Chronicle of Bramford Man – Volume 4 | Bramford Local History Group

Introduction

Volume 3 of my memoirs and historical records again brought appreciative response from friends and colleagues and invariably the question is asked, “When is the next booklet due?” One telephonic comment that reached me went something like this, “I didn’t half enjoy reading the names of those owd gals who went to school when you did, I reckon some of them are rum looking owd mawthers now”.
The stories relating to the school gardens seemed well received and to be reminded of the early wireless set made another gentleman’s day.
From early childhood there were many jobs at home to be assimilated through our parents before school leaving age. Outside fatigues were pursued during the better weather and skills in other crafts were gained throughout the dark evenings but I must not give the impression that my younger days were all work and no play. We enjoyed cuddly Old English rabbits and the antics of our golden agouti guinea pigs.

Pegging Mats and Rugs

The Runcton cottage ground floors were formed with uneven bricks that always felt cold and damp unless, of course, they were covered with mats and rugs. By the time my turn came round to learn the mat making hobby, many of the mats covering the brick floors were probably twenty years old.
Members of the W.I. may think so, but I am not reminding them – in what follows – of how to ‘suck eggs’.
Cast-off waistcoats, jackets, trousers and overcoats were never thrown away but collected temporally in a jute sack. Moth holes didn’t matter, everything was saved in the rag rug business. By the Autumn, when the clocks were turned back, it was time to start scissor cutting the discarded clothes, which by now had become a bit fusty, into long strips 1″ wide and cut again into pieces 4″ long.
A clean hessian sack was acquired and cut into two. One piece was used for pegging the mat and the other became the backing. Sitting on a stool in front of the fire I worked with the hessian spread over my knees and held between fmger and thumb. Using a pegging spike, the dark coloured cloth pieces were pierced into the hessian, making sure both ends of the rag pieces were pegged on the same side. Usually I completed two tightish rows round the edge of the hessian to form the rug shape. The brighter cloth pieces, the reds and greens, were pegged tightly into the centre pattern and an assortment of colours was used to fill in close enough to provide a good warm thickness. The rug was finally stretched and the hessian-backing piece stitched in place to finish.

British Legion

The British Legion, a national enterprise, was formed within a year or so of the end of WWI for the gathering of Old Comrades, to provide financial support for war widows, returning wounded and charitable causes. British Legion Clubs sprang up all over the country and Bramford was to the fore in this respect. Alf. Gooch MC, Arthur Rodwell, Sid Blake, Bodger Garrod, Ha’penny Keeble, the Keeble brothers who lived at the Well, Hubert, Robert and Richard, together with Sid Earthy and Hayward Plummer assisted in the formation the Club which in the early days was held in the fire-gutted old Mill. When the property next to the Almshouses became available they moved to the Street.
My parents knew Alf Gooch as ‘Major’ but persons associated with the Club knew him as colonel. He was, I believe, a regimental sergeant major but I knew him as a very pleasant person, who displayed a happy smile bridged by a small moustache.

British Legion – Children’s Party

Many young village children, myself included, enjoyed the British Legion Christmas parties. In the company of my friends I looked forward to the fun, excitement and the sight of the huge sparkling Christmas tree (from the Hall) laden with presents.
When the upper room of the Legion premises was crowded on special occasions, a strong portable post was placed under the ceiling beam on the ground floor to support the extra weight of food tables and bouncing boys and girls. A dark, twisting narrow stairway gave access to the party room where after entertainment every child, on the way down the stairs, was given a present, a bag of sweets, an orange and a new mug which we had used at the party.
One of my earliest gifts was a tin plated ‘Made in Germany’ orange coloured toy charabanc where tiny doors opened along each side. It was a treasured possession for a long time. Over the years membership increased and as more children attended the party it was moved to the Victory Hall. Tea was laid on long tables, and a present for everyone could be seen under the decorated holly tree but the gifts were not handed out before Felix Gordon had entertained (or frightened some) with his puppets, ventriloquism, magic, card tricks and a few songs.

Bramford Senior School – Male Students

In introducing a few more memoirs of my school days at Duckamere I will first of all recall the names of those boys who resided outside a 2 miles radius of the Bramford parish and who used a bicycle provided by the education authority to journey to and fro.
Boys names which were not included in volume 2.
Dick Allison, Walter Barrel, Geoffery Boreham, Albert Bowen, Harold Large, Wilfred Lawrence, Arthur Mann, Ken Scrivener, Joe Southgate, Dennis (Jim), Don and Ivan Thorpe (brothers), Ken (Ginger) Thorpe, A.J. (Jim) Woollard and Eric Woollard, (all of Sproughton). Keith Lovett and Tony Payne, (both of Chantry), Stanley Banyard and Reg Kinsey, (Burstall), Russell Dyer, Albert Last and Claude Simpson, (Flowton/Somersham), Edwin and Walter Last, (Grindle Lane) Arthur Allum, Reg Coleman, Frank Eaton, Kenny French, Vic Humphrey, Ken Johns, Frank Lay and Bill Lloyd, Tony Marsh, Joseph Parish, Leonard Shepherd and Gordon Smith. (Bramford).

