Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 95)

Roadworks dismay; farewell to Miss Cope; glad tidings from Jane; renewed acquaintances; remarkable carvings; another little wood destroyed; litter; two impressive sopranos; two active boys, Coronation Walk, and a wedding produces a dramatic moment.

January 21st 1959 is an unpleasantly wet day, but Gran is loth to miss her weekly visit to best friends in Merdon Avenue:

This afternoon I went to see my Harding family.  Mary was surprised to see me in such weather but I regard my “dates” with this dear family as one of my most valued privileges.

On the following day:

This afternoon we noticed that a Yew tree down the road had fallen right across one of the new gardens.  It seems to me that, in excavating for the service road for the shops being built opposite here, the men must have undermined the roots, for it does not seem to me that today’s gale was of sufficient force to bring down a Yew tree that has stood for centuries.  And I noted that there were no spreading roots – it seems they had been severed during the process of excavation.  I am sorry for the owners of the garden, for they have worked hard, and a terrace and the fence must have suffered great damage.

More road works dismay her on the 25th:

…I went up to Farley Mount and, in spite of the tremendous numbers of cars on the way up and round the Mount itself, I was able to walk in the woods without meeting other people.  It was a perfect Winter afternoon, with clear blue skies and bright sunshine and frost still crisp upon the ground – just right for walking.

Emerging from a woodland track I was horrified to find a wide, newly cut road through the middle of what was once a very favourite wood.  As far as I can see, it will come out on the King’s Somborne road to Winchester and it may have been cut to discourage the traffic from using the tortuous Ashley road.  Let us hope it does, and then the Ashley road will be more pleasant for those of us who ride bicycles!

And four days later:

I was saddened tonight by hearing that Miss Cope, for whom I worked at her market garden for several years, died last night.  She was eighty-two and had been crippled of late years, but Chandler’s Ford will miss her.  I shall remember her with gratitude and affection, for she called upon me to go and help her during that awful Winter of 1947, and showed me the greatest kindness and sympathy in my then recent bereavement. The work then helped me retain my sanity and Miss Cope’s sympathy was balm to my wounded soul.

“This morning”, she records on the 30th:

…I went to the funeral service for Miss Cope at St Boniface Church and was very moved by it. She was quite without relatives but devoted friends had come to Church to be present with her in spirit and to pray for her lasting rest and peace.  I walked home through the village that has lost one of its best-known and respected residents and there will be an emptiness for a long time to come.  In Merdon Avenue I saw a small party of Redpolls feeding, as usual, on birch seeds.

Also that day:

In tonight’s “Echo” Peter Carne reports a Red-throated Diver on “a large pond on a New Forest heath frequented by Gulls and Swans”.  Hatchet, no doubt, and tomorrow I must go, if possible, and see if it is still there.

She does cycle to Hatchet Pond, in bitter cold, in the morning, finding not only that her assumption concering the location is correct, but discovering two divers there, one, the Red-throat, the other, an unexpected Great Northern.

“Tomorrow”, she writes, “playing truant from washing-day, I hope to go to Pennington with Mrs Way.  I wonder what the day will hold for us?”

They do have a lovely, bird-filled expedition, Gran travelling by bus via Southampton and Mrs Way coming from Christchurch, the two of them rendezvousing at Milford-on-Sea.  They walk from there to Keyhaven and Pennington revelling in wild habitats and the evocative cries of marshland birds.  Nothing out of the ordinary is seen, but Gran records it as a “soul-satisfying day”.

The next day, “in excellent light”, she paints her first flower of 1959: Scented Butterbur Petasites fragrans, collected during yesterday’s trip, “which took me just on three hours, but it made quite an attractive picture”. Scented Butterbur is now better known as Winter Heliotrope.

February 8th sees Gran at Early Service at Compton, but she is still unsure of the new Rector:

Our new Rector took the Service.  He is a fine looking man, with a good voice, but somehow he seemed to lack the depth of feeling shown by Mr Burdett and Mr Utterton.  Maybe he will improve with further acquaintance.

In the post on February 9th:

An excited letter from Jane this morning contained the glad news that she has been offered, and accepted, the post of Senior Games Mistress at Nottingham High School in succession to Biddy Burgum, the Hockey International, who is going to Worthing High School.  Jane will take over as Head of Department in September.  How very, very proud I am of my two children – and I think I have every right to be, both heads of their respective departments, Barry, of Biology at Haberdashers’ at the age of twenty-eight, and Jane, of Physical Education and Games at twenty-five.  An excellent show, my dears.

Biddy Burgum was an international hockey player, representing England between 1950 and 1962, earning over 50 caps. She also taught PE in Surrey, Nottingham and then Worthing. In 1969 she moved on to lecture prospective P.E. teachers at Jane’s old college, Chelsea P.E. College in Eastbourne, now part of Brighton University. She retired in 1983.

