Chapter 2
1850 First full week in April Saturday First light. The wife made her way to the window, carefully avoiding treading on any of the kids. She likes to see how the blossom is coming along in the orchard this time of the year. She saw a paddling of five ardent drakes, following one poor hen duck, in an unruly parade around the pear trees. Lots of quacking. Some cacophony! The besieged female took flight over the hedge and waddled up the lane towards the brook in her attempt to escape. The drakes followed in determined pursuit. We had quite an argument over breakfast about ducks and drakes. I had heard tell that drakes don’t quack. The wife reckoned that they were all quacking. In the end we agreed to disagree. I did keep one thought to myself. Perhaps the drakes have learnt how difficult it can be to get a word in edgeways. Got paid today. The wife has got her hands on most of it now. I might just be able to stand my corner at the Stars tonight. Better not get there too early. Can’t afford a long session. We aren’t required at Gravel Pits next week. Sunday A nice sunny day. I noticed the new shoots on the gooseberry bushes are greening up. The blue tits are back to make a nest in the old apple tree again. A tiny hole, only a couple of feet from the ground. Popping in and out, occasionally checking to see if anyone is looking to discover their home. A lot of people out and about in the village this morning. A lot more than normal. Not sure what normal is anymore. Met a few folk who were enjoying meeting up with their neighbours, some they hadn’t had a proper chattering with for ages. Can’t have been many in church. Only the regulars I expect. The pub was full last night. Well at least the top bar and quite a few revellers outside the barn. Jim Maycock was pleased with custom. He said they may get the bottom bar back in play for next weekend. I saw that a few of the heavy drinkers had returned. They had got used to walking over to Ludgershall and back while the Stars were down. Also saw some of the farm hands from up Muzzle were in. You never know with them. There are a lot of pubs to choose from in Brill. Mind you, you must keep an eye out for them Brill Boys. They don’t always take too kindly to outsiders drinking their beer. John Freeman, from down Cowleys, was in. He said that the weaners should be ready any time soon. It was back before Christmas that Margretta was put to the boar. I don’t know what people would think about John naming his sows after folk in the village. Three months, three weeks and three days to farrowing and then three months with their mother. Nobody seemed bothered about the vicar sending down fire and brimstone on the late-night drinkers, although Old Jim Parker was worried that his thatch might take alight. I tried to buy Old Henry a beer, but he insisted on buying for me again. I think he was trying to impress our new landlady. Perhaps he was trying to get their regular custom at the butchers or perhaps he had other things on his mind. Mary Ann was keen to learn about the village characters. She asked how come the Parish Clerk got landed with Parson’s Pet. Henry told her the tale of Henry William arriving here in Piddington and straight away landing the plum job of toll keeper down at the bottom gate. He had heard from Susan Croxford that he came from Abingdon, same as the Parson. She thought that William, or perhaps an older brother, may also have been at Abingdon School. At one time the rumour was that he may have been a fellow choir boy when the Vicar’s father was Vicar at Abingdon. By this time Mary Ann had gone off to serve one of the young Walkers. Henry kept going though, keen to demonstrate his knowledge of the village. He described in detail the grand portraits hanging in the Vicarage of all the Clowberry family, most of them in the vicaring trade. We all knew that Henry had never once been invited inside the Vicarage. Old Henry gets to know most things in the village from chattering to customers, and particularly from house servants sent to get the meat orders. Both him and the butcher boy spend a lot of time keeping themselves amused by tagging people with nicknames as they pass by the shop. Sometimes the name sticks. Sometimes it evolves over time. Some villagers, Like Topsy Turvey, for instance, have their names passed on to them. The eldest son usually gets their old