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Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 100)

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Editor’s note: Huge congratulations to Rick on completing 100 articles in this beautiful series – what a massive achievement! You’ve taken all your readers on this exciting adventure with you and your Gran since January 2017. This series has formed such an important record in the history of Chandler’s Ford. We love these stories. Thank you for your contribution, your perseverance, and your hard work – you’ve brought us so much joy every Sunday morning with Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal by Joan Adelaide Goater. Thank You.

Thank you

New binoculars; a fine pullover; to the Ballet; a Foundation Stone is laid; sub-standard blood; slamming doors; smudged ink; the curse of crude oil; a louse-hunt; peace at The Lake; a tame Stoat and relaxing with Ovaltine.

1960

“Yesterday was Ricky’s fifth birthday”, Gran writes on the third day of January:

…and he starts school next week. He does not want to and is very reluctant but I hope he will soon settle down happily. I should hate him to be unhappy – he is such a merry little soul.

Yes, I remember – I locked myself in the bathroom when the fateful morning arrived!

Peg Eagle, Hazel Bidmead and Gran had watched birds together at Dibden Bay – a place that has become very popular with them as a birding destination – on the 2nd. It is often the case on these outings that Gran fails to see a particular bird well enough to clinch its identification, and this happens when a “probable” Grey Phalarope flies up at their feet. On the 5th though, she has news that will at last give her a significant advantage:

…today has brought me the fulfilment of the one material desire I have possessed for a long time! Barry wrote to say that he had secured for me, at a sale, “a handsome pair of binoculars”, worth from thirty-five to forty pounds, for ten guineas, and will bring them down this week. I sent the cash by return post and hope, by the weekend, to really possess my own really good binoculars. I can scarcely believe it!

Barry and the binoculars arrive next day, and the first thing Gran observes through them is the Moon, marvelling at the clarity of its craters.  And a few weeks later, after watching a Grey Heron through them, she says, “These glasses have made bird-watching a real joy to me instead of the rather frustrating occupation it used to be at times”.

Gran’s binoculars seem old-fashioned by today’s standards but they made her bird-watching “a real joy”. Image by Johnbaz77 via Flickr.

Jane is apparently going abroad again soon, Gran writing on the 9th, “I made a start on her pullover, which I am knitting for her Norwegian holiday – black, with Fair Isle yoke, cuffs and hem in brilliant colours. Very smart!”

She finishes it, together with a matching cap, eleven days later, while “sitting in” next door, for Jean Hockridge, and the day after that:

As promised, I took Jane’s sweater and cap to show Mrs Pedrick, from whose shop Jane bought the wool, and she was so enchanted by it that she asked if she might display it in the shop window. I must say that it looks most impressive.

Book 84

A while ago, Jane had planned a treat for her Mother and Mary Harding, and Gran describes it on January 21st:

This evening provided great pleasure and much uplifting of spirit for Mary Harding and me. Jane had treated us to circle seats at the Gaumont Theatre in Southampton for a performance by the Royal Ballet, and what a joy it was. Tonight’s programme consisted of four ballets, “A Blue Rose”, “Blood Wedding”, “Sleeping Beauty Pas de Deux” and “Façade”. An interlude was filled with an excellent performance of the famous Joann Strauss “Tritsch-tratsch Polka”, by the Ballet Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Emanuel Young.

She is charmed by the on-stage skills she sees, mentioning seven of the ballerinas and principles by name in this context but she is particularly impressed by “the amazing energy and agility of the diminutive Johaar Mosaval. She describes the stories behind each ballet at some length.

Joan Adelaide Goater - her journal about Chandler's Ford.

Following a soaking wet day out with Peg Eagle and John Gunningham, to the Ringwood area to test her new binoculars on the White-fronted Goose flock, Gran remains closer to home on the 24th, writing that “the rain finally ceased”:

…in time for the laying of the Foundation Stone of our new Church, St Martin in the Wood. The ceremony was performed by the Bishop of Winchester and the Service was conducted by the Vicar of St Boniface. The Choir, which included Jill and Timothy Harding, led the singing of Psalm 122… and there was a goodly congregation present.

She ends:

The Foundation stone, from the fabric of St Martin-in-the-Fields, was inscribed, “This stone was laid on January 24th 1960, by Alwyn, Bishop of Winchester”. It was an inspiring little Service and the silhouettes of the trees, beautiful in their Winter nakedness, lightened the rather leaden grey skies and gave promise of the early rebirth of Spring, when, with God’s help, our Church should be nearing completion.

The Order of Service at the Laying of the Foundation Stone of St Martin in the Wood Church.

This day, in spite of suffering one of her frequent migraines, Gran refrains from taking her medication, “Cafergot”, because it renders her blood unacceptable for donation, and she is due to give blood tomorrow. However, on the 25th, after cycling in to Eastleigh for this purpose:

It was all very stupid and maddening after I had so carefully refrained from taking “Cafergot” yesterday. I was told that my blood was below the standard required today (the first time in about twenty years!) and that I was unfit to give a pint, so they would take a sample for testing and probably recommend a tonic. However, the vein in my arm refused to yield a single drop, so I came home again, feeling very frustrated and annoyed at failing to give my contribution, and particularly irritated because I had suffered yesterday’s migraine needlessly.