Book 77

February 13th:

…I went to Bitterne to give another talk on Wild Flowers – this time to the handicrafts and gardening section of the Townswomen’s Guild.  I met one lady who I have not seen since we were children together at Bassett, some fifty years ago, one who I last saw just before my marriage, nearly thirty-one years ago, and two others who remembered me playing in the Southampton Tennis Tournaments before Barry was born, some twenty-nine years ago!  How time flies and how elderly such renewed acquaintances make one feel!

On the evening of the 18th:

I listened to a Symphony Concert from the Festival Hall this evening, and Peter Katin was the soloist in Rachmaninoff’s Variations on a Theme by Paganini.  He was magnificent… I could not bear anything else after such a performance and retired before the last item was played. I wanted the memory of Peter Katin’s flying fingers to remain as long as possible.

Gran is not in bed until the small hours of February 21st, having attended the Old Tauntonians’ Dinner-dance at the Polygon Hotel in Southampton earlier in the night.  She writes:

After dancing with such notable personages as the Mayor of Southampton, the Headmaster of Taunton School, the Education Officer and – Bob Fowler (!), I arrived home just before two o’clock this morning!

She is not surprised, “after so much levity and late hours”, to wake late, and with a migraine.  It is always a surprise to me that Gran, who usually writes that these events “are not much in my line”. seems to enjoy them nevertheless.  She attends three other similar dinner-dances around this time.

At a field meeting of the British Empire Naturalists’ Association at Poole Harbour on the 22nd, she has a good day’s birdwatching although the only new species Gran sees is a plant – Shrubby Seablite – and not a bird.  The party of naturalists breaks for tea in the Beach Café there, where, Gran says, “a great surprise awaited me”:

In the very unpretentious room were eight pictures, which immediately caught and held my attention.  Each was floodlit and they were remarkable and unique in my experience.  They were carved in wood – a clear light brown wood, and each figure stood out from the background like a three-dimensional film. One in particular, of an Eagle attacking a man who was about to rob the eyrie, seemed alive.  The man was clinging to the rock and trying to protect his face with his arm as the great bird swooped to the attack, and every feather was distinct and stood out to a remarkable degree.  The proprietor of the Café told me that each was carved out of one piece of wood by the Austrian sculptor,[Rudolf] Steiner, and he had bought them for £6000 from a millionaire.  They seemed oddly out of place in a little seaside café, but I was glad of the privilege of seeing them.

Gran records another loss of her valued countryside at this time, writing:  “…I took Mrs Hockridge Senior for a walk along the river and it was most enjoyable.”  They take the bus to Otterbourne, walk along Kiln Lane to Brambridge, follow the river to Shawford, climb the Downs there and catch the bus back to Chandler’s Ford. “There was only one sad and discordant note in our outing”, she adds:

Builders have razed and bulldozed the beautiful little wood in Kiln Lane, which normally in Spring, has been a joy to see, with Snowdrops and Wild Daffodils growing in its shade.  Alas it is no more and my heart aches for the flowers so destroyed just as their life was approaching renewal.  Surely, in the pursuit of so-called progress, we are in danger of losing our souls.

And she is depressed too, about the public ignorance of things that she thinks are most important in life, noting on a bus journey towards the end of the month:

…I was shattered to hear a woman behind me on the bus say that the catkins, which are now prolific all up Hut Hill, were Willows.  I honestly thought that every adult surely knew Hazel catkins when they saw them!

There is much gardening to be done at this time and on the 28th, Gran declares after a day of weeding:

I was extremely tired when I eventually came in, but am feeling restored now after a rest and a hot bath.  My hip is painful but that will ease up later and I refuse to have my life dictated by a painful joint, which I have had for close on thirty-six years!

It is still seventeen more years until she gets both hips replaced.

On March 1st she notes, a little annoyed because of her competitive nature, that “Mother saw the first Brimstone butterfly, for our family records, at Bassett yesterday, and Aunt Em saw a Tortoiseshell”, adding:

One thing I miss as much as anything since the building took place opposite here, is the joy of looking for the first Brimstones in the sunny dip of the wood that used to be there.  It was always our earliest record of them.

March 2nd:

I received a long and extremely interesting letter today from a new Australian pen friend. She is a botanist, and she sent me some cards of Australian flowers, which she had painted herself, and a sprig of the native Christmas Tree (Nuytsia floribunda) named after Peter de Nuyts, a Dutch navigator.  It has wonderful orange flowers, rather like wild Clematis and belongs to the Loranthaceae family.

She is irritated on March 14th:

After tea I swept up a bucketful of litter outside our front bank: paper, cigarette packets, chocolate wrappers and such.  It amazes me that people can be so disgusting.  I just could not bear the mess for the weekend and the Wild Daffodils coming into flower on our bank.  I suppose most people in passing see neither the Daffodils nor the mess that others leave wherever they go.

And anxious on the 16th:

This afternoon I made a start on a picture of Spring flowers, which my cousin Fairlie asked me to paint for her some months ago.  Today I painted Lesser Celandines and Periwinkles and was quite pleased with its beginning, but Fairlie is an artist of no mean ability and this adds to my anxiety that it should be reasonably good.

