Simple Christmas gifts; valuing our treasures; extinct species; a kindly flower-seller; prayers for the Queen on tour; it snows – and Julian falls in it; communication in the 1950s and a couple of nice books.
Book 40
Late October 1953 and Gran’s thoughts are turning to Christmas. On the 23rd she gathers material for making presents:
I collected some twigs, acorns, seeds, bark, lichen and such, with which to make Christmas novelties and my invalid [probably her disabled friend in Southampton] assiduously stuck the acorns back into their cups for me… a little Seccotine ensuring that they would not fall out again. The next step will be to paint them.
And two days later, feeling ill, and the weather stormy, she writes:
The afternoon appeared more hopeful and I had promised to go to Farley Mount with Jill Fowler to look for suitable pieces for painting and arranging for Christmas decorations. At dinner-time I had almost wished it would remain wet for I felt decidedly unwell, but Jill, noting the uncertainty of the weather, had brought the van, so I was spared the effort of cycling and, in the end, thoroughly enjoyed the outing. The Autumn colouring was at its beautiful best…the farmhouse on the corner of the Farley-Sparsholt road presented its usual charming appearance, clothed in tumbling red creepers, and I noticed that the Ivy on the grey wall opposite was in full bloom.
Gran and Jill collect “all manner of specimens” including lichen-covered bark, larch cones, beech-mast and the dry seed-heads of Carline Thistles. A couple of days later Gran cycles into Eastleigh to buy “paint, candles, frosting and other sundries towards my Christmas novelties…” and nearby, along Hiltingbury Road, she gathers some sprays of beech leaves “to be set in glycerine for the Winter”. It appears that although some of Gran’s creations are to be given as presents or used as decorations at home, others are to be sold, as late next month she records that I “delivered two of my Christmas arrangements to purchasers”.
On the 30th, Gran records that the weather was disappointing as “we were going to Eastbourne to fetch Jane for half term, and were going by road with the gentleman who took her down; Mr Scott-Miller”. She makes notes during the journey, as usual, her view hampered though, by “lashing rain and windows heavily steamed on the inside”. Passing through Southwick she learns from her driver that within that estate is the “small private church at which Lord Montgomery held a last service for his troops before D-Day”, and, observing Fort Widley while passing over the Portsdown Hills, she records that this was the Headquarters for the D-day landings in France.
In Brighton, she has three hours to spend “while Mr Scott-Miller executed some business” so, noting by chance that it is open to the Public, she enters the Royal Pavilion, writing down in her usual minute detail all that interests her in each room she visits. In the Banqueting Hall, she tells us:
…an Australian doctor’s wife and crippled daughter spoke to us, asking me if we were English, which surprised me. When I said “yes, decidedly English”, she said (the daughter), “I wondered because one so seldom meets English people who are interested in their own treasures. You have so much ancient history, whereas Australia is so new. We have nothing like this at all.” After this they remained with us until we left Brighton.
Arriving at Chelsea College, in Eastbourne:
We called for Jane at her hostel and met several of the other students, jolly girls, full of life and vitality. Jane showed us her rooms and then we went over the College before starting for home.
On November 3rd, Gran introduces Diana Fowler to the Southampton Natural History Society as a Junior Member. They attend a “most interesting but decidedly complicated Geological Lecture” given by Councillor Stevenson, “showing the evolution of animal and plant life as discovered from various fossils found in the ancient deposits forming the Earth’s crust”.
Gran is left feeling extremely insignificant as well as ignorant after hearing about Humankind’s relatively recent evolution; the extinctions it has caused, including those of the Dodo, the Great Auk and Steller’s Sea-Cow, and the presence, once, of Woolly Elephant, Rhinoceros and Sabre-toothed Cat in Hampshire.
November 8th is Remembrance Sunday, and Gran attends Early Service at Compton, as is her habit. As ever, it is highly evocative for her and she writes that:
As prayers of remembrance were being said my heart went out to those who lost their loved ones in the two world wars – I was lucky in both, for neither took anyone close to me, though my Father’s ship was torpedoed in the first one and he had a narrow escape…
The evening of the following day:
I waited to hear a broadcast talk about “Birds in Britain” this evening and found it extremely interesting, the subjects being discussed being the distribution of the Great Crested Grebe, this year’s Crossbill invasion, Sparrow-hawks and the work of the Society for the Protection of Birds in their efforts to get the flooded area of the East coast breeding-ground drained in time for the arrival of the Avocets, which have recently, after an absence of many years, recommenced breeding in England.