dad’s nickname when he no longer has a use for it. I left early, not feeling able to get involved in another round of drinks. Monday I did my walk around some of the farms this morning. Towards Ludgershall, Chilling Place and then back over Muzzlehill. No work to be had. Perhaps try Lower End way tomorrow. I could see they had the sucklers out in the field close to Corbel Farm. A touch of rain overnight, freshened things up. I could see the whole village sparkling in the sunshine when I came down the hill. Nice to see the new-born lambs. Quite a few in the Manor Farm lambing pens. Guinea fowl all over the farmyard, sounding the alarm. Quite a frenzy in the Walkers’ yard. Young Alfred Walker told me that they were desperate to get the muck on the fields after such a wet winter. They would normally have done long before now, while the ground was still hard. He said that his dad can’t recall a winter when they hadn’t spread the muck when the ground stood frozen. All winter the farmers have been proud of the size of their muck heaps. Now seem to be in a race to see how quickly they can clear it from their yards. Alfred and two lads were digging into the dung heaps with their old manure forks and loading it into the cart. Smell could be identified way up the village. Mary Elliott was complaining about the funk. She was worried about it lingering on her washing, laid on the hedge this past hour. Old Jim Parker said that he quite likes the smell. Said it makes him feel alive. Later saw Alfred leading the horse towards their field. The two lads walking alongside the cart. Their forks stood upright in the muck. Saw Henry at the Butchers. He said he couldn’t remember about getting home after leaving the Stars. Phoebe said she found his boots in the morning, left by the door, soaking wet. She reckons he must have walked most of the way through the brook. She said he was probably in no state to be able to find a hole in a ladder. Left him and the butcher boy trying out different nicknames for the new landlord of the Stars. Later saw Alfred, the cart empty, apart from the two lads sitting on the tailboard, legs dangling. The horse was standing in the wide stretch of the brook, quenching his thirst. Even more of a fug coming from Up Town. There must be quite a competition going on to see who finishes muck spreading first. Tuesday Walked all around the Cowleys farms this morning. Took the two middle boys with me, as I planned on collecting the weaners. We left calling in on John Freeman’s to the last. No prospect of work at the other Cowleys farms. John Freeman said I could come back next week to give him a hand with some fencing that needed repairing badly. I told him that I didn’t have much experience of repairing things badly, but I would give it me best shot. He was happy for me to bring the boys. This made their day, mine as well! The boys stood very proud. They had not been called upon to help with proper work before. Just some hay raking, stooking and crow scaring in the last couple of years. John and Richard, his youngest, took us to look at the weaners and Margretta in her farrowing pen. All lying peacefully when we first looked in. They clearly thought it was feeding time when they saw us. Quite a ruckus and lots of squealing before they settled down a bit. Couldn’t count them at first while they were all stirred up. Seven in all. It had been Richard’s job to look after them since farrowing. He was quite proud that Margretta had only lost two. We approached the part that I always find difficult. John is a very honest man. Our agreement for the last few years is that I help on his farm when he needs me on odd days. In return he lets me have a brace of weaners to bring on in the sty at the back of the cottage. He always asks me to take my pick. I always ask him to choose. Of course, I would like the bigger ones, but I never feel that it is right for me to have my say. I would be very happy with any of them. We dance around this conundrum for a while, eventually settling upon the idea that young Richard should make the decision. He has looked after them and knows which are his favourites and which he has had the most trouble with. We end up with one big and one small, although definitely not the runt. Fun and games separating these two from Margretta. John managed to back the sow into a corner with an old hurdle that had seen