Bramford Senior School – Art

I found art a very absorbing subject and one I looked forward to each week. The caretaker rearranged the classroom, placing two rows of tables and chairs in a circle round the room and another table in the centre. The Headmaster taught the subject at quite a simple level for eleven year old children. Sketching objects such as cubes, cones, cylinders and books were placed on the table in varying positions so that each pupil focalized the object from a distinct angle under shades of light or shadow. As drawing ability developed pupils were subjected to drawing subjects which posed a higher degree of thought and imagination. Many a laugh or snigger was heard, (upon which the Head frowned) at drawings seen on the desks of boys and girls who had little or no talent to sketch the pot or vase placed in front of them. A large-handled jug would perhaps stand in full view, and it was almost certain that some boy or girl would sketch the handle although it was not within their sight. The Head, in exasperation called the class to attention and asked, “How many times do I have to tell you? Draw what you can see and not what you can’t see.
Slowly we reached higher standards and I remember sketching and painting a still life of a yellow tulip placed in a vase; the work reached the dizzy heights of the exhibition board on open day, purposely, I think, for the attention of Miss Ethel Fiske, a school manager, who was kind enough to speak to me about my exhibit.

Wartime Snippets

Perhaps it would be interesting to recall moments in the wartime life of student colleagues whom are mentioned in the previous page, which hopefully, will be of interest and even jog memories.
When Tony Payne joined as an office junior at the Bramford Works of Fison Packard and Prentice he also joined the Territorial Army. Before the declaration of war in 1939 he was called up for active service. Later in 1941 when our industrial cities were being heavily bombed, Tony was engaged nightly on the ack-ack in the defence of Plymouth where he received serious foot injuries.
In 1944, whilst serving with the RAF, I met Frank Eaton playing cricket at the Khartoum transit base in Sudan. He was a sergeant at the time.
Jim Woollard, an RAF Wireless Operator, was also employed by FPP. Later in 1944 while at RAF Fayid in the Canal Zone I met Jim on leave from Cairo he was then an instructor at the Helwan Wireless Operator school.

Science Recalled

The majority of boys enjoyed the science lessons and the experiments performed by Leslie Piper in the small science room. Mr Piper was a likeable tall gentleman whom we jostled around at the workbench in order to follow what he was preparing. He sometimes came up with surprises especially if he needed more breathing space from the odour of sweaty boys. When fumes and smoke percolated from his experiments, “Open the door and leave it ajar,” he shouted as his young audience backed off.
Seventy years later, I am still in possession of my school science and gardening subjects notebook. Glancing through the pages I am reminded specifically of the subject ‘photosynthesis’ revealing the sunlight energy requirements of plants, a study I had thoroughly grasped. In my second year, Leslie Piper was taken seriously ill and during his twelve months absence was replaced by a Mr. Holmes. I knew at once that I would not have the same concord with the new teacher. I was never at ease in Mr Holmes presence, perhaps it was because of his swarthy face that our eyes never met. One day, when I was not paying full attention he called in a raised voice, “Beckett! what is the meaning of photosynthesis?” Turning to the front I retorted, “Plant growth in the presence of light, sir.” Heads were down low as we continued our studies, there was complete silence, it was my lucky day to quote what I had written in my notes on the 8th May 1934.

Learning to Swim – In the River

The River Gipping in my childhood often became polluted but we still enjoyed bathing throughout the summer holidays. We took our towels with other children along the river bank to a favourite spot called the Trunk near Bushman’s Bridge. The river was shallow at this point and comparatively safe for non-swimmers. One could walk on an underwater culvert to the opposite Chapel Field bank.
During school term, boys who could bear the cold water took swimming lessons under the guidance of Mr Lowe. Weekly, we cycled to the old mill to swim in the rear pool which had been cleared of slimy thick weeds. The pool was not large but quite deep and debris which collected prevented inattentive boys going over the weir and under the derelict mill. A corrugated iron lean-to shelter with a rough plank seat served as somewhere to undress. We made sure when removing our slightly odorous shoes and socks that teacher didn’t see the ‘spud’ in the heels.
In order to obtain our proficiency certificates we attended Fore Street baths in Ipswich In my first year I gained, and still hold, a 25 yards qualification and later, one for 440 yards.

The Village Slop Looms

As far as I was aware I had not been up to mischief but someone had obviously complained to the village policeman. A few boys at the time played with catapults and being desirous of my own, I bought a length of very strong elasticized rubber, approximately 4mm square. Working quietly in the shed I attached the powerful elastic, through a leather sling piece, to a cobnut Y-stick trimmed from the hedge.
Not many days went by before PC Parker, the burly village policeman in uniform, one evening, knocked at the door and asked mother her name although he knew whom she was. He asked also whether her son owned a catapult? She admitted liability after I had turned out my pockets. They talked quietly for some minutes before he rode away on his bicycle.
Mother turned, she was furious and most concerned that people may have seen a policeman at the door and what would they think? Sadly, I handed the offending weapon over to mother who immediately tossed it into the fire. I had to remove my shoes until next morning. Mother’s steely eye and coolness was very unpleasant while she muttered on for a couple of hours, worrying about the policeman calling and what Miss Fiske would think?

