CHRONICLE OF TWENTIETH  CENTURY BRAMFORD MAN

By L F Beckett
Volume 3

Introduction

I hope you continue to enjoy the stories in volume three and if you read something which is secretively funny, gives you pleasure or arouses your own recollections of a similar incident, that is commendable.
As years gather upon us, it is good to smile and share our memories. I wonder how many readers have suffered the illness Scarlet Fever? This volume includes seven short stories on the disease and if you have been in isolation, as I have, I bet you are over 60 years of age. A statistical count could be interesting.
The story of my academic years, while at the new Bramford Senior School in Duckamere, is the prominent feature of this booklet. The school functioned in a happy environment under the Headmastership of Mr Wilfred Hurry and I am sure many readers will have pleasant recollections.

Runcton Residents

In Volume 1 my memoirs set the scene in recording the dwellings standing at Runcton when I was a child. It is perhaps worth mentioning the names of other families and my childhood friends who resided there in the 1920’s and 1930’s.
My first recollection is the Lloyd family, who lived in the end house of a row of four nearest Sproughton, on the west side of the road facing the river. Arthur, Alfred and Ruth were school friends and playmates. Their parents were Arthur and Maude (nee Garrod). I vividly recall an invitation to a Christmas party when the adults conversation turned to the first World War which had ended only eight years earlier. Mr Lloyd had fought on the Western Front and was captured by the Germans. On release from the prisoner of war camp, he brought home, as a souvenir, a piece of very hard, dark brown rye bread. What the other ingredients were is open to conjecture. This lump of so-called bread was lifted down from the larder shelf and handed round particularly for the children to see and handle while listening to wartime experiences.

3Mr and Mrs Dick Lay, sons Noel and Reggie and Eric Wilson moved into the cottage vacated by the Lloyd family. The Lays’ later moved to the Mill House in Mill Lane. Dick was employed in the fertilizer factory, where Eric also joined as a carpenter.
James Hardwick, a widower (whose wife, Ellen, had died in 1919 in the Spanish flu epidemic), sons James and Samuel and daughter May lived next door to the Lay family. James junior (Jim) and his wife Rose remained in the family home where daughters Miriam, Patricia and Irene grew up.
The residents in the third cottage, of the row of four, were Mr and Mrs Frederick Brown, son Maurice and daughter Florence. Mrs Maurice Brown raised a family of Beatrice, Freddy and Ivy. The construction of the new road to Parish Pond (Loraine Way) enabled the building of adjacent Council houses. Maurice became an occupant of one of these new semi-detached houses on the corner where the large Drane family were his neighbours. Maurice, like his father, was an excellent carpenter and coffin maker who worked for George Southgate, Builder and Undertaker. Freddy, from the early 1940’s, served in the RAF.
Mr and Mrs Ruben Lloyd resided in the end house and rather kept themselves to themselves; I had no idea where Ruben worked, he went off every morning on his bicycle.
By 1927, William ‘Bill’ Leech, his wife and young son Bert had vacated their Runcton cottage and Mr Scott, a stockman, with his wife and small daughter Cathy moved into the vacant cottage. It was very sad listening to Cathy who suffered a speaking impediment due to an awful cleft palate.
Other than Runcton Farm House, Albert Hogger’s thatched cottage was the only property standing on the riverside of the road. Neither he nor his wife had much conversation with the locals. The Hoggers always carried drinking water home in buckets from the farm pump, their well water was undrinkable. The path they used was hidden by the high orchard hedge so perhaps it was by design that he used this route to and from work as almost daily he carried a bucket full of newly laid hens eggs which had to be cleaned. They were not called ‘free range’ in those days but that is what they were. His garden well was rather dilapidated and as small children, we thought he used it to drown cats. When very young I was sent over to the Hoggers’ to collect their quarterly contribution card and money for the Eastern Star Provident Association (Friendly Society) but more about that later. Dad was on the committee of the Eastern Star and when I ran across the road to return the receipted card, Mrs Hogger fudged around in her dark pantry for a rock bun as my reward. Returning home, on more than one occasion, I realised that the bun was not only rock hard but sometimes green with mould. The buns did me no harm and years later, I understand why — penicillin is derived from fungi mould! My grandchildren, to this day, always smile when, at tea, I ask someone to hand me a ‘Hogger’ from the cake plate.

Funeral

One of my very earliest recollections was my introduction to a funeral. Holding my mother’s hand, we stood, with others, emotionally looking over the garden wall adjacent to the road. Slowly a four-wheeled wooden framed bier carrying a coffin and wreaths tied in place with black silk ribbons slowly passed. I watched in awe, was mystified and could not understand the significance of the procession. The bier was drawn by two walking men clad in long black coats and wearing bowler hats, other attendants, also in black, one carrying a reversed top hat walked behind the bier in front of the family mourners. From across the fields, at intervals, I could hear the muffled sound of the tolling church bell. Frightened, I ran inside the house..
(The bier, 75 years later rests as a museum piece in St Mary’s Church, Bramford).

