I do not recall much of the early days at the cottage except
that it was all a bit crowded as the place was much smaller than at Pitchcott
and there were six of us now living under one roof. Grampy was confined to bed
in the living room which restricted available space and we boys had to keep
quiet and behave. There wasn't a lot of freedom for us now outside either, the
two fields put together were smaller than any of those we had been free to roam
before. We could go down the lane and explore the stream that ran along the
bottom but beyond that was Ottmoor where the land was owned or rented by local farmers.
It was somewhere else to walk but there was little of any interest. Besides it didn't
matter how careful we were we were all to often (wrongly) accused of causing damage
to gates or fences that were already in serious disrepair. “It’s them boys,
they newcomers!” It was conspicuous how that attitude changed when the farm
across the lane changed hands and Jim and Joan and later their son Barry became
our neighbours. They were really nice people and became very good friends with
Mum and Dad.
In the village at that time, 1954, there were four others of
school age, Roy, a war evacuee, who lived with his aunt and uncle. Margaret and
Audrey in a house opposite the village hall and Hazel whose home was the small
cottage by the chapel at our end of the village. Roy was the eldest I believe
and would soon leave school. Margaret and Audrey both attended grammar school
in Bicester. As for Hazel I am not sure which school she went to, maybe the
same as me (Bicester Secondary Modern) but I do remember her lovely red hair. I
caught the school bus at the top of the lane and would enjoy the ride into
school but not half as much as the ride home. The school was a fairly new build
with long corridors and separate classrooms for different subjects. Compared to
Quainton it was huge with, I suppose, several hundred pupils. Something I found
hard to get used to and felt very alone. We studied maths, english, geography,
science, history, art, cookery, played sport and did metalwork and woodwork.
Mr. Simms was our regular class teacher and our ‘house
master’. He taught us maths and english. English was my preferred subject especially
when it came to writing essays with a free choice of subject. I could quite
easily go off to some imagined leafy nook in the country and spend the whole
lesson happily scribbling away. I gained a few house points for my stories. One
time a weekend homework task was to write an essay involving wildlife. (Right
up my street! Or rather lane.) My tale was based on memories of Carter’s Lane
and the hero was a vole living in one of the hedge banks. There was mention of rabbits,
hedgehogs, the violets and foxgloves and all manner of springtime scenes. I pictured
all these events taking place under the tall elm trees and went on to describe
an owl swooping from the leafy arch above.....(no animals were harmed in the
making of this story).
Monday morning, as usual, when our names were called for the
register, we went up
and put our homework on Mr. Simms’s desk then walked to our
first lesson in a different classroom. After dinner time that day we had a
double english session during which our essays were discussed with Mr Simms
giving guidance on grammar, spelling and punctuation etc. To my surprise he
called me up to his desk and quietly, between the two of us, expressed his
concern that my effort was “perhaps not all my own work?” Pointing to the
paragraph about the owl he asked “Did you copy that from somewhere?” I was quite
upset by this and indignantly defended my honour. He listened to what I had to
say then wrote in my book, handed it back to me and told me to go back to my
seat. As I sat down and before I could read what he had written he announced to
the class “That is quite an exceptional piece of work that John has written,
therefore I award him two house points!” Sure enough written in bright red ink
at the bottom of my story were the words Two house points. Well done! High
praise indeed. I kept that essay book when I left school but alas it got discarded
somewhere, yet I shall always remember that day and Mr.Simms.
I made no lasting friends at school, in fact the whole
experience never really inspired me. Most of the classrooms had one wall as a window
from desktop height to the ceiling. There were no curtains or blinds to shield
the sun, so on clear sunny days the sunshine became quite soporific and I found
it hard to concentrate and could quite easily drift off into a daydream. Only
to be brought back abruptly when the backboard rubber landed accurately. Mr.
Jones’s lessons in metal and wood work were OK and I enjoyed the cooking in
domestic science. The highlight of that was after making a Christmas cake I was
the only one to ice and decorate the cake with piping. I did get into the
school soccer team for a season and the best game I played was the first one.
There after my talent waned along with my enthusiasm. The best lesson was last
period before home time on Fridays when Mr.Simms would read stories, such as
John Buchan’s 39 Steps, to the class. There was only one school outing I went
on, other than away games with the football team. That was to Cheddar Gorge and
was only memorable for the awful pounding headache I had all day, not helped by
the stuffy, noisy coach and the bright sunlight.
Village life was dull too. For a while Richard and I
delivered the morning papers around Murcott and Fencott. On hot summer days we would
sometimes meet with children from the other nearby villages and go swimming, or
in my case splashing, in the river Cherwell at Fencott. Other than that there
was little to do. Girls were no fun, besides according to Richard, I was too young to know about
them anyway. True perhaps as I had been taunted at Quainton school by a very
precocious girl who suggested “I bet you don’t even know what a period is?”
