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Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 114)

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Christmas without the Boys; a winter Blackcap; record low temperatures; burst pipes and a wet bed; stuck in a snowdrift; her first Collared Dove; good neighbours and Gran buys some tights.

November 27th 1962:

An unusual song, issuing from the Yew tree opposite here this morning, attracted my attention and I watched for some time.  I was particularly intrigued because it is far from quiet and peaceful here now with the shops, and car park directly beneath the Yew, but a sudden noise disturbed the bird and, with a familiar cry, out flew a Fieldfare!  The song was cross between Thrush and Blackbird…

Gran hears the unfamiliar song of the Fieldfare. Image by Sergey Yeliseev via Flickr.

This afternoon I cycled as far as Flexford Bridge to see my friend Bee Richardson, and noted how prolific are the Holly berries this year.

December 8th:

A busy morning, during which I took out the Christmas cake from its sealed tin (with some trepidation since it was made in May with Jane’s wedding cake) and finding it in perfect condition, put the marzipan on it.

A letter from Jane on the following day cheers her mother, telling her that she feels much better and will be coming to Chandler’s Ford for Christmas.  “She wants a tree and all the trimmings so this has given me an incentive which was sadly lacking as Julian and Ricky will not be with us this year”, writes Gran.  A few days later she makes macaroons and shortbread for the festive season, traditional December tasks for her, and she ices the cake. And the rest of the month is busy with card-making, collecting materials from the countryside for decorations, and all her other usual preparations for Christmas.

“More cards arrived today”, Gran says on December 22nd, “and two small books on Australian fish by my friend Gilbert Whitley, who has discovered several new species and who has done many of the illustrations in these new books”.  She adds:

I did a Christmas arrangement for us and have also made a holly and larch cone wreath for the hall, decorated with my bunch of little bells on red ribbon sent from America during the war.

Two little fish guides produced by Gran’s great and loyal chum, Gilbert Whitley. She kept a collection of his letters, books, drawings and papers, which she called her “Gilbertiana”.

Book 100

The temperature on the morning of December 23rd is well below freezing, so:

Barry and I were amazed to see a Blackcap in the garden.  Barry noticed it first and drew my attention to it.  Had I been alone I should surely have doubted it, though I have heard of Blackcaps wintering in Britain before, but in this present severe weather it was a most unusual sight.

Christmas Day appears to have been rather a quiet affair.  Gran is up for early Service at Compton Church, but back at The Ridge, Julian and Ricky are missed. Jane and Stuart are present, as is Barry, but he, according to Gran, “puts on a brave face in spite of being alone with his thoughts”.

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

“This morning I recorded my lowest ever temperature, fourteen and a half degrees.  No wonder I was cold when I wakened”, she writes on December 26th, and on the following day: “A white world this morning with several inches of snow on the ground and the trees clothed in sparkling white”.  It appears to be the start of that long, long, period of bitter cold and deep snow of the 1962/62 winter, during which my seven and eight-year-old feet, clad in thin socks and little wellies, were often in frozen agony.

Jane and Stuart leave Chandler’s Ford on the 29th, with snow forecast. A blizzard brings six inches  of snow on the 30th, and Gran records the:

…roads in an appalling state. On the Television News it said that Devon and Cornwall are virtually cut off by blocked roads, and cars are abandoned everywhere in the worst conditions since 1947.

In spite of this, she is pleased and amazed that the Blackcap is still present, surviving in her garden at least until the first day of 1963, “…and very surprisingly feeding on scraps of meat in the scrap basket hanging in the garden”.

A male Blackcap at a Basingstoke feeder in winter.  The habit of German breeders wintering west, in the U.K., rather than south in Africa, is now well-established.  Image by Marie Hale via Flickr.

She writes her usual end-of-year letter to Adrian, summing up the “great and tumultuous events” of her 1962 – and opening her entry with:

The year is drawing to a close and with it, the fifteenth volume of our journal, which was started as a promise to you and continued as a memorial of our friendship.  The number of books used has reached one hundred and, as can be seen, fourteen thousand, five hundred and sixteen pages have been written.  I wonder just how many words this comprises, and, incidentally, how many hours of loving labour.