better days. Not long enough, truth be told. As he moved the hurdle one way, the weaners shot past him the other way. The runt jumping back and forth through the holes in the hurdle. Lot of squealing going on. You could tell they weren’t happy. Finally, we got our two separated and into the yard, Richard and my two lads diving about after them. They were in no hurry to be heading off to the village. Kept turning around, trying to dive through our legs to get back to their mother. John had lent me his pig board which was a great help. My eldest used the broad stick. Not too bad until we got to the end of the farm lane. Suddenly the weaners had a change of heart, rather than go back to Margretta, they took off, turning the wrong way. Thought they might be better off in Marsh than Piddington. Took some time for the boys to get past them and halt their advance. Spent a while telling them that they should avoid going anywhere near Marsh. We got them headed back in the right direction. Once we got past John’s lane, we made better progress, the bigger weaner setting off in front, little one chasing behind. Coming into the village the weaners decided to make for the brook. Soon realised it was easier keeping them pointed in the right direction while they were in the brook. They also started to look a bit cleaner. Luckily most yard gates were shut. Helped and hindered by the gang of Lower End kids, we finally got them in the sty. Old Zachary came past. Reckoned he saw a swallow in the village yesterday. Didn’t believe him. Told him that it’s far too early in the year. He is always seeing and hearing birds that others don’t. He told me to listen for the Chiffchaffs, whatever they are. Quite a few visitors that evening, young and old. All keen to see the new members of our family. Wednesday Really bright full moon last night. Could see it just past Chilling Place. A new day. Nice to see the pig bucket stood by the door again. Got another egg delivered today. Found it next to the vegetable patch. That is two in two weeks. Fox, I expect. The wife said that we could really do with half a dozen a week, and with the yolks left in them. Could be from anyone’s hens close by. I haven’t heard of any feathers flying. Beans doing well. Watered seeds, some just starting to show. Zach passed by this morning, listening out for the birds. Stopped by the gate to talk about the villagers that he could remember as a lad. He was very pleased to put me in my place, pointing out the swallow above our heads. I wandered off and left him to it, as he went on about the difference between male and female barn swifts, house martins and nightjars. Another warm day. Three days now, the village kids have been without their boots. I don’t expect we will see their boots again until we get to bonfire night. No need to waste good boot leather. The children from the big houses now, that’s a different matter. The wife reckons some have a choice of summer shoes. Truce between Up Town and Lower End gangs, happy paddling together and hoping for sticklebacks. Thursday Moon over Boarstall last night. Same one perhaps. Just as bright! A bit hazy towards Muzzle first thing. Really warm again by mid-morning. Checked the carrots. Only a few remain, but still looking good. Just a few grub tunnels in the tops of some of them. They will be fine, once in the pot. Spent much of the evening chattering with Old John, watching the water flow through the Brook. Not the deluge we had a month or two back. John recalls the time his father, Very Old John, told him of milking in the barn just down the lane. It was a good few years back now. The Brook was overflowing from water coming down Muzzle, from rain the day before. He sat there milking with cows and him stood in a foot of water inside the barn. Old Jim Parker joined us. He and Old John like to put their heads together of an evening to sort out the problems of the Parish. They couldn’t understand why everyone was tearing about. Saying folks were in too much of a hurry these days. Not like when he were a lad in the village. Nowadays hardly anyone has time to stop and pass the time of day. He also reckons that there are no longer any characters left in the village. Wasn’t long before they set about their favourite pastime, deciding that there are definitely only two different sorts of folk in the village. |
Started as normal with..