A Tragedy

Len Sheppard, his wife Rose and their three children, who lived next door, moved across the road into the thatched cottage vacated by the Hoggers’ who retired to ‘Albert Villa 1935’, their new home in Duckamere.
Rose Sheppard soon gave birth to a fourth child, who, when he was two years old, toddled unnoticed through the open garden gate into the normally deserted road. The weekly Coop grocery delivery horse and cart stood close to the gate. Manfred walked under the horse into the path of an animal slaughterer’s lorry travelling in the opposite direction. Sadly, Manfred died of his injuries and as was the normal custom, mother was invited into the Sheppard’s curtain drawn sitting room to see the small bruised child lying peacefully in his tiny coffm

Our Cottage Larder

Our Runcton home was quite a dark place so be careful if you care to follow! Pick your feet up when stepping over the roughly hewn log step into the passage, where the strongly constructed door opened to the well in the backyard. It was common practice in bygone years to place the back door opposite that at the front to form a passage directly through the house which gave rise to the thought that the cottage was part of an earlier more important dwelling. We turn right, stepping carefully over another log step into a dark passage with access to the under-the-stairs store. On the left, fixed to the side of the stairs, was a bench or counter upon which stood a home-made, 2ft square zinc gauze meat safe which contained the infrequent meat joint or what remained of it, sausages or a skinned rabbit. The meat safe was the nearest thing to the modern refrigerator. Close by stood the round oversize cake tin which on Fridays mother overloaded with rock buns. We boys always took advantage of the poor light to scamper through and pinch a bun when feeling peckish. Below the bench stood two earthenware pots with wooden lids, one held bread loaves and the other containing winter store eggs in isinglass. Under the stairs home grown Bramley Seedling apples were stored on newspaper on the brick floor and where regularly the younger boys took turns to crawl to discard any that were rotten.

Come into the Kitchen

But beforehand – I must tell you – under the stairs, near the apples, stood a wooden, eighteen gallon, barrel of home-made stout which we brewed in the washing copper from hops, malt, yeast and hard well water. The stout was timed to mature for drinking at harvest time. Home-made wine in glass bottles stood around the barrel. Occasionally, when fermenting took place, a cork blew out or a bottle exploded perhaps in the middle of the night. The family favourite wines were rhubarb, parsnip, dandelion and wheat. I hated gathering dandelion blossoms, it took so long to fill a peck wicker basket. Moving through to the kitchen, one saw the brick base of the massive chimney that supported the adjoining houses. There were two additional chimneys, one being the copper flue and the other a small coal fire. Not in twenty years did I see this fire alight. In the right hand corner stood a table upon which a large white enamel tray held a bucket of drinking water. Under the table was another galvanised pail filled to the brim with fresh water from the well. Squeezed between the table and the chimney stood a five feet tall, green and red cast-iron mangle, the handle of which turned two 8″ wooden rollers. It was not unusual to see a rabbit hanging by its hind legs from a nail in the supporting timber, or a pheasant hanging by its head from a ceiling rafter. Many times as a lad I had the job of ‘hulking’ (disembowel) and skinning a rabbit or plucking poultry and game. A number of nail ‘coat pegs’ had been hammered into the door leading to the backyard. On one of these pegs mother hung a hessian (sack) towel, where father and her five boys were supposed to wipe their grubby hands and faces. Mother knew they were never washed clean. The water in the hand bowl was rarely clean, sometimes quite dirty, and if the slop bucket under the small rickety table was full, there was nowhere to tip the washbowl, so why bother, there was no tap to obtain clean water.

Fuel Supply – Wood, Coal and Paraffin

Two large wooden boxes stood in the kitchen, one of which contained sticks for fire lighting. Scores of times, when I was old enough to handle a chopper, I filled the sticks box for the week. The other box was large enough to hold two hundredweights of coal. (224 lbs). Sunny Pryke delivered coal every Monday morning by horse and cart from his coalyard opposite the Paper Mill. The coal-box was just the right height to place one’s foot when told to clean our shoes. Paraffin was stored in a two gallon petrol can, similar to those seen strapped onto motor car and lorry running boards. Paraffin was used daily throughout the winter to replenish the lamps and oil-stoves. A double-burner lamp, which gave more light, always stood on the living room table and single burners were used in the kitchen and bedrooms. I was fascinated as a young child to gaze at father lighting his rolled cigarette, held in his lips and placed just above the lamp glass of the oil lamp. Cleaning lamp glasses was another daily chore with small mop and soft cloth. It is amazing to think that we rarely cracked or broke a lamp glass.

‘Clothes’ Washing Copper

We all joined in the household chores when mother felt we were old enough to do so. Every fortnight from the age of around 10 years I had to fill the copper ready for the Monday wash. There was a set ritual before one could light the copper fire. The wooden, upturned copper lid, when not in use, served as a table top and had to be cleared of such items as oil-lamps, candlesticks and stone soda jar, or anything which had been placed upon it for convenience. When rainwater was available it was drawn by the pail full from the storage butts (wooden barrels) standing under the gutter downpipe at the end of the house. Small insects were always swimming around in the water, but contamination such as this did not seem to matter. If there was no soft water, hard water had to be drawn from the well.
The copper was filled to leave room for shirts, sheets, towels, and other garments which boys and girls wore. I received no instructions as to how I should light the copper fire, but I suppose mother assumed I knew exactly what to do, I had watched my older brothers many times. I had learned that if one was not very careful the fire would go out quite easily. It did not take long to devise a simple method which did not fail; taking a newspaper, I split it into two, in the first batch of sheets I wrapped a shovelful of coal and placed the bundle on the fire-grate pushing it at arms length to the rear of the furnace hole. Chopped sticks for lighting fires were always available from a large wooden box standing in the kitchen. Having gathered an armful I forced the sticks into the fire hole in front of the coal. Another shovel full of coal wrapped in paper was pushed in and set alight. If the furnace door was left slightly ajar, there was sufficient draught that allowed the fire to roar like a blast furnace and heat the water quickly (and at the same time, set the chimney on fire – send for the horse-drawn fire engine!) Often the water was boiling before mother had time to scrub the shirts and other garments with hard carbolic or Sunlight soap and before she could poke the clothes, with the copper stick, into the bubbling hot water. Often as I left home to walk to school at around 8.30am, steam from the kitchen was already billowing out of the back doorway.