Jill and Dennis Brewster, with their baby, Mark, have been “home” in Bassett, from Canada, for an extended period.  Dennis has already returned by January 26th, but Jill and Mark are not leaving until February 6th and Gran visits them:

I found on arrival at Bassett, a very disturbed Fowler family!  Jill’s baby, Mark had this morning been taken to hospital with pneumonia and was now in an oxygen tent. Poor Jill was naturally very upset and worried, but I felt sure that the little chap would soon recover, for they had acted immediately they found his breathing difficult and he was in good hands. I stayed until Jill returned from the hospital this evening.

As usual at this time of year, Gran makes marmalade – a very satisfying job for her – but other things in her life leave her less content:

I made a third fourteen and a half pounds of marmalade today and am satisfied for the present. Several of the shops opposite here, now being occupied and open, our peaceful rural life has gone forever, and there is constant noise of car doors being banged.  Surely it is time the manufacturers devised a door that would shut decently without the need for this continual slamming. It becomes quite nerve-racking when one has been used to the quiet for which we originally chose this area.

And:

This afternoon I finished painting my catkins and was delighted with the result until I dropped a tiny spot of sepia ink on the page, below the painting, when writing in the name, and, mistaking it for a loose piece of something from my subject, brushed it and so smudged it. Only a small blemish, I know, but enough to spoil its perfection. Perhaps when the leaves appear on the Hazel trees I shall be able to hide the mark with a spray of them. It is very annoying.

There is better news at the end of the day though, Gran recording that: “Before coming up to write, I phoned Tommy and received the reassuring news that Mark showed improvement this evening and was out of the oxygen tent. I was very relieved”. Mark leaves hospital on the following day.

The last day of January is spent on Hayling Island with Peg and her two sons, and Hazel, and Gran sees a new bird for her list but in depressing circumstances. She writes:

The beach was disappointing, for we could see only Gulls and there was a filthy rime of crude oil everywhere, presumably in the sea from a Norwegian tanker that was recently involved in a collision with a United States cargo boat off the Isle of Wight.

Suddenly I saw a large, badly oiled bird resting on a grass bank. We stopped, anxiously wondering what we could do for it, and it gazed at us with round, beautiful ruby-red eyes.  The lower mandible of the straight bill was broken.  Peg’s boys wanted to take it home and try to clean it but it would have been an impossible task. As Robert attempted to pick it up, it uttered a weird cry, the like of which I had never heard, and slipped into the water. It was a Black-throated Diver and I was saddened that my first sight of this bird should have been of such a pathetic representative of its kind… I am afraid the poor creature could not live long, but neither of us possessed the skill or courage to put it out of its misery. What a curse is this oil on the sea!

This is how Gran would have preferred her first encounter with a winter Black-throated Diver. Image by Ron Knight via Flickr.

For much of the remaining part of the Winter, Gran notes oil and oiled birds on various parts of the coast, including, on February 10th, in the harbour at Littlehampton, “where there were some desperately oiled swans, scarcely recognisable, poor things…”

On February 13th, before spending the afternoon mounting fifty-eight of her flower paintings for a B.E.N.A. exhibition in Guildford, she undertakes a strange mission, with no explanation:

I went no further than the shops opposite, but among my purchases was a bunch of watercress in the hope that I might find some Asellus among the roots. Alas, I found only one, a poor dead specimen, and several freshwater shrimps.

This is what she was looking for – A Water Louse. Image by Christophe Quintin via Flickr.

Gran’s comments concerning her observations at Evensong at Compton on St Valentine’s Day are very much of their time:

It was a very nice Service and Sermon tonight and it was a pleasing sight to see an African student in Church with a gentleman friend, who read the First Lesson. The African joined heartily in the Service and sang all the hymns.

We gain a partial explanation of her quest for Asellus on the following day when she cycles to Otterbourne:

…to visit the watercress beds in the hope of securing some Asellus for Mr Williams. I took a Kilner Jar in which I hoped to bring home some roots and mud. I found a very kindly and co-operative old man working on the cress beds and, when I had explained my mission to him, he did not seem even mildly surprised and certainly did not regard me as being queer as so many people do regard naturalists. He explained that they would not be cutting cress for another three weeks since, when the Waterwoks built the new reservoir and dammed the river, the beds were flooded and much of the stock of cress was washed away. It is only just recovering. The old man, who told me that he had worked with watercress for forty-seven years, gave me a jarful of root and mud, in which, with the most cursory glance, I could see one or two Asellus. He would not let me pay for the cress pulled up.

When I reached home I turned the contents of the jar into a bowl, and found about a dozen Asellus, which I later sent to Liverpool University as requested.

A few days later Gran receives a gratifying letter from Mr Williams, of Liverpool University, telling her that not only had the Asellus arrived safely, but that “the sample sent actually contained the two species Asellus aquaticus and A. meridianus, so I feel quite pleased with my effort on his behalf”.