New flowers are added to the picture as the season progresses.

On the first day of Spring, Gran plays tennis, “at Eastleigh in ideal conditions, pleasantly warm with little wind and sun shining”, after which, the evening is spent at the Southampton Amateur Operatic Society’s production of “The Yeoman of the Guard”, at the Guildhall.  Gran’s verdict: “Altogether a most enjoyable entertainment”.  She is most impressed with the clear soprano voices and good diction, “all too rare in sopranos” she opines, of the two leading girls, Phoebe and Elsie Maynard.

Gran is out daily at this time, avidly listening for the first Chiffchaff of Spring but failing until March 26th when she joyfully hears one in the trees on the corner of Kingsway and Coronation Walk.  “Now I really feel that Spring is here”, she writes.  She often describes walking home via “Coronation Walk”, and I assume this is the footpath leading to and past Hiltingbury Lake from the junction of Kingsway and Merdon Avenue, although I have never heard it referred to as this by anybody else.

Daughter Jane, home for Easter, is bridesmaid, with Delia, the Groom’s cousin, at the wedding of her school friend, Margot McGregor, on March 28th.  It takes place at St Boniface Church, and is followed by the reception at The Mount Hotel, where Gran, earlier, had arranged the flowers at the request of the Bride’s mother.   Gran describes the event in some detail, as is her wont, including this:

There was a dramatic moment in the Ceremony when the vows were being exchanged – Margot’s voice suddenly trailed off, failed altogether and she was overcome with emotion.  For a few agonising minutes, which seemed like hours, she struggled with her tears, and then finished her responses in a scarcely audible voice.  She and Clive were facing one another… and I could see Clive’s reassuring pressure on the hand he held.  But Margot was quite composed as she came down the aisle on his arm, even if her smiles wavered a little, and she was radiant at the Reception.

As the Bride and Groom are about to depart, Gran adds:

There was an amusing incident.  It was cold, and Jane was shivering, so the Best Man removed his frock-coat and put it on her and was then called by a photographer to stand in a group by the going-away car.  He knelt there, in shirtsleeves and wearing his grey top-hat.  Clive’s Father wore Delia’s head-dress.  At last they were off… these two who had been faithful to each other for ten years, since they were both at school, Clive at Peter Symonds, and Margot at Winchester County High.  May they find the happiness they deserve.

Although the Hiltingbury habitats are declining in wildlife value as the area is developed, Grass Snake, it seems, is still present, Gran being called next door to see what the Hockridges assume is a Slow-worm in their garden.  It is one of the largest Grass Snakes Gran has ever seen.  She says, “It was coiled up on the bank and, when I touched its tail, it glided away into the bushes”.

Collecting Wood Anemones along Poles Lane in Compton to paint for Fairlie’s picture, Gran finds the Hazel there in her favourite copse has been coppiced, the wood cut and stacked.  She speaks to “two woodmen, arrived in a lorry to collect the brushwood and I asked one of them if I could go in and collect flowers”.  There follows a long conversation on botany, the man very interested to be shown ”the Hellebore which I had watched for ten years, and hoped would always survive”. She continues: “…he asked me if Mr Judd, the owner, knew it was there and I said I did not know, so I am hoping he will put in a word for its preservation”.

Gran gives an account of the activities of Julian and Ricky on April 5th, staying with their mum at 99 Kingsway while Barry is away at R.A.F. camp.  It is a day I remember:

And what unceasing energy they have!  They went to Shawford Downs with Jane and raced up and down, all over the place, watched trains, climbed trees and fences, went into the station and walked along the river to the Twyford side as far as the farm where they saw a litter of very small piglets, which intrigued them tremendously.  Julian recognised a Wren and a Kestrel from pictures he had seen, and Ricky was able to remember everything to tell Jock when they returned.

They went to the Lake this afternoon and fed the Swans with bread.  Jane showed them how to make leaf boats as she and Barry had done, and she was amused to hear another small child remark to his companion, “That’s an interesting lady!”

Two days later:

Jock and the Boys spent most of today here and had lunch and tea with us.  Julian was initiated into the art of playing draughts and was remarkably quick to pick up the game… both he and Ricky have voracious appetites for stories.  Many of Jane’s childhood books are being re-read and eagerly absorbed, and today “Black Bramble Wood” was the choice.

Gran leaves for Kingston on the 10th to visit Adrian’s mother and while there we learn that she visits Clarke’s of Eden Street, calling it “the art shop where I was able to get the blue paper with which I cover these books.

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)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 59)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 60)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 61)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 62)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 63)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 64)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 65)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 66)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 67)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 68)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 69)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 70)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 71)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 72)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 73)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 74)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 75)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 76)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 77)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 78)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 79)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 80)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 81)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 82)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 83)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 84)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 85)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 86)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 87)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 88)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 89)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 90)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 91)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 92)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 93)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 94)
• Forty Years in Chandler’s Ford – a Journal (Part 95)

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