The Wireless Set

Early wireless programmes were broadcast through relay stations such as those located at Daventry, Droitwich, and Hilversum or Radio Paris. The programmes in the early days of broadcasting did not start until late in the day, particularly in Britain and could be picked up, only very faintly, through earphones attached to an early form of wireless receiver known as a crystal set.
Billy Hitchcock introduced father to wireless in around 1927 and dad, in his keenness, acquired a long wooden scaffold pole which, with help, was safely anchored in a deep hole in the corner of the garden. A copper aerial suitably attached to porcelain insulators and long enough to reach the house chimney ran down through the window sill and into the family living room and eventually plugged into the wireless set. There were virtually no wireless shops in the late twenties and so many people bought their first set through a national newspaper advertisement. ‘Graves of Sheffield was a renown household supplier for anything from bicycles to back-boiler stoves.
Our first wireless was a two valve set with a black, horn-type speaker which stood on a cupboard near the fireplace, but the reception was hardly better than a crystal set. Our next wireless was a three valve one called a ‘Little Giant’. Our cottage had no electric supply and so father, in addition to purchasing the wireless, had to acquire a means to operate it which took the form of a 120 volt HT (high tension) battery, a 9v grid bias battery and a couple of chargeable accumulators. The accumulators were made of thick glass, were approximately 5″ square and 7″ high with a strong metal handle. The accumulator contained lead plates and was filled with sulphuric acid. Wire leads from the set were plugged into the batteries and accumulator to obtain power. The accumulator lasted perhaps a fortnight and so the second accumulator was kept on charge at the local garage, cycle, or wireless shop. Having acquired the receiver and batteries it was also necessary to have interchangeable 4 pin valves and 2 pin coils to obtain the various broadcasting stations. The Daventry long wave station was known as 5XX on 1500m. The London 2L0 service came from the Savoy Hill studio. The Midland region wavelength was on 330 metres, very close to what it is today.
The early wireless sets picked up an awful amount of atmospheric interference and one was never sure that the reception would be audible. An earth conductor ‘on/off knife-switch was required in the event of thunderstorms. Mother was so nervous – at the sight of the slightest dark cloud on the horizon or crackling on the set she switched off the wireless and instructed Percy to throw the conductor switch, while at the same time Reg and I crouched under the large table where we ate our meals and mother hung an old towel over the large mirror hanging on the wall opposite the window.

Wireless Programmes

In the early days of broadcasting, programmes opened late in the day and closed again around 1 1pm. Children’s Hour came on air at 4pm and at 5pm dance music was broadcast from the Savoy Hotel or a Lyons Corner House played by one of many famous London bands such as Sydney Lipton, Jack Payne, Henry Hall and Geraldo. The main news bulletin announcements, by a male voice which everyone got to know, were made at 6 and 9pm.
On Saturday afternoons, I normally arrived home exhausted, having run from Broadwaters where I had been kicking around and watching Bramford village team play football. I was anxious to hear the football results after the news. My favourite team at the time was Arsenal and I got awfully bad tempered if reception was bad. The 1920’s were the golden era of world heavyweight boxing from America and many times I was allowed to stay up late into the early morning to listen to the ringside commentaries of title fights. I well recall Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney and later the German heavyweight Max Schmeling, Jack Sharkey and the Italian giant Primo Camera. Who can remember Joe Beckett, the British boxer? I can’t but my older brothers were all called ‘Joe’. Many people enjoyed (as they do on tele’ in 2002) the horse racing commentaries, particularly the Derby, Oaks and Grand National classics. The wireless broadcasts on the annual Oxford and Cambridge boat race and the Association Football Cup Final were also very popular and people without wireless were anxious to hear by word of mouth the sporting results.

Musical Entertainment at Home

Music played an important part in our boyhood activities. The family wind-up gramophone with sound horn was our prime entertainment through the winter evenings or on a wet Saturday afternoon to keep us amused. We knew the records off by heart and joined in the chorus when playing the ‘Laughing Policeman’, ‘Eleven more Months and Ten more Days’ and ‘Ain’t it Grand to be Blooming Well Dead’. Father preferred military marches such as ‘Blaze Away’, it reminded him of the hard work when sawing the logs burning away on the fire and the flames roaring up the chimney. Poor mother had little choice of what records we played – she endured it all. Later, as sound recording improved, our parents purchased a wooden cabinet type gramophone that stood on the floor as a piece of furniture.
Father sometimes entertained us before bedtime by playing the piano accordion or his small concertina and, with no encouragement from us, he occasionally gave recitals on an awful sounding banjo – the problem was, he couldn’t play it properly. The banjo had been home-made by his brother Bert, a cabinet maker. Brother Bill also owned a piano accordion and thought himself a proficient player, but mother could not stomach his vamping for long, and was so aggravated at times. On occasions, she told him to go and play in the garden shed but after a while he came back in, tormentingly playing his mouth organ.

