Category Archives: Modern History

A Vanished Past – A Time of Change (3 of 3)

 A Vanished Past – Vol.1 –  A Time of Change ( 3 of 3) 

Decline and Regeneration

The decline of the village – In 1951 there were about seventy houses and 213 people in Horley. Once the village had been far more populous: it had about twice the population a hundred years earlier[2]. But since the mid 19th century village people had begun to drift away from farm labouring to better paid jobs in Banbury, or metropolitan areas, some emigrated, and the population decreased.

As families left the village there were fewer people to live in their vacated homes, and once they were left unoccupied the fabric of the building and thatch deteriorated until eventually, with the help of a few hard frosts, windowless and doorless, the buildings tumbled into untidy heaps.

Horley Mill Race John Saunders courtesy Patching TrusteesAt the bottom of the village where the course of the Sor Brook had been altered to create a millrace, stood the ruins of the old mill. It had been constructed in the last century and had become no more than a precarious pile of Hornton stone, its windows barricaded with rusting corrugated iron that now flapped in the wind. We sometimes played dangerous games, leaping the terrifying race before it plummeted down its waterfall.

A few yards further up the street Phlox Cottage was tumbling down. This is where Old Mrs West lived until she died just after the war.

Water trench & Tumbledown buildings in the Square1965 WIA little further up the road, just north of Enfield Cottage were other stone buildings that had neither roofs nor upper floors. The people who had lived there had long since been forgotten and they were now the ghostly homes of people only identified by headstones in the churchyard.

A cluster of buildings in The Square had become run down and empty. These had been bought up by ‘Dooky’ Jelfs. The walls of the old houses bulged unsafely and rotting planks criss-crossed the gaping windows in an attempt to prevent curious children playing inside.

Red LionOther houses in The Square were fast disappearing: next to The Red Lion pub a cottage facing the road was knocked down to make way for a new car park for the pub. Behind it a whole row had gone, including the village bake house, where once the village people had taken their Sunday joint to be cooked, if they had one.

At the top end of the village behind Orchard Cottage a wheelwright’s workshop and cottages had been abandoned and left to fall down since there was no reason for anyone to buy them when their owners moved to Banbury. Derelict properties, overgrown with elderberry trees and other shrubs littered our village. Indeed the old were not far wrong when they said Horley was not half the village that it had been.

The Impact of the two World Wars – It was more than the changes in farming which changed our village life – the wars affected almost every aspect of our community. The loss of young Horley men in WWI maimed families and the community, and the experience of the trenches and fighting left many of the survivors scarred for life.

WWII came only 23 years later, and war-weary fathers saw their sons and young neighbours called up for duty in one or other of the armed services, and leave the village.

 The Evacuees and other Strangers –The war years saw influxes of strangers. I doubt the country, including Horley, had experienced such a mass movement of people. There were several waves of London evacuees that needed accommodating. Local airfields at Shenington and Gaydon brought new blood in the form of RAF personnel. Later, American airmen appeared in Banbury from a large American base in Upper Heyford. And from 1941 Horley experienced another wave of new people when Horley House was requisitioned to accommodate Prisoners-of-War (POWs). The Italians were the first to arrive followed by the Germans. Finally came the Displaced Persons, all lone men, from Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, I believe.

Agricultural mechanisation – In our time fewer and fewer men chose, or were needed, to work on the land. There had been pointers for many years before the outbreak of war that farming was in decline. The introduction of new methods and more sophisticated machinery continued the pattern already developing, and farms became less labour intensive.

Conditions and pay were better in industry and the importance of the multi-skilled farm labourer diminished as mechanisation took over on the farm. And so the rural culture died. The harvests although important were no longer the only topic of conversation of the summer months, and the Harvest Home (or Harvest Festival), though still an occasion, was no longer a celebration of a good harvest that was critical to the well-being and health of the whole community in the following months.

Traditional ways of life were vulnerable to these changes. It was not just the effects of war that challenged the traditions. With the importance of the Aluminium Works in Banbury, and the Ironstone workings in Wroxton, the next village, there was a choice of employment, improved wages and an opportunity for advancement.

With greater control of their employment and changes in the distribution of wealth, the days of the village hierarchy and power structure were almost ended.

Thatched roofs – It was during the post-war period and 1950s that roofs which had previously been thatched were tiled. The village lost a lot of its soft curved appearance for a more angular but tidier look.

Mains water comes use to horley 195The Arrival of Electricity, Water and The Main Drain – Electricity came to the village. Amidst heated controversy five street lights were installed. Then the Church, the School and the Chapel put lights on their buildings. In a very short space of time we had become a 10-light safety-conscious village. But the most significant change that dramatically affected everybody’s life was the coming of mains water and mains sewerage. The process was drawn out and the village reduced to chaos for long periods. The work continued for so long that people began to talk of a Golden Age when Horley had been a beautiful place to behold, but in truth, however untidy the earthworks were, Horley had never been a chocolate-box village.

