My move to Bawburgh in 1953 was due to unfortunate circumstances. My father
died in 1948 when I was only two years old and I carried on living with my mother
Violet in Surrey until she also passed away in 1953. My mother had asked her
sister Kathleen (nee Chambers) to look after me on her death. So at the age
of 7 years, I moved into Church Stores, Bawburgh, to live with Aunt Kathleen
and Cyril Browne (her husband). Aunt Kathleen had married quite late in life
and Cyril was 12 years older than her so I think it was as traumatic for them
to have a young boy in their lives as it was for me to lose my mother. My mother
had worked in service and was a professional cook so I had been spoiled with
regards to food. My first meal in Bawburgh was stewed hare.
On reflection, I believe that in 1953, I was seeing the end of old village
life. The village had two shops: Church Stores and the Post Office which was
a general store, a working mill and two public houses: The Cock and The King's
Head. There was a village policeman, and a part-time fish and chip shop. I seem
to remember the Hall was still occupied but in a poor state of repair. The Blacksmiths
opposite the village green was busy and there was the egg packing station at
the top of Harts Lane.
I went to Bawburgh School. My aunt was a friend of Mr Steed who was the Headmaster
and it was fun to visit as they had a pet monkey who was very good at turning
on the water taps to drink but did not have the inclination to turn them off!
Mr Steed retired shortly after I arrived, which I hope I was not responsible
for, and Miss Stannard replaced him. I only spent a short time at Bawburgh School
before moving on to Langley but have fond memories.
Church stores only had an outside toilet and water came from a well with
a hand pump in the kitchen with cooking done on a paraffin stove. Next door
some of the houses in Child's terrace had a similar lack of facilities, and
were without electricity or running water. We never had a television or telephone
but did spend time listening to the radio. Aunt was very strict and Sundays
was my worst day of the week. I had to wear my best clothes and often attended
church twice. I was in the choir along with Terry Stephens, my best friend,
and Jenny Seaman and Sylvia Ramsay. John Lofty was our organist. He was a very
good musician and had his own band and also reared pigs. He was not the best
of time keepers as we often were all dressed in our surplises and ready to march
up the aisle but no organist had appeared! There would then be a loud squeal
of brakes as John pulled up in his old Landrover and you could hear him running
down the path in his wellies. He would burst into the church with the smell
of pigs a few feet behind him as I started to pump the bellows and away we would
go. Pumping was not without its hazards as one had to keep the brass weight
below a mark. Should this not be achieved, the organ sounded a bit like a set
of bagpipes with a puncture. At the end of the service, John would play a pop
tune but in slow tempo. The vicar would often say he had not heard that hymn
before. Perhaps Sundays was not so bad after all.
Aunt and Uncle retired in 1962, selling Church stores and purchasing a piece
of land opposite the old Cock public House where they built a small bungalow
and where I lived till I joined the Royal Navy.
The river played quite a big part in the life of us youngsters. Just about
every boy fished, and if I caught anything big enough, it was eaten. In Summer,
the village green would be busy and we all learnt to swim in the river, starting
in the shallows and ending up in the mill pool with the bravest either jumping
or diving off the bridge. Summer holidays were long and the sun always seemed
to shine. We would bike for miles, leaving home early and not getting back until
late evening.
As we got into our teens, we were all motor bike mad. Someone or other would
obtain an old motorbike for a few pounds, which we would then wheel up to the
showground track on the Marlingford Road and ride until it fell to pieces. I
expect we were responsible for destroying many a British classic motorbike.
Mr Wright, the village policeman, would keep a close eye on us and there was
not much that escaped his attention.
In June of 1962, I joined the Royal Navy. I came back to the village to visit
Aunt and Uncle when on leave and was married to Kathleen (another!) in the village
church by Reverend Willson. We held our reception at the King's Head, managed
by the Howletts.
My aunt passed away in 1995 and her husband, Cyril, had died earlier in 1972.