Wolf Cub Pack

The 1st Bramford Boy Wolf Cub Troop was formed in 1929, under the leadership of Miss May King (Akela) and her cousin Agnes. The troop met weekly, round the wolf-headed totem pole, in the small parish room at the end of Ravens Lane. My mother encouraged me to join the troop and I was proud when, with other boys, I was enrolled wearing a new grey jersey and the troop scarlet neckerchief.
Our first camp, held in Woolverstone Park on the shore of the River Orwell, was exhilarating. Two males had been encouraged to help in the erection of tents. Cubs joined in the fun of erecting the main bell tent. Picking up a large mallet, which was lying idle, I knocked in guy-holding pegs. There was more fun when we crawled inside the tent, for a push and shove bundle, before the tent was firmly erected. The site was a bit soggy in places, and easy to get wet feet when sent to search for firewood, not that it mattered, the same thing happened again when carrying water to boil in the tea billycan.
Akela and Agnes kipped in a small ridge tent and the cubs were accommodated in the army-type tent. There was little sleep among the boys on the first night. We played all manner of pranks, joked and giggled at silly stories. As drowsiness brought the chatter to a close, bodies turned restlessly with the aim to keep warm. My blanket moved out of position and I fell asleep in discomfort on the cold, partly uncovered, groundsheet. There was no comfort either from the folded kitbag pillow upon which I rested my head.
Next day, an evening climb to the top of Freston Tower, found us dragging our feet on our return along the shoreline. A hot cocoa drink was all we needed before turning in, grubby knuckles were already rubbing tired eyes. When all was quiet, a bumping movement along the canvas outside the tent caused confusion. A boy, who was more awake than others, thinking it was a Cub who had gone outside in the dark for a pee and could not find his way in again, called loudly, “You can’t get in there, the entrance is round the other side”. It so happened that the tent trampling was caused by a Highland bullock, one of many grazing in the park. The beast was quite unconcerned as it rocked the tent supporting guys before wandering off.
We also enjoyed the fun and games of weekend camping on the ‘Fens’. Invariably, Bessie Barton who sauntered along the fields from Thornbush Hall brought us eggs and a homemade fruit cake in her wicker basket
Felixstowe was the venue of one of our annual camps, the site being a piece of common pasture close to the Eastern Counties bus station where we collected our drinking water. (The area is now developed as Langer Park and housing.) Akela, on one occasion took us on a long trail along the marsh hedgerows to explore what was left of the Dooley fort gun emplacement. (The site during WW2 became the anchorage for a barrage balloon and part of the Haven protection system against low-flying enemy aircraft.) Industrial development in the 1980’s and 1990’s has hidden the old Dooley fortifications beneath the modern dock complex.

Cubs and Scouts

The Chief Scout visited Ipswich in 1932 to take the salute at a huge Jamboree in Chantry ‘ Park and when, as a Cub, I recall running there twice a week along Sproughton Church Lane in order to practice our performance. We were supposed to represent Pygmies in deepest Africa. With shoe polish on my face and hands I wore a grass skirt, held a shield and carried a spear made from a stick cut from a hedge. (Great stuff!)
Soon after, I transferred to the Scout group under the leadership of Scoutmaster Archie Smith, known as Skip. The weekly meetings passed quickly while working vigorously at activities to gain badges. We also arranged Saturday morning football matches with other troops in Ipswich and often played our fixtures on the site of the old greyhound racing track near the Bramford Road railway arch, adjacent to Bramford Lane. Skip was always keen to keep us interested in the Victory Hall annual scout concert that brought in money to finance the troop. When planning the summer camp, we were reminded of the importance of doing odd jobs and to set aside pocket money for the annual camp. I was therefore very disappointed, when in my first year, I was not allowed to travel to the Norfolk Broads. Mother was reluctant to let me go, it was perhaps a matter of cost.
The following year, the annual camp took place on the heath at Minsmere. Hibbard’s green-painted coal lorry, driven by Charlie Cook, conveyed us and our equipment to our destination. The vehicle had been brushed ‘clean’ prior to the journey and before being loaded with our tents and equipment. It was hot that Saturday afternoon when we clambered aboard, sitting where we could amongst the loaded kit. In a short while our perspiring faces and hands were smeared in black coal dust.
The site at Minsmere where we erected our tents, kitchen and fire area was a disused sandpit. The latrines were hidden over the bank among the thick golden-headed gorse bushes. A sharp-eyed lad exploring the territory around the camp came across a small snake slithering down a rabbit hole. Excitement vibrated around the camp as boys converged to witness the snake being hooked out with a stick from its hiding place. Identified as a viper, boys, one by one, retreated to a safe distance while at the same time in excited voices, shouted opinions and ideas as to what should happen to the dead viper. “Keep it as a totem or mascot” shouted one boy, “Tie it to the flag pole” called another, “Put it in someone’s bed” a hidden face giggled — Skip thought the best idea was to marinate it in a billycan filled with diluted disinfectant. Throughout the week no one drank tea made from water boiled in the snake-cured billycan! The week-long camp was very enjoyable. At sun-set each day we all gathered round the camp fire for a singsong of tunes we all knew, such as ‘There’s a Hole in my Bucket’. Singing went on long after nightfall but grimy, sleepy eyed faces began to nod as the flames and hot sparks cooled and wafting smoke disappeared into the darkness.

Scrub Down in the Water-butt (1929)

I was eight years old, on a warm Saturday afternoon, when I ran down the earth steps leading from Brooks field into the garden. I slipped at the bottom of the bank and my feet, legs and lower body slid under the wooden cover into the ‘bumby’ sewage pit at the rear of the privy. Extracting myself, my wailing and unbearable pong soon brought father and Sam Leech on the scene. Sam thought the best way to wash me down was to stand me in the rainwater butt which stood on the corner of the shed close by. Using a bristle brush, they scrubbed the worst of the mess and stench from my clothes, while mother stood under the house porch and viewed from a safe distance. She left her scolding until later when hot water was available for a bath in front of the fire. As for tea, it was out of the question!

