Chapter 3 1850 Second week in April Sunday Rhubarb has come on where we used our old forcing pot. Called into the Stars last night. I had just intended a brief visit. I took my old dad’s tankard back to its rightful place, hanging from the beam behind the bar. Old Henry was keen to fill it for me. Young Richard Sulston was in. Brought his cart back from the two Bicesters on Friday, as usual. Sometimes full, sometimes empty, but always brings the news from the Kings Arms. He says that work is well underway on the railway station this side of the town. He also described the station he saw being built at Launton. He said there is talk of them opening in October, and there was excitement in the town amongst the younger folk. Old John couldn’t understand why they would build a railway between Bicester and Launton. He said it could be walked in no time at all. Old Jim wondered if they might be running a track to Piddington before too long. Young Richard tried to put them right, saying that the train will run from Oxford, stopping at Islip, coming round close to Otter Moor, before pulling into Bicester. No one in the Stars could see why Oxford folk would want to go to Bicester. Some thought they would perhaps come to the new market at Market End of a Friday. No ideas for the rest of the week and certainly no ideas about why Oxford folk would want to visit Launton. Richard explained about plans to link up Oxford to Bletchley and then before long, all the way to Cambridge. No one had heard of Bletchley and only a few had heard of Cambridge. Young Richard said he was told in the Kings Arms that Cambridge is another learning town, just like Oxford. The idea was beyond everyone’s imagination. Jim Maycock thought that learned folk from both university towns could perhaps travel to Bicester to buy their books. He can’t understand why they have so many bookshops in the town as well as a room where you can sit and read. Old Jim thought no good would come of it, all this reading! Henry, stood at the bar next to Mary Ann, said it were all talk. Said he would only believe it when he saw it with his own eyes. He still didn’t believe the tales of the steam belching locomotives that are supposed to arrive in Oxford from London these past few years. Especially since he heard the tale from the Parish Clerk. He reckoned that only a few folk in the village, mainly in the big houses, have seen Oxford. The Browns, always tearing about, and the Vicar sometimes, to see his brother. No one mentioned Tom Gibbons of course, village carrier to Oxford and back of a Saturday. Everyone knows that you couldn’t believe every word that comes out of his mouth. This morning saw Ann Brown coming up from the bottom end of the village. She was being driven in Thomas Brown’s dog cart. On her way to Church and then to her son’s for Sunday lunch, I expect. Always the same time of day of a Sunday. Old Jim says he could set his fob watch by her, if he had one. She usually takes her own pony chaise. Saw the biggest rabbit ever today. A white one as well. It can’t have been me seeing things, as Old Jim said he saw it as well. A doe, he thought. Parson’s Pet hadn’t seen it. He thought it was more likely to have been a hare than a big rabbit. Very warm again after noon. Old Jim was worried about the warm weather bringing all the blossom on too soon. He was thinking Jack Frost could still come back and put a stop to the apples. Saw the Parish Clerk again this evening when we were chattering with Old John. Told us that the big white rabbit must be a mountain hare. Had a special name. Lepus timydust, I think he said. Jim said she could be living up Muzzle. John thought they could well have a book on rabbits up at the Vicarage. Monday Rain overnight and quite a cold wind coming from Marsh. Second row of beans just started to show. Found some strange droppings close to rhubarb. A lot bigger than a rabbit’s droppings. Must be that big white hare came back. I will see if Jim will lend me one of his snares. We arrived at the wheelwrights first thing. I had me clodhoppers on, expecting it to still be wet down Cowleys. Old William wasn’t in the yard but quite a prattle of younger Parrots working away. John Freeman’s new wagon looked splendid, sitting in the cobbled yard. Mary, their eldest still at home, was getting Hercules into the shafts. Mary pointed out the little Parrot mark on the wagon. She told them that nothing new leaves the workshop without the little parrot. The boys knew of course, like most children in the village who have seen the little parrot at the back of the new pulpit in St Nicks’. Ann Brown’s chaise was propped up in the yard. Young George was struggling to get the wheel back on. My lads were keen to give a hand. Young Sarah was busy at the forge as usual, looked just like I can remember her mother, Old Sarah Parrott, a few years back. Young Sarah, just turned 20 perhaps, had bigger muscles than