You might wonder why I'm sharing this rather ordinary
looking postcard. The views of
Buckingham (The Square and Town Hall, the old jail, the church of St. Peter and
St. Paul, an old house, the River Ouse) are perfectly nice but not especially
interesting. It’s neither very old nor rare, but it is special in that it opens
a very small window into the past.
The postcard sent in 1960 is addressed to my parents Mr & Mrs D. Flitney (Rene and Denis), Well Manor Farm, Hampshire (UK). I’ve not been back to Well for many years but
the last time I visited it looked very much as it always has. It is one of
those timeless places, and it is somewhere that will be forever dear to my
heart.
Auntie Jean sent the card after she and her husband Graham,
and their two boys spent a day or two at Well. I was twelve at the time but to
be perfectly honest I have no recollection of the visit. The card, however, did
bring back memories. This is what Aunty Jean wrote;
We arrived back soon after 9 last evening, the mileage done
was 67, so I think we travelled on the route you gave us OK.
We may have not needed to go through Henley, but the scenery
was gorgeous and well worth the extra 2 or 3 miles.
We stopped for a drink at Twyford in the square and then
came straight on.
The stay was enjoyed all round and we know the boys loved
it. Colin stayed awake after the first half hour, but was soon down to it when
put to bed. I think he was determined not to miss anything on the route.
Seeing those words all these years later reminded me of my
dad. He loved to talk mileages and always had an opinion on the best or
quickest route to or from anywhere. I
have a clear picture of him fetching his map books from the car and running his
finger along the route while adding up the miles in his head.
Naturally, I have no memories of Jean and Graham stopping in
the square at Twyford, but it did bring back memories of days out with mum and dad.
Most journeys started out with a stop at a
transport café. Few families used them, but dad loved them. A good strong cup of tea and a fry up would
set him up for the rest of the journey. The
prices were usually low, the staff friendly and lorry drivers were always happy
to chat. In my memory, every single conversation was the same – the best route,
the number of miles and more importantly any traffic problems. This was in the
days before mobile phones and the Internet so the only way to find out about these things was by
word of mouth.
After a day spent with relatives or at the sea, we would set
off for home and sooner or later dad would mention needing to ‘stretch his legs’.
This was the signal for mum and I to start looking out for a decent pub. Those
that appeared grubby or had shoddy paintwork would be rejected out of hand. Those with five or six cars in the car park
were deemed too busy. Eventually, we would find something that looked ‘nice’
and dad would pull in. If it was a warm
evening, we would sit in the garden, but more often than not they went inside
while I waited in the car. After a few minutes, one of them would return with a
bag of crisps and a fizzy drink. This was long before the drink driving ban, and they would
often be an hour or more. Once fed and watered, we would be underway again.
The only part of the day I didn’t enjoy was the ‘eating up’
of the sandwiches. These were the leftovers from lunch, by now soggy and truly
horrible. Dad would munch his way through a couple, but it was more
than I could stand so I would say goodnight and take myself off to bed. NB My brother married when I was quite young as did my sister. These recollections are of the time after they left home, prior to that all three of us would be in the car.
I don't have any photographs of Jean and Graham, but this is one of me as I must have looked when they visited. A note
on the back reads Bobbie and Blacky. I don't think Blacky was our cat, so I'm
guessing he belonged to the family who owned The Chequers Inn.
The Chequers Inn is to my right (out of the picture). The
building behind me is Mulberry Cottage once the home of Old Bell Ridges. I
don't know Bell's actual name, although I assume it must have been Bella or
Annabelle. I have two clear memories of her. The first is that most of the
children in the village (including me) were a little afraid of her because on
nights when the moon was full she would stand in her garden and scream. The
second is of her showing mum a collection of beautiful old-fashioned Valentine’s
cards the type made from material and lace. Other than that Old Bell Ridges was
and will probably remain a mystery to me. I do wonder how she would feel if she
knew the house she once lived in now has a price tag of more than one million
pounds.
August, 2016. For my birthday this year Terry offered to take me to London, Bath, Bristol or anywhere else of my choosing - I chose to go back to Well.
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| The Chequers Inn, Well, Hampshire in August 2016. |
The Chequers
Well Manor Cottages a pair of semi-detached cottages and the place I grew up. We lived in the one on the right of the photograph. Mum and dad were incredibly proud of the garden and spent hours working on it. (With thanks to my sister Sue for the photo)
Looking in the opposite direction with the dutch barn and cowshed in the distance.
The same pair of cottages in 2011 this was some time after our parents died.
Aug 2016 - can you spot the difference?
The house where we lived has been completely flattened, the other half of the pair still stands but our home has gone. The only thing left is a gate and a mark in the grass where the path used to be.
This photograph taken across the fields at the back of the
farm might give you a clearer idea. Our house should be directly in line with
the dead tree. Most of the original farm
buildings have also been knocked down and replaced.
These buildings now stand where the dutch barn once stood. Progress? I guess so but I know which I prefer, although having said that most of the farm had fallen into disrepair in the intervening years.
The back of the new barn.
Another of the new farm buildings
Much of the rest of the village looks almost exactly as it did...
The cricket pitch used to be in the field beyond this fence,
I have no idea why I felt it necessary to point that out! I’m standing in front of one of my favourite
trees and the one I used to climb at every opportunity. As I've grown older, the tree has grown taller
- I'm not sure I could climb it now, although I was tempted to try.
The field where the cricket pitch used to be.
The well at Well
This well is a gift to the inhabitants of the hamlet from William Fullerton who died at Well Manor, August 25th, 1888.
A family by the name of Biddlecombe lived here. I believe Mr & Mrs Biddlecombe had a
son and a daughter. The little girl and I used to play together until the awful
day when she fell out of a tree and broke her collarbone. I wish I could
remember her name – Janet perhaps? She
was a good two years younger than me so the day she fell I naturally got the
blame. I remember knocking on their
front door the following day and her mother telling me exactly where to go! That was the end of our friendship. I was
seven at the time and have never forgotten the injustice of it all – although I
did demonstrate how to hang upside down from a branch – so in hindsight it was
entirely my fault – sorry Janet (if indeed that is your name).
I can't remember the name of the family who lived here, but
I do remember singing Christmas Carols outside their front door. My sister was responsible
for our little band of singers. She had the best voice, and it was left to her
to decide on the carols and who should sing what. She had a passion for singing
descant, and it was down to the rest of us to follow along with the basic
melody. Unfortunately, the moment she started
singing I would find myself joining in.
I just could not get it right no matter how often and how hard we
practised. We must have looked (and sounded) a raggle, taggle bunch when we
arrived at this particular door, and I don’t think we were very welcome.
The following photographs are of the woods and fields
at Well Manor Farm. I’m afraid I was
trespassing at this point (Terry had gone to park the car – so he is not
implicated in this!) I could not leave without walking these familiar paths and
as requests left on the new farm owner’s blog had gone unanswered I decided to
risk a telling off.
Taking only pictures, leaving only footprints and a great big chunk of my heart
I started off by saying I’ve not been back to Well for many
years and the last time I visited it looked very much as it always has. However,
time has indeed wrought changes at Well Manor Farm. Happily, the woods and
fields are virtually unchanged.
Stored at the bottom of a box for more than fifty years Auntie Jean's postcard took me on a journey through my memories and reminded me it was time to go home.
Stored at the bottom of a box for more than fifty years Auntie Jean's postcard took me on a journey through my memories and reminded me it was time to go home.