Six Months Later

I probably carried the Scarlet Fever virus around for some time following my ‘bumby’ escapade. It was now October and at the time Avril Fenton a pupil also in Mr. Woolnough’s class was taken to the isolation hospital at Barham, near Ipswich, as a Scarlet Fever suspect. Two weeks later, on the 31st October 1929, I too, was transferred to the same hospital.
I was taken ill on a Saturday and lay all day languid in the armchair. Mother, in her tender way, supplied cups of milk and water and frequently placed her cool hand on my forehead to test my temperature in her natural instinctive way. She knew I was ailing for something serious, perhaps Diphtheria. Next day, the fever appeared to be worsening. Mother placed me in her bed and discovered my body covered in red blotches. Itchy spots multiplied as the day wore on and by late evening, when my parents were preparing for bed, they noticed I was in a state of delirium.
I well recall saying things that appeared to be silly. Mother, in the light of a small oil lamp, sat on the bedside and lovingly placed a cold drink to my lips, at the same time wiping the perspiration from my face and forehead with a cool damp cloth. My mind wandered and drifted into a misty distance as my temperature continued to rise to well over one hundred degrees. I pointed to the direction of the ceiling and said, ‘It is beautiful and green up there’. Mother told me later, she thought I was referring to a scene in heaven. I had in fact pointed to the top of the brightly painted green door that led to my sister’s bedroom. Mother decided I was too ill to be moved from her bed. If she slept that night, it was with Phyllis.

Scarlet Fever Diagnosis

Mother was obviously worried about calling our doctor. In the 1920’s telephones were few and far between. After a good night’s sleep, the fever seemed to have subsided slightly although my temperature was well above normal. Father, as usual, cycled to Thornbush before breakfast to replenish the coal and logs in the kitchen and clean any shoes and dining room cutlery which had been set aside for his attention. Undoubtedly my illness was the main topic of conversation in the servants quarters and the Housekeeper made an immediate decision to telephone Doctor Cecil Staddon. He called on his Tuesday round before noon, confirmed my temperature and took a throat swab. The doctor suspected Scarlet Fever and said if that was so, I would be taken into isolation. I had not been away from home before and I suppose it was with intrepidity I listened to mother explaining what would happen and how she would visit me. The swab tests confirmed the worst and next day, on 31st October, an ambulance called for my departure to Barham. A male nurse carried me down from my bed in a rough brown blanket that radiated a horrible smell of fumigant.

Barham Isolation Hospital

I was unhappy in the isolation hospital and found it so lonely. The nursing staff were very precise and punctual in everything they did. The main entrance formed the staff administration quarters, bathrooms and toilets and on either side were the male and female wards, each containing around ten beds, five on each side. There was one person only in the ward when I arrived, a little boy named Waspe, who was no more than three years old, from Coddenham. He spent most of his time crying and sleeping. Throughout my stay I did not see or meet Avril, the girl from my class, who had arrived three weeks earlier. I dreaded being awakened, by the nurse, in the mornings if I had to take a dose of gritty liquorice powder. I am sure the medicine in no way had any effect on the relief of my illness but it cured constipation. New arrivals had to lie quietly in bed for a few days and only sit up to read a comic when the nurse or sister gave permission.
Two visitors were allowed for half an hour on Wednesday and Sunday. Mother, who suffered from varicose veins and ulcers, found the journey to Barham and home again quite wearisome, considering too that one stood outside a closed window on a cold and perhaps wet afternoon to hold a conversation with her bed-tied eight-year-old son. On Wednesday afternoons, accompanied by either Grandma or Bessie from Thornbush, Mother walked the mile from Runcton to Bramford station and climbed the many steps to the elevated platform to catch a train to Claydon. From the station there was another long walk of over a mile to the hospital. They took the main road to Blakenham Chequers, turned right and proceeded along the lane, passed the mill, over the river bridge and railway lines, then skirted gravel pits before the hospital was reached. An obstacle journey by any standard.

Barham Hospital Visitations

On Wednesday mornings it was exciting to know that mum was due to visit me. Soon after midday dinner, I knelt on the bed pillow to peep through the window hoping to see her come through the gate and walk along the garden hedge to the window where I was waiting. There was not a lot of conversation but we talked of the rabbits, chickens, guinea pigs and my brothers. With hindsight, mother, after her leg-wearying journey to the hospital and the same journey home again, must have found it a tiring day, particularly when greeted by a hungry family, who, on their return from work or school, expected tea to be ready. A mother’s day is never done!
On Sundays, the train service was infrequent and difficult to connect with the hospital arrangements and so Mr Fiske, in his awareness of the difficulties, told Dad to use the grey Morris Cowley and drive mother to Barham hospital. After three weeks in isolation I was allowed to dress and play at the large central table and walk the ward, even to the extent of having my meals on my knee sitting in a comfortable armchair. At the end of November, I played in the grounds for two hours each day with a tennis ball. I have never felt so cold and bored in all my life. I walked, hopped and skipped, bouncing the ball up and down the paths, round the boiler house and coke store, hoping all the time that someone would come along and call me inside. I endured this penance at least three times before I was released from hospital on the 5th December, my brother Bill’s birthday.
The weather was bitterly cold that morning when mother and I, holding hands, struggled home to Runcton. The fields and hedgerows were heavily laden with sparkling white hoar frost; to this day, when a hard frost appears, I relate to the extremely cold walk we took to Claydon station, three minutes on the train, then another walk from Bramford station to Runcton. It was a joy to reach home, to talk to my brothers and sister, and sit comfortably on a stool in front of the blazing fire. Mother probably handed me the toasting fork to cook father his teatime red herring. One must not sit idle even when taking convalescence.