When the project was complete and pipes connected the work in the home for both men and women was greatly reduced and life became easier and pleasanter. Within a short time the village cottages became desirable residences. The risks to health had been significantly reduced. But with the benefits of these state funded services came dilemmas. Cllr George Pratt and his colleagues on the Rural District Council were faced with ethical issues about the proper level of state intervention when they considered the proposal to put fluoride in the water to improve the health of teeth, whether people wanted it or not.

A Better Britain – Regenerating Horley

As the course of the war began to reach its conclusion there was growing recognition that after the disruption and hardship of war people both wanted and deserved better. It was felt that those returning from war had earned their place in a ‘Better Britain’. The Beveridge Report called for national welfare systems that would protect us all ‘from the cradle to the grave’, and the Labour Government of 1945 brought it about.

Inevitably the scene was set for changes, and from those returning from the war certain individuals came forward to take a lead. George Pratt was, in the post war years responsible for promoting many of the practical developments that took place in Horley. Having in the early years of the war organised the Home Guard in the area, he had spent the latter years of the war serving as an Army Officer abroad. It gave him opportunities to see a bit of the world, and a great deal of life away from the confines of his previous experience, as well as being able to reflect on the future possibilities that life in Horley held. He valued community life, and his commitment to serve his fellow parishioners was heightened by his experiences of war. On his return he found others returning from war were of like mind – those that had left as boys returned as men with new perspectives on life and they were keen to make the most of the peace.

In the years immediately after the war our community – dying though its traditions were – had a brief reprieve. Village life underwent a period of energetic regeneration as the moves to get Britain back on its feet were felt everywhere. One of the first institutions to establish itself was the Horley Cricket Club. It proclaimed its establishment by acquiring its own cricket-field. Glyn Morgan the Vicar had realised that a cricket team and/or a football team could be a unifying, purposeful and enjoyable activity for the community especially for young men. George Pratt, a natural leader, rallied a cricket team, and before long the Club built its own pavilion. Our father, Glyn Morgan laid the pavilion’s foundation stone on a wet Coronation Day in the summer of 1953.

Apart from the Cricket Club there was still a Pig Club, a thriving Youth Club run by a series of people including George Green of Midhill, and a Mothers’ Union that met on the first Tuesday in each month in The Vicarage sitting room with an interesting speaker. The Church Choir, run by Matt Blythe, had choir practice early on Friday evenings. A strong contingent of men belonged to the British Legion, which met outside the village, and there was a Girls’ Club. In addition to this there were the meetings of the Parochial Church Council (the PCC), the Parish Council and the School Managers.

Secondary Education – t was a period of advance. From January 1948 for the first time Horley’s young people over 11 received their education outside the village. It must have been a wise and timely development and expanded the educational curriculum, but it also weakened the village socially and there was less commitment to village activities and relationships, as young people widened their friendship networks, and increasingly spent their leisure time outside the village.

Abandoned Untidiness to Village pride

The piles of stones from its derelict houses gave Horley an air of abandoned untidiness. It was still a working village so there were always reminders of the herds of cow that passed through the village several times a day, as well as clods of earth or straw that had fallen from carts and tractors. During the winter the village was a great deal tidier than in the summer when the grass grew high along the verges of the roads into the village and down the sides of the main street. The Council made some provision for the grass to be cut by roadman Charley Varney, but he liked to collect it once it was ripe for hay that he could use in the winter, so he had a vested interest in waiting until it was ready. Our village had a certain overgrown charm during these summer months.

Flowering cherries were planted from The Square down to Phlox Cottage. This was part of the 1953 Coronation celebrations and was very new for Horley. It proved very difficult to stop the boys swinging on the saplings and accidentally breaking them – they did not seem to belong to anyone in particular, and were counted fair game. But after a few years the trees became established and eventually flowered. People were surprised and pleased with them and the first step had been taken to open our eyes to the way we wanted our village to look.

Vestiges of a Feudal Society

There was a clear class divide: the war softened its manifestations to some extent, but it was evident, and it depended on where you were in the hierarchy whether you minded or not. Robert Pearson writes:

‘The covertly oppressive nature of the hierarchical nature of society peculiar to Britain was, of course, fissured to some extent by the First World War (1914-1918) and shattered by the Second World War (1939-1945).’

The nature of village hierarchies meant that most formal leadership roles had long been the responsibility, possibly privilege, of the middle classes (squire, Vicar, any landowner, large farmers and sometimes teachers) – people with some money or influence. A good deal of village problem-solving and philanthropy was expected of them, and mostly they responded. It is easy to see how very dependent most communities had been on the prosperity of these better-off families to generate work and maintain law and order. Working families hitting hard times relied on their charity in the absence of any welfare state. Any lack of commitment, or absence, or failure to act benevolently could make life difficult for the village. Although jealously guarded, these roles were not always diligently filled and that lead to grumbling by discontented people.

When things went wrong people complained until the Vicar, or someone the equivalent of the squire did something to correct the situation. Even after all they had given during the wars, older village people still did not feel a sense of power or equality and continued to behave as if the squire, who no longer existed, should run village affairs. Some referred to their ‘betters’ and a few nervously said ‘I know my place’. However as the village squirearchy vanished and was superseded by the Rural District Council, the phrase “You’d think Mr Stockton/the Vicar would do something about it” was replaced by “Why don’t the Council do anything about it?”