Pastime Activities – Walking in Father’s Footsteps

Wood chopping took place on the grass, adjacent to the privies, where there was ample room for a sawhorse and an elm-trunk chopping block to stand. All the family males, at sometime, acquired the skills of chopping sticks for fire lighting, sawing logs and using an axe. The logs supplemented the coal burnt on the oven-range fire. Replenishing wood stocks was normally carried out in the spring, before the sap in the hedges and trees began to rise. A well-grown field hedge containing three or four good Elm trees with ample overhead branches was selected for topping. Having sought the farm bailiff’s agreement, we boys all chipped in, until dusk, to coppice, bundle and tie faggots, and sort logs. On Saturday we borrowed ‘Smiler’ and tumbrel to load and fetch the wood home.
Sharpening tools – Axes and choppers were regularly sharpened on the wet grindstone. Turning the stone handle could become tedious work particularly when father pressed heavily on the blade to grind out a chip and preserve the cutting edge. Saws normally had to wait for a wet Saturday afternoon before sharpening took place. This job too, could become back aching. The saw was tightly wedged in a home-made wooden frame and held in the bench vice. Using a suitable triangular file and working backwards and forward across the saw every tooth was sharpened at the correct angle and repeated in the reverse direction to complete a satisfactory job.
Sweeping the chimney was a job carried out three or four times a year. The burning of green wood produced abundant soot and smoke that puffed into the room when the wind was not in the right quarter. It was then time to bring out the sacking that was placed over the fireplace and tacked to the mantelpiece. Chimney rods and brush were placed on the floor ready for pushing up the chimney. The first rod was poked through a hole in the sacking and screwed to the chimney brush on the inside. One by one the screwed rods were added until the brush reached the chimney pot. It was my job to make sure I could see the brush from the garden. The brush movement up and down the chimney dislodged bucket-fulls of loose soot, and large pieces too, into the fireplace. Neither father’s appearance or temperament was complimentary.
Shoe repairs was a cottage service provided by father for both family and local land workers. He used various sized lasts, held in a 30″ post on which to work. Selecting a suitable piece of leather it was well soaked before shaping with his cobblers knife. When thoroughly dry, the leather was tacked over the sole wear spots and a generous number of hobnails hammered in. A little spit and polish was now applied for preservation.

When the weather was inclement we played in the garden shed or adjusted and fiddled with our scrap-iron bikes but we had to be careful, father knew immediately if we had tampered with his cobbler’s knife and taken the edge off. He wouldn’t be very pleased – and time to stand clear! Sometimes, however, we opened up a wooden box from under the bench and spent ages, if it was wet, looking through late Victorian glass photographic plates but we could never really see what they were supposed to reveal.
Hair cutting that took place in the shed was another skill I acquired (later).
A number of locals called for a cheap haircut either on a Saturday afternoon or a summer evening. They sat on an upturned beer crate and were charged 6d (2.5p). A large cloth was thrown round their shoulders and tied in a knot. This was necessary to prevent what few ashes dropped from the end of the customer’s fag did not fall on the earth floor. I too, took my turn when a trim was needed, it was impossible to escape, and I hated the indignity of a worn piece of cloth being tucked inside my grubby collar and having hair knots combed out. The hand clippers too, forever seemed to nip and pull through lack of oil, — “keep ya’hid still bor”.
Reading was not a popular pastime during the winter months when bedtime was earlier. Creeping upstairs was quite scary, there were no light switches, only a candlestick or a tiny paraffin lamp to illuminate the way, and so bedroom reading was near impossible. Even the light from the oil lamp standing permanently on the living room table was insufficient for reading comics. I found it easier to read `Tiger Tim’ sitting on a stool in the light of the coal fire flames. Film Fun, Adventure and Rover were favourite reading for a long time but then Miss Ethel Fiske tried to raise my horizon by passing to me the weekly Children’s Newspaper.
Brother Percy, bought weekly, a tuppenny magazine called the ‘Thriller’. By the window in daylight, he read for as long as possible but later had nightmares.
Darts and Card Games were very popular at home. Father played darts throughout the winter evenings for the British Legion, The Cock, and the Wild Man. We had a ‘fives’ board hanging on the living room door protected by an old coat. As children, we loved to challenge dad particularly, if he let us win. After a while though we got on mother’s nerves and so we had to sit at the table and play something less noisy such as dominoes but that even created counting arguments. Card games then came to mind, I loved a game of ‘nap’ or whist, it delayed bedtime but mother soon chipped in, “Don’t settle down, just half an hour then you’re off to bed.” It was pointless to argue or whine `oh! Mum’.