Bumby Smith the Fumigator

I noticed an unusual smell in the house when I went to bed on my return home. Mother explained that as soon as I had been removed by ambulance from the house, Bumby Smith from the council sealed all the doors and windows and fumigated the whole house. Even with open windows the pungent smell clung around for weeks. Air fresheners in 1929 did not seem to exist.

Privy Improvements

Improvements to the cottage privies had taken place while I was in hospital. The bumby pit had been dug out and the faeces carted away. Concrete foundations were laid and buckets placed under the toilet seats. Father now had the job of emptying the soil bucket weekly or when it was full. Space had to be found in the garden to dig a large hole which, when full, another had to be dug. It was noticeable how well the gooseberry bushes and plum tree crops improved. Within six months my younger brother Reg became a patient in the Scarlet Fever hospital and mother again suffered the ordeal of the tedious journeys. Obviously the lavatory facilities remained unsatisfactory and the Council forthwith ordered another closet to be built, one for each of the three families, but the system was still one of bucket, hole and Tarbol disinfectant. (Sheep-dip)

(Reference is also made to antiquated lavatories in Volume I, page 5.)

Scholarships

I looked forward to returning to school after my long hospital break and settled again into Mr Woolnough’s class. On the wall in his room hung a huge Honours Board which recorded the names of children who had gained scholarships at the age of 11. The board recorded many well known parish names going back into the 1890’s. In the earlier days Ipswich seemed to be the centre of higher education but later all the boys and girls from Bramford entered Stowmarket Grammar school where they travelled daily by train. This procedure was broken in 1927 when two chums – namely Roderick English and Stanley Beckett – gained their scholarships. Rod was directed to Stowmarket and Stan to Felixstowe Grammar school located at the Manor House. For an eleven-year-old country child the journey to and from school could be traumatic, particularly during the dark, wet and foggy days in winter. Soon after seven o’clock, Stan set out, often in the dark to walk to ‘Cock’ corner to catch the 7.35am Eastern Counties red bus to Ipswich. At the Cornhill he caught a trolley bus to Derby Road station (L N E R) for Felixstowe where, at Beach station, he alighted with friends and colleagues (boys and girls) to walk another mile, perhaps in inclement weather, to the school at Manor House. Darkness had fallen also when he returned home in winter, wet shoes and clothes often had to be dried in front of the fire before next day. After tea when Reg and I, at 7.30, were in bed, Stan undertook his homework and reading study in the light of the oil lamp standing on the table. His aptitude had to be admired, how he persevered this situation for six years is beyond my comprehension. Perhaps it was his blue cap with a white star on the crown which kept him sound of mind? One amusing rhyme he passed on to us goes something like this, you may have heard it before. …. Boy, Wires, Pair of pliers, Blue flashes, Boy’s ashes.

Bramford Senior School – Setting the Scene (1932 – 1935)

At the age of eleven, time had come to exit the playground gravel surface at the Junior school. It had been a place of happy memories and where my early education was mingled with games such as bean bags, hoops, tops, swapping fag cards, playing mud-a-giddy, buck-over-sugar and where occasionally, giggly girls got in the way of scatty boys. An assessment, I suppose, would state that I could read and write, repeat the twelve times table and now looked forward to the new school environment where I would hopefully absorb knowledge through both mind and hands. No scholarships were gained to the Grammar Schools in September 1932 and inevitably all the children of my age group transferred to the Senior School.
The new school in Duckamere had been built two years earlier but the road had remained unmade and during the winter months became a rucked quagmire. A cinder-surfaced pathway had, however, been laid the whole length of the road in front of the school. Four large ground-floor classrooms, in line, faced south and formed the main school building where ample sunshine entered through the large windows. The Headmaster’s study and stationery store formed the school centre over the boiler heating system. Each classroom accommodated 16 desks and chairs for 32 scholars. The girls’ entrance, cloakroom and teachers’ room were at the east end. Boys entered at the other end where the cloakroom pegs supported our hats, coats and satchels and where Walter ‘Danky’ Taylor, the caretaker, had his store for maintenance equipment. A small room at the west end served as a quiet place for science experiments. On the north side a glass-covered veranda ran the length of the school. Beyond the veranda were two playgrounds – one for boys and the other for girls, which divided the boys’ handicraft and the girls’ domestic science buildings from the main school. A shed for boys’ cycles stood in the corner adjacent to New Road, (Loraine Way) and if one did not ride a school cycle, one needed permission to park.