Those standing “East of the Brook” and those standing “West of the Brook”, not forgetting those standing “in the Brook”. This evening we also had.. Folk “that go to Church” and those “that go to Chapel”, not forgetting those “that go to neither.” A new one, I hadn’t heard before.. Folk that “have been to Brill” and those “that would rather not”, not forgetting those “that went to Brill and now we have forgot.” |
Friday Even hotter today. Saw a few men with horses and carts full of muck. Out to the fields and returning empty. The smell has retreated a bit. The eggler returned to the village today. His old dobbin pulling the cart. He picked up eggs at the Walkers’. His main supplier for eggs and butter in the village is Manor Farm. I expect he will have called in there later. I don’t know if he picked up any guinea fowl eggs. They will have a job to find them. I have heard tell that they can lay all over the place. I know they have a good number of stewing hens ready to meet their maker. They may now have left the Parish. They may get to see Oxford and Bicester markets before they pass on. Called in to see William Parrott. He said that me and the boys can have a ride down to Cowleys on Monday as John Freeman’s new cart is all ready to go. The boys decided on the names of the weaners over supper. Bigger one gets to be called Plopper and the littler one, Snort. I can’t see these names lasting long. Sources & Inspirations People and dates: from 1851 census and parish burial records. Brill Boys: I have read several 19th century reports of the rowdy lads from Brill swarming other villages – mainly Chearsley & Cuddington, if remember correctly. Being refused beer My recollection of being refused more than one pint at the Bull and Butcher, Ludgershall, because “there will be none left for the locals!” This is the time when Brill United soundly beat Ludgershall F.C. We cleared the cows off the pitch before play and again after half time. It was probably not the worst football field I have ever played on. At the time I was captain of Brill First Team and a Brill Boy. c.1975 Old Henry and the Butcher Boy naming the villagers: No evidence of this happening in Piddington. This is based entirely on the continuous activities of Francis Pointer, butcher, and David “Butcher Boy” Widdowson at the Butcher’s shop, The Square, Brill in the early 7O’s. The Butcher Boy, sometimes “Corky”, would later become landlord of the Rising Sun at Ickford, and then the Bull and Butcher. Rob and Marge Bonnet, Later Lord and Lady Bonnet of Piddington, lived in the house converted from the shop, and learned all of their social graces in the company of Brill society, centred on The Square in Brill since Georgian times. Last I heard; Mrs Duckeggs was living there. Vicar Clobury and family history: I found his brother, William Cleoburey 1793 - 1853, Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons. Oxford History website “Oxford Medical Men”. Very worthwhile reading, suggesting how devastated he must have been following his mother’s death in late 1841. Guinea fowl: Recalled at Manor Farm by Colin Matson, Piddington Postscript late 19th century. See more about Piddington Postscript under Sources “Unable to find a hole in a ladder” Old phrase to describe an extreme state of drunkenness. Getting the weaners back home: Much help and advice from Morwen and Mike Ashton. A great conversation. Swallows, chiffchaffs and all things in the bird watching trade: Old Zachary Colin Oram Muck heaps, and many farming matters concerning the seasons: 19th century agricultural consultants – “Billy” Graham and Vanessa Burchell. Kids with no shoes: Widely reported in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Partly based on my father’s recollections of children in the poorer parts of Brill in the early 1930’s Milking in the barn with a foot of water: Not 1850’s but early 20th century. Michael Phillips’ recollections of his father, perhaps his uncle. Milking in Westbrook Barn, now the home of Sarah Jackson and family. The Eggler: No evidence of calling in Piddington but common in 19th rural communities. Some would also collect butter, cheese and poultry. Threw in the “stewing hens” after Graham’s recollections of “old boy used to come round to collect the hens when they had finished laying… ended up as Shippham’s Paste!” Duck & drakes, gooseberry bushes, weather, moon, egg deliveries, beans, seeds, carrots in the pot. All Gwith Cottage, corresponding day of the week 2020 Author's Notes A very busy week. Excellent response from within the village. I have been given a lot of details of who lived where and when, through discussions over the garden wall. I need to have a notebook ready for when people come past. By the time I get back to my “office overlooking the Brook”, I have got most names and places muddled up. A brilliant thing happened a few days ago! Colin Oram has lent me a copy of “Piddington Postscript”, written by Colin Matson, the grandson of Robert Matson, Vicar of Piddington for a short time in the 1860’s. Robert Matson had a close relationship with Thomas Brown, his neighbour opposite. The relationship between the two families blossoms, and