Gran’s brother, my Great Uncle Norris, lived first in a “log cabin”, and then in an “Old Winchester” caravan at the Thatched Cottage Caravan Park in Lyndhurst during the years when I knew him. Gran visits this site in mid-November, long before Norris moved there, “where”, she says:
… I met Mrs Mould, a member of the Natural History Society, who had invited me to go to Lyndhurst and see her new caravan home in the grounds of the Thatched Cottage Tea Rooms.
She continues:
Whilst having a refreshing cup of tea on arrival at the caravan, I watched Blue Tits and Great Tits picking away the tinfoil caps on milk bottles beneath another “van” and then drinking the cream. The Blue Tits seemed in danger of falling in headfirst.
She is much taken with the generosity of a flower- and vegetable-seller near the row of dwellings called “Custard Cottages”:
He also had some bronze Chrysanthemums which I thought would look perfect with my Bog Myrtle. I had left my handbag in the caravan but I had slipped some odd change in my pocket. I asked how much the Chrysanthemums were and the man said, “Ten-pence”. I only had seven pence so I said, “Bother! I’ve only got seven-pence. Sorry!” and moved on. Whereupon, to my amazement, the man said, “Oh, come back. You had better have them. Seven-pence will do!” I thanked him and gratefully took the flowers. They did look just perfect with the Myrtle.
Barry, during one of many visits to The Ridge for tea, with Jock and the fast-developing Julian, announces that he has eight and a half more months to do in the Royal Air Force and is delighted that the time of his National Service is passing – more pleased about this than that he has been promoted to Flying Officer.
After putting out the “Hedgehog’s supper”on the 23rd, (a hungry one has been visiting the garden lately, when in more usual cold Novembers, it would have already hibernated), Gran listens to the wireless:
I listened to the broadcast of the Queen’s departure from London Airport on the commencement of her Commonwealth Tour, and from the depths of my heart, together with millions of her subjects, I’m sure, I prayed for her safety and happiness. This is the first time a reigning Queen has set out by air to circumnavigate the World, and the thoughts of all mothers will go with her as she left her sleeping children in London as she set out on this tour which will take half a year to accomplish. How truly thankful am I that I am not a Queen. God bless and guard her and bring her safely home to us again.
Next day she records “the Queen’s safe arrival in Bermuda after her all night flight from London”, and also some serious gymnastics by Julian:
…this astonishing ten-month-old baby not only stood up with the aid of the legs of the gate-legged table, but, clinging to the edge of the top, hung in mid-air, supported entirely by his own arms, whilst his legs searched underneath the table for a foot-hold!…I hesitate to imagine what he will be like when he is fully on his feet…
After shopping in Winchester for as short a time as possible on November 28th, Gran cycles home along the bye-pass, where she notes three trees, previously unidentified. They were:
…completely laden with what I took to be Crab Apples, the first thickly clustered, though all the leaves had fallen. I dismounted to see if I could pick a few sprays without shaking off all the fruit and was amazed to find that they were Wild Pears (Pyrus cordata). Looking this up later in Bentham and Hooker. I found the pears named Pyrus communis and Pyrus cordata, “a curious form found apparently wild, in Cornwall, with more ovate leaves and very small fruit”. The fruit seen today was very small indeed, smaller, in fact, than any Crab Apples I have seen, rather rough skinned and seeming of two varieties, one quite green and the other russet-gold – each on separate trees. I had not previously noted these trees in bloom. I must try to establish their identity for certain.
On the last day of the month, Gran writes:
It has been a remarkable November, for it has been very mild on the whole, with several days reminiscent of Spring, and very little of the fog which usually casts such a gloom upon the month. And so much colour has remained, in contrast to the expected sodden drabness. I have felt quite benevolent towards it and usually I hate November wholeheartedly.
She notes that stars are shining that night, when she goes to “post Golden Wedding cards to the milkman, who had served my grandmother and my mother when I was a child”.