Harvest – The Horse-drawn Binder

I spent almost my entire school holidays in the harvest fields with the harvesters in the 1920’s and 30’s. Two gangs of eight men were formed on each of the Thornbush and Runcton farms to collect in the harvest. James Hardwick was in charge at Thornbush and Walter Blake at Runcton. At the end of harvest the men were each paid an £8 bonus on top of their normal weekly pay. They worked long hours, sometimes until dusk if rain clouds appeared on the horizon. The gangs were always anxious to get the harvest in and stacked while the sun was high in the sky. Fields of barley or perhaps oats, which ripens sooner than wheat, were the first crops to be cut.
Workmen, using their scythes in a sideways movement mowed and cleared an area of corn at the field gate to enable the binder (the heavy machine used to cut the standing corn) to get in. The gang in the meantime had scythed an eight-foot strip completely round the edge of the field so that the binder drawn by three heavy horses did not trample the ripe corn on its first cutting circuit of the field. As the binder moved forward the 54″ cutting knife with 3″ saw teeth moved sideways through the standing corn and cut the stems to leave standing stubble five inches high. In one mechanical action the cut corn was simultaneously brushed by revolving wooden slat sails so that it fell onto canvas conveyors which moved it through the binder where in one precise mechanical movement the corn was bunched into sheaves, tied with string by a hollow needle and cut by a moving knife which allowed the sheaf to be thrown out sideways to the ground.
Walter Blake, the head horsemen, normally drove the Runcton right-handed binder in a three-hour shift and then returned to the stables for the horses to rest, have their bait and a long drink from the cold water tank at the stable door. Tom Sheldrake, the second horseman, now hooked up his powerful young Suffolks and continued cutting for another three hours if the weather remained dry. The working gang picked up the sheaves and stood them in batches of eight, in parallel rows of shocks or stooks. If there were signs of dampness and green weed the shocks were left a few days to dry before loading into horse-drawn wagons. Using pitchforks, three men did the loading, one standing in the wagon to pack the sheaves pitched up to him by the others. The wagon was stacked high and roped for safety. A trace-horse assisted with the pulling of the heavily loaded wagons from the field to the cart track or road. The trace-horse chains were hooked to the wagon shafts in front of the wagon horse and in tandem were driven on a long rein by a lad to the stackyard where the load of sheaves were packed facing the centre of the prepared stack base.

Riding the Binder Horses

The best part of harvest was riding the binder horses. Weather permitting, I would be up early to ensure I didn’t miss the first shift horses leave the stable. Trotting along the road to Runcton farm I entered the drift between cowshed and stable, I hovered in or near the stable doorway with my foot on the large log step waiting, and listening to Walter Blake talking quietly to Depper, Prince and Sharper while he put on their bridles and britchens. “Git over” he commanded, Walter had arrived much earlier to feed them a fresh bait of mash, oats and water. Always in pecking order, Depper turned gently followed by Prince and Sharper, their hooves clonking on the cobbled stone floor. With precision they lifted their huge hairy legs and hooves over the step and walked out the stable door.
“Do you want a ride, bor?” Walter asked, my hand had already grabbed Prince’s collar and with a helping lift I was astride his broad brown back. Walter mounted Sharper and together we walked side by side along the quiet road to the harvest field on Duckamere. The overnight canvas cover had been removed from the binder ready for the horses’ chains to be hooked-up to the binder main shaft. Depper, who had a large white flash down her face, was always connected on the shaft side nearest the standing corn while Prince pulled and strained on his collar from the other side of the shaft. Sharper’s collar and harness chains were hooked on the outside, next to Prince. Walter Blake carried a long whip on the rear of the binder but never used it on the horses. It was time to start cutting, holding Prince’s tail I eased myself between the rear of the horses and the binder, stepping up on the shaft I squeezed along between Depper and Prince and climbed onto his back. I carried a hazel rabbit stick in my hand and occasionally tapped the horses to keep an even pace as they worked around the field in ever decreasing circles until cutting was complete or a break was needed.

Rabbits on Hall Walk

Rabbits had become a pest in the harvest fields by the mid 1930’s. On a good day, but not for rabbits, I have seen over 200 caught in the field on Hall Walk behind the Covey in Bullen Lane. The lads off the Bramford Road always knew via the grapevine when a field was near completion and the rabbits would run. Scores of lads with sticks turned up on their bicycles just at the right time. Sometimes near the end of cutting, one could smell a stoat in the standing corn. A rabbit being chased by a stoat into the Covey had no chance of getting away. By this time the harvest gang and Arthur Clements were already collecting the dead rabbits. No one was allowed to take one before the workers had had first pick. The foreman also put aside rabbits for other workers on the farms, house staff and anyone living on their own. ‘Milky’ does could be taken by anyone owning a ferret. Some `Townies’ took milky’s but they couldn’t tell the difference from one that was edible. They were happy though to hide a rabbit in their poacher’s pocket or hang one over the cycle handlebars as they left the field for home.

The Rabbit Catcher

In 1934 the Thombush harvest gang was cutting a field of barley close to my grandparents home off Thombush Lane. The field was rather a misshape so the foreman decided to scythed a strip across the field to enable the binder to cut the field in two sections. The lower half had been completed the day before. With notched stick in hand, I made my way up and across the stubble to where the binder was working, Billy Hardwick was trying to finish cutting the remaining standing corn so that the horses could take their due rest before moving to a another field. (The working gang had already moved on to scythe the normal eight foot cut and clear around the field edge.) Billy and I were the only persons in the field and I had already noticed a rabbit hanging, by its pierced back legs, on the binder brake lever. Rabbits do not particularly like barley and I did not expect to see many emerge from the corn, as it was whittled away. I stood close to the standing barley looking for movements in the corn, and then moved away and stood quietly at the higher side of the field where I expected them to run. Rabbits prefer to run up hill rather than down.
The area of standing corn was slowly shrinking. There was movement in the stubble nearby. “A rabbit!” I shouted with excitement, it darted away and I gave chase as the frightened animal streaked for nettle cover in the top hedge. Weaving one way and then the other, the young buck hadn’t the strength to reach the field hedge and safety. The rabbit stopped, crouched in his tracks I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, he struggled as I picked him up and held him by his hind legs, but he died instantly when I clubbed him on the back of the head. I brushed his dark brown fur and for one not fully grown the rabbit was in fine condition. Returning to the standing corn I again glanced at the rich colour of the dead animal. It cast a doubt in my young mind, I asked myself, “Was it a young hare?” Being treated as game, one was not supposed to catch hares out of season, a difficult task anyway without a gun. I felt uneasy and my first thought was to hide the rabbit from sight, quickly I placed it gently on the ground in the stubble and at the same time, with my foot, rolled over a sheaf to hide the dead animal.
The binder, which worked left-handed, quickly finished cutting what remained of the standing barley leaving the tied sheaves on the ground ready for stooking. Arthur Clements, returned to the field exactly on time. He opened the field gate and at the same time picked up a hidden pitchfork from the hedge to throw the sheaves aside to form a path for the binder, pulled by three Suffolk Punches, to leave. The foreman had worked perhaps twenty yards when he pitched over the sheaf covering my rabbit. There was no comment, quietly he picked it up and placed it with the other on the brake handle. I was so disappointed, I cut another notch in my stick and ran down the field with my ‘tail’ between my legs. I scoffed my dinner and thought, what a tale to tell in my memoirs!