I guess you can say, multiplies, though several generations. I am not going to give too much away here. He writes about his visits to Piddington and provides a key to understanding how thing were ordered here, in the 19th Century. For me, this key will prove priceless. It will enable me to knit together the fragments of Piddington family trees, census and parish records I have been working away at for years. It may be some time before I feel able to return the book to Colin. I got a little side-tracked with a rewarding detour, researching Vicar John Cleoburey’s fascinating family history. This is the true spelling of the family name as shown on the inscription above the family’s vault in St Helen’s Church in Abingdon. Lots of different spellings of the name in 19th Century censuses and directories. John always signed himself “Cleobury”. I have my own theory about Margretta, (again true spelling). More to come later perhaps. In danger of getting into “The true history of Piddington Vicars!” Still trying to catch Chris Taylor to get his input. Will have to be in short bursts, as he always recalls things that Wendy and Hilda described, in the form of a meandering bombardment. I keep seeing him go by at great speed in a very strange vehicle. Thinking about a large net to catch him. No, I haven’t seen the legendary old Piddington map! I know a number of you have. Wendy was going to show it to me. Sadly, this was just before she died. I believe it now resides in Oxford. Maybe some time before I get to see it. Perhaps the village’s collective memory can be brought together to recreate it. I have seen other old Piddington maps. Having difficulty remembering the details. Don’t want to get anything wrong. Not a great deal of detail on any of them, but every little helps! A big thank you to Graham & Vanessa Burchell, as agricultural consultants and for inspiration. I may be close to convincing Graham that I know what I am up to. Not any easy task at the best of times. Looking forward to better times when we can compare notes. Graham has provided some confirmation as to my thoughts on the whereabouts of Piddington Common. Waiting for Chris Taylor to say, “didn’t you know that?” Great help from Morwen & Mike Ashton for an entertaining discussion on the best way to get “two weaners” up the track from Cowleys. Also, thanks to Lenny & Jan Woodhouse and Colin, who have made explorations up Muzzle to find the true source of the Brook. Separate explorations of course! Not forgetting Phil Jones, who has helped by describing his own journey along the Brook in the tunnel under the Churchyard. Again, Phil is another one who passes by Gwith Cottage at great pace. Need to flag him down again. Colin has become the official cartographer for the expeditions. More work is needed in trying to imagine the true course of the Brook through Manor Farm and beyond, before the ditches and pipes we have today. I also need Chris Taylor to again recount to me the tales of wells, the first water pipes, pumps, Billy Holt etc. I would like to have more chats with Young Michael when he comes past. No problem with the speed in his case! Thank you to Chris Weavers for searching for clues about Brook Cottage. I know he is anxiously awaiting the arrival of the railway. Yvonne, I have noted your enthusiasm to contribute and read more about Piddington murders and ghosts. Please try to contain yourselves! Desperate to gain some clues for the date of the installation of the organ/first organ in the Church. Was the 1916 organ the first organ or a replacement? I am keen to describe the musicians up in the gallery, perhaps after visiting the Seven Stars the night before; their reaction to being made redundant by the organ and their thoughts on its sound! I want to avoid getting the date wrong. Will I be able to describe it “live” in a future chapter of the diary? Or will it be a recalled event by Old Jim? This question could go to a parish referendum with the casting vote being in the hands of the present incumbent! You may notice that I have avoided adding additional characters in Chapter 2. Partly to avoid confusion, and partly because I haven’t had time to check the facts on other families before I introduce them. I have added just one: Susan Croxford, House Servant at the Vicarage at the time of the 1851 census. I have taken the liberty of assuming she was there a year early and was the Old Henry's source of much news from Vicarage Lane. I need to focus. I can’t chase after too many hares at the same time. I need to balance the time I spend forensically piecing together the results of research with the time spent writing the diary. Feeling guilty that I have yet to provide detailed notes on sources. Anyone interested in consolidating research into these fascinating subjects: the Chapel, the Sunday School, the Day School, the scandal of the Vicar’s election in the early 19th Century, changes to poor relief? Apologies for not getting around to including more about "Places" as I promised last week. Making progress on a broader section currently called "The Village". Still half-baked but I will release next week as "work in progress". David Cook 11th April 2020 |