Suffering with, and somewhat depressed by, another migraine on the 16th, Gran sits quietly for a while at the Lake, observing the scene, watching the birds and the activities of passers-by. “I did not want to leave”, she writes:

…it was quiet and peaceful here alone, and there is no longer either at home, with the building of shops and its attendant commotion going on all the time and the incessant slamming of car doors… It will never be quiet again and I do not think I shall ever get used to the continual noise and the sight of crowds of people always passing by. Our village has gone forever, and with it, something precious that nothing can replace, and Subtopia reigns in our midst. I do not like it.

Nevertheless, there are still some signs within reach, of relatively unspoiled countryside, and wildlife, long gone today, indicative of healthy habitats: she records a female Cirl Bunting along Kiln Lane, near Brambridge, and four more, including a very smart male, in a nearby field.

A female Cirl Bunting – not as bright as the male. They need grasshoppers with which to feed their chicks.  Image by Frank Vassen via Flickr.

A busy day with flower deliveries at Fowlers’ on February 19th is enhanced by glad news for Royalist Gran:

We got back to the shop just after five o’clock to be greeted with the wonderful news that the Queen had given birth to a second son at half-past three this afternoon, and all was well. Loudspeakers had proclaimed the news in the town. “A Birthday song for a Royal Child”, written by C. Day Lewis, the Poet and set to music by Sir Arthur Bliss, Master of the Queen’s Musick, is appropriate to this joyous occasion.

And Gran transcribes the words into her journal.

A tiring day follows at the Exhibition in Guildford where Gran’s paintings are are on show and well received. She is a little disappointed in a lack of public support but enjoys the other exhibits herself, especially some photographs of a tame Stoat. The young photographer, she says,  “told us that”:

…he had come upon the parent Stoat carrying the baby in a country lane, and, it being alarmed, had dropped the little creature. He had taken it home and reared it by hand and it was about eight months old when the pictures were taken. There were many studies of it, all splendidly characteristic of this graceful animal, but the tameness of this particular one was admirably shown in the two taken of it on the shoulders of its young owner.

An orphaned Stoat.  Who could resist it? Image by Peter Trimming via Flickr.

Kindly neighbour, Ken Hockridge, Gran discovers on her return journey, is unexpectedly waiting for her at Winchester Station, and she records, “I must say I was most grateful, for I was tired, and I went in with him and Jean for Ovaltine and biscuits before going home”.

Always available for us at The Ridge. Image from Pieces of the Past via Flickr.

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Related posts:

Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 52) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 87) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 120) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 135) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 151)
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Comments

    • Many thanks for this comment June. You must be part of the Rae family by marriage but I can’t accurately place you. Surely your husband’s Gran was Marjorie – Fairlie, her sister, I’m told, never married nor had children. Please do let me know where you and your husband fit in – I’d be really interested.

      Reply

  2. The 100th instalment! What a triumph. I can imagine that writing as you read each book has allowed you to take in & retain so much more than just reading it would. Thank you for sharing these amazing memories Rick. I may have come late to the party, but loving them (and your grandmother) all the same as well as dipping in to past episodes.

    Did you decide that school was rather less scary than you obviously thought it would be? I pictured a forlorn little lad with tears eyes being patiently talked into unlocking the toilet door,

    I wish I could knit as fast as she does! The fair isle yoked pullover sounds like a masterpiece,

    The Gaumont – why did they ever change its name?

    Binoculars, I had no idea that up to not she had none!

    Do your family have any of her paintings still?

    Is there anywhere that is quiet in Chandlers Ford now? I feel she would be very sad by its busyness today. Which shops were built that spoilt the peace that your grandmother so sadly missed?

    I always marvel at the amount of ‘getting about’ she did in perusing all of her various interests and of course her dedication to writing in such detail… I wonder what she would make of it being used and consumed as it is now. I think she would be proud that her volumes are so cherished by her family but unexpectedly also tickled pink that her words are enjoyed by so many strangers!

    Thank you as always

    Reply

    • Nice comment Deeyon – many thanks. It’s true, that having spent so much time with Gran in my mind while writing these posts, I find myself thinking about her frequently, especially when trying to sleep of an evening!

      School turned out okay, but I well remember being coaxed out of the bathroom and nervously arriving in plenty of time at Dollis Hill Infants. We had a teacher there, Mrs Childs, who used to punish us by jabbing our heads with a sharp pencil – the marks were well hidden by our hair.

      Binoculars – yes, I too was amazed that she hadn’t got a pair of her own. I think she must have used a borrowed pair sometimes.

      Paintings – they are almost all within the family, and for the time being, I have most of them. I’d be more interested to know where all her others are – the ones she did for friends (were they kept and treasured?), and all those Christmas cards she painted for people.

      Shops – all the arcade shops along Hiltingbury Road are the ones she hated, but particularly those in front of No 27, obscuring her view.

      I very much agree with your last para. She wrote somewhere that she wondered if anyone would read all her words. Thank goodness she wrote so well and so legibly – it makes my task of going through the diaries and selecting passages relatively easy.

      Reply

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