‘Elevenses’ in the Harvest Field

Farm workers, bringing in the harvest, were renown for brown weathered faces, and who wore collar-less shirts and baggy trousers tied at the knee. They worked very hard, sometimes from before breakfast, until late in the evening when the weather was good.
`Elevenses’ their morning break, would be taken sitting on a sheaf or leaning against a stook. With their grubby hands they pulled apart a packed hunk of bread and then with an open shut-knife cut a section off a strong lump of cheese. The cheese, held between forefinger and thumb was deposited between smiling stained teeth or toothless gums. With mouths full, they swallowed milk-less cold tea poured from a blue and white enamelled jug, the cap of which formed the drinking mug.
I sat down a little way off, but close enough to ‘earwig’ the conversations and prattle among the men. My lunch was probably a piece of homemade fruity bread pudding, a piece of dry cake or a couple of stale buns washed down with lemonade made from crystals.
`Bever’
`Bever’ was the slang term for the afternoon tea break taken in the cornfield around four o’clock and derived from the word beverage.
One day, while wandering up and down the barley stubble waiting for the rabbits to run in Duckamere field adjoining Bullen Lane, a ganger slouched over and asked, “Bor, will ya’ nip down to the Cock for some beer?”. He handed me a large, brown earthenware, jar-type bottle, which had a strong cord tied round its neck. With the money in my pocket, I swung the heavy stone jar over my shoulder, and with it bouncing up and down on my back, I ran down the Duckamere cart track into the secluded Cock Alley. The path brought me straight into the village street within a stone throw of the Cock Inn.
I had strict instructions to knock on the back door of the pub; in my innocence I was not aware that I was obtaining beer after hours. My loud knock brought Mrs Lloyd, the publican’s wife, to the door immediately. She looked down at me sternly but was pleased to oblige, when I asked, in a breathless voice, “Please fill the jar with mild beer”; at the same time placing the money in her rough hand. Beads of sweat smeared the harvest dust down the sides of my face as I hurried back. The hot and exhausted workers swilled down their bread and cheese or chewed rabbit leg in thirsty gulps. A worker offered me a swig which I accepted but had they not, my own half-bottle of home-made stout was hidden under the sheaf where I sat. Meanwhile the binder had moved to the field gate and was made ready to leave for the next field before sunset.

Binder Care

It was time to move the binder again to the next wheat field. Billy (Crippen) Hardwick (head horseman) assisted by Arthur Clements set about removing the main drawing (pulling) shaft from its housing at the front end of the machine to a side position. This manoeuvre allowed the binder to move through the field gateway after the main driving wheel had been retracted and two smaller towing wheels set in their side housings. When I arrived at the next field the binder had been changed to its working capacity and had completed a few circuits. Billy, driving his dark chesnut Suffolks had already completed enough to keep the gang busy setting up shocks. He wasted little time when the weather was good.
Harvest, even in fine weather, could not carry on without daily binder maintenance taking place on the field stubble. It was vital that the spare cutting knife was sharp at all times. The 4′ 6″ knife made up of 3″ triangular teeth, soon lost its sharp cutting edge after being used over stones and perhaps large clods on heavy soil. To sharpen, the knife was clamped onto an iron stand by the spare binder driver, who, with a large hand-file, performed the necessary sharpening ready for the next change.
Renewing a ball of twine was not an easy task either; the heavy ball was carried in a steel container fixed close the driver’s metal seat. One end of the twine was threaded through the tying mechanism and the hollow needle which tied a knot and at the same time cut the twine. The sheaf, after being bound securely, was thrown to the ground by a three pronged ejector as the binder moved around the field.

Harvest’s Last Load, Stacks and Gleaning

When the harvest fields were cleared of corn sheaves, loaded to wagons and carted to the stackyard, the field stubble was horse-raked as a clearing up job to pick up the loose corn stalks and straw which had fallen from the binder. The large iron-wheeled rake was driven up and down or across the field and every fifty yards or so the rake tines were lifted to leave rows of loose corn across the field, this was forked into heaps and loaded on to the last wagon to leave the field. The farmyard stacks were constructed in tidy order so that, in due course, the threshing tackle could get in close proximity. Barley stacks were constructed in rectangular shape while wheat was stored in circular stacks and thatched by Bunny Lambert. By the end of August he was working long hours to beat the rain showers.
Farm hens were brought onto wheat stubble in wheeled, wooden, hen-houses to scratch freely for grit and grain during the day. At night the chickens were locked in the hut, safe from foxes. Many people gleaned the wheat fields. Often I returned home with my pockets and lunch bag bulging, encouraging the chickens to go scatty when the wheat ears and straw was scattered in their run. Mother, at the time, was so pleased to save on her chicken meal and maize stock.