This has been a very mixed year for me, dear, with my emotions being torn between great joy and desperate unhappiness, both connected with my beloved children.  Jock …has now left [Barry], and, at present, deprived him of his boys and them of their Father, but I hope this will be rectified, at least in part, when things are settled and he has obtained his freedom.  I did not come to this conclusion easily dear, for, as you know, divorce is much against my principles…

The great joy, was, of course, Jane’s marriage to her Stuart, a fine, kind, and generous young man…

1963

January 8th:

A sad report today said that some of the swans and cygnets on the lake had died of starvation in spite of the efforts of people in the neighbourhood.  This weather is a great inconvenience to man but it means death to the wild creatures and I hope most sincerely that it will soon break.

Mute Swans – not particularly happy in prolonged spells of freezing weather.  Image by sue via Flickr.

There is no appreciable break in the cold weather, although on January 14th, Gran writes that there has been a slow thaw:

This I knew to my cost this afternoon when water from a burst pipe in the roof dripped through two bedroom ceilings, and that of the sitting-room.  Turning off the water and frantic mopping up operations limited the damage, but we are now without water until after the plumber comes tomorrow!  On a more cheerful note – Marsh Tits were among the garden visitors today, and, for the first time ever, a Black-headed Gull alighted among the trees at the back.

She also puts up a Woodcock from a marshy area when she returns by the lake after an errand to get eggs.

The plumber comes a day later than promised, and repairs two bursts.  “…we felt very smug at having our water again”, she says, but she speaks too soon:

…until 3.45, when an ominous drip aroused suspicion.  Sure enough, water was seeping through the landing ceiling!  I phoned the plumber, and now we are waterless again until he comes.

On January 17th, she is frustrated: “I have been waiting, in vain, for the plumber.  We are still without water but I have a good friend in Jean Hockridge next door.”  Trips to the neighbours for water  are necessary until the following afternoon, when the plumber comes and the water supply is restored.

Given the severe weather conditions, I am surprised to read that on the 19th, Gran attends a field meeting.  She begins: “A wonderful, interesting and exciting day but quite the coldest I have ever spent on a natural history outing”.  It is a combined expedition to Hayling Island, with members of the Southampton Natural History Society and the Hampshire Field Club.  They travel by bus, and  “…at Winchester… a lady got in and I knew her immediately, though I had not seen her since our schooldays, when I was about sixteen!  She was Vera McKeith, one of the five daughters of my old Doctor”. The journey sounds somewhat trying:

From Winchester the driver took us across country instead of returning towards Southampton, which would have taken us along all main roads.  This nearly led to disaster and no outing for us to Hayling!  Near Hambledon we had our next excitement when we met, in a narrow, snowy lane, the Hambledon Hunt, and the Huntsmen had to collect all the hounds together and get them onto the bank to let us pass.  This took some time and caused much interest and one of our passengers, seeing the Master, said, “That’s my Brother!”  His surprise equalled hers when she leant out of the window to speak to him.

On for about two miles, along a very rough, narrow and snowclad lane towards Waterlooville, and the coach got stuck in a snowdrift, the snow piled up on both sides and the rear wheels only skidding.  We all got out and I felt that if this was a sample of what was to come, I wondered however I should endure it.  The wind cut across the open fields and froze one’s very bones.  I have never been so cold, and worse was to come!  We tried pushing but the driver could neither go forwards nor backwards.  At length we were dug out by a tractor driver who assured us that this was the worst spot and we could now get through to the main road.

Once at Hayling Island, Gran writes that is was:

…surely the coldest place in Hampshire.  The gale blew across from the sea, driving the sand in a storm over the marsh and shore which were covered in frozen snow and ice and it was so strong that we had difficulty in keeping our feet.  And the cold penetrated even the many layers of clothing that I was wearing, and “burnt” our faces.  But the birds!  These more than compensated for our discomforts.

And she describes with enthusiasm the avian life all around her, none of which seems to me to be fair compensation for the pain endured!  Nevertheless, we are treated to Gran’s first record of Collared Dove – that now familiar species, whose huge range expansion from the East had brought it to the U.K. just a few years earlier:

We went next to the shore near where there was a large house with a garden running down to it, in the bottom of which were several Pine and other trees.  There we saw and heard three Collared Doves, which were new to my list.  I learned that a pair had arrived in April and had successfully reared two broods of two chicks each.  They are beautiful birds, with soft-coloured plumage and with a most melodious crooning call.