Teaching Staff

Firstly, I will recall the names of the lady teachers who taught and assisted Mr. Wilfred Hurry the Headmaster whom I described earlier in Volume 2. The female teachers were relatively young, probably still in their twenties and pleasant at all times. Their names were the Misses Kay Cassidy (Perry), Mary Houston, Olive Lennard, Joan Piper, Dorothea Fuller (Hitchcock) and Greta Wigg, all of whom taught their specialised subjects. History, based on the new and distinctive green hardbacked Piers Plowman publication, was the prime subject of Kay Cassidy. It is perhaps worth recalling that around 1367 William Langland wrote the narrative poem ‘Piers Plowman’ from the Anglo-Saxon, and I quote, “God spede ye plough etc” written in English 20 years before Wm Chaucer started writing The Canterbury Tales.
Before recalling the names of pupils, who sat in mixed classes and who attended the Senior School, it is important to record the contribution made by teachers in the learning prowess of the children from families of varying backgrounds.
I had virtually no contact with Mary Houston, the Domestic Science teacher. All I can remember is that my sister came home occasionally with a newly baked loaf of bread or a hot creamy rice pudding — as good as mother could make! In the thirties girls had to learn how to do jobs which at that time were expected to be done by women – oh! how times have changed.
Mathematics was taught by Miss Lennard, who did her best to find another young Einstein from a dozy bunch of pupils, whereas, Miss Wigg probably had an easier task when teaching English, a subject at which girls seemed to do better than boys, but then, the older boys were distracted at times by the delicately low-cut blouses that Greta tended to wear. Friday was normally set aside for assembly. The partition in rooms 3 and 4 was opened for the purpose of religious study and singing, lead by the Head and accompanied by Miss Lennard on piano. ‘New Every Morning is the Love’ from the Ancient and Modem hymnal was a regular favourite.
Dependent on the weather, there were outside activities such as games and netball for girls under the critical eye of Dorothea Fuller or needlework supervised by Kay Cassidy. Boys let off steam, when the weather was favourable, on the school vegetable gardens under the watchful eye of the Headmaster or Leslie Piper. Woe betide anyone who put his Dutch hoe through small brassica plants instead of weeds. 20 garden plots, in two rows of ten, had been laid out at the rear of the school and each boy was allocated one of these plots to work on throughout his three years at the school. Leslie Piper, the deputy Head, taught Geography and Science in addition to sporting activities.

Girl Pupils

Many girls names were mentioned in Volume 2 and here recorded are some of the best young ladies who sat among the boys in the new Duckamere school. I apologise sincerely for any omissions or errors.
Marjorie Wyartt (from Burstall), Gladys Briggs, Doreen Freeman, Frances and Gladys Last, Joyce Mann, Joyce Noble and Dora Thorpe (Sproughton), Nancy Chamberlain, Olive Fakes, Elsie Forsdyke, Dorothy Frampton, Eileen Hayes, Pansy Keeble, Ivy Lay, Olive Lewis, Maisie Lloyd, Jesse Popple, Primrose Sheppard and Ivy Wilding (Bramford).

Woodwork Apprenticeship

Mr Ralph Lowe, who spoke with a Mancunian accent, came direct from college to teach at Bramford in 1930. He was a excellent young craftsman who, in his early twenties, taught technical drawing and woodwork as his main subjects.
Boys spent one whole day per week in the Woodwork Centre and I was never happier than when my class took its weekly turn for carpentry lessons, woodwork drawing and later metalwork.
In their first year, eleven-year-old boys could be dangerous creatures when handling saws, hammers and sharp chisels. Mr Lowe made it abundantly clear to everyone how important it was to understand the dangers if the tools were not used correctly. Within a very short time it became obvious that all the lads would not progress at the same rate. At a convenient moment some would leave their bench to seek help with their job or a cut finger. A spot of blood here and there appeared on the bench top or floor and so we all learned quickly where the first-aid box stood.
Woodwork drawing was cast upon us from the first week and Mr Lowe’s catch-phrase echoed round the room “If you can’t draw it, you can’t make it”. Most of us quickly learned the use of tee-square and drawing-board and the need for ‘x”y’ lines, plan views, side and end elevations on drawings.
The first object I made and proudly took home was a small spade-scraper. Many pieces of craftwork followed, each being more difficult to construct than the piece before. Joints also had an increasing difficulty of construction such as a relatively simple lap-joint, leading, with experience, to a dovetail, mortice and tenon and secret dovetail joints for a writing bureau. In my first two years of study I proudly took home such items as a teapot stand, toothbrush holder, matchbox holder, pipe-rack, tea tray, fire screen, sea grass covered stool and a medicine cabinet.

School Athletics (1933)

I was not one to edge forward to play cricket during the summer term – it was not a game I could play with any proficiency. Mr. Piper had perhaps determined that my potential lay in school athletics and had given me every encouragement in that direction. Running was a sport I enjoyed and he shoved reluctant lads along to tag onto me as part of my training for the school sports day. No one was allowed to stand or sit idling their time; we ran through the long grass around the football pitch or sprinted up and down between the goalposts. Other boys brought out the high jump stands while others tried the long jump event. Hurdles and high jump were not particularly easy events to accomplish and as an alternative to running, I joined in the long jump and challenged others to improve on the distance I was able to peg.

Stowmarket Area, Schools Athletic Championships

Entries for the Stowmarket Area Schools Athletics Championships were due by the end of April. In my first year, at the age of twelve, I was ‘over the moon’ when Leslie Piper quietly read out my name as a member of the school athletics team. I was selected to run in the 100 yards and 440 yards events for boys in the under 14 years age group. The 440 yards was my first choice event for which I trained every day at either sprinting or taking a longer run of a few laps round the football pitch. Sometimes in the evening I took a run near home along the field paths and hedgerows.
The Area Championships, on a Friday in June, duly arrived. The journey to Stowmarket was a great adventure – I had never travelled on a train in that direction before. Wearing my running vest, shorts and plimsoles, I scrambled excitedly up the high stairway leading to the Bramford station platform where twenty or so other boys and girls congregated. Accompanied by teachers Leslie Piper, Ralph Lowe, Mary Houston and Kay Cassity we crossed by the footbridge to the platforn on the other side of the track. It took only a few minutes to reach Stowmarket. As the train sped along the Gipping Valley, I made a mental note of the F.P.P manure works and Mason’s cement works at the rear of Claydon station, where more children boarded and others joined us at Needham Market.
A short walk from Stowmarket station brought us to the cricket meadow close to the cattle market and town centre. The track had been marked with chalk lines and roped off. We all, boys, girls and teachers, sat down as a team in our allocated patch, Competitors for the 100 yards were called – Ron Johns and I walked over to the start. I was drawn to run in the first heat (my first ever real competitive event). The starter called “On your marks, set,” the gun flashed and thirteen seconds later I was at the finish in second position. I was now more relaxed and excited to be running in the final with Ron Johns who had won his heat. Twenty minutes later, my friends wished me luck as again I made my way to the start. Whilst I was considered a good sprinter at school, I was at the younger end of my age group and so the older boys from other schools took the honours on the day and I did not finish in the first three. I was not disappointed, I had my favourite event to run. I sat down with the other children and rested. Before long, the feeling of tense excitement returned and like a young racehorse, I was raring to go.