all her brothers put together. Always dresses the same. Heavy apron, strong boots and hair tied back. Could be a different girl entirely when you see her head off towards Ludgershall of an evening. Enjoyed talking with William on the way down, sat on the front cart, boys on the back. Before we got past the rookery we had half of the Lower End kids aboard, shouting and waving to folk standing about. As for the other half, the boys made for the brook, a long line of them striding out. It seemed to be a game of who could make the biggest stride. Biggest boys to the front, smaller ones to the back, having to run to keep up. A few falling and getting a ducking. The girls were more sedate, in the main part. Most were picking flowers. Some from the beside the brook, some from inside people’s gates. Two girls had got hold of some long sticks. From the yard to the side of Ann Brown’s house, I think. The sticks were twice as tall as the girls. Not the best for a sword fight. Hercules wasn’t in any hurry, neither was Old William. He seemed to be keen to talk about his family, and what might happen when his time were up. He told me that the girls were good strong workers and they were keen on the forge work. He said that if Young Sarah went missing, folk would often report seeing her at the village smithy. It was the boys he was most concerned with. Some seemed more interested in moving into farming, like some of the other Parrots have in the past. Two boys were more interested in building coaches, than carts. They say that is where the future lies. We have had the debate many times. To build coaches you need to be in with those that have the money. It’s not good to be reliant on a few families. Farmers now, they will always need carts and their wheels fixed. I tell them that, come what may, folk will always need wheels and tyres. Getting them to pay up when they ought, is another matter. Young George showed most interest in the work but he was only thirteen and may get his head turned before too long. William drew Hercules to a halt at the Freemans’ gate. Tried to shoo the kids off the back of the cart. Most thought that they were in for a round trip. Told them to get back to the village before dark, as their mothers might be getting the ponds dragged. Turning towards the Freemans’, I looked over my shoulder. Most of the boys were set off towards Marsh, closely followed by little Matilda Turvey. The rest of the girls didn’t seem to know which way to set off. Not sure what young Matilda was up to. She’s only a little’n. Can’t be five years of age yet and her rightful place is with up with the Up-Town gang. Must find more time to talk to Old William about his forbears before he sets off for the churchyard. He has told me before that he comes from a long line of Launton Parrots, mostly blacksmiths, before they got a taste of working with wheels. Old John showed us the problems he faced with the fencing. All along the top field trees had been trying to get through. His neighbour hadn’t been keeping their hedges in check. Biggish hawthorn bushes had pushed the fencing in. Some willows had fallen over and needed to be pulled out. Some of the fences were lying flat in places. Others were bent over badly, struggling to hold on. Not too many rails were broken. A good few posts were needed. John said that the fence was his, but the damage was caused by the bloody farmer next door. He didn’t mention his neighbour’s name. Perhaps he did and I didn’t catch it. He was talking through gritted teeth most of the time. I tried to work out who the other farmer could be. Not easy as most of Cowleys is another country to me and half the time it’s under water. John was keen to get this sorted so he could let the stock through to this field. I did wonder if I might find out who the neighbouring farm belonged to. Perhaps try to get a bit of hedging work, come late Autumn. Not sure what John would think of that. Could be a bit tricky. Could be at least 30 chain. Maybe 20 days’ work for me and the lads. John wanted us to make a start with clearing out some of the old wood. Young Richard Freeman and my eldest went into the house. Fetched a couple of glowing logs in an old steel bucket. They soon got the fire started with the dead branches. The boys and Richard gathering up the sticks. My youngest one is yet to learn the ways of the breeze and the smoke. I reckoned he would be as well smoked as one of Old Patience’s hams by the time he got home. I didn’t want to show him the best way of approaching the fire. He is not so keen to be told what to do. Best if he learns the hard way. Should sink in then. As the fire got some heat in, we were able to throw in the greener bits. As they were consumed my lads pulled out the ends and threw them into the middle of the fire. Made good progress today and, most important, Old John was pleased. The boys did well. A great feeling walking back into the