The Mole Catcher

As a child, when just tall enough to peep over the top of the shed bench, I often saw father use his shut-knife to skin a mole – an action he performed as quick as lightning, without the slightest drop of blood in sight.
At the end of February when the early spring temperatures began to rise, moles quickly become active. Father cycled around the fields with twenty or more mole traps in a sack slung over his shoulder. Moles preferred newly cultivated fields of growing corn and sugar beet seedlings on which to work. The main underground mole runs normally came from the field banks and hedges and it was here that a newly made or active run was selected for placing a trap. Sometimes, if one stood motionless, movement in the soil could be seen as the tiny creatures worked feverishly below the surface and if one acted quickly, it was possible, by using a tiny spade on a long handle, to flick the mole from its run and tap it on its nose.
Moles have a very sensitive sense of smell so when setting traps it was important the hands carried no scent and so a handful of earth was rubbed between the palms. The mole runs were disturbed as little as possible by using the long-handled tool to excavate a small square hole in the mole run where the set trap was placed. Two sausage size rolls of earth were placed gently on the trap over which pieces of grass were laid to keep out the light and at the same time prevent loose soil falling into the run. The handles of the trap in the set position were one inch apart and protruded two to three inches above the ground. When the mole moved along the run in search of food, usually early morning, it dislodged the trap circular piece which allowed the trap to spring, The mole was now held and disabled in a scissors grip.
The traps were checked early morning and at dusk, and if the handles were in the open position, approximately four inches apart, it indicated that the trap had been sprung and almost certainly held a dead mole. Only sprung traps were lifted from the soil and reset elsewhere. Father placed the moles gently in his pocket without bruising. On reaching home, before breakfast, he removed the paws with his sharp knife, then placing the mole on its back in the palm of his hand, and stretching the fur and skin with his fingers and thumb, he slit the mole’s coat the length of its body. The mole’s body, prised by a finger, slipped easily from its fur coat. The small fur was stretched gently into a square shape and tacked onto a drying board long enough to hold six skins. At times, four or five skin-drying boards were hanging on the outside of the house. Within a week or so the skins were thoroughly dry and removed from the boards, cleaned, brushed and stored. A few bruised or damaged furs were discarded. Later, on a winter evening, 50 or 60 tiny furs were given a final gentle brushing, parcelled and posted to a London dealer.

Mole Catcher Mk II

The provision of mole skins for the fur coat market had collapsed by around 1930 and father was no longer interested in the business. I was still at school and having access to the traps, I worked Mr. Fiske’s fields as a hobby and for pocket money. I set the traps early morning and checked them on my way home from school. It was exciting to pull a sprung trap from the soil in the middle of a field and remove the victim. The skin, at this time, was worthless so I threw the dead mole in the hedge or ditch but not before I had removed the tail which I collected in a small oxo tin. When I had a dozen or so, I took them to the Street Barn pay-office at 4 o’clock on a Friday afternoon where Mr. Clements paid me tuppence a tail. My head was high when I returned home with two shillings (a florin) in my pocket. (10p).

Circuses and Fairs

For many years circus animals wintered at the head of Tye Lane but as soon as the weather improved, it was time to return to the road again. Occasionally wagons and animals passed through Runcton on their way to their next destination and performance. Colourful lorries and wagons drawn by horses transported the circus tent, seating equipment and fairground swings and stalls. Wild animals could be seen in the menagerie wagons as the circus passed by but larger animals such as bears, camels and elephants walked with their attendants. A farm horse would never approach or pass an elephant on the road and so the circus hand turned to seek a nearby refuge, a lane or field gateway, in order to give priority to the horse and cart.
At Grindle Lane the circus hands invariably stopped to water their animals and perhaps give walking animals a wash down using a galvanised pail and a handful of rough grass as a scrubber. Small circuses parked their caravans and trailers for performances on the Ipswich fairground site opposite the Royal William in London Road.
Occasionally circuses performed on stage at the Hippodrome Theatre in St. Nicholas Street. Later, larger circuses namely Bertram Mills and Chipperfields used the Recreation Ground. Fairs were also very popular and as a young lad I recall Bostocks and Bert Stocks holding regular holiday amusement fairs off London Road or on the corner of Ranelagh Road.