Collared Dove – a new bird for Britain in 1955.  Image by Bob Shand via Flickr.

Smew, Woodcock, Whooper Swan, Eider and Black-necked Grebe are the other birding highlights of the day but notwithstanding these, Gran is glad to get back to The Ridge, saying, “I found a good fire at home, and, with a hot-water bottle at my feet and a cup of hot tea, I thawed out and soon became warm for the first time today”.

After delivering flowers on the ships, Northern Star, Castle Felice and Cathay, Gran lunches in Southampton at the Y.M.C.A., and she:

…went into town to get more “tights” – wonderful garments for this bitter weather – and my gift book, “Ring of Bright Water”, by Gavin Maxwell, which I had ordered.  My book tokens from Barry and the Boys gave it to me and, from first glances, I know I am going to enjoy it enormously.

She needs those tights; the bitter weather seemingly endless!  On January 25th, she notes the coldest twenty-four hours she has ever recorded, “with a minimum at twelve and a half degrees and a maximum at twenty-three”.

Gran has recently encountered, with pleasure, two of Barry’s erstwhile Peter Symonds’ schoolmasters.  Mr Pearce was part of the group visiting Hayling Island, where his ornithological skills were much appreciated, and, on the 25th, Mr Cox, “Biology Master at Peter Symonds’ School, [who] came to see me and give his opinion on my stamp collection.  He found some very good ones among them and I found his great knowledge stimulating and very interesting”.

Another record low temperature is reached on the 26th, and on reaching home after looking after “John Fowler’s babes”, Susan and the recently born, Paul, she says, “A jolt awaited me – another burst pipe and water through the hall ceiling”.  It seems to be a minor leak, easily dealt with but Gran’s entry for the 27th is this:

What a night!  At eleven o’clock last night I was wakened by the sound of water dripping and leapt out of bed.  It was literally pouring through the bedroom ceiling, seeping through ceilings and walls of another bedroom, the landing, hall and sitting-room.  The water was turned off but it made no difference, the main had burst in the roof and the tank appeared to be emptying itself.  I knew I could not cope alone, so I threw a dressing-gown and coat over my nightclothes and ran for Ken Hockridge.  Fortunately they were still up, and Ken, Wessel and David Smith, who was there for the evening, came immediately to help, followed soon afterwards by Jean.  Ken and the boys coped with the roof, emptying about a dozen bucketsful down the bath, whilst Jean and I tried to mop up in the worst bedroom, where the water was pouring down an electric light as well as dripping through various places in the ceiling.  The bed was soaked before I could drag it away from the worst place, and the pools on the floor soon spread right across.  It was after half-past one in the morning before I eventually got back to bed… The thaw had arrived!

January 28th:

I did some washing, getting water next door, but Jean, bless her, did sheets, stained counterpane and mattress cover for me, and dried the dampened blankets.  I am truly lucky to have such neighbours.

The month ends with an uplifting visit to the Avon Valley with Peg Eagle to see the White-fronted Geese wintering there and some lovely close views of Redpolls on the ground in the garden of The Ridge, including, she says, “the beautiful gold and brown pattern of the plumage on their backs.  Such lovely little birds”.

Lesser Redpoll – “such lovely little birds”.  Image by sighmanb via Flickr.

And a letter from Jane arrives, “telling us that she and Stuart move into their new home on Saturday.  It is a nice, rural address:

Cloverleigh, Old Main Road, Bulcote, Notts.

I hope they find complete and lasting happiness there”.

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Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 58) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 70) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 80) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 125) Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 150)
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Comments

  1. Hello Rick
    I really look forward to these posts of your Gran’s journal. I didn’t receive one this past Sunday, February 9, 2020, so I’m just enquiring if I have missed one, or was there not a post that day?
    Thank you so much for sharing this charming journal. We lived at the Hutments at Hook and Hursley roads for 12 years (‘44 to ‘56) and I am wallowing in happy nostalgia as I read.

    Reply

    • Hi there Berenice – many thanks for your nice comment. We all need a wallow some time! Occasioanlly my life gets too busy for me to complete an instalment in time for the Sunday publish date, and this was the case last week. My next two posts are ready to go though, so this Sunday and next, you will have your “fix”. With best wishes, Rick

      Reply

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