village. A son each side of me, three abreast. Youngest, his tenth birthday still a bit off, attempting great strides to match our step. A day, I hope, I will never forget! The wife told me there was a bit of a ruckus this morning. Mary Elliot and her washing again. This time it was smoke from the wheelwrights. She was saying that everyone knows that Mondays are washing days in the village. “Have been for centuries and will be for centuries to come”. Apparently, she went to tackle the Parrots, making her way through the smoke. Most of the Parrots hid in the sheds and workshops. Mary said that she could see the Parrots’ washing hanging on their back hedge. She confronted old Sarah at her door. Sarah told her she was a silly old bat and to take more notice of where the wind is coming from in future. The wife said that there weren’t any more smoke than you would expect on any other day. Smoke from their forge, and the fire behind the big workshop for heating the tyres. Tuesday Sunny start to the day, although a touch nippy. Didn’t get the frost last night that Jim was expecting. Not sure if we are out of the woods yet. Beetroot seed just started to show. More white hare droppings this morning. Deer prints as well. Might need a snare and a trap. The wife mentioned that she hadn’t seen many of the younger Reynolds family out and about recently. Haven’t seen the Dumbletons, come to think of it. She said talk at the well, amongst women folk, had returned to the Great Sickness. It must be less than 20 years ago, about the time we got wed. Caused a lot of sadness all around. No one will ever forget, especially those who lost their children before they rightly should. Thought I would make a show of taking my different hedging axes this morning. We made a good set off for Cowleys. The old rooks were making a fuss down Lower End. Kaah-Kaah-Kaah! Old Zachary must have been out and about really early. He was coming back into the village, having already done his tour of the parish boundaries. He told us they mostly will have finished their nest building by now. They were certainly packed close together. Zach says they like each other’s company and should have a few chicks by now. Boys skipping ahead to start with. Slowed a bit as we approached the Freemans’ Farm. They didn’t want to be seen as youngsters. We worked with the younger John Freeman today. I am not sure if I know him that well to be comfortable addressing him as Young John. Maybe towards the end of the week, if things go well. He told us that he were born in Launton, same as old John. I can remember the news of the two girls being born, and young Richard of course. Today we set about sawing up the willows that had fallen. The smaller limbs first. Then moved on to some of the thicker ones. Their saws weren’t up to much. I offered to take some back with me to see if William Parrott would touch them up a bit. William took pride in saw sharpening and couldn’t bear watching folk struggling with blunt saws. John didn’t seem keen on the idea, so I didn’t say any more on the subject. Will probably mean an extra day’s work if we carry on with these blunt ones. Both boys had a go. I suggested the younger one may do better picking up the logs and tossing them in the cart. He enjoyed that and was soon joined by his elder brother and Young Richard. Trouble was, we couldn’t keep up with them. Some squabbling to catch each log as it fell from the sawhorse. Before we finished up John let me cut some pea sticks from the hedgerow. Mind you, from what he and his father told me, it wasn’t their hedge to give away. Perhaps the last chance before the hedges start to green up. Peas not showing through yet but I think putting the sticks in first reminds them what they should be doing. The three of us returned to the village in very good spirits, much as the day before. This time, each with a bundle of pea sticks on our backs. Wednesday Bright morning. The wife said that there had been a touch of frost overnight. Good job we haven’t got much apple blossom yet. Little bit showing on next door’s tree. Peas have come through. Didn’t even have to push the sticks in aside the row. They probably knew they were now leaning up against the privy. That hare’s been back. We arrived down at Cowleys, perhaps today will see us finished. Old John didn’t put his head out of the door until gone ten. Said he couldn’t wake up. He turned and went back in. Good smell of bacon drifted our way before too long. The boys said it reminded them of when we still had Patience. We started to feel a bit peckish. I told the boys to get in the hedge and help themselves to some bread and cheese. Me and Young John set about the trunks. Tried the double handled long saw first. Took us forever to get through the first cut. Second one was worse. John seemed to be flagging. Kept pretending he had a fly in his eye. I slowed the pace a bit for his sake. Gave up on the double ender. Tackled the job with two smaller saws. Not much faster but we could both choose our pace. Young Richard went in the shed and brought three old misfit saws for him and the boys to have a go. I asked John if he had a beetle and a set of wedges we could use. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. Old John came out after mid-day. He did his bit and encouraged the young’ns. He was catching his breath most of the time, happy to be in charge of the performance in the sunshine. Said “don’t tell anyone about the logs, as by rights they belong to farmer next door. He ain’t getting ‘em! Don’t deserve ‘em!” The boys loaded logs and then patted down the ditch. The youngest found an old dark blade with a handle. It was in the bottom of the ditch, stuck right down in the clay. He had to wash it in the ditch a few times and wipe it on the grass. Old John said it wasn’t his and that it had probably been there since Adam was a lad. Was told he could keep it. Old John was sat on the back of the cart chuckling away. He told me that last Saturday Young John had spent the best part of the day sharpening the axes and setting the saws, ready for us turning up on Monday. He said that he tried to tell him that they were sharp enough for the job. He wasn’t for being told so he thought it be best if he learnt for himself. Old John said he had a job to keep a straight face while watching his son take the edge off the axes and make a mess of setting the saws. Walked back home together. Youngest, waving the blade about and making to take lumps out of his brother. He reckoned he was going to get into hedging and ditching when he was a bit taller. The wife told me that young James Elliot had called earlier to say that Thomas May would like to see me at Manor Farm in the morning. I didn’t like the sound of that, given the run in between his father and mine them years back. Perhaps he wants to raise his hunting crop to me as well. Told Old Jim and Old John about the work down Cowleys. This set off old John’s memories of hedging and ditching. He was keen to impart a rhyme he had picked up from somewhere: “Here lies Giles Thorn, honest hedger and ditcher, Who was born poor, and never grew richer” Tried to leave them to set off for home but was held back for a while with their attempts to put together a rhyme about dinner time. Their best one was this: “There are two different sorts of folk in the village: Those that have dinner near dark and those who have dinner at noon, not forgetting, those who have dinner once in a blue moon” Thursday Cool start, but warm again later. Rhubarb is getting a spurt on. Walked up past the Vicarage. Not many folk about. Thomas was in the stackyard. He said that he was looking to take on someone for a few days. He had ridden over past Gravel Pits the other day and Thomas May had told him that I seemed to know what I was doing. Not what I was expecting at all. I gawped a bit. “Start tomorrow morning, first thing”, he said. “And we will see how it goes from there.” Well, the thought of that took some getting used to. I found myself wandering up Muzzle, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. Still some lambs to come, ewes snuggled into the hedge. Keeping distance from each other to allow for some decorum in events soon to pass. Most lambs have been let into Close Field. Some close to their mothers. Most frolicking about, scampering off, coming to a sudden halt, and then setting off in a different direction. I saw the milkers being set free. Great big cows, skipping and hommoxing about. Like us, they must have thought it has been a long winter to be cooped up. Every year, they come out of their dark sheds and for a few hours think they are still calves, dancing around. Sat just below the top of Muzzle for a while. I began to think that perhaps Thomas Brown doesn’t know that I am my father’s son. Perhaps he doesn’t know that much about many fathers and sons in the village. We all know who he is. The farmer at the Manor House; his father afore him; the hunting; his carriages; the drives to Oxford and visitors to his home. How much does he know about most of us in the village? Came back down. The cows had remembered that they are cows. Perhaps a little embarrassed at their earlier display. The wife was very pleased at the news. Thought it could be our change of fortune. A chance for regular employment and perhaps food more often upon our table. Saw Old Henry coming back down the village with his barrow. Said he got up the Stars and ended up chatterin with David Rogers. By the time they had finished, he had forgotten why he had taken the barrow Up-Town. He had turned round and set off home, the barrow empty except for the news he picked up from the top end of the village. First things first. Henry told me that David Rogers had told him that his wife Sarah had been told by Billy the Smithy of a letter arriving in the village. Apparently, the