The Game of Quoits

This story is one of my earliest recollections, at the time I was probably only three years old. Occasionally, on a Saturday afternoon, dad lifted me onto a small seat fixed to his bicycle crossbar and took me for a short ride. He had two objectives in mind, one to give mother a couple of hours break when Reg was small and who hung to her skirt, and the other, to cycle with me, carrying a pair of steel quoits, to the meadow at the end of Vicarage Lane. Of course, he had probably been told if he wished for a game of quoits I had to go too. In order to keep me at a safe distance and out of range of flying and misdirected quoits, I played and amused myself sorting through the equipment inside the large wooden box standing close to the fence. The two pitches of four clay beds were roped off in what I knew later as Hood’s meadow.
Quoits is a skilful game played by tossing or pitching flattish steel rings, weighing some three and a half pounds onto a circular sloping clay bed four feet in diameter. For measuring purposes, a steel pin was knocked into the centre of the clay bed and marked with a small piece of white paper. The object of the game was to pitch the steel quoit through the air for a distance of eighteen yards so that the quoit landed on the clay bed over the pin or close by. If the quoit landed completely over the marker it became a ringer. Points were scored depending on whether the nearest laying quoit was your own or your opponent’s. Having completed your two throws and the score decided, the game was continued in the reverse direction. Many pubs and clubs had their own quoit beds and teams in the early part of the century. The Cock, British Legion, Angel and the White Elm ran quoit teams for many years. The Bramford Works team won the West Samford league in 1923 and some of the known team members were Bert. Keeble, Geo. Beckett, Hayward Plummer (Blacksmith), Mr. Joslyn (Somersham Farm Foreman), Mr. Cobb and Stanley Pryke.

Learning to Play Football the Tough Way

Arthur and Alf Lloyd and my younger brother were the only boys who lived at Runcton with whom I could play football. Between us, we were too poor to own a real football but on the floor, in the corner of our corrugated iron covered cycle shed, we found an old mouldy leather football cover which we cleaned the best we could and stuffed it with newspaper. The stuffed ball was very heavy to kick around and we avoided heading at all times but we played as best we could and enjoyed ourselves in the road near our homes. Our coats and hats served as goalposts on either side of the road; there was little or no traffic in those days. We played most evenings after tea until dusk. There were however two lorry tankers which travelled in the direction of London each day at 8 o’clock in the morning, and returned in the evening at around 7pm. They were so regular, one could almost set the time by them. One vehicle, driven by Mr. Ford, carried milk from the Stowmarket C.W.S depot and the other was a Red Line petrol lorry.

Football on Broadwaters

It was in the late twenties, in the company of my elder brothers, that I became keen to watch and follow the game of football. I supported the Bramford village team who played on the large Broadwaters ground located near the fertilizer works, in Works Lane, (now Paper Mill Lane). Opponents, who normally arrived by coach or bus, used the access to the ground through Packard’s factory and then across the railway lines.
Often on a bleak Saturday afternoon I made my way on foot, facing the biting east winds, along the field pathways and through the Street, across Chapel Field and down Pound Lane to Bushman’s Bridge over the River Gipping. The bridge was treacherous to cross in its dilapidated state, there were wide gaps between the rotten boards and one was ever fearful of the river below.
I preferred to watch the matches from behind the goal nets, or if wet, from the hatch-way of the changing hut. The team notes and match reports which appeared in the “Green Un” sports paper on Saturday’s were written by an anonymous scribe under the title of ‘Bramford Breezes’ presumably because of the cold winds which blew across Broadwaters.
The team shirt colours were Blue and Amber halves and white shorts. Jack Barrell in his bright red jersey played in goal. Other team members were Jim and Ted Page, Sunny Rodwell, the Cook brothers Bill and Charlie, Jack Lambert, Albert Lillyman, Albert Garner, Geo. Markham, Jack Francis, Lawrie Garnham, (Secretary), and Gilbert Lambert (linesman). Bramford had a very successful season in 1928/29 when they were champions of the Ipswich Junior league and runners up in the Suffolk Minor Cup. The fmal, played on the Portman Road giound, was the only match lost throughout the season. Other village lads played football for the local team at various times later including Jack and Bob Barfield, Cliff Francis, Frank Boggis, Babe Lay, Herbert Rodwell, Ron Tibble, Charlie Stagg and Nunky Cook
Wilfred Hurry, was for many years the Club President who, with Mrs Hurry and their terrier, were rarely far from the touchline on match days. Shotley Swifts and Brantham were teams I well remember visiting Broadwaters. The result which gave me the most disappointment as a youngster, happened when Bramford had to play Barham House away in a cup match. I thought Bramford would have a comfortable win but when I saw the result in the ‘Green-un’ next day I could not believe they had lost by 5 goals to nil. I was almost in tears, the result was a bitter disappointment, probably my first and one not forgotten.