There were several factors which may have contributed to subsequent change such as ready access to their elected Councillor, improved complaints systems, and most importantly, the increasing availability of home telephones enabling some people to take matters into their own hands.

The New Council Houses. In the early nineteen fifties the Rural District Council planned to build some new houses in Horley. It was part of the National Housing Programme to improve living conditions, and all over the country new council housing estates were springing up. The new houses were to have both bathrooms and modern kitchens, and most important of all they were not accommodation tied to a job as were many of the homes in the village. The new council houses were built just off the Big Lane, below Park Farm, in what was to become Lane Close.

Before the new council houses were built, Lane Close was a small narrow meadow that we had to cross to reach the cricket field. The announcement that twelve new homes were to be built there – ten semi-detached houses and two bungalows came as an exciting surprise because it meant a great deal of brand new accommodation for some lucky people. There was speculation as to who would eventually live there, and who deserved to. We all examined the houses as they went up. My mother feared they looked very small inside, and there appeared to be no front doors, but it was very difficult to imagine amid the wet mud what they would eventually look like. When the day came and the allocation of houses was announced one of the new homes went to Maurice, and later another to Dennis Jelfs, Fred Jelfs’ sons, who both had young families. They left tiny terraced cottages in Varney’s Yard (now Ivy Cottage).

The Greens with four children Reggie, Doreen, Lawrence and Carol who had always lived in the village moved from their cramped little cottage (the further of the two cottages which became Midhill). They and other families moved home by carrying all their furniture and goods bit by bit from one home to the other. The children took a major part in the move and trundled handcarts up and down the village lane between the two houses. The mixture of excitement and physical exhaustion took their toll by the end of the day. One teenager burst into tears when a pot of jam slipped from her grasp and broke. Her tears mixed with the rain in The Square by the telephone kiosk. My mother, Elma Morgan, coming out of the Post Office found it impossible to console her: the weather was awful, it was late in the day, everyone was tired and the precious pot of jam was what she had bought as a treat for tea.

The Hicks family was given a house too and they were able to move from the damp deteriorating Jasmine Cottage into the real comfort of a brand new home. When our father, Glyn Morgan the Vicar, visited them to see how they were settling in, a joyful George Hicks flung open the front door, extended his arms as though to embrace him and welcomed him in with a dramatic flourish. With great pride George bade him “Come into the drawing room, Vicar”.

The rest of Lane Close also seemed pleased with their front rooms, but it was not long before the gilt on the gingerbread began to wear thin. Not all the houses had gone to Horley people. The Wrights at Number 1 Lane Close were Londoners by origin but had not returned after the war and had some difficult experiences in the early days in Horley. Their neighbours the Hemmings were a Hornton family and would have much preferred to stay there. The people with only two bedrooms would rather have had more, the doors stuck in the wet weather, and nobody much liked the Rayburn stoves that had been installed in the living room by an unimaginative/over-imaginative architect on the grounds that country people had been used to kitchen ranges and would therefore welcome a similar sort of heating and means of cooking. Nonetheless the gardens soon began to bloom, and with exceptions were all kept in glorious order.

The children from the new families swelled the numbers attending Horley School, and combined with the post-war baby boom known as ‘the bulge’ ensured the survival of the school for another generation.

The rest of this volume and part of volume two are about the families who experienced the changes in our village during this period.

[2] 392 residents in 1851 and 425 residents in 1841

Clare Marchant, June 2015

Clare MarchantThe is an extract from A Vanished Past Volume 1, each Volume is £15 +P&P  or you can buy both for £33 incl. p&p.

They are available directly from Clare , Shaftesbury House, 15 Circus Street, Greenwich, London SE10 8SN or marchantclare@hotmail or call on 020 8858 8529. Cheques payable to Clare Marchant.

Clare Marchant was born in Horley Vicarage, Oxfordshire in 1941 and spent her formative years there until 1965. She now lives in Greenwich, London

First published in 2015. All rights reserved. The rights of Clare Marchant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the consent of © Clare Marchant.  Copyright for each image rests with the contributor.

A Varnished Past – A Carter, Cattleman & Farm Labourer

Bagnall and England

William Cole Bagnall of the Manor and later Holly Tree Farm and David England (with trilby) Courtesy of Bill Griffin

David England (1866-1945).  David worked on the land all his life, variously as a carter’s boy, a cattleman and an agricultural labourer. He could probably turn his hand to most things, as workers on the land were expected to do.

[A carter was a driver of a horse-drawn vehicles used for transporting goods, they usually drove a light two wheeled carriage]

He had been born in Radway in 1866, into one of the many England families living there. David’s parents moved to Drayton for a decade or so, but by 1911 he was in Horley with his widowed mother, with whom he lived. He supported her until her death in 1929. She had her roots in Gloucestershire.