postman had ridden over Muzzle from Brill. Billy’s wife, Young Ruth, tried looking up the lane towards the Vicarage, wanting to know if the letter was for the Vicar, or for the Browns. Henry said he would know for sure afore the week was out. Anyhow, he told me that Mary Rogers had picked up no end. She obviously is still very sad about Caleb, and Rhoda of course. They still visit the grave every evening but Mary is set on having another baby before too long. She isn’t too bothered who the father is, as you can never depend upon them at the best of times. It’s the babies she likes best. One other thing in Old Henry’s barrow. He and the butcher boy had settled upon the new landlord’s nickname. Jim Maycock were given “Half Cock” on account of his size! He may have to be careful on using that too loudly in the Stars. Early evening a great crowd had formed around the village telling post. Mostly kids but quite a few others there as well, including Old Jim and John of course. One of Tom Gibbons’ story tellings. You would never see the Vicar here, or the Parson’s Pet, or any from the big houses. Tom is not that old but for some time now he has had a way of catching the imaginations of people in the village. These tellings happen but once or a twice a year. No one ever makes a sound, except for when the best parts are told. Some of the children know when these are about to happen and brace themselves. Every time we hear new tales, from near and far, from the past and from times yet to come. Started, as some of us have heard many times before. Of how the tales come to the village; the big white cloud that covers Muzzle delivering the stories through the little streams that feed the brook. Some tales of Oxford Town. The story of the man flying above the Oxford spires in a beautiful silk balloon. This had prompted many questions in the past, none of us having ever seen a balloon. Tom’s description, as the biggest pig’s bladder you could imagine, covered in silk, still has a few of us scratching our heads. The story of the big, noisy metal machine with whistles and steam, bringing London folk to Oxford. This is most popular with the boys. The girls prefer the dragon of Worminghall, breathing fire and eating the Vicar of Oakley, save for his boots, fob watch and collar. This usually gets a good cheer on account of no one liking Oakley folk. Today, a new account of the little people who hide in the middle of Otter Moor. Their heavy brows, their big hairy feet and hands with six fingers on each. This caused quite a stir this evening. Everyone looking at their hands held up and trying to imagine where a sixth finger might sprout. The same story about young Pyder, the first settler by the brook, with his family and two unicorns, eventually finding that sheep did much better on the lower slopes of Muzzle. The stern warning that if you ever fall in the brook you will always have to tell the truth and never tell a lie. He reminded us all that those of us baptised in the Pyder font are true Pyders. People who come from afar to live close to the brook only become true Pyders if they too have fallen into the brook. He told of a time to come, when a new King of another land, had trouble sorting truth from lies. Many in the new King's Court would always take his side. In a time of great pestilence in every land, few would tell the new King what was true, fearing for their heads. A true Pyder, who had travelled near and far, had told the truth to former Kings in that land, and was banished from the new King’s Court. He too, feared for his head, but to the end, he could not tell a lie. Friday A touch of rain overnight. We still need more rain to be honest. The brook needs a proper flushing. Had been starting to get a bit foul-smelling these past few days. Not as bad as in the summer, or when they do the pig washing upstream. A good day working above Manor Farm. Started with sorting out some hurdles. I was then set to on a ditching expedition, along with Bill Elliot and Young James. We worked on the left-hand side of the field towards Chilling Place. It always seems to get boggy there. Made some headway but there will be a good few more days to have it completed. Keen to make a good impression on Thomas Brown. I have decided to take both my long-handled spade and the pointy one tomorrow morning. The weaners are now fully part of the family. We try to fill the pig bucket as best we can. I notice the potato peelings have been getting thicker this week and the potatoes getting smaller. The boys have been on missions to gather hog weed from the side of the track towards Arncott. Each evening they return with bundles. The potato peelings and the last of the old potatoes from the clamp have been mashed up with barley meal, some pease and spent barley. They could be living better than we are. The boys take it in turn with the feeding. Snort, the little one, may end up the bigger