town he used his best, to walk around see whose about,
One was used to milk his cows, grease and cow muck plastered
And one used round house and village, not so much it mattered.

Tommy's ears were large and thin, for a man so short,
Ragged round the top edge, frost bite they must have caught,
They tucked back nice and even, his cap they're there to hold,
His head he kept it nice and warm, ears out in the cold.

His garden always nicely dug, and cow muck spread a plenty,
Grew his household veg and spuds, and runner beans a bounty,
The biggest plot was that of mangols, for his pampered cows,
The three of them all bedded up, roots chopped for them to brows.

We called round my dad and me, and Nelly made us a cup of tea,
One of Tom's cows had calved, the others had dried off you see,
Milk she poured all rich and yellow, beastings from his old cow,
She had to stir most vigorously, tea too rich to drink right now.

In winter time when he was younger, Tom he carted coal,
Picked it up from Bridgeford Station, Seighford was his goal, ( distance just over a mile)
Brought it over Bridgeford bank , with donkey and a cart,
This it filled the time o'er winter, before drilling corn did start.

So it was that he got too old, to work about the farms,
Even gave up his cows and garden, that he loved and charmed,
Then he lost his sister Nell, and lived a few more years alone,
He himself succumbed to life, both in Seighford neath headstone.

Countryman.

Young men, hear an old man to whom old men harkened when he was young.Quotation by Caesar Augustus (63BC-14AD