David England has been mentioned by several people as a ‘character’. Bill Griffin writes:

‘David England worked for grandfather [William Cole Bagnall] at The Manor as also shown by him being in the haymaking photo. I can just remember him working in the garden and on the farm at the little house [Holly Tree Farm]. I thought him rather quaint and old fashioned in that he often wore corduroy trousers which had plenty of material in the legs and he had a piece of binder string tied round the calf of each leg to stop the bottoms getting too dirty. (Binder string was the string used in the binder, the machine that cut the corn and tied it into sheaves. It was used for all purposes on the farm, usually second-hand after being cut from the sheaf at threshing and saved) The string tied round the legs used to be regarded as something done by the labourers and was used in cartoons etc. to denote a country yokel.

It just suited both parties that he came, was told what wanted doing, and just got on with it. It was, of course, a seven day a week job as there would be a couple of cows to milk, a couple of calves, a few pigs and some chickens to feed. But stockmen accepted that the job was a seven day job – they just did not expect days off every week as happens now. Times change but I am sure they are not so satisfied with their lives now as they were then.

I remember he was very good at handling bees. There were three or four hives in the orchard [at Holly Tree Farm] and David used to tend them and deal with the swarms. Grandmother also used to tend the bees. One of my treats of having tea at Horley was to have honey direct from the comb as I was very fond of the wax! I believe David was a bachelor who lived on his own after his mother died (not certain of this). Herbert Rump (a truly great character) took over when David stopped.’

Extract from A Vanished Past Volume 1 £15   Both Volumes and p&p £33. From Clare Marchant, Shaftesbury House, 15 Circus Street, Greenwich, London SE10 8SN or marchantclare@hotmail. Cheques payable to Clare Marchant.

A Vanished Past – Time of Change (2 of 3)

A Vanished Past – Vol.1 –  A Time of Change (2 of 3)

Changes in Health provision –Robert Pearson writes about his sister Joan’s admission from The School House to hospital in the early 1920s with scarlet fever:

‘Even some of the ambulances were still horse driven in those days. A very early, traumatic experience was when Joan was perhaps five or six years of age. She was diagnosed as having scarlet fever, then a much feared disease, passed on by direct contact with somebody who already had it. Presumably, in this case, from another child in my mother’s school. It involved going into an isolation hospital on the outskirts of Banbury. I remember so well this ambulance turning up late one afternoon shortly before it got dark – so it must have been in autumn, a time of the year when this disease was most likely to strike – and Joan being driven away. It was a Dickensian scene. The driver sat outside the cab on a high seat (presumably so that he would not be contaminated), and this made the scene somewhat macabre. Consequently she was all alone for the four-mile journey into hospital. When we went to see her the next day, and on subsequent visits, we were only allowed to see into her ward through a window. It left one with a feeling of great anxiety. However, all was well and she was home again after a few weeks. In those days this infection was considered very serious, and could in the worst cases lead to death. Now one never seems to hear of it – another disease brought fully under control.’

My own early childhood in the first half of the 1940s was free of any vaccinations except a smallpox vaccine as a baby. My sisters and the rest of Horley’s child population suffered spotty bodies, fevers, vomiting, sore throats, pains in the eyes, and headaches that came as a result of measles, German measles (rubella), mumps, chicken pox and whooping cough (pertusis) as they swept round the village. Although unwelcome there were mantras murmured by tired parents that at least the illnesses were over and that the younger the child, the quicker the recovery.

The most dreaded infection was polio where there were high rates of permanent disability or death. We saw the effect on Modesta Collar who from her teenage years had to walk with a stick. In the early 1950s Peggy Ann, the little daughter of Minnie Shawyer, died of infantile paralysis as it was also known. Epidemics of the other illnesses sometimes left tragedy in their wake too, and slightly before our time a young girl in Hornton had died of diphtheria – so there was always some anxiety about the outcome.

So we stoically endured these childhood illnesses as if they were rites of passage. Strictly speaking they were not childhood illnesses. Adults were not immune from them and the impact could be far more severe. My parents’ generation could only be protected from Smallpox. My mother had two wheals on her upper arm: large oval imprints with about six needle marks in each to commemorate her inoculation as a child against this deadly disease, now almost forgotten.

However, remarkable improvements in preventive medicine were afoot – something that made life much safer for all of us. A diphtheria, tetanus and measles vaccination was introduced in the late 1940s while I was in Horley School and was administered to us by the school doctor, Dr Ann Davies and Nurse Prescott. The needles were large and extremely painful and we nursed swollen arms for a week or more. By the late 1950s BCG for Tuberculosis (TB) was introduced – administered on a cube of sugar. Shân and Honor my younger sisters both had this advantage, but teenagers of my age and older were excluded from the programme. Shân further benefitted from advances in medical knowledge and experimental surgery, saving her from the life-threatening condition myasthenia gravis.

Untitled_22590132204_lEntertaining  – In the 1940s Horley’s polite society invited each other to tea. This could be modest: Barry Dunwoody remembers going with his grandmother Mrs Jelfs to have tea with Mrs Chapman and Miss Chapman at Park House where they always had tea and arrowroot biscuits.

The rules of Afternoon Tea were ritualistic. Arrival at 3.30pm in best clothes, gentle non-controversial conversation, the best (sometimes hand-embroidered) white linen tablecloth with sharply ironed fold marks and a crocheted edge, with the best china. Then either biscuits, or in affluent homes a plate of buttered bread cut extremely thinly from a loaf that had to be several days old to acquire the right refined thinness, jam in a special glass pot with its own jam spoon, and a single layer of Victoria sponge cake cut through and smeared with raspberry jam, and occasionally jam tarts.