Sugar Beet and Mangold-wurzels

When sugar beet seedlings had grown an inch or so high they were ready for ‘chopping out’. This was a term used to thin out the beet growing across the field in long rows, approximately 14″ apart. Working with a draw-hoe the small seedlings were ‘chopped out’ into tiny clusters around 8″ apart. The sugar beet clusters were now singled by hand to leave one healthy plant to grow to maturity for pulping and processing into sugar.
For a short season, before mechanisation, a gang of unemployed men was hired to do the hoeing work. Each man chopped away surplus beet seedlings and weeds as they walked up and down the rows. The rows were far enough apart to enable a horse drawn, large iron-wheeled draw-hoe, to work up and down between the rows without the growing beet being damaged by the horse’s hooves or the hoe blades which cleared the weeds.
As soon as the ‘chopping out’ season started the school ‘grapevine telegraph’ called boys and girls, aged around 12 or 13, on Saturday morning to the sugar beet field named perhaps ‘Eighteen Acres’. Crouching children worked up and down the rows all morning and perhaps into the late afternoon. Some would crawl on hands and knees toiling with sore fingers in the back aching job of thinning out. The pay rate was three pence per hour and I was pleased to earn a shilling or an extra sixpence. The kindly Walter Blake or Albert Hogger took charge of the operation and held the money bag containing the coppers and silver.
As the evening light lengthened, farm workers, after their normal day’s work, took on the job of ‘chopping out’ the beet on a piecework rate of pay of around twenty-eight shillings per acre which included the cost to single. Pightle, a very large sloping field of 26 acres, located across New Road at the senior school, was growing sugar beet in 1935 where 19 rows staked to the acre. As soon as my brother started ‘chopping out’ I followed, working two rows left and right-handed at the same time. When school closed at 4.30 I went directly onto my long acre in Pightle and worked up the hill to what I thought was halfway and turned down again to the road before daylight failed. Within a few days I had finished the whole 19 rows and claimed my pay of four shillings and sixpence.
I was thirteen when Arthur Clements asked me to single a field of mangel-wurzels which had been chopped out in Clappets field at Thornbush. It was a field of no more than two acres. Cattle beet need more growing room than sugar beet hence the rows for mangels were drilled wider apart. There was no headland planted but even so, it was quite a sizeable job for children to take on. Working one Saturday morning, I enlisted the help of Alf and Ruth Lloyd, and the Last brothers whom I paid the standard rate of 3d an hour. At the end of the day everyone went home satisfied, happy, and hungry. I retained what was left in the purse.

Rook Scaring

As soon as the harvest fields were cleared, it was time for muck spreading, ploughing, harrowing and rolling, either by disc or wooden roller in preparation for the next rota of sugar beet, barley or perhaps wheat. To earn a few coppers on Saturday or at half-term I did a stint of rook scaring, using home-made wooden clappers, on the newly drilled fields around Runcton, Fidgeons and Duckamere. I wonder! Did the rooks and crows come back or fly away to other fields on Sunday?

Fidgeons Farm – Greengages and Blue Butterflies

Across the fields from Fen Lane, the pathway led to Fidgeons Farm. Close to the farm pond stood an ancient orchard, mainly of greengage which father and I gathered in the last days of the August school holidays. He hated being stung by the wasps that, in some years, infested the trees and the ripe fruit, so I took it upon myself to climb the ladder and pick the ‘gages which were out of reach from the ground. At the end of the day we loaded dad’s bicycle with baskets filled with fruit and returned to Thornbush. The generous housekeeper handed us a good supply for cooking and jam making and on our way home we dropped a basketful of the ‘best-of-the-crop’ into the kitchen at Runcton House.
I looked forward to holidays at Fidgeons, riding there on my bicycle along the hedgerows or if I walked, pulling up a turnip to eat on the way and searching at the same time for pheasants’ nests. I remember one bright summer day at Fidgeons playing in the meadow chasing blue butterflies. The sky above our heads was alive with a multitude of pale blue petals floating and dancing in waves on the warm breeze. Today, seventy or so years later we hear so often, ‘Where have all the blue butterflies gone”? At one time they were so common.

Fidgeons – Water Supply

The farm tenants at Fidgeons collected their drinking water from the nearby pond, which has probably been there, beside the orchard, since pug was dug out for brick making when the farmhouse was built in c1650. The pond, throughout the summer, was always covered in green algae that was pushed aside when buckets were dipped in to collect water for both domestic and animal use. Fidgeons stands on high ground so invariably a shortage of water for both stock and domestic purposes was created when the pond dried out.
The stockman used a wooden yoke, resting across his shoulders, to assist him in carrying buckets of water to the barn and house. The full pails were carried one in each hand, at arms length, gripped to a steel ring hanging from a couple of chains fixed to the yoke. It was surprising how easier carrying water or stock feed became when using this method. During the summer holidays, my brother and I used the yoke to carry water needed to mix feed for the farm pigs. Our part-time job released Mr. Wilding, the stockman, to join the harvest gang and collect the bonus. In 1933 my brother and his young bride occupied part of the rambling farmhouse and quickly developed an alternative way of obtaining fresh water. Boiled green pond water was no longer acceptable. Bill’s new scheme was not much better. By some means, he availed himself of a large milk churn and a small-wheeled wooden trolley. Every Friday evening after school, we pulled the churn and trolley down the farm meadow and along Bullen Lane – a fair distance – to collect fresh water to last a week from the pump in Keeper’s Cottage garden. On the return to Fidgeons it was really hard work dragging the full churn of water on its trolley up the meadow track. When the opportunity availed itself, Bill borrowed a farm horse and trace to pull the trolley; that lightened the weekly task but is was more time consuming, as `Smiler’ had to be returned to his Runcton stable

Fidgeons Farmhouse

An old fashioned rose garden displayed itself along the side of the farmhouse, which, when built 350 years ago, was probably a larger Hall. One entered through glass double doors into the comfortable family room. Open wooden steps from the scullery reached a central landing and two wobbly steps lead to the bedrooms. On the right, short stairs reached the attic stretching the whole length of the farmhouse. My first peep in the dark attic seemed as if no one had been inside for donkey’s years. Perhaps earlier occupants had been afraid of a ghosts? Owls and bats had found their way in and rubbish cluttered every corner, while cobwebs curtained a spinning wheel leaning against the wall. I was told to leave it, as if there was a superstitious bearing on the antique. I wondered, if I touched it and pricked my finger, would I fall asleep for a hundred years? You might hope so!

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