In part 2, I recall my childhood memories from the village of Wymeswold and all of its inhabitants at the time.
Jim Mackley, aged about 11
The Fifties
In 1950 I took and passed the “Scholarship” (later 11+) examination. In previous years, only one or two children from Wymeswold had passed. Two years before Ann Bartram had passed to go to Loughborough High School and the previous year Michael James had gone to Loughborough Grammar School. Three of us passed in my year: John Issett, Hazel Ingall and myself. I expected to have a choice between the Loughborough Grammar School and Loughborough College School. I was very disappointed to learn that I had been selected to go to Humphrey Perkins Grammar School at Barrow on Soar. I had never heard of it. By this time my father was a churchwarden. Mrs Richardson was one of the members of the congregation and had a good opinion of my father. I think she was a doctor’s widow. She lived at 71 Brook Street. She was a friend of Sidney Pullinger, the headmaster of Loughborough Grammar School. She arranged for me to be interviewed for a fee-paying place at his school, for which I was successful. I think the fee was £8 a term at that time. Because my father had a low income, my fee was 13s/4d. I was not, however, entitled to a free bus pass, so I had to pay 5d a day bus fare.
I used to catch the bus in the Square at half past eight in the morning and arrive back, usually on the 4:10 or 4:15 bus. As it was a mile walk from the school to the bus stop, I often missed those buses and had to wait for the next bus, which was at ten past five. As the school took boarders, as well as day boys, we had to go on Saturday mornings. John Issett went to Humphrey Perkins and Hazell, I think, went to Loughborough High School. Clive Harrison was invited to take the oral examination for a scholarship, but was not accepted. He, like all the other boys and girls in my class, went to Limehurst Secondary Modern School. A couple of years later the boys transferred to a new school, Garendon.
Alf Mills lived on Clay Street and his orchard stretched at right angles down to the corner of Brook Street and Clay Street. In the late forties my father bought the southern part of this orchard (about quarter of an acre). At the Brook Street end it had an unkempt hedge and was quite inconspicuous. As a teenager in Barkestone, my father had kept poultry. His original idea had been to keep poultry on this land. I remember poring over brochures selling hen houses. The one he wanted was going to cost £200 and so he decided against it..
Sometime later, he decided to build a house and blacksmith’s shop instead. I remember going to help clear the ground whichhad several years’ growth of nettles, docks and other weeds on it. Mr Pennington, a Loughborough Estate Agent, owned the cottages to the east of my father’s land. I believe he had bought a strip of land from Alf Mills to give him an access to his property. He decided to put a fence round his land. This consisted of about ten concrete posts connected by thick metal wires. The second post from the road had been put in the correct place. The first post had been placed a few inches inside Mr Pennington’s land. The remaining posts had been lined up with the first two, which meant that they had been put on my father’s land and therefore some land had been “stolen” from him. HRS (Bert) Clifford was a Loughborough solicitor. He lived in the village on Far Street,opposite Clay Street and next door to the Hermitage. He acted on behalf of my father. After he had sent the necessary number of letters to Mr Pennington to no avail, it was decided that direct action was called for. I went along with my father and Mr Clifford. We pulled up all the posts that were on our land. Mr Clifford was at pains to point out that we must not touch the first two posts, which were on Mr Pennington’s land.
Warner Wootton was contracted to build the house. There was no need for the architect to create a new design, because we could adapt the design of a number of houses that Woottons had already built in the village: Jack Peel’s in the Nook in particular. I remember there was some difficulty getting planning permission, because the authorities objected to the straight passageway from the front to the back door, but my parents got what they wanted in the end. The workshop was built first. We moved into the new house, round about the time of the coronation in June 1953. I think the house cost £2400 and the workshop £400. There was never any question of taking out a mortgage, though I think my father borrowed some of the money from my mother’s father.
My parents were always very proud of their house, which they said had a beautiful view down Hoton Lane and over the fields. The house had many advantages over the old house. In particular, it had running water, a bathroom and two flush toilets. (The mains water we had had in the old house before we left had been a makeshift arrangement.) The house was also very near to a bus stop, which meant I could get up five minutes later. One disadvantage was the garden. The old one had been cultivated for 300 years and had had three hundred years’ horse manure put on it. The new garden had never been dug. It was situated at the bottom of Clay Street, which had its name for a good reason. Although I tried, I never took to gardening in the same way in the new house.
Hugh Mackley at his ‘new’ forge at 1A Brook Street.
Leicester Advertiser, April 7 1967
Our house, 1A Brook Street, and blacksmith’s shop, c. 1968.
I remained friends with Brian Bartram and Stan Sheppard, especially in relation to social activities. But I also made new friends. John Issett and Russell Hubbard had been in my class at Wymeswold School. John lived round the corner at the bottom of Clay Street, in the cottages owned by Ron Sheppard, Stan’s father. Like Stan and Brian, John was a good cricketer: a fast bowler and good batsman. They had an outhouse and a loft, where they had a “Devil among the Tailors” table skittle game, at which we all became very proficient.[1] Russell lived with his father, Cyril, and his mother and two sisters at the farm opposite. He had a small billiard table, which I used to enjoy playing on. We used to play cricket, either in their small yard or across the road, with wickets chalked on the wall of what is now the Pharmacy. Occasionally we played in the field opposite (on the corner of Brook Street and Hoton Lane), which was also owned by Alf Mills. At the time it was an open field. Houses were built on it in the late fifties, including one for my grandmother, and the one where Stan lives now. One evening the three of us were playing cricket in that fieldwith a hard cricket ball. I bowled John a juicy full toss (or long hop). John, who was left-handed, slogged the ball out of the field, across the road and into the wall of number 5 Brook Street, a few inches from the head of one of the ladies who were talking by the doorstep. They were not amused! I spent a lot of time with Russell in those days. In particular I always helped with the haymaking and harvesting. Cyril had an old horse, which was sometimes used to draw the cart. More often, we used the tractor, which I was allowed to drive. It was set so that I did not need to change gear and, of course, I was not allowed to drive on the road.
[1]The game involves 9 small skittles arranged in a 3 × 3 square, usually within a shallow open-topped wooden box sitting on a table-top. The wooden ball (about the size of a golf ball) hangs from a string or chain attached to the top of a vertical wooden post rising from one corner of the box. The aim of the game is to knock down the skittles by swinging the ball in an arc round the post (rather than aiming directly at the skittles) Joseph Strutt, The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England (London: Methuen & Co.), p. 305.
In the fifties I also played cricket a lot with Stan Sheppard. The wickets were set up at the north end of their farmyard. We used to run up to bowl across the road, the bowling crease being in the gateway. Far Street was always considered a busy main road, but in those days, we just waited for a car to go past, before carrying on with our game. There was, however, one nasty accident in the late forties. A girl called Helen Webster, who was two or three years younger than me, was, allegedly, pushed in front of a lorry on her way home from school and had to have a leg amputated.
Bert Thorpe ran the newsagents’ and general store in the Square. He was a little man, who always had a lot to say for himself and had an opinion on everything. He knew everything and had been everywhere. He used to go for a drink in the White Horse. I heard that one evening he was telling his cronies about all his exploits. After some time, one of his cronies said: “Bert, I’ve been listening to what you’ve said. I’ve reckoned up that with all you’ve done, you must be at least 104!” It is reported that Mr. Thorpe walked out of the pub at that point and never went there again. (Apologies to his son, Patrick, if he ever reads this, if the story is untrue.)
When I was thirteen, I started my first paper round. Mr. Thorpe employed me to deliver papers every morning and evening except Sundays for 12 shillings a week. My round consisted of Church Street, Brook Street, as far as the Stockwell and back to the shop in the Square. It was against the law for us to start before 7 o’clock, but Mr. Thorpe liked us to be there by 6:45 (but we weren’t to let Mr. Clifford, the solicitor, see us out before 7:00). Mr. Thorpe sorted the papers out for us in the morning, but we sorted our own out in the evening. I used to walk round in the morning, but went on my bike in the evening. A year later, I was “promoted” to the other round for 15 shillings a week. In the morning, this was really two rounds. The first round went from the Square west along Far Street down Clay Street and back along the west end of Brook Street. I then went back to the shop and picked up the papers for the second round. This began after the Clay Street junction on Far Street, went down the whole of London Lane and finished up in Trinity Crescent. I never liked this round as much. In particular, on Friday mornings, most people took the Loughborough Echo and a weekly magazine, such as the Radio Times. I was only a little lad and I struggled to carry them all the length of Far Street, before the load began to lighten.
When I had been doing my paper round for a year or so, I saved up enough money to buy a bike. At over £15 Raleighs were too expensive. My Uncle George still worked as a blacksmith at Barkestone. He had business contacts with a firm called Pells of Peterborough. He got me a bike, called a ‘Pello’, with a trade discount, for just over £13. (It was made of mainly Hercules parts.) I went everywhere on that bike, including, when I was 20, to Besançon in France.
Until I was sixteen, I never had any pocket money, though I was never deprived of anything I wanted. Then my father decided to give me a pound a week to cover all my expenses, including bus fares, school dinner money, clothes and football matches. Coincidentally, I suddenly decided to bike to school, rather than go on the school bus, especially as, by then I had to pay the adult fare of 9d return. I did, however, buy some new suits and shirts with loose collars, which needed collar studs and cufflinks.
When I was nearly fifteen, I gave up my paper round to concentrate on my O Levels. The next year, I went into the lower sixth form at school, so I had no exams that year. Mr. Thorpe persuaded me to go back to work for him for a year. I can’t remember which round I did, but he paid me 10 shillings a week. I also biked to Nottingham, every other Saturday during the football season, after school, to watch Nottingham Forest play. I used to put my school cap on. I was still very small for my age, so I paid a shilling and went in the boys’ entrance. One time Stan Sheppard went with me and had a puncture. I also persuaded Mr. Thorpe to get the Nottingham Football Post, which I delivered for nothing.
I had a very active social life at that time. Sundays were taken up with church activities – bell ringing, choir, services and Sunday School. A group of us used to go for walks on Sunday afternoons. There was something going on most evenings during the rest of the week: choir practice, youth fellowship, youth club, bell-ringing practice, badminton and drama group. On Friday evenings, Nell Smith and her husband, Sid, set up a dancing class in Wymeswold school. She taught us Old Tyme dances – the Gay Gordons, Barn Dance, Veleta and Military Two-step – and also some ‘modern’ ones, like the modern waltz, quickstep and foxtrot.
Sometimes there were dances in the village hall on Saturday night with a singer and live band. Stan and I often biked to Seagrave for their Saturday evening dances, also with a live band. At these events, they had the same dances as Nell Smith had taught us, but with much greater emphasis on quicksteps, foxtrots and “modern” waltzes. They also played the even more modern ones like the cha-cha, samba and rumba. There was usually a session of the new “Rock ’n Roll” dance.
When I was 18, I obtained a place at Manchester University. While my school expected to send twenty or thirty boys to University each year, this was quite unusual for Wymeswold. The last person from Wymeswold to go to University had been David Smith, who went in 1951, seven years before me.
The Village
A view in Far Street and, on the right, Manor Farm.
Leicester Advertiser, September 14 1957
Wymeswold was a working village. The layout of the village was much the same as it is now, but there was much more land that was not built on. On a rough count, there were over 20 working farms in or near the village, including Bob Mills on Rempstone Lane and Jedda Collington on Wysall Lane. On East Road there was Horace Sissons. Then there were Sid Smith and Ron Sheppard, Stan’s dad. After that there were Percy and Harry Jalland, then Mr. Clarke, Mr. Morris, Fred and Frank Collington, Charlie (later Sid) Hubbard, Edward Emerson (Manor Farm), Harry Tyler (later Chris) and Cecil Mills. Burrows’ farm was the biggest in the village. That was on the Stockwell. Alf Mills and Arthur Elliot (later his son, Eric) had farms on Clay Street. John Mills had the big house at the top of London Lane, by the cheese factory. (The cheese factory was not open very much in the forties and fifties.) The cricket ground was in a field behind his house. Charlie Tuckwood (and later Alf Mills) had the farm on the corner of Hoton Lane and London Lane. Cyril Hubbard had the farm on the corner of Hoton Lane, Clay Street and Brook Street. In the forties, he had a daily milk round: he came round and ladled the milk out of churns into the customers’ jugs. On Brook Street, there were Dick James (earlier Rowe’s), Doug James and Hall Farm (Albon’s). On the other side, at number 69, there was ‘Connie’ Collington, who had a contracting business and ‘Squib’ Collington, who had an animal transport business. Frank Bates, who lived at number 3Brook Street, also had land on Six Hills Lane. Most of the farmers had dairy cows, which needed milking twice a day. Some of them, including Cyril Hubbard, whom we lived opposite to from 1953, used to bring their cows from their field along the road to be milked. Consequently the roads were rarely clean.
Big changes took place in the farming business during my 18 years in Wymeswold. Before the war, most of the land was grazing. Mr. Burrows owned the only tractor. All had horses and one or more farm labourers. At the beginning of the war, the Government decreed that much of the land had to be converted to arable land. Soon after the war, the grey Ferguson tractor came on to the market at an affordable price. Ten years later all the farmers had tractors and there were only a few working horses left –and they were all “part-time”. Milking machines took over from hand milking. Many fewer workers were needed, with the advance of technology.
The changes in farming affected my father’s blacksmith business. Before the war his main business had been shoeing farm horses. During the war he was very busy, both shoeing horses and making harrows and drags for the newly ploughed arable land. After the war, the shoeing declined and he spent most of his time making and repairing farm implements. At that time relatively few people kept riding horses. As time progressed more and more people could afford to take up riding. One was Roland Sheppard, Stan’s brother. The number of farriers available to shoe horses also declined. My father always refused to buy a car or van (he had had a bad motor-bike accident when he was 21 and probably couldn’t afford to run one anyway). So, if people wanted him to shoe their horses, they either had to bring them to him or take him to the horses, and provide the equipment, including a forge and an anvil, to do so.
A feature about Wymeswold in the Leicester Advertiser highlighted the way that my father’s business had changed. It described how my father had learned his trade from his father who had been the blacksmith in Barkestone in the Vale of Belvoir. When he was interviewed, my father had been working on a motor car silencer. He said he had shod four horses that morning. The interviewer noted “There are smiths who would react surprisingly if confronted with a horse nowadays” and how “in another village, which had better not be named, the young blacksmith admitted that he had never put a shoe on a horse.” (Leicester Advertiser, September 14 1957)
During the fifties and sixties the farm machinery became more and more complicated and so my father was no longer able to repair most of them. He was appointed farrier to the Quorn Hunt, where he was taken two or three days a week. When he retired in 1969 his main business was again shoeing horses. The picture below accompanied an article after he gave a talk about shoeing and the care of horses’ hooves to “more than 30 youngsters” undeterred by the inclement weather.
Blacksmith Mr. W. H. Mackley shows Susan Balding (14) and Judy Boulter (13) a horse shoe at the Quorn Hunt Pony Club Rally, where he had given the main talk, c. 1960.
Newspaper cutting, date and name of publication unknown.
There were four grocery and general shops in the village. There was Brown’s on Far Street, which I hardly ever went into. Mr. Bond had the newsagents and grocery shop in the Square underneath the church. This shop was taken over by Mr. Bert Thorpe in the late forties or early fifties. Joy Brown and her assistant Lily Simpson ran the Post Office and grocery shop the other side of the church in Church Lane. The fourth shop was on the south side of Brook Street. I think in my early days it was owned by a Mr. Hill, but soon after the war it was sold to the Long Eaton Co-op. The manager was a Mr. Shepherd, who had a son, Peter, who was a couple of years younger than me. I wasn’t supposed to go there, because my mother didn’t believe in co-ops, which were a socialist invention!
My mother used part of her ration allowance at Mr. Bond’s and part at the Post Office. She did her shopping on Fridays. She made a list and used to spend under £1 in each. I remember that shopping at Mr. Bond’s in particular was a lengthy procedure. There was only Mr. Bond and his wife. There were always two or three people in front of us. The shopkeepers were not especially nimble and, in those days, many things had to be weighed and wrapped up. In addition, Mr. Bond had to stop and listen to all the customers’ stories, complaints and gossip. At one point the butter ration was reduced, presumably to two ounces per person. This meant there was a “big butter week”, when we could have half a pound a week for the three of us, followed by a “little butter week”, when we could only have a quarter of a pound. Tea was also rationed. I don’t think I was allowed a tea ration until I was five. I never liked tea, partly because I was put off by the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup. Like most people we had a tea strainer, but never used it. My parents didn’t try very hard to persuade me to drink tea, possibly because that meant there was more for them. That is what I always thought, but, on reflection, they were very unselfish people and it would have been out of character for them to act in that way.
We also bought our newspapers first from Mr. Bond and then from Mr. Thorpe. (There was no competition!) We had the Leicester Mercury delivered every evening from Monday to Saturday. On Friday mornings we had the Loughborough Echo and Titbits, a slightly salacious weekly magazine. My mother took the Woman’s Own. No shops were open on a Sunday. We had the Sunday Dispatch delivered by someone from outside the village.
There were three butchers’ shops in the village: Collington’s and Jalland’s on Far Street and James’s on Brook Street. Billy Taylor also had a pork butcher’s in Clay Street. Arthur Daft, who lived at 26 Church Street, killed pigs and sold pork products, as well as cream cheese and honey. Ian Wilkinson’s dad, who was the landlord at the Three Crowns, made pork pies and sausages at Willoughby. We bought our meat from Mr James. My father said that, when he first came to Wymeswold at the end of 1935, John James senior, who had a big farm at the time, told him bluntly that he couldn’t expect to have James’s trade, if he didn’t buy his meat from them.
There were three bakers in the village: Jack Wood, opposite the end of Church Lane on Far Street, Herbert Bartram on Church Lane and Mr. Walker on Brook Street, four doors up from us on the south side of the brook. Mr Walker delivered our bread three days a week, I think. Bread was not rationed during the war, but it was afterwards. I remember there was an outcry, when the price of a two-pound loaf went up to one shilling!
The fish man, Jack Warden (right [1]), and his son came with their large open van every Thursday morning. He used to park outside Bartrams’ on Church Lane. We often had fish and chips for Thursday dinner. My mother made very good chips, but they took a long time: she cooked them individually in the frying pan. Sometimes, probably from the early fifties onwards, a van came round selling fish and chips on Friday evenings. We bought six penn’orth or three penn’orth of chips. The fish and chips were wrapped in newspaper.
[1] Photo from the Leicester Advertiser, April 7 1967.
There was a cobbler (Joe Smith) on Far Street, next door to Hubbard’s farm. Ted James (later Bill Talbot) had the petrol pump on the opposite side of the road. Bill’s brother, Jack, also did motor repairs. He lived on the north side of Brook Street, opposite the co-op. There were at least two painters and decorators – Sid Spencer and his brother.
There were four pubs in Wymeswold: the Three Crowns and the White Horse on Far Street, the Hammer and Pincers on East Street and the Windmill on Brook Street. There had been a blacksmith’s shop near the Hammer and Pincers, but that was no longer in use when my father came to the village at the end of 1935. In the nineteenth century, there had been nine pubs in Wymeswold. The names of these pubs are recorded in The song of the Wymeswold Inns:
My WHITE HORSE shall chase the BULL,
And make the THREE CROWNS fly.
Turn the SHOULDER OF MUTTON upside down,
And make the FOX to cry.
My White Horse shall smash the GATE,
And make the WINDMILL spin,
Knock the HAMMER AND PINCERS down,
And make the RED LION grin.[2]
[2] Published in the Leicester Advertiser, September 14, 1957.
There were no resident doctors in the village. Several days a week, two different doctors came to the village. Dr Gray came to a surgery in Arthur Daft’s house at the top of Church Lane, just before the junction with Far Street. Their house had a big garden with a big grey wall which went round the corner on Far Street to the junction with Wysall Lane. We went to the other doctor, who had his surgery in Ivy Sissons’ house in Far Street. In the early days, the doctor was Dr Swann. He was replaced in the mid or late forties by Dr Robinson from East Leake. He was quite a severe, no nonsense doctor, but well respected. Later on he was joined by Dr Brown, who was much younger and gentler, but also well respected. If you wanted to see the doctor you went to the surgery and sat in the waiting room, until it was your turn. It was, however, relatively easy to get the doctor to make a home visit.
Another Mr Brown, Stanley, was a hairdresser or “trichologist” according to the brass plate outside his door. He lived at number 7 Church Street next to Brian Bartram. They had two sons. David was a year or so older than me and Tony was a couple of years younger. Like the Bartrams, they had a big house with a long narrow yard, where we also used to play cricket. The boys used to have wonderful birthday parties, where we played all sorts of games that we never played anywhere else. Their house was often a meeting place for cyclists from the Cyclists’ Touring Club.
Sometimes Mr Brown cut my hair. Sometimes I went to a barber’s shop near the Victory cinema in Loughborough. In the fifties, there was a retired ship’s barber, a Mr Gordon, who lived in a cottage backing on to our new house. One of my friends used to call him “the haircut man”. After we moved house, I went to him to have my hair cut. One Saturday afternoon in the mid-fifties I went round to see my friend Brian Bartram. Crew cuts were just coming into fashion. His mother said I couldn’t see him, but eventually he appeared at an upstairs window with a towel round his head. He had tried to give himself a crew cut. I went up to see him. It was not a pretty sight. Foolishly, I tried to help him, but, needless to say, I only made matters worse. He went round to Mr Gordon, who did his best to even it out, but his head still looked like a moth-eaten tennis-ball. On the school bus on Monday morning, he said Jim Mackley had done it!
A chimneysweep used to come to the village – a Mr Mackley (no relation) from Willoughby. My father was the village blacksmith. Mr Lamb was the wheelwright, joiner and undertaker. His premises were on the north side of Brook Street, next to Burrows’ yard in the Stockwell. He and my father worked closely together. (I worked briefly for his son, Albert, in 1962.) From time to time, they used to put hoops (iron tyres) on cart wheels. My father made the straight hoops in his blacksmith’s shop. He took them to the wheelwright’s yard. Mr Lamb had a circular construction on which the wheel was placed. They lit a fire all round this construction. The hoop was then heated and bent round the wheel and heat-welded, where the two ends joined.
Warner Wootton was the builder. His premises were on Clay Street. His brothers, John and Bill, also worked in the business,[3] as did Warner’s son, John, after he left school. They had their own joinery workshop, which Bill was in charge of. Warner was a very forceful character who dominated any discussion that took place. His brother, Bill, also managed to hold his corner in any conversation.
[3] I assume they were partners, but I don’t know.
No new houses were built during the war. Soon after the war the wooden “Swedish” council houses were built in London Lane. As I recall they were meant to be temporary accommodation! Soon after that Trinity Crescent was built in half of Cyril Hubbard’s field. (At that time the field, like much of Wymeswold, was owned by Trinity College, Cambridge.) Not long after that, Cyril built a cowshed at the bottom of Clay Street. A few private houses were built (mostly by Woottons) during the time I lived in Wymeswold, but not very many. These included Burrows’ opposite the village green on Brook Street, ours at 1A Brook Street, Brickwood’s on the corner of London Lane and Far Street and Harry Mills’ on Rempstone Lane. Two or three houses were also built at the south west end of London Lane, including the one where Ann Meadows lived. She was about the same age as me and was one of our dancing partners, when we were in our teens. She went to Loughborough High School. The houses at the north east end of Hoton Road, including one for my grandmother, were built at the very end of the fifties. At one time someone – I think it was Jedda Collington – wanted to build a house at the bottom of Six Hills Lane. He was refused planning permission, because the council wanted to keep Wymeswold within its natural boundaries. (The house was built later!)
There were very few posh people in Wymeswold.
Mr and Mrs Weldon and their two sons, Anthony and Brian, lived at the Hermitage. Mr Weldon owned a factory in Nottingham. Mrs Weldon was a member of Wymeswold Parish Council towards the end of my time in the village. Mr and Mrs Hodson lived at the Hall. He owned a factory at Zouch. He was Chairman of the local branch of the Conservative Party and Chairman of the Governors of Wymeswold School. I have already mentioned Mr Sime, Mr Clifford and Mrs Richardson. There were one or two other professional or semi-professional people, but most would have classed themselves as “ordinary working people”. Most men either worked (or had worked) in the village or in Loughborough, in particular at “The Brush” engineering factory.
Mrs Pat Weldon with her dog, Simon, photographed among the daffodils.
Leicester Advertiser, April 7 1967
The Parish Council had six members. My father was co-opted on to the Council around 1950. The Chairman at that time was Billy (or ‘Jim’) Taylor. In addition to his pork butcher’s shop in Clay Street, he ran a taxi service. He was a wit and practical joker. Other members were (I think) Jack Bartram (Brian’s grandfather) Percy Jalland, Billy Baker, and Arthur Daft. Mrs Weldon and Vic Collington became members later on. Kathleen King (née Blurton) was the secretary from 1954 onwards. Bob Mills was the Barrow Rural District Councillor. One year Cyril Hubbard, got up a list of Labour candidates to oppose the existing ‘independent’ members. He also put up for the Rural District Council. None of them were elected.
I knew Cyril Hubbard (Chilla) very well, because I spent many hours and days working on his farm. Cyril had a humped back, reportedly because his mother dropped him when he was a baby. He had a very loud, rather shrill, voice. He had an opinion on everything, which he was very ready to broadcast to all and sundry at every opportunity. Cyril had a very wide vocabulary of old farming and other country expressions. His son, Russell, used to say that he invented them. I believe, however, that many of them were old English words, that had fallen into disuse. One such word was “jag”, meaning “load” (of hay etc.) which I had never been able to find (with that meaning) in any dictionary. However, I have now discovered that, according to the Collins Dictionary, it is a seventeenth century dialectic word meaning a “load” of hay or wood. Stan Sheppard tells me that Jess Morris used to ask him if he was ‘kest’. Sheep were said to be ‘kest’, when they rolled over and couldn’t get up.
The brook was an important feature in my early life. I could see the culvert from my bedroom window. For most of the year, there was only a trickle of water, but when it rained it flooded easily. That was always exciting. I used to put my wellie boots on and paddle across the water. We HAD to do that in order to get to the shops, school, bus or church. It was even more fun when, later, I had a bike. On some occasions the water was too deep to cross on foot. Then we had to walk all of 50 yards to cross over the footbridge opposite Mr Walker’s bakery. One Sunday evening after church, we had to cross the brook using that footbridge. The brook had overflowed on the north side of the brook. My father took a running jump and pushed my mother, who was already standing on the bridge, into the brook. The temperature was a little icy in our household that evening, in more ways than one, but no lasting damage was done.
I was told that before the war our house and neighbours’ houses were often flooded, but something had been done to improve the situation. While we lived by the culvert, there was only one occasion when we were nearly flooded. I think it was in December 1946. The water had been rising all afternoon. By early evening it had risen to within an inch of the top of the front doorstep. I was getting quite excited at the prospect of a flood. Needless to say, my mother was very relieved, when it didn’t rise any further. There was another occasion when there was a big flood and it was not possible to cross any of the bridges. On that occasion I made it an excuse not to go to school, though I could, of course, have gone round the fields and crossed somewhere on Hoton Lane.
There were two wooden bridges, which went halfway across the road to make it easier to cross in times of flood. One was opposite our house at the bottom of Church Lane and the other was at the Stockwell. There were two or three other footbridges further upstream and a road bridge almost opposite the Co-op. Brarb Brooks, who lived in Fox Yard, used to regulate the sluice gate just up the lane at the top end of Brook Street.
The sides of the brook were quite unkempt. There were no trees. In 1953 the pupils at Wymeswold School planted weeping willows on the banks to mark the Queen’s coronation.
The brook, fourteen years after the trees were planted: April 1967.
Leicester Advertiser, April 7 1967
Before that there were a number of air-raid shelters constructed along the banks of the brook and elsewhere throughout the village. There was one a few yards from our house. As far as I know they were never used, but they were good places to play in. I can remember “helping” with their demolition some years after the end of the war.
Because of the floods, some of the pavements on the west end of Brook Street were raised, in particular the one opposite the Methodist Chapel and the one round Burrows’ stackyard at the end of the Stockwell. (I fell off that and cut my face badly, one dark morning when I was going to start my paper round.)
The village green (or “Queen’s Park”) was at the south end of the Stockwell. There was a public pump in the Stockwell at the bottom of the jitty opposite Burrows’ farm. The bus shelter and steps up to the jitty were put there in the fifties.
One of the few streetlights was on the village green. That was the only one between the one outside our old house at the bottom of Church Lane and the one opposite our new house at the bottom of Clay Street. Before my future wife, who had been brought up in Nottingham, came to Wymeswold in 1964, she had an idyllic view of life in the country, but she was soon put off by the dirty roads and the lack of street lighting!
As well as the Church (see next section) there was a Methodist Chapel on the corner of the Stockwell and Brook Street and a Baptist Chapel at the bottom of Wysall Lane. Most people wert to either church or chapel and there was fierce rivalry between them. I was, however, allowed to go to the Harvest Festival in the Methodist Chapel. I only once remember going to the Baptist Chapel and sitting on the balcony. It was not generally well attended. The old Infant School next to it was not used as a school in my time. I remember going there a few times, when it was taken over by the Young Farmers.
The Memorial Hall was the centre for “cultural” and other activities. Every New Year’s Day there was a party for all the children in the village, which we all enjoyed. Occasionally there were film shows on Saturday mornings: Laurel and Hardy and similar. Many children went to Loughborough to “the pictures” on Saturday mornings, but I never went, either because my mother didn’t want me to, or because I didn’t want to or a bit of both. They also went to the swimming baths, but I only went once and didn’t like it very much. There were Whist Drives on Tuesday evenings. When I was very young, one of my parents used to go. When I was old enough to be left on my own, both my parents used to go. I remember going a few times when I was a bit older. The Women’s Institute also used to meet there (see photo below). There were quite often dances with live bands including a singer. A Youth Club was held there on Thursday evenings. I learned to play snooker there (not very well, I was better at billiards) and developed my proficiency at table tennis – the only sport that I was ever good at. I also did some basket work. From time to time, especially when Lawrence Jackson was vicar, there were one off events, like Spring Fayres and Harvest Suppers. There were also the occasional concerts and plays. I was in a performance of The Happiest Days of Your Life, which we put on after nine months of difficult rehearsals in 1956.
Spring Fayre, c. 1957.
Front row, left to right: Maureen James, Brian Bartram, Stan Sheppard, Gordon Freeman.
Wymeswold Women’s Institute c. 1968. Left to Right: Mrs Beale, Mrs Harry Jalland, Mrs Mackley (hidden behind), Mrs Meadows, Mrs Ovendale, Mrs Daft, Mrs Shepherd (from the Co-op) Miss Smith (schoolmistress), Mrs Herbert Bartram, Mrs Bob Mills, Mrs Gladys Spencer and Mrs Jean Hodson.
There was also a badminton court there. I joined the badminton club, when I was ten or eleven, along with my friend Brian Bartram, whose older brother and sister were already members. Les Smith, who lived at the south-west end of Far Street, coached the juniors early on Saturday evening, before the older players came. Later we were allowed to stay and play with the others, both on Wednesday and Saturday evenings. There was a team in the Leicestershire League. My friends Brian Bartram and Stan Sheppard were automatic choices for this team from the mid-fifties onwards. Other regulars at that time were Ivor Jalland and his future wife, Susan Beale, Sidney Smith junior (Nell Smith’s eldest son), when available, Maureen James (Brian’s girlfriend) and Jean Peel. I played for them occasionally, when there was no one else available.
There were tennis courts behind the bowling green, but I don’t ever remember them being used. Although I learned to play tennis in my late teens, I never played in Wymeswold. The bowls club, on the other hand, was thriving, though I never knew much about it, because my father and mother didn’t play. There was a football team, who played in Bob Mills’ field alongside his house off Rempstone Lane. I quite often went to watch them, but I don’t think they were ever very good.
On the other hand, Wymeswold had a very good cricket team. I was always obsessed with record keeping and from an early age, I used to take my private scorebook to home matches and keep the score. From about the age of ten, I became the official scorer. The cricket ground was behind John Mills’ house in London Lane. John kept cows in the field. Cows need long grass, which they eat. Frequently they excrete the remains of what they have eaten. The square was beautifully kept and fenced off, when there was no match. I think the cows must have been moved elsewhere on match days, but the outfield was never cut or cleaned. There was a wooden pavilion on the west side of the ground, where tea, sandwiches and cakes were served at the interval between innings. The matches used to start at 2 o’clock. I don’t recall many draws: both sides were in and out and had had tea by 6 o’clock. There were no chalked boundaries. To score a four or a six, you had to hit the ball out of the field or against the pavilion. There was a thick hedge on the boundary with the vicarage garden on the north side of the field.
The Wymeswold team was full of fast-bowling all-rounders. These included Arnold Egglestone, Harry Jalland and Don Rimmer. Arnold’s brother, Eric, used to open the batting. Their other brother, Keith, was very good, but he lived away (he was a schoolmaster at Melton Mowbray) and only played occasionally. Other players included Ivor Brown and his brother, Vic and Bill Collington, Nobby Clarke, Albert Lamb, Bill Wootton, Harry Mills, Jack Bartram (Brian’s uncle) and Tom Highton. I remember, Bill Sime, who had been captain of Nottinghamshire, playing for them once in a cup match, but he did not outclass the other players. (I think he got a low score and bowled loopy slow balls.) For a short time there was a second eleven. I remember that Albert Lamb played for them.
Wymeswold cricket teams did not play any league matches. Many of their friendlies were against teams from Nottingham, who were used to playing on manicured grounds in city parks. When playing at home, Wymeswold had a distinct advantage over them. The Wymeswold batsmen were used to hitting the ball for six or into the long grass in the outfield. Stylish opposition shots along the ground didn’t go very far. In addition, when the Wymeswold batsmen hit the ball into the long grass, the town fielders were not trained to find it quickly. Wymeswold entered the Loughborough and District cup competition each year and won it at least once. The innings were limited to 24 overs per side. The final was played in Loughborough.
Before the war, Wymeswold had had two cricket teams: the ‘wets’ (drinkers) and the ‘dries’ (teetotal). The wets used to play in the field behind the Three Crowns and the dries in London Lane.
Some years after I left the village, a new cricket club was established. They played first behind the Three Crowns and then at a new ground on the Washdyke.
Wymeswold cricket team: Loughborough Thursday Evening League Division 1 Champions 1980/81 Presentation in the Memorial Hall Back row, left to right: John Margerison, John Mills, Richard Shelton, Tommy Hubbard, Kelvin Wilcockson; Middle row: Stan Sheppard, Philip James, Peter Shaw, Mick Smith, Bob Braine, Andrew Birkle; Front row: Andrew Shelton, Neil Collington, Bill Sime, Richard Pitman, Bill Wootton, Bill Hubbard.
The Church
The church seen from Far Street.
Leicester Advertiser, September 14, 1957
The Church was a focal point of my life in Wymeswold. Before the war the vicar had been the Reverend Bouchier. According to our neighbour, Mrs Rimmer, he was a good vicar. His successor was the Reverend Harvey. He went away to fight in the war. Mrs Rimmer did not have such a good opinion of him. The Harveys had twin boys about my age, but I didn’t have much contact with them. There were two churchwardens. One was appointed by the Parochial Church Council (PCC) – the “people’s warden”. The other was appointed by the vicar – the “vicar’s warden”. When I can first remember, Bill Hickling was people’s warden, a post which he retained for the rest of my time in Wymeswold and, I think, for many years after that. Bill was also the verger, chief bell-ringer, clock-winder and general worker. His sister Sue was a Sunday School teacher, chorister and, like her brother, performed a lot of menial tasks in the church. She was also the village post lady. The first vicar’s warden I can remember was Mr Loxton. He had only recently come to live in the village at what was to become number 68 Brook Street. The Reverend Charles Powell (pronounced Pole, like his homonym, who was adviser to Mrs Thatcher) came to Wymeswold in 1946. My father was appointed vicar’s warden in around 1950, a post he retained until shortly before he left Wymeswold in 1969.
Left, Bill Hickling and his wife at their Golden Wedding celebration,
October 1970 (The Echo, October 23, 1970).
Right, Sue Hickling (Leicester Advertiser, September 14, 1957).
We went to church as a family every Sunday evening. I went to Sunday School every Sunday afternoon. (I became a Sunday schoolteacher at the age of 16.) My parents usually went to Holy Communion at 8 o’clock. I joined them after I had been confirmed. I also went to the Sunday morning service with my father. I was in the church choir from about the age of eight until I left Wymeswold. We had choir practice once a week. In the early days a Mr Theaker was the organist and choirmaster. He came from outside the village, as did his successors, Mr Peach and Wolseley Charles. The main female members of the choir were Joy Brown, Marjorie Leivers (née Peel) May Jalland, Sue Hickling, Nell Smith, Ann Whittemore, Jean Peel and Mrs Barnes (alto). The men included Warner Wootton, Jack Peel, Harold Dykes and Mr Berry (alto). The boys sat in the front. At the beginning, there were no young girls, but at some point they were “allowed” to join.
St Mary’s, Wymeswold Church Choir, c.1956
Back row: Ronaline Jalland, May Jalland, Marjorie Leivers, Jean Peel. Third row: Sue Hickling, Nell Smith, Joy Brown, Maureen James, Wendy Morgan, Christine James, Linda Bartram, Penny Bartram, Anne Whittemore, Jill Bartram. Second row: Jim Mackley, Harold Dykes, Jack Peel, Wolsley Charles (organist), Lawrence Jackson (vicar), Warner Wootton, Brian Bartram, Michael Collington. Front row: P. Elkington, David Brand, Robert Wilkinson, Elizabeth Smith, Margaret Wootton, Margaret Highton, Richard Smith, Henry Grattan.
The Sunday School had an outing every year, organised by Sue Hickling. Usually we went by coach to Wicksteed Park in Northamptonshire. The chapel Sunday School always went to Mablethorpe. My mother was a member of the Mothers’ Union. When I was quite young, we went on an outing to Billing Aquadrome, which I remember enjoying very much. The choir also went on outings some years. We went to Skegness, Great Yarmouth and Bridlington. I was sixteen when we went to Bridlington. A group of us, including Brian Bartram and his cousins, Jill and Linda, Stan Sheppard and a French boy, Henri, who was staying with us, went out too far to sea on a rowing boat. We had difficulty getting back, but, obviously, we managed it.
Bridlington 1956.
Left to right: Stan Sheppard, Brian Bartram (hidden), Maureen James, Jill Bartram, Linda Bartram, Jim Mackley, Henri.
From an early age, I used to go up the belfry with my father to watch the men ring the bells. I was allowed to help chime the bells. Apart from Warner Wootton, whom I don’t remember as a bellringer, the team in the late forties was the same as in the 1937 cutting (see photo below). They were Jack Peel, Billy Baker, Hugh Mackley, Percy Jalland, Ernest Bates and Bill Hickling. Ernest’s son, Denis, joined the team around that time. As far as I know, they did not do much (or any) change ringing. Sometime in the early fifties, I was taught to ring. I recruited my friends, Brian Bartram and Stan Sheppard, and together we established a good team, the core of which was we three, plus my father, Denis Bates and Bill Hickling. We were quite ambitious and learned to do Plain Bob Doubles (five bells, plus tenor at the end) and Plain Bob Minor (six bells). We also learned other peels, such as Grandsire Doubles. We were particularly proud of our even striking rate.
When I was a little boy, I used to go for a walk with my parents on Sunday evenings after church in the summer months. There was no organised sport on Sundays. I used to play cricket and football with Brian Bartram in their yard. My father disapproved, but didn’t actually forbid me from playing. When we were teenagers, a group of boys and girls used to go on a walk along one of the lanes, usually Hoton Lane on Sunday afternoons.
Mr Powell left the village in the mid-fifties. There followed a lengthy inter-regnum, when my father was responsible for organising the services and other administrative tasks, normally performed by the vicar. The new vicar was Lawrence Jackson. Mr Jackson was a big man, with a huge personality. He was 27 years old and had been curate of St Margaret’s Church, Leicester. He married his wife, Faith, just before he came to Wymeswold. She was aged about 20 or 21 at the time. Lawrence had a withered arm, which was the result of some childhood illness. He had been educated at King’s College, London. Being more than thirty years younger than his predecessor, he brought a breath of fresh air to the village, though he upset some people, who argued “We’ve always done it that way”, when he wanted to change things.
Bellringers: Percy Jalland, Bill Hickling, Warner Wootton, Hugh Mackley (my father), Billy Baker, Ernest Bates and Jack Peel.
Mr Shipley (right) was a High Church man from Nottingham, who used to come to Wymeswold Church in the late forties or early fifties. He met and married Kate Morris, a widow, who lived in Fox Yard, in 1952.
Lawrence Jackson was also a good mimic, but not always too discreet: he upset some of his “victims”, who didn’t appreciate being mimicked. He was a brilliant preacher. Whereas before, there had been a handful of people in the congregation, the church was always packed on a Sunday evening, with people coming to the services from miles around. He also raised the money for a major restoration of the Church and persuaded the patrons, Trinity College Cambridge, to undertake major renovations to the Vicarage on Rempstone Lane. He used to ride around on a Vespa scooter, until someone gave him a car. He left the village in 1958.
Wymeswold Vicarage, 1957.
Leicester Advertiser, September 14, 1957.
Newspaper caption is incorrect. It should read: Les Smith, Hugh Mackley,
Faith Jackson, Rev. Lawrence Jackson and Leslie Daft.
Photo: Harper Shaw
Stan Sheppard (left) and Jim Mackley outside Wymeswold Church
on Jim’s wedding day, 1965.
Another View:
Brian Stanley Sheppard, born 25 April 1941
The things I remember when I was young: walking to Grandma Sheppard’s (née Wootton) for Sunday tea; looking up to see squadrons of aircraft flying: were they going to drop bombs? At the farm on the main road, in an empty bedroom, were felt-covered frames for blacking out the windows; also gas masks. Also in there was an old pedal organ, which Grandma used to play at the Baptist Chapel up Wysall Lane. At the Baptist Chapel the minister, Mr Howe, used to show black and white cine films (Keystone Cops, George Formby, Laurel and Hardy, Charlie Chaplin). Further on up Wysall Lane the Mill Pond at the side of the road led to the grain-grinding windmill.
At the side of the roads were Nissen huts, where munitions were kept. Just east of Wymeswold, on Willoughby Lane, there was a large round concrete dome-shaped plinth, which had a centre of steel, on which either an anti-aircraft gun or a machine gun could be placed. Occasionally we found spent shells, cases of ammunition and rifle bullets in fields. Also in Willoughby Lane, an observer post made of brick was used to follow and track enemy aircraft. My dad was on the Observer Corps, which carried on after the war.
At Wymeswold aerodrome, Lancaster planes’ pilots were trained. The road between Wymeswold and Hoton was closed by barbed-wire fencing during the war and for many years thereafter. On the north side of Hoton Road, there were large round areas called ‘dispersibles’, where aircraft were put during the war, in case of attack by enemy aircraft. During drought conditions these can still be seen. After the war the aerodrome was used for jet aircraft training.
A WW2 air-raid shelter stood above ground outside our farm. I’ve been told it had been built there because it was near the school. On our farm we had to put up RAF personnel in one room. A Mr and Mrs Moran were ‘billeted out’ with us in this way. Also when we were young we had men to live in to work on the farm (BBFBF – British Boys For British Farms).
Another early memory is of a man called Fred Plum, who lived and worked on our farm in the 1940s. Fred was an interesting chap. He was a spiritualist. He had a deformed foot and suffered from epilepsy. He used to oil his leather boots every Sunday morning. He used his leather belt to keep us in order from time to time, for example when we dropped a hat on him, as he was resting in the barn. He left suddenly with a note saying the spirits told him to move elsewhere. Where?
At the bottom of our garden was a lime-washed brick toilet, which we used, with, believe it or not, two seats! Close to the building was a pear tree, which was very big. I used to suspend a copper wire for an aerial to my bedroom window, where I had a home-made crystal set.
I remember having scary thoughts walking down the garden to the toilet with a poor torch. The raspberry canes would touch one’s face: imagination running riot! Also in the daytime reading the newspaper about the North/South Korean War: the 38th parallel and Seoul, the capital of South Korea, spring to mind. A worry for me at this time was atom-bomb testing.
We had a wash-house. My mother used to light the copper fire at 5:00 a.m. on Mondays for the weekly wash.
On my Dad’s farm, we had a herd of cows and from our bedroom we could often hear a cow having a calf. In those days, there were at least seven dairy farms in the village with cows going up and down the road, whereas today there are no farmers living in farmhouses. When we were young, we helped out singling mangold plants in the fields for some pocket money [1]. We had two cart-horses on our farm. One was a Clydesdale, called Peggy. The other was a Suffolk Punch, called Punch. I had days off school to lead them horse-hoeing between the rows of mangolds.
[1] The mangold (we pronounced it like ‘mangle’) is a root plant, similar to sugar beet, used for cattle feed.
We had land at Thorpe-in-the-Glebe, near Wysall, where poachers used to leave their cycles in Nissen huts. Sundays was rabbiting day; they also looked for mushrooms. My dad wasn’t very kind: he used to let their tyres down. Farmers, whose name was Macer, lived opposite our fields; their grandfather was ill (with anaemia) through eating too many rabbits.
On our farm the big event was the arrival of the threshing machine. As the corn stack went down, rats ran everywhere. Chasing them with sticks and dogs, we used to tie the bottoms of our trousers to stop rats running up our legs. Other big events were the Flower Show in August, fetes and Steam Engine Rallies, some coming from Beeby’s in the next village, Rempstone.
Once a year we fattened and had a pig killed. My mother used to cut it up and make pork pies, scratchings, sausages and mince pies, then take them next door to Jack Wood, the baker, to put into his oven to cook. The hams etc. were hung up in the spare bedroom, along with apples from the orchard, which were put on the floor. The pig had previously been salted in vats to be cured in the cellar. Jack Wood was also a Special Constable and part-time engineer: he used to charge up people’s accumulators, which powered the valve radios locally.
Saturday mornings, I used to go with my friend, Trevor Clarke, delivering parcels with Bert, a friend of their family. He worked for the railway, using a three-wheeled articulated lorry with a flat trailer; we went all round the villages.
I used to go down to both Jim’s dad’s blacksmith’s shops to watch the amazing skills of horse shoeing, making the shoes, as well as harrows and drags.
My brother and I were able to run across the main road to bowl at cricket, with the stumps chalked on the barn doors. Taking car numbers was also a hobby, as there were so few cars. Later, as the traffic increased, our timber-framed farmhouse used to shake, when the lorries went past. This frightened us, especially when the upper wall started to move away from the ceiling.
Left photo: Stan (right) with brother, David, and sister, Janet (seated) c. 1951.
Right photo: Left to right: Mick Smith, Richard and Elizabeth Smith (twins)
Stan Sheppard, c. 1949.
We used to play snobs: five clay, one inch cubes, which were thrown and caught on the back of one’s hands, but far more complicated than that. We also played hop-scotch, whip and top, marbles and British Bulldog. Table games included Snakes and Ladders and Ludo. We also collected cigarette cards.
On Burton Lane there is a piece of ground called the Wash-Dyke, so called originally because the brook there was used for dipping sheep. This big area was used for allotments during the war and after, with the slogan: ‘Dig for Britain’.
Fox-hunting used to take place with the Quorn Hunt, in and around the area.
In the village hall, we used to have ‘Bob Hop’ dances, later travelling on our bikes to other villages for dances, coming home in the dark without lights. To excellent live bands, we danced the waltz, quick-step, rock ’n roll, conga, balling the jack and Old Tyme dances.
To finish, a funny story: In the forties a farm-worker decided to go into business. He bought a horse and cart. A farmer took him on to move manure from the farm to the fields where it would be spread. The farmer, coming back from Melton Mowbray market, noticed him coming back from the fields with half a load still on the cart. ‘Why this?’ he said. ‘Because it will be easier to fill up the next time!’ he replied. He was paid by the load.
Queen’s Park, Wymeswold, December 2014
Epilogue
So, was it Paradise or was it the Other Place?
Paradise implies perfection and it clearly wasn’t that. The streets were dirty and poorly lit at night. The winters were generally cold and damp, with not too much snow. In the fifties, before 1959, we had a series of poor summers. There were very few ‘mod cons’. Hardly any of the houses had central heating. In the forties there was no mains water and no television before about 1948. By the end of the fifties, most people had a black and white television, but we didn’t. We had a telephone, but most didn’t. Generally, people didn’t go away for their summer holiday, other than to relatives. Some people had cars, but most didn’t. There were few washing machines, hardly any fridges, no dishwashers and certainly no mobile phones or internet!
Perhaps I am looking back with rose-tinted spectacles, but on the whole, I think it was as near to Paradise as it was reasonable to expect. It was a socially coherent village. Most people lived and worked in the village or in Loughborough. Everyone knew everyone else, but it was big enough for people not to be living in other people’s pockets. There was no unemployment. While very few people were ‘well off’, there were very few people living in real poverty. There were plenty of activities in the village: around the Church, the village hall, the four pubs and the various sports’ clubs. There were adequate shops and other services in the village to meet normal requirements and an hourly bus service to Loughborough and Nottingham for other things.
Above all, there was a sense of freedom. As children, we were free to roam the streets and fields, as we wished, without constraint.
Appendix 1
List of People whom I can remember lived in Wymeswold [1]
[1] These are people I can remember, some 60 years later, with some help from Stan. Apologies for the many omissions and for any inaccuracies.
Church Street
No 3. Bill Hames, followed by Mr and Mrs W.A. (Bill) Sime and their two daughters in 1947.
No 5. Mr and Mrs Herbert Bartram (baker) and John, Ann, Brian and Penny. Harper Shaw, the photographer, had a studio in their bakery, after Mr Bartram sold the business.
No 7. Mr and Mrs Brown (hairdresser) and David and Tony.
No 9. Mrs Ovendale.
No 11. Mrs Barnes, who was in the church choir (alto).
Mr Fred and Mrs Nan Masters.
Mrs Anderson and her son, Alan, and daughter, Jean.
Mr and Mrs Alf Simpson and their family including Barbara and Lily, who worked at the Post Office.
Mr and Mrs Jack Harrison and his sons, George, Clive and John and two daughters, Mavis and Josephine.
Mr and Mrs Felstead, Connie, Ken, Claude and Hedley.
No 26. Mr and Mrs Arthur Daft, Beryl, Stanley and Leslie. Arthur Daft had a big garden, which stretched all the way round to the bottom of East Street. He kept bees and sold honey. Though he was semi-retired, he had been a pork butcher and still killed pigs there and sold some pork products. He was also on the Parish Council. Stanley left the village after he got married. Leslie was an accountant in Loughborough. At one time, I wanted to be an accountant like him, but he persuaded me to go to University first. Dr Gray’s surgery was also in their house.
Joy Brown and her mother kept the post office, along with Lily Simpson. Joy was a soprano in the church choir. Tom Brown, senior, was a photographer. Tom Brown, junior, was a contractor.
Mr and Mrs Morris
Mr and Mrs Barks, Eileen and Geoff.
On that side of the road there were two gardens belonging to numbers 5 and 7.
No 8. Mr and Mrs Atkins, Jean, John and Neil. Mr and Mrs Alf Lewin came to live in the two cottages joined together at 6 and 8 Church Street in 1946 or 47. They were retired farmers. I and other children spent a lot of time with Mrs Lewin. She was fond of and very good with children, but had no children of her own. She had two cats a Persian, Smokey, and a tabby. She taught us card tricks and how to do the Solitaire game. Alf Lewin kept pigs in our pigsty for a time.
No 2. Marjorie Bakewell and her mother.
Brook Street
No 1A. Hugh and Margaret Mackley and Jim (me) from 1953.
No 3. Mr and Mrs Frank Bates and their daughters, Joyce and Pauline.
Mr and Mrs Renée Penver, Kenneth and Jean.
Mr Gordon, the “haircut man”.
Mr and Mrs George Goodburn and their daughter, Jean, who was the same age as me.
No 23. Miss Greasley (school teacher) and Miss Bunny.
No 25. Mr Dykes, the roadsweeper, and his son, Harold, who was a tenor in the church choir.
No 27. Mr and Mrs Henry Lamb, their son, Albert, and their daughters, Doris, Rhoda and Mary. Albert had a house built in their garden, after he married Betty.
Mr and Mrs Macer and Cynthia lived in one of the cottages next to the Methodist chapel.
Mr and Mrs Ball, Brian and Sylvia lived in another of these cottages. Brian was a few years older than me.
Mr and Mrs Herbert Savage lived in the thatched house opposite us, just round the corner from Church Street. He had a coal delivery business.
Mrs Braine. An evacuee from London, Janet Swaffer, who was about my age, lived with her for a long time after the war.
Mr and Mrs Tommy Taylor lived up the little lane, just west of number 67. From around 1950 onwards, I always used to find someone with a television set who would let me watch the FA Cup Final. One year I watched it on their 9-inch television (black and white, of course, or, rather, dark grey and light grey).
No 67. Flo Smith, the infant schoolmistress, and her elderly mother.
No 69. Mr and Mrs “Connie” Collington and their large family: Vic, John, Bill, Peter (‘Bimmo’), Ian (‘Peeno’) and several daughters, whose names I can’t remember.
No 71. Mrs Richardson.
Mr and Mrs Jack Talbot and their daughter.
Mr Berry, who sang as an alto in the Church choir.
Mr and Mrs Gratton, Patrick (about my age) and Henry.
At one point Mr and Mrs Geoff Pitman kept the Windmill. Their children were Jenny, Keith and Richard.
No 85. Mr Joe and Mrs Morgan (née Doris James), Barry and Wendy.
No 87. John James senior and his wife, Fanny, née Sheppard. Later, Mr and Mrs “Squib” and Nora Collington, Sandra and Mick. Mr Collington had a successful animal transport business.
No 89. Mr Morris.
Mr and Mrs George Allsop and their sons, John and Brian. John was two or three years older than me. He was a server in the church and had a good singing voice. He was also the first (and only) teddy boy in the village, with his velvet collar and D/A haircut.
Mr Frank Hardy senior and Frank, Roy, Alf and Eileen.
Taffy was (obviously) a Welshman. He was a bachelor. He lived in caravans in various parts of the village, including Sheppard’s orchard. He, sometimes, did farm labouring work. He used to eat raw eggs.
Mr and Mrs Widdowson.
Mr and Mrs Albon and their daughter, Jennifer, who was the same age as me.
No 116. Mr Fletcher. He had no electricity in his house when I was a young boy.
Mrs Sarah Ann Goodburn.
Mr and Mrs ‘Brarb’ Brooks and David.
Mr and Mrs Pitman (see the Windmill).
Mr and Mrs Charlie Peel and their daughters Sheila and Ann. They went to live in our house at 64 Brook Street, after we left in 1953. Their eldest daughter, Jean, lived with Mr and Mrs Gordon Freeman in London Lane.
Mr and Mrs Hardy, Roy and Ann. Mrs Hardy was Austrian.
Mr and Mrs John James, Brian, Michael and Shirley. John James had a butcher’s shop.
No 90. Mr and Mrs Doug James (née Alma Hallam), Maureen and Christine.
No 92. Mr and Mrs Shepherd and their son Peter at the Co-op.
Mr and Mrs Welton and their two sons, ‘Honky’ and ‘Rusty’.
Mr and Mrs Win Hatton. He took the Adventure, Wizard, Hotspur, and Rover comics every week.
Mr and Mrs Dick James, Phil and Alan.
Mr and Mrs Walker (bakers) and their daughter Gertie. After Gertie married, she continued to live there with her husband, ‘Jock’ Brand, and had a son, David.
No 70. Mrs Kath Johnson, whose husband had been killed in the war. After she remarried (to Mr Sibley) and went to live in Loughborough, the bungalow was taken over by her brother, Bob Smith, and his wife. (After her second husband died, Kath Sibley came to live in a new house in Hoton Road in about 1959.)
No 68. Mr and Mrs John Smith (Sid (senior) Bob and Kath’s parents). Then, Mr and Mrs Loxton and their daughter, Ann.
No 66. Mr and Mrs Harry and Lizzie Rimmer and their grown-up son, Don. Harry was a groundsman at a sports ground in Loughborough. He was a keen gardener and had an allotment behind the bowling green. They had another son, Jim, who emigrated to Canada.
No 64. Mr and Mrs Hugh Mackley and their son, Jim (me). After 1953, Charlie Peel and family (see previous page).
No 62. The blacksmith’s shop.
No 60. Thatched cottage. When I was a small boy two ladies (mother and daughter) lived there. Their surname was Savage and the empty pork butcher’s shop still had their name on it. Mr and Mrs Duce and their son, Roland, moved there around 1947. Stan tells me that Mrs Duce’s brother was Ronald Shiner, a famous comedian.
No 58. Mr and Mrs Herbert Hubbard, Terry and Carol. Mr Hubbard died tragically in a shooting accident.
Mr and Mrs Joe Wain and their daughter Pamela. Joe, like me, was a Nottingham Forest supporter and we often travelled on the bus together. One of his favourite sayings was: “it’s no good, if they can’t get the ball in the old onion bag!”
Mr and Mrs Leivers (née Marjorie Peel).
Mr and Mrs Brickwood (née Amy Peel) and their daughter, Elaine. They later had a new house built on the corner of London Lane and Far Street.
The Nook
Mr and Mrs Jack Peel.
Mr and Mrs Will Tyler. Later Mr and Mrs Henry and Ina Hubbard and family.
Mrs Bates and Maureen Hale. Maureen was another evacuee from London who stayed in Wymeswold for a long time after the war. She was a year or so older than me: I quite often used to play with her and her friend, Janet Swaffer.
No 30. Mr and Mrs Arthur Elliott.
Telephone Exchange.
No 24. Mr and Mrs John Burrows and their daughter, Connie. (The house was built in the fifties.)
Electricity Station.
No 20. Mr Morris lived in the house by the brook. There were no more houses after his, on that side of the road until the late fifties.
The Stockwell
No 9. Mr and Mrs John Burrows and their daughter, Connie, then Mr Jack and Mrs Grace Burrows and their daughter, Rosemary. Rosemary was a couple of years younger than me. (A few years ago, Rosemary sent me the photo of Wymeswold Women’s Institute, which I have reproduced on this post. She was then living in Canada.)
Shop. Mr and Mrs Bond, then Mr and Mrs Bert Thorpe and their son, Patrick.
Mr and Mrs Shaw.
Mr and Mrs Jack Bartram, senior.
Mr and Mrs Billy Baker.
Far Street
Mr Marsh Brown.
No 50. Mr and Mrs Harry Jalland, Ronaline, and Roger. They had a butcher’s shop.
Mr and Mrs Jack Burrows (see above). Then Mr and Mrs Beale, Susan and Martin. They moved there in the fifties. Martin formed an “I-Spy” club. Adam Lofthouse and I were the other members.
Charles’ Yard:
Mr and Mrs Fletcher and their daughters Jane and Sandra.
Nobby Clarke.
Phyllis Tyler.
Petrol pump. Mr and Mrs Ted James and their son, Norman. He was also a painter and decorator and had a shop in front of the house on Far Street. Later Mr and Mrs Bill Talbot and their daughter, Valerie (a couple of years younger than me).
The White Horse, Mr and Mrs Tristan.
Mr and Mrs Morris and their grown-up sons, Johnny and Jess.
Mr and Mrs Bailey and their daughters Freda and Dorothy.
No 10. Miss Gertie Garner, Baptist Sunday School teacher.
Mr and Mrs Wright (née Fletcher).
No 2. Les and Flo Smith (née Flo Tyler) Les taught us to play badminton.
Mr Cecil Mills (nickname “Surry”).
Mr and Mrs Charlie (Dumpy) Tyler. He had a pony and cart. In the forties he used to go past our house every day to his field on Six Hills Lane. One time I rode the pony bare-back from my father’s shop to his farm. Later, Mr and Mrs Chris Tyler.
Mr and Mrs Edwards, Merriam and Wendy. He was groom for Mrs Weldon and lived in the cottage in the grounds of the Hermitage.
The Hermitage. Mr and Mrs Weldon (née Craddock) and their sons, Anthony and Brian.
No 17. Mr H.R.S. (Dicky) Clifford. Mr Clifford was a solicitor, practising in Loughborough. He was a big man with a forceful personality. He was an active member of the Wymeswold community.
No 19. Manor Farm. Mr and Mrs Edward Emerson, Jane and another daughter.
No 21. College Farm. Mr and Mrs Charlie Hubbard and grown-up sons, Sid and Henry. Brian Bartram and I did quite a lot of work on their farm, including milking cows, when we were ten or eleven. Henry and his wife, Ina, went to live in Will Tyler’s old house and farm in the Nook.
No 23. Mr and Mrs Sid Spencer and their son, John. He was a painter and decorator and brother of Gladys’ husband, who was also a painter and decorator, and Cyril Spencer, who lived on a farm on Wysall Lane.
No 25. Mr and Mrs Joe Smith. Mr Smith had a cobbler’s workshop. Later, Harper Shaw, the photographer moved there. When he first came to Wymeswold, Mr Shaw had a studio in Bartrams’ old bake house.
Fred and Frank Collington, farmers and butchers.
Mrs Ivy Sissons. Dr Robinson’s surgery was held in her house.
Mr and Mrs Brown and their grown-up sons, Phil and Ivor. They had a grocer’s shop.
No 39. Mr and Mrs Percy Jalland, their son, Ivor and Ann Whittemore, who lived with them. (She was a few years older than me and sang in the Church choir.)
No 41. May Jalland, Percy and Harry’s sister. She also sang in the Church choir.
Mr Bert and Mrs Spencer (née Gladys Hayes) Dulcie and Gordon. Later Mr and Mrs Lofthouse and Adam. Mrs Spencer owned our first house and blacksmith’s shop (62 and 64 Brook Street). Mrs Spencer’s father, Mr Hayes had been the blacksmith at one time. When my parents first came to live at Wymeswold, he lived next door at what was later to become number 66 Brook Street. He no longer lived there when I was born.
Three Crowns. Mr and Mrs Wilkinson, Ian, Robert and twin girls. Mr Wilkinson also had a pork butcher’s shop at Willoughby. Ian was a year or so younger than me.
Mr and Mrs Ron Sheppard (née Mona Hallam), Roland, Stanley, David and Janet.
Mr and Mrs Jack Wood, baker.
The old Infants’ School was empty during most of my childhood. At one point, however, it was turned into a Young Farmers’ Club with a billiard table etc.
Wysall Lane
Mr and Mrs Fred (‘Jedda’) Collington, Norman, Mary, Eric (Bill) and Jean.
Mr and Mrs Wing, Sheila and John.
East Road
No 1. Mr and Mrs Sid Smith (née Nell Wootton), Sidney, David, Michael, Richard and Elizabeth.
The Hammer and Pincers: Mr and Mrs Bennett. I had one of my first half pints of beer there in about 1957: mild was 1s/3d a pint (about 6p in new money) while bitter was 1s/6d.
No 7. Mr and Mrs Sam Clarke, Alan and Trevor.
Mrs Blount who smoked a pipe.
No 17. Mrs Parker and Jane Glass. At other times they lived in Clay Street and London Lane. They kept horses. On one occasion, when they lived in Clay Street, one of their horses escaped and some of the boys in the village caught it and took it back to them. Mrs Parker invited us all to her house for peanut butter sandwiches, which I had never had before (or since!) I appreciated the gesture, but didn’t like the sandwiches. Later, Jane Glass ran Cum Cottage Riding School.
Mr and Mrs Ingall, David, Robert and Hazel. Hazel was in my class at school.
Mr ‘Drummer’ Wilson.
Mr and Mrs Horace Sissons.
Mrs Hallam (Stan Sheppard’s grandmother).
Wymeswold Hall. Mr and Mrs Hodson (née Jean Tawes) and their daughters. Mr Tawes (Mrs Hodson’s father) had been a surgeon.
Mr and Mrs Bill Hubbard, Janet, Betty, Bridget and Robert.
Clay Street
Mr and Mrs Wootton (Warner and Sybil), Mary, Mavis and John. John was a few years older than me and, after he left school, worked in the family business.
No 25. Mr Ernest Charles (right [2]) and his two sisters, Gertie and Mabel
Mr Jack and Mrs Bess Brown, Loll, Betty, Mary, Olive and Terry (Trevor Clarke’s cousins).
Mr and Mrs Billy (‘Jim) Taylor. Later, Mr and Mrs Walker, electrician.
Mr and Mrs Alf Mills and their daughter, Peggy; later Mr and Mrs Sidney Smith junior.
Mrs Parker and Jane Glass (see also East Road and London Lane).
Mr and Mrs Eric Elliott and their son, David. The son, who was a few years younger than me, was killed in a motorbike accident, when he was in his teens (round about 1960).
Mr and Mrs Ted Blurton.
Mrs Harry Sheppard (née Sarah Wootton), Stan’s grandmother. Then, Mr and Mrs Lander and their sons, Peter and Ivor; later Mr and Mrs Issett, John, Margaret and Gillian; later Mr and Mrs Reid, Stuart and Wendy. All the seven children, who lived in that house were round about my age.
Mr and Mrs Ted Fuller.
[2]Leicester Advertiser, September 14, 1957.
Rempstone Road
Mr Tommy Trigg.
Mr and Mrs Padgett.
Mr and Mrs Spencer and Gordon (see also Far Street).
The vicarage: the Reverend and Mrs Harvey and their twin boys; the Reverend Charles and Mrs Powell; the Reverend Lawrence and Faith Jackson and their small children.
Mr and Mrs Bob Mills. The football pitch was in a field near their house.
Tom Braine, George’s brother, (see 59 London Lane) lived in Bob Mills’ farm cottage. He was a farm labourer and Methodist preacher.
Harry and Jane Mills.
The sheep pound was on the corner of Rempstone Road and Storkit Lane. It had been built to impound straying sheep or cattle, but was never used in my time.
London Lane
No 59. Mr and Mrs George Braine and their fostered daughter, Bunty. Her father, a Mr Tyler, was a farmer in Willoughby, who later moved to Wymeswold. He had been killed in the war. George Braine had a metal hook in place of the arm he lost in the First World War.
Mr Peter Ironman, Keith, Cecil and Grace.
No 55. Mr and Mrs John Mills; then Mr and Mrs Bakewell, Stuart and Marion.
Mrs Parker and her daughter, Jane Glass (see also East Road and Clay Street).
Mr and Mrs Gordon Freeman and Jean Peel.
No 37. PC and Mrs Rowlett and their son, Keith.
No 29. Mr and Mrs Jack Bartram, Jill and Linda.
No 27. Mr and Mrs Rogers (née Nancy Bartram).
Mr and Mrs Blanchard.
Mr Jack and Miss Alice Tyler, son and daughter of Will Tyler, who had lived in the Nook.
Mr and Mrs Bill Wootton, Margaret and Judith.
Mr and Mrs Thomas Warner Wootton (Warner, John and Bill’s parents) and their daughter, Lottie.
Mr and Mrs Meadows and Ann.
Mr and Mrs Charlie Tuckwood; later Mr and Mrs Alf Mills and Peggy (see Clay Street).
Mr Jim and Mrs Webster (née Savage) and their daughter, Helen. Helen lost a leg, after she had been knocked down by a lorry, on her way home from school.
Mr and Mrs Leckie and their son, Stuart.
Mr Hubert and Mrs Eugénie Burnell (she was French) Colette, John and Patricia.
No 14. Mr Bill and Mrs Gladys Hickling and Jimmy Young. Jimmy was an evacuee from London, who never went back. He was in my class at school. Bill Hickling was churchwarden and verger for most of the time I lived in Wymeswold and (I believe) for many years afterwards. He and his sister, Sue (see below) kept the church going through the lean years (as well as the golden years, when Lawrence Jackson was vicar). Bill was born in 1896 or 1897. He came from one of the oldest families in Wymeswold. Hicklings are mentioned in the parish registers in the 1560s. He was related to Jenny Hickling, who became famous in the village and beyond for the little school she ran from her sickbed, to which she was confined for 61 years. Bill Hickling began work for Mr John Hallam at the Hermitage. Then he worked for Mr John Burrows for nearly 42 years. In 1953, he went to work at Stanford Hall. Mrs Hickling was born in Richmond, Surrey. She worked at Wymeswold vicarage as a parlour maid before she was married in 1920 [3].
No 16. Mr and Mrs George Wilcockson (née Peggy Hallam), Denis, Paul and Kelvin.
Mr Tony Fookes.
Miss Sue Hickling. She was the ‘post-lady’ who delivered all the mail in the village throughout the whole of my time in Wymeswold. In addition she was a Sunday School teacher, chorister and church cleaner (see above).
Mr and Mrs Tom Highton and Margaret.
No 48. Mr Horace Fuller and his daughter, Anne.
Mr and Mrs (Mooch) Watkins.
Hilda Morris.
Mr and Mrs Brickwood and their daughter, Elaine.
[3]The Echo, October 23rd 1970.
Trinity Crescent
Mr Ralph and Mrs Kathleen King (née Blurton) and Denis.
Mr and Mrs Elkington and their children.
Mr and Mrs Hall and their children, including Cathie and Bob.
Hoton Road
Mr and Mrs Cyril Hubbard, Russell, Mary and Catherine.
No 42. Jack and Flo Hallam.
Mr and Mrs Dennis Bates (née Mary Wootton).
Mr Cecil (Pip) Bates.
Mr and Mrs Ernest Bates (Dennis and Pip’s parents).
Appendix 2
Old photos
I couldn’t resist including these old newspaper cuttings[4] with photos from 1921 and 1923, both of which include Stan’s father, Ron Sheppard, whom I recognised straightaway. Harry Jalland was also recognisable from the second photo.
[4] Source unknown.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my friend, Stan Sheppard for his invaluable input into this book. He has obtained useful information from Bunty Braine and Kathleen King, to whom I am also grateful. Dr David Smith has sent me some supplementary information and corrections from Toronto in Canada.
I would also like to thank my son, Jon Mackley, for editing and publishing this document.
I wrote most of the book from memory. I then found some photographs from family albums, which Jon had scanned electronically some years ago. Stan also lent me some photos from family albums. I found some useful background information on the Wolds Historical Organisation website.
The book was ready for publication, when I came across an envelope in my late father’s desk, full of press cuttings and old photos. These include articles from the Loughborough Monitor, the Leicester Advertiser and The Echo, from which, I acknowledge, I have drawn extensively. I have informed the current owners of the copyright and am very grateful for their permission to reproduce material from their publications. At least two of the other photos which I used were probably taken by newspaper photographers, but I have no way of knowing which newspaper.
Finally, while the narrative of this book relates to the period 1939 to 1958, I have included photographs and newspaper articles covering a longer time span. My justification for doing so is that, if I excluded them, they would probably be lost to posterity and I think that in all cases they make a small contribution to the knowledge of the history of Wymeswold, which has been the main purpose of this book.
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