Everyone sat upright hands in laps, no elbows on the table, small napkin on lap, bread and cake cut into small morsels and not bitten off in chunks. Children generally waited to be spoken to, and everybody waited to be offered food. It was not polite to complain about discomfort, so when Barry Dunwoody wearing short trousers had to sit on Mrs Chapman’s chair which had a seat stuffed with horse hair, he had to suffer the prickliness on his legs in silence.

One of the social niceties I found difficult to acquire was when to decline invitations to another piece of cake, when I would have liked it, and what words to use. It was at odds with the principle of always telling the truth in life. My mother also asked us not to use the words ‘I’m full up’, nor the grandiloquent ‘I have had an adequate/elegant sufficiency’. I learned to say ‘No, thank you very much’, which was a lie. It was all very difficult for a child.

The mid 1950s saw the last days of the afternoon tea ritual. Coffee and homemade cake at eleven in the morning took over – it was informal, quicker, could be fitted in after cleaning and before lunch, required less preparation, and the complications of tablecloths and napkins and sitting round a table were abandoned.

The other joy was the introduction of alcohol into our lives: sherry parties on Boxing Day, and soon sherry parties to celebrate anything. Then in the late 50s we graduated to something approaching the cocktail parties we read about in the magazines – well, not quite, not the cocktails themselves, but these were the hey-days of pearl onions, and tinned pineapple chunks with cubes of cheddar cheese speared on cocktail sticks and stuck into a grapefruit. It was all new, exciting and terribly sophisticated!

The range of food expanded beyond our dreams. Not only did bananas enter our diet after the war, but stranger things – in the early 1960s Shân Morgan, my sister bought one very expensive avocado from The Greengrocer in Warwick Road. It was hard but we were determined to like it. At the end of the 1950s it was noised abroad that a Chinese restaurant had opened in Stratford, and not long afterwards there was one in Banbury, and we self-consciously tried chopsticks. My first struggle with real spaghetti bolognese was in Oxford about the same time; and my first curry in Tiger Bay in the early 1960s. I and the rest of the UK have never looked back.

Walks –  Sunday afternoons after Sunday School was a time when families who had not fallen asleep after the Sunday roast would take a walk along the roads out of the village, joining up with each other and taking time to have leisurely conversations. In urban or seaside places it might have been called promenading. It was more strolling than power-walking: parents chatting and children and dogs dashing off into the hedgerows and fields.

Until the early 1960s there was still a tradition that Sunday was a day of rest, and so Jim Eadon of Chapel Cottage who never darkened the doorway of either church or chapel, was deeply offended that his neighbour Theo Peake of Hillside Farm had a modern suburban habit of motor-mowing his lawn on Sunday afternoon.

Saturday night was by custom bath night. On Sunday people discarded their work clothes, cleaned their shoes, and wore their best clothes to go to services.

For a number of families the day was ordered by the times of the church and chapel services, and this was signalled by the church bells so the whole village knew. On a still day this was reiterated by the sound of Drayton’s bells drifting across the fields. Although there were always animals that needed attention, farmers did not plough or even harvest on Sunday unless it was urgent – partly because the labour was not available.

But this was a time of change: young bellringers left the village and the bells ceased to ring. The seven-day imperatives of the food market and the efficient use of expensive farm machines prevailed. As more people bought motorbikes and cars, Sunday the day of rest was spent away from the village.

On weekday afternoons mothers with prams or push chairs might take a brisk walk before other children came home from school. No parents ever walked to the school to meet their child – there was not the time to do so, and it was not the custom.

Coming up in the 3rd and final part:

  • The decline of the village
  • The Impact of the two World Wars
  • The Evacuees and other Strangers
  • Agricultural mechanisation
  • Thatched roofs
  • A Better Britain – Regenerating Horley
  • Secondary Education –
  • Abandoned Untidiness to Village pride
  • The New Council Houses

Clare Marchant, June 2015

Clare MarchantThe is an extract from A Vanished Past Volume 1, each Volume is £15 +P&P  or you can buy both for £33 incl. p&p.

They are available directly from Clare , Shaftesbury House, 15 Circus Street, Greenwich, London SE10 8SN or marchantclare@hotmail or call on 020 8858 8529. Cheques payable to Clare Marchant.

Clare Marchant was born in Horley Vicarage, Oxfordshire in 1941 and spent her formative years there until 1965. She now lives in Greenwich, London

First published in 2015. All rights reserved. The rights of Clare Marchant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the consent of © Clare Marchant.  Copyright for each image rests with the contributor.

 

 

Now & Then – The Red Lion

The Red Lion – Publican

Mr Allen Wright with his son Ron

Mr Allen Wright with his son Ron,      Courtesy of Roy Bayliss

Allen Wright, his wife and their son Ron lived at The Red Lion. It had the reputation of being one of the most cheerless pubs in north Oxfordshire. If there was ever a fire it had only a few coals, and more probably sticks. Mr and Mrs Wright were to be seen most afternoons with their wooden push cart/trolley walking up the Hornton Road or in Hadsham ‘sticking’. Of course many people in Horley had been born and brought up in very difficult times when there was poverty, insufficient food, and no safety net of welfare benefits to cope with unemployment or ill health. Even when the state began to provide basic levels of welfare for its citizens some people continued to live in the way they were accustomed to.