one soon, the way he pushes Plopper aside to get to the trough. Sources & Inspirations Two Bicesters, Book Shops & Reading room, new Friday market It is easy to be distracted by reading about Bicester’s history. Two very distinct parishes, each with their own character: Kings End and Market End. Although remarkably close together they were divided by the Bure Brook, later to be joined by the Causeway. These two parishes had been two distinct ancient townships. Just two things I have picked up which provide contrasting views of about 3,000 people living in the area not much bigger than central Piddington at the time. Often a foul-smelling, the streets 'cleared of filth' in the 1860's. The local board in 1864 ordered a new gate for the pound and forbade the washing of pigs on the footpath. And yet, in 1846 Bicester had eleven booksellers and stationers, one of whom had 'news and reading rooms'. 1851 Bicester Kings End Township population 291; Market End Township 2,763 In 1851 they were clearly just getting used to the “New Friday Market”, starting in 1441. Bicester, Launton and Islip stations and plans to connect Oxford to Cambridge All correct and eventually completed in different stages. Thanks to Chris Weavers and the full history to be found by searching for “The Varsity Line”. Trains London to Oxford Started 12 June 1844. Ann Brown’s trip through the village My first writing of this had her walking up the village, because, as you know her pony chaise was in dock at the wheelwrights. I then read that she was largely invalided. Thought I had better send the dog cart for her. All references from Piddington Postscript* Big White Rabbit or Big White Hare “living up Muzzle” Certainly, spotted in 2020, quite probably descended from the one seen in 1850. “Lepus timydust” misheard Parson’s Pet saying “Lepus timidus”, mountain hare. The little parrot marks A long-established tradition amongst craftsmen who enjoy working with wood and are happy to give extra time to signify their work. Notably Robert Mouseman with his mouse and Chris Taylor with his butterfly. After spending many happy hours working with Chris on woodworking projects in “the old wheelwrights” I adopted a simplistic bird which now can be seen all over the cottage. A few have flown to the French Alps. I used to think of my mark as a swallow. It now looks more like an old albatross. See if you can spot the Taylor butterfly when next you pass. Little parrot marks can be seen by children all over the parish if they are very quiet and look closely. And of course, there will always be the one at the back of the pulpit in St Nicks’. Washing Day On moving to the village, we were informed by our neighbour Dot Bayliss that “Mondays are washing days in Piddington.” Fond memories of the smell and sights of clouds of Persil drifting from the stable door of the Old Bakehouse. Hedging and events down at John Freeman’s Farm Started with trying to track down Graham Burchell to talk 19th century farming matters. Vanessa told me where he was, halfway to Cowleys. Found him, way off. Great inspiration helping and hindering Graham & Tim. Fire, smoke, logs. Poor old boy couldn’t get out of bed., catching his breath. A whole barrow load of hedging and ditching advice, terminology, old rhymes, old dark blade etc., from the North Cotswolds Hedge Layers. reigning champion, pairs, beginners, 2019 & 2020 and “best new growth 2020”. My son-in-law, Sean Daly, formerly of Ludgersall. I fear we may be doing an awful lot of hedging come late Autumn, as now it is too late “cos the birds are a nesting”. The Great Sickness The Cholera outbreak, reaching Oxfordshire June 1832 and lasting until November of that year. The number that stands out is the 64 deaths in six weeks in Bicester. 7% of Bicester residents were infected, a similar percentage in Merton. In Blackthorn 20% were infected. I am not aware of the number of deaths in Blackthorn at that time. It should be an easy task to complete. I have looked at the Piddington burial records for that year. There is no evidence of a higher number of deaths at that time. Parts of Oxford were hit badly: “the open drains of Jericho and Church Street St. Thomas’: drains full of decomposing matters, with sluggish streams of the foulest kind, and running through parts which suffer severely from disease”. The “great sickness” returned again with three successive waves of cholera and diarrhœa in 1844, 45 and 46. The people of Piddington were not aware of an “even greater sickness” returning in a few years’ time. Lambs and cows frolicking Particularly fond memories of helping out on Cynthia’s parents' farm in the Lake District. Post via Brill Mentioned in most trade directories at this time, well before Piddington had any of its own facilities. Storytelling The great tradition of village storytelling. The “telling post” just inside the gate of Oddington churchyard. The Book “Once upon a River” by