The ‘Will to Win’

My next event at the Stowmarket Area Schools Championships in 1933 was the quarter-mile (440 yards). I was already on my feet talking to Leslie Piper, my coach and an encouraging master, when the race was called. He placed his hand on my shoulder to reminded me how important it was to keep on the inside of the track. “Let no one through and do not look round” he called as I walked across to the starting point – he always gave good advice. The surface of the football field was not the best for athletics but the grass was reasonably short and equal for everyone. At the start I hovered and manoeuvred near the inside lane. We shuffled around – “On your marks” called the Starter. I was on the inside position with my left foot close to the white line. The race was being run as a final, 10 or so boys including my school colleague, Frank Lay, jostled around for their positions. The starter called “Set” and the pistol fired. I went off at a good pace and held my place on the inside as the bigger and older boys tried to stride past. I was quite comfortable to go with them, my experience of running across the fields to school and behind Mr Blake’s ‘cycle on my homeward journey was paying dividends. On the back straight I forged ahead and held the other competitors off to the bend. Adrenaline was flowing rapidly and as I rounded the final bend I was asking myself “Where are they?”. Running instinctively my mind was repeating “I am going to win, I’m going to win”. There were still ten yards to the winning post, my head was rolling uncontrollably and through exhaustion I was wobbling at the knees. I crossed the finishing line, I tried to stop but my legs continued running, my brain had lost control, I fell in a heap, I had won! …. Congratulations were overwhelming when I reached my chums and teachers, but all I wanted to do was to lie down, close my eyes and recover.
Returning to school on the following Monday morning, I was the centre of attention, particularly from my class chums who gave me the new nickname of ‘Hyperion’ after the famous racehorse that on Wednesday, five days earlier, had won the Derby classic. I suppose, in the eyes of my friends, I was a hero. Disappointingly there were no prizes, medals or trophies to show them; none were presented for place winners in our area schools athletics. Two weeks later I travelled by train with other event winners to take part in the Suffolk County Schools Championships held on the sports field of the King Edward VI School, Bury St Edmunds. The championship events were fiercely fought, and although no competitor from Bramford won a place in the finals, the experience of the occasion left an indelible impression.

Senior School Gardens – (1930 – 1935)

Wilfred Hurry was a very keen horticulturalist and gardener and under his direction, in a very short time, the school grounds and gardens had been very well laid. Four cottage gardens of different designs had established themselves under the good husbandry of the older schoolboys, teachers and caretaker. One garden design was a central grass path throughout its length with flower borders on either side leading to grass steps down to the playground. Another, with herbaceous flowers, had a long walkway of crazy paving. A third garden, mainly of flower beds and vegetables, was fenced by cordon fruit trees which separated the Rose garden, the bushes of which had been carefully selected for both beauty and perfume.
At the girls’ end of the school, a plot of land had been planted, close to the playing field, with a variety of apple and pear trees. Every year, in the Spring and Autumn, the Headmaster demonstrated to the older boys his skill at pruning in the orchard garden. It was not easy to concentrate and pay attention on a cold afternoon to decide the difference between a lateral and terminal branch, or how to recognise the difference between fruit and break buds and, at the same time, understand the importance of cutting the branch above a bud pointing outwards. It was prudent to pay attention as one was liable to be asked questions in class later. A stupid answer was rewarded with a tweak of the ear but anyone showing enthusiasm above the norm would be encouraged and given leave to go home five minutes early.
The favourite demonstration by Mr. Hurry was explaining the importance of giving fruit trees plenty of air and light and the need to keep the centre of the tree open with no crossed branches. He removed his shabby brown trilby hat, a Battersby I believe, from his bald head and at arm’s length waved it in a circular motion inside the centre of the tree to demonstrate how clear and open it should be. Plonking the battered hat back on his head, his red face gave him the look of a harassed Newmarket racehorse trainer.
Spring flower beds of wallflowers and delicate roses blossomed at the front of the school and were kept immaculately tidy by Mr Taylor. Needless to say, these gardens were out of bounds to scholars.
The Head considered gardening a very important subject for village children to learn when the weather and curriculum allowed. Children learned skills to use fork, spade, rake and garden line on 20 vegetable plots. It was deemed important for youngsters to plant carrots, lettuce, cabbage and potatoes in straight rows. Later, when the produce was ready for harvest and it was shown that the budding gardeners had done well, and pleased their tutors, the children were given first choice of the produce to take home to their parents and perhaps hungry brothers and sisters.

Contents

CHRONICLE OF TWENTIETH CENTURY BRAMFORD MAN