People said wryly that there was a 5 watt bulb in the pub. But during the depressed economic conditions prevalent in the countryside in the 1940s/50s there were not many rich pickings to be had in running a local pub. In some ways it is surprising that the pub survived.

In the 1920s and 1930s there had been better days and the pub had pork pies for sale on a Friday. Florrie Dunwoody remembered that she and her mother Mrs Jelfs would sometimes buy one as a treat for tea.

 

A Vanished Past – Time of Change (1 of 3)

A Vanished Past – Vol.1 –  A Time of Change (1 of 3)

 The 1920s and 1930s Robert Pearson wrote elegantly about his childhood for his children:

‘My boyhood years, in the 1920s and 1930s, were not all that far removed from the late 19th century, extraordinary as that seems now that we are in the 21st century, and village life then reflected this in many ways. The importance of the church and the Vicar in village life; the squire (country gentleman and major landowner); people of independent means; local tradespeople, and what could be classified loosely as ‘working people’. It was a society set in aspic – how things had been for hundreds of years, little affected by the Industrial Revolution of the late 18th and early 19th centuries when centres of manufacture had, with mechanisation, been transformed. In the towns so affected, the links with the past had been largely severed, so there was this dichotomy between these places and rural areas which has taken many decades to develop some kind of equilibrium. But not for much longer would rural areas remain unaffected. Generally speaking, rural areas nowadays, except the most remote, enjoy most of the facilities available to town and city dwellers – and certainly essential ones.’

A Time of Change By Honor Berry and Clare Marchant

When we were young the oldest people in our village could remember back as far as the 1880s. They recalled how they had coped with the difficulties of wars (always fought far away), varying weather conditions, and epidemics. During their childhoods change had come to the village slowly. The old men and women had seen the drift of people away from the village into the towns with the improvements in the efficiency of farm implements. They had witnessed a revolution in transport and felt the influences of a number of new inventions, but even if their generation had all received compulsory schooling, which their forebears had not, the way of life of many people, although improving, was not so very different from a hundred years before.

Traditionally the working-men of Horley laboured on the farms. Some were in domestic service along with the women. All were beholden to the handful of middle-class families in the village, the landowners who employed them, and they worked long arduous hours in poor conditions for low wages.

Bagnall and EnglandAfter a life-time working on the land in all weathers, the men looked old once they had reached their sixties. The leather gaiters that they wore marked them out as belonging to a different age from ours. The women fared rather worse. If they had not adopted the modern ways with ‘perms’ and hair-colouring, their hair became grey and wispy and was normally twisted back into a bun. But the most telling sign of age was the loss of teeth: older people were toothless though they had an immaculate set of false teeth recognisable by their whiteness and regularity, which were often so uncomfortable they were only worn on special occasions. Restricted diets in the past had not made strong bones and elderly people in our village suffered a good deal of lumbago, arthritis, rheumatism and chest complaints. Nonetheless they had learned to be hardy and lived stoically with illness and disease.

To us as children in the 1940s the village and its people seemed as though it had been like that forever. Changes seemed very few and very slow, but we did not understand that we were a generation with different expectations and we did expect things would get better after the war. However, we could never have envisaged in our wildest dreams quite how far our lives would change and how comfortable we would become.

horley-the-village-c1955_h234002_large copy right @the francis frith collectionBy 1950 Horley along with all the other villages in the country was beginning to feel the influence of social and economic change and development that would finally see the end of the working village. The change while it brought undoubted benefits that made everyday living more comfortable, was quicker than any previously experienced. The elderly remarked on it constantly and told us that the alteration was so complete that nothing remained the same. We found this hard to understand. The village looked to us as if it had not changed for decades. There were no new buildings other than the six Old Council Houses that had been built between the wars, and the four Manor Cottages that replaced the thatched cottages destroyed by fire. Most houses still had no electricity, no running water and no sewerage system. But it was not that which they were talking about. The loss they felt was of the village society, for they had witnessed the almost total disintegration of a thriving agricultural community, and had we understood the significance of the evidence available to us, we could have seen that there was plenty to support their claims.

The Old Mill & Mrs Highham use collection of Maureen Banks

Mrs Higham of 5 The Old Council Houses fetching milk with The Mill (in the background)

The main period of this book, 1940-65, was the end of an era.The Second World War delayed progress for a while. In the 1940s our milk still came warm from the cows, unpasteurised, in a churn or bucket and at the door was ladled out into the jugs or cans housewives provided. Horses were still used in the fields. At harvest time men came home from work in Banbury or on the Ironstone, had their dinner/tea and then went to help harvesting until, even with double summer-time[1], the dusk settled over the countryside. I remember waking up as the harvesters went past The Vicarage singing. Older women still went gleaning at harvest time, families went sticking (gathering firewood), and men went ferreting to catch rabbits for family consumption.