Diane Setterfield, storytelling and tales set in villages of the Upper Thames. “The man flying above the spires in Oxford;” James Sadler, the son of an Oxford pastry cook. First flight 4th Oct 1784 from Christchurch Meadow, landing near Wood Eaton. His second flight, on the 12th of November took of from the Botanic Garden and landed in Aylesbury 20 minutes later! An unbelievable sight from top of Muzzle. “Dragon of Worminghall, Vicar of Oakley, little people of Otter Moor;” All true of course, and witnessed by J.R.R. Tolkien wandering about these parts as recorded in “Farmer Giles of Ham” and “The Hobbit” “with hands with six fingers on each;” Technically, incorrect of course, five fingers and a thumb! Recalling being served by a publican in a village not far from the edge of Otter More. I can remember that other locals in the pub kept their hands firmly in their pocktses. The dart board was on the wall, barely four feet from the floor. “Young Pyder, family and unicorns;” All true. Old Zachary regularly reports sightings of unicorns in Piddington Wood to this day. “The King of another land, had truth sorting truth from lies;” Two days before writing this I watched with great pride a good friend being interviewed following that mornings’ breaking news. President Trump had decided to withdraw American funding for the World Health Organisation. Larry Gostin, “a true Pyder who could not tell a lie,” fell into the Brook on the way up to The Seven Stars. Feeding the weaners Thank you to Neve, our eldest granddaughter, for adding this research project into her busy home-schooling timetable. At one time I was worried that the pigs may not get fed, my initial attempt to have them adopted by pig lovers in the village fell foul of their need to focus on completing the VAT return. I thought we may have some potatoes to feed them but I wasn’t sure if would have any pease! I was delighted to be reassured by breaking news from Lower End of a sale of “ricks of wheat, beans and pease and five sacks of potatoes.” Now, that’s got you on the edge of your seats! Weather, gardening, big rabbit or hare droppings, deer prints and possibly a few things I have forgotten. All Gwith Cottage, corresponding week 2020 Author's Notes Good progress in several different directions this week. Finally, cornered Chris Taylor down in Dingly Dell. Great outpouring of enthusiasm and even more tales. We both decided that we could have talked all day but we “had better get on”. I printed off extracts from “Close to the Brook”. He returned the following morning with even greater enthusiasm and tales of different families and Parrots. All jumbled in my mind now. I think he mentioned that Wendy had a young Parrot chasing after her back in the day. I may have got that wrong so don’t tell anyone. Asked Chris to write down everything he has told me before he goes to bed. He laughed at that. I managed to have very pleasant hour helping (and hindering) Graham & Tim clearing the tree that had fallen across the fence. Great inspiration for the diary. Phil and Dianne Jones have been intrepid gophers. Between us we think we have a very good picture of all the pubs in the village for a good stretch of time. Plan to publish this next week. I was pleased to chat with the Church Warden and hear that she is enjoying the diary and will “let the Vicar know”! Decided that we will definitely have a “last performance of the church musicians” before too long. Sandy to help with the musicians; Little Margaret to help with hymns & psalms. A number of people have stopped to chat over the garden wall (and 2 metre flower border) with useful tips and questions. I must stop asking people as they go past. Some are now going past the garden at high speed. I have yet to catch anyone creeping past on hands and knees below the wall. I have now learnt not to assume that people have read the diary. Interesting conversation with Lynda when I asked her if she could help me look after the weaners. I had assumed she had read the diary. At the time, it must have confirmed her suspicions that I am totally bonkers. I have decided not to ask Francesca to put out a reminder each weekend. Some people won’t be interested. Others will find out in their own good time. Total frustration with the website software. It has a habit of totally mangling nicely formatted text and tables. Also lacking in any spell checking capability. This is adding hours to the process. Perhaps I am missing a trick somewhere. A special thank you to my sub-editor has had more than enough to cope with this week. Also a warning: "Go easy on the commas or I shall have to have the button off your keyboard!" A lot more people to thank for tips, research and inspirations. I hope to list most of these in Sources & Inspirations under Chapter 3 with next weeks' update. Stop Press: Two parrots confirmed in the rookery. I must check their parentage! David Cook 19th April 2020 |