Thinking, Ah! punctuation! I said “It’s a full stop!” This brought shrieks of
laughter from all the girls in her company. It was years later that I became
aware of what she really meant. There was a time when I did some odd jobs of a weekend
for Miss Stanton who had a small farm next to our neighbours. She was a spinster
and lived in the farmhouse along with Mrs. Chennell. Mrs. Chennell was quite a character
and was well liked in the village for the Christmas pantomimes she would write,
produce and stage in the village hall with local people for the cast. Dad and I
took part in two of these and the second time Mum sang during the interval.
Richard, being technically minded, did the lighting. Dad played dame on both
occasions, I was the cat in Dick Whittington and the goose in Mother Goose. All
great fun as the scripts were only loosely based on the original story and the
songs, apart from that which Mum sang, were all Mrs.C’s own words. There is one
short piece I remember but have no idea where it fitted in the script other
than it followed a dance scene :- To the tune of After the Ball is Over..
"After the ball went Uncle number nine in his hand
Hit the ball right into a bunker filled both his eyes with
sand
Hit the ball right up a drainpipe after it began to crawl
Threw both his clubs and his golf bag after the ball!”
There were several verses but alas that is all that
stuck with me. About this time television was becoming more affordable and popular. We hadn't
got one as we had no mains electric yet. Events in the village hall had been
well attended but now fewer and fewer people were coming. The last performance
I went to was with Dad and Richard. It was to be a one man show of comedy, magic,
ventriloquism and performing dogs. Half an hour after the intended start time
we were the only people there. By this time the chap had come out and was
telling us this was happening all over because of the telly. He did kindly show
us the dogs performance which was very good. We would have liked to have seen
the rest of the show but hadn't the heart to ask just for the three of us.
Two holidays I had away from Murcott were one with Granny
Flitney at Winslow. She was great and made my stay really good fun. She would
allow me out to explore the town with a few coppers in my pocket for sweets. On
one such trip I found the railway station which then became my sole
destination.I would go on the platform to watch the trains. That was it, never
mind the anorak, I was going to be an engine driver! I would talk to the
footplate crew and on one occasion I asked the driver if I could have a ride
please. “Yes!” he says, “But you’ll have to get your mum’s say so first! So immediately
I’m burning rubber racing back to Gran’s to see if I can go on the engine, “Oh
please, please can I Gran? Please? Thinking of it now I realize how smart and
kind that man was. He didn’t want to hurt me by saying no but knew jolly well
that he would be gone by the time I got back to the station. Gran knew the same
and so wasn’t worried either. I should have had faster shoes on. I left the
station feeling rather sad but I was going home the following day so I soon
forgot about it.
The other away time was with Uncle George and Aunt Kaye in
Torpoint, Cornwall. They had come to stay at Murcott for a few days after Grampy
had died and offered to take Granny Moore and me back with them for a week. During
that week I had a great time, George was a boy’s dream of a proper uncle. We had all
sorts of adventures around Torpoint and into Plymouth. Digging for Lugworms in
the mud on the foreshore just around from the ferry. They were to be for bait
on the two fishing trips up the river, one with Gran, with me under instruction
on how to row the boat. The other at night, again on the river, off Wilcove. He
also took me out late one evening to a narrow lane, leading to the village of
Wilcove again, where on a rocky bank were a group of Glowworms. The only time I
have seen the magical little creatures. The most exciting trip was to the Eddystone
lighthouse and my first experience of the sea. Below is a photocopy of what I wrote
of the event, using George’s typewriter, the following day. I had great fun
carefully positioning the paper to create the line of soldiers at the
bottom.........Royal Engineers of course. Just wish I had dated it.
Our Catch Rowing past Naval Dockyard Ashore at Antony Point
Approaching the Eddystone Boat going in Stores transfer
Breakwater Lighthouse Me at base of lighthouse
Life at home was somewhat drab for a time after that week in
Torpoint but it all changed one morning when we, Richard and myself, were stood
outside the village hall debating what to do next. We noticed an elderly
gentleman come out from the big house, and come towards us, a tall stout man
with receding hair, a jolly face with a neat moustache and very smartly
dressed. He stopped in front of us and after saying “Hello!” and introducing
himself said “I have recently moved into Murcott House and wondered if you boys
would care to come along sometime and help me put some trophies up?” So we cut along
home and told Mum about it. She said to “wait and see!” (I suspect she and Dad quietly
made some enquiries.)
Major (rtd), Bramwell Henry Withers OBE who we had just met
and he would do a lot for us in the future, me especially.
To be continued................