Decay seemed to lie all around us. There was not much building in the years after the war for there were not the materials or the money – indeed building was forbidden without a licence. After the prisoners of war had left Horley House, and the sad, Displaced Persons found a job, Horley House which had once been the main house in the village, lay unoccupied and increasingly dilapidated, the drive closed in by overgrown laurels. Bought at a knock-down price (no-one could afford the cost of keeping large houses), the lead tanks in the attics were removed by the Banbury building company that had bought it and sold for scrap.

Horley Mill Race John Saunders courtesy Patching TrusteesIt was during the immediate post-war period that the unused mill was reduced to one storey and the stone used for a house in Alkerton. A crowd gathered one sunny afternoon to see the upper storeys being taken down. At this time Horley was very poor. It was a period when some people were forced to mend holes in windows with sacking stuffed with straw; when thatch was patched and paint peeled from windows and front doors, and paint, if available, was black, dark green or brown, giving the village a severe and sombre aspect.

The nearby Oxfordshire Ironstone Company offered welcome alternatives to farm labouring and thrived during the Second World War and 1950s, then declined and suddenly closed in the late 60s. As a consequence more men had to look outside the village to seek work in Banbury or become self-employed.

Socially it was a different time with different values and ways of doing things. Although there were fewer and fewer people working on the land, the vast majority of people came from agricultural families either in Horley or in other villages. So we saw ourselves as an agricultural village. Culturally we inherited all sorts of assumed rights. There was an unspoken and unchallenged belief that farmers managed the land, but the countryside belonged to everyone. For our part we shut gates, walked around the edge of fields with hay or other crops, and did not allow dogs to chase cattle or sheep. I never appreciated the great freedom I had wandering over the fields, playing in the ponds and spinneys. It was my world. No mobile telephones for my parents to keep tabs on me. I never considered it would ever be otherwise.

Living in a small community could be intense and feelings could run high leading to hurt pride and angry disagreements that were never resolved. But there were also deep friendships which stood the test of time.

The village was also divided by those who went to Chapel or to Church – some people went to both at different times, and some went to neither.

Coming up in part 2 and 3:

  • Changes in Health provision
  • Entertaining
  • Walks
  •  The decline of the village
  • The Impact of the two World Wars
  •  The Evacuees and other Strangers
  • Agricultural mechanisation
  • Thatched roofs
  • The Arrival of Electricity, Water and The Main Drain
  • A Better Britain – Regenerating Horley
  • Secondary Education
  • Abandoned Untidiness to Village pride
  • Vestiges of a Feudal Society
  • The New Council Houses

Clare Marchant, June 2015

Clare MarchantThe is an extract from A Vanished Past Volume 1, each Volume is £15 +P&P  or you can buy both for £33 incl. p&p.

They are available directly from Clare , Shaftesbury House, 15 Circus Street, Greenwich, London SE10 8SN or marchantclare@hotmail or call on 020 8858 8529. Cheques payable to Clare Marchant.

Clare Marchant was born in Horley Vicarage, Oxfordshire in 1941 and spent her formative years there until 1965. She now lives in Greenwich, London

First published in 2015. All rights reserved. The rights of Clare Marchant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the consent of © Clare Marchant.  Copyright for each image rests with the contributor.

[1] Clocks were two hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time, so darkness fell after 10pm

 

A Vanished Past – The Cowman

Mr and Mrs Gardner

Red LionNext door to The Red Lion pub was a tall thin building which was strangely out of place amongst the lower thatched houses of the village. It looked as though it had been squeezed onto a small patch of land.

However this is where the friendly elderly Mr and Mrs Gardner lived in the 1940s.

I remember Mr Gardner as cowman at Manor Farm. He milked all the cows by hand in the cowsheds at the side of The Vicarage kitchen garden, where he allowed us to watch him, at a distance. He sat on a small three-legged stool.

Like most men working with animals he wore leather gaiters, and like most countrymen who worked on the land he moved at a steady, even pace all day long.

The house was later pulled down.

Extract from A Vanished Past Volume 1 £15   Both Volumes and p&p £33. From Clare Marchant, Shaftesbury House, 15 Circus Street, Greenwich, London SE10 8SN or marchantclare@hotmail. Cheques payable to Clare Marchant.

 

A Vanished Past – The Oil Man

Mr Warren E Warren (1884-1971) and his wife Ida (died 1967)

Mr Warren


Photo by John Saunders,                            Courtesy Alice Bowmaker

It was widely reported that Mr Warren Ernest Warren had been born in Canada although he showed no signs of even the slightest Canadian accent. He and his wife first lived in The Nutshell next to Phlox Cottage, and then bought and refurbished the house where Mr and Mrs Hicks Senior had lived – Jasmine Cottage, which had cascades of jasmine falling down the front of the house.

John Saunders took this photograph (Mr Warren) to illustrate countryside deliveries. The Shop at your Door oilman delivered to the many households still using paraffin for lighting, cooking and heating. This is one of the few pictures of Mrs Ida Warren, who worked for several families in the village including the Pratts at Essex House and the Saunders next door at Phlox Cottage and then Horley School House.

They had two daughters Maudie and Margie (Margaret) who were born in Canada. Mrs Warren regaled us with the tale of how she had been driven to hospital on a sleigh through a winter snowstorm for the birth of one of her daughters. It sounded both romantic and jolly to us, but it could have been neither at the time. Both Maudie and Margie left the area in the late 1940s or early 1950s and rarely returned. Mr Warren was a commercial traveller in the late 1930s, but was also reckoned to have been a book-keeper/accountant at some time in the past. He died in 1971 in the Brackley area.

Warren E. Warren was actually born in Hammersmith, London, one of a family of eight children. He worked for a period in Winnipeg Canada in the first decade of the 20th century. It is possible he acquired Canadian citizenship and so it may have been true he was Canadian though not born there. They had hopes of becoming farmers, but either that failed or they tired of the idea.

Mr Warren was a pale, small and gaunt man and a prolific smoker. He lived to be 87. There is a good photograph of him in the chapter on the cricket club in a later volume.

Extract from A Vanished Past Volume 2 £15   Both Volumes and p&p £33. From Clare Marchant, Shaftesbury House, 15 Circus Street, Greenwich, London SE10 8SN or marchantclare@hotmail. Cheques payable to Clare Marchant.

A Vanished Past – Grocers

“History rarely repeats itself, but it often rhymes. …” Mark Twain.

Interesting to compare and contrast our “grocery shopping” experience now with then:

  • Home Deliveries:  First the shopkeeper had to visit all his customers to take down their orders (hardly anyone had a telephone in those days); then make his way to the town, buy whatever commodities were ordered, and then come back and make the individual deliveries. For all of this he made a modest charge. But to even think of him keeping all those orders separate in his head, in combination, of course, with some kind of record in the notebook he also carried, makes the mind boggle! All mental arithmetic; no pocket calculators.”
  • Village Shop: “At the same time the small grocery shops, whether in Banbury or the villages found themselves in competition with new large food outlets like Keymarket.”

Grocers

Alice Saunders and Maureen Eeles buy sweets from Mrs Oliver

Alice Saunders and Maureen Eeles buy sweets from Mrs Oliver, Photographs by John Saunders

During the war there was no village shop in Horley. Most people did best if they committed themselves to one grocer or another, and became a regular customer. Dossetts the Banbury’s ‘High Class’ grocers made pre-ordered deliveries to large households in the area.

Shortly after the war the elderly Mrs Roylance ran a little shop for a short while from her front room in Hillary Cottage. It was hard to keep going. Mrs Jack Oliver took it over when she left as cook of The Manor.

 

Mrs Jack Oliver serves Ann Saunders of The School House

Mrs Jack Oliver serves Ann Saunders of The School House

Mr Jack Oliver in the shop

Mr Jack Oliver serving in the shop and post office in The Square

In the 1950s the Gibsons of The Manor provided the village with a purpose-built Shop and Post Office in The Square which Mr and Mrs Jack Oliver ran and eventually owned, and which supplied all the basic non-perishable provisions that people needed. At the same time the small grocery shops, whether in Banbury or the villages found themselves in competition with new large food outlets like Keymarket.

Mr Jack Hobbs

The extended shop – below is a picture of Mr  Jack Hobbs of one of Varney’s Yard cottages, now Ivy Cottage, leaving the village shop. By 1965 the shop had closed and a Co-op van was delivering groceries on a Tuesday

Courtesy of Mrs E M Blakiston-Houston (previously Coles) & Mrs Margaret Coles of SheningtonCarriers to and from Banbury were very important well into the 1930s, bringing food and goods to many households. As late as the 1950s the Sumner family still provided a residual service for those unable to get to Banbury. Robert Pearson writes in more detail about the 1920s and 1930s: ‘….. there were other sectors of country life where horses still provided an essential service. The village had its own motorised bus service into the local town twice a week (on market day, which was on Thursdays, and on Saturdays), but the carrier service was still operated by a covered horse-drawn wagon, which was fitted up with shelving…This service also operated on the same two days, and in retrospect must have been a nightmare to organise. First the shopkeeper had to visit all his customers to take down their orders (hardly anyone had a telephone in those days); then make his way to the town, buy whatever commodities were ordered, and then come back and make the individual deliveries. For all of this he made a modest charge. But to even think of him keeping all those orders separate in his head, in combination, of course, with some kind of record in the notebook he also carried, makes the mind boggle! All mental arithmetic; no pocket calculators.’

Mr Philip Coles, the grocer, was a constant figure in the village on Tuesdays. He, his brother Ernest and his sister, Mrs E.M. Blakiston-Houston owned the village grocers shop in Shenington, and took their van round several villages collecting orders from each house and then after searching through the shelves stacked with groceries and boxes full of goods on the floor of the van, returning with a wicker basket full of the food. During and in the years following the war the Coles’ business thrived, but suffered with the arrival of supermarkets and their lower prices.

PS Since posting this one of the photo’s has been shared 2.7k times, you should be able to it

How many people remember when the local grocery shop looked like this?

Posted by Dave Matthews on Monday, 14 December 2015

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