Book 41, missing
Book 42
1954
There is considerable snowfall at the end of January 1954 and it is cold, Gran noting on the 27th, that at Kew the maximum temperature was twenty-six degrees – the lowest maximum recorded there since 1880. She records the lowest minimum temperature in the garden as seventeen degrees on the 28th– the lowest since the awful winter of 1947. Southampton is mentioned as being one of the most affected places, with deep snow closing Hut Hill, and also Lancers Hill at Bitterne, to traffic. She struggles on foot to the village to shop for neighbours, and for several consecutive days around this time takes the train or the bus on the slippery and snow-rutted route to Southampton for physiotherapy for pulled muscles in her shoulder. There are also frequent journeys to the Fowlers for preparing flowers.
Julian says his first word, which is “duck”, with reference, Gran writes, “to a small green rubber one which is a great favourite”. He also falls out of his pram! Gran writes on the 30th:
Barry and Jock went skating on Hiltingbury Lake this afternoon, leaving Julian with me. I was amazed to hear that Julian had undone his safety strap this morning and had fallen out of his pram into the snow. Fortunately the depth of the snow saved him from being hurt, but, when Jock heard him crying and ran out, there he was, sitting in the snow, covered from head to foot!
A thaw occurs on February 7th and Gran’s journeys into Southampton become easier. She is still undergoing treatment for her shoulder and after her appointment, having a half hour wait for her train to depart from Southampton, she says:
…I was able to sit comfortably in the warm carriage and read my book, Ramsbottom’s “Mushroom and Toadstools” which I always take with me to read whilst undergoing the heat treatment for my shoulder.
Gran gives us an interesting insight into the complexities of rapid communication in 1954 compared with today when mobile phones are ubiquitous. On February 9th:
Mr Smith from the Post Office called to me saying a phone message had just been taken for me. I went over and found that it was from Jill Fowler, asking me to take some “pussy willow” in to her tomorrow, if I was going to the hospital. In view of the recent weather I thought she had some hope, but I was surprised and pleased to find some quite well advanced during my walk to and from the village.
And two days later, the post clearly arrives at The Ridge much later than used to be the case:
I was dutifully turning out my bedroom this morning when the post came – at almost ten o’clock thanks to Eastleigh’s interference with our previous arrangement – and, to make matters worse, it included a telegram from Bob Fowler asking me to go today to help with flowers for the “Athlone Castle” and the “United States”. Of course, I went immediately but could not get into Southampton much before eleven o’clock. Fancy sending a telegram, put in at Southampton last night, by the postman knowing full well at what time he reaches us since Eastleigh took over our deliveries! Bob put through a complaint when I arrived and the Post Office later phoned him and said they would not charge him for the telegram.
There is more Fowler-related news that day:
I was delighted to learn that at a competition held at the Botley Grange Hotel yesterday, Fowlers had won the four major awards, Jill herself winning the two silver cups, one of them with an arrangement for Mothering Sunday which included the Sallow I had taken for her yesterday. Two of the girls were the other winners, one of them, Barbara Hunt winning the gold medal for an assistant of under two years’ training, and Myra Wiltshire gaining an award for over two years’. Truly a good day for the Firm!
“There is little to record for today”, writes Gran on the 15th:
…but I must mention a lovely surprise I have had this weekend for nothing could have been more unexpected and little could have given me more pleasure. Barry, whose pay is now that of a Flying Officer, and Jock, gave me “The Popular Handbook of British Birds”, a wild extravagance to be sure, but I appreciate the love and kindness towards me behind the gift as much as the gift itself. I had no good reference book of birds since Barry took his with him when he married, so it will be extremely useful to me as well as a joy.
Article series
-
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 1)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 2)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 3)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 4)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 5)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 6)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 7)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 8)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 9)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 10)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 11)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 12)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 13)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 14)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 15)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 16)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 17)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 18)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 19)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 20)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 21)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 22)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 23)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 24)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 25)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 26)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 27)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 28)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 29)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 30)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 31)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 32)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 33)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 34)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 35)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 36)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 37)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 38)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 39)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 40)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 41)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 42)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 43)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 44)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 45)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 46)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 47)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 48)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 49)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 50)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 51)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 52)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 53)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 54)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 55)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 56)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 57)
- Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 58)
Julian in the snow, that’s a great one, I can imagine it! Loved the blue tits nearly disappearing down the milk bottle after the cream. I remember them going for ours at Devon Drive. Very interesting re the pear trees and much more. I’m thinking the heat treatment wld have been short wave diathermy!