William Hugh Mackley was born at Barkestone-le-Vale on 4th November 1911. His parents were James Mackley, blacksmith, and Edith née Stevens, a wheelwright’s daughter. He was their third child (of five) and the elder of two sons. Most of his male Mackley ancestors were called William. I believe he was named Hugh after his mother’s brother who died in childhood. He was always called Hugh, though the verger at Wymeswold church always called him ‘Youey’.
His first memory is of the redcoats marching along the Belvoir lanes in 1914. He asked his mother: “Which one is Kaiser Bill?”
When he was first born, he lived in the smaller of the two houses by the blacksmith’s shop, but soon after that they moved to the larger house. (For more detail, please see my article about Edith Mackley.)
He went to the Barkestone Village School, where his father had been a governor. He was top of his class and was expected to pass the scholarship examination at the age of eleven to go to Melton Grammar School. (If he had passed, it has never been clear to me, whether his parents could have afforded to send him there.) He did not pass. Hugh was a very fair man and, in general, did not bear grudges. However, he told me many, many times that he believed that the examiner had a grudge against his father (as a school governor) and that the examiner asked him trick questions, which he answered incorrectly. He carried on at Barkestone School and was the only boy at that time to reach Standard 4. He left school at the age of 14. He was still wearing short trousers (as indeed was I at that age!)
He was an enterprising boy. He kept a substantial number of hens, which he nurtured and sold their eggs. He also bought and sold bicycles. In his late teens and early twenties, he became proficient at slow bike races – the aim was to ride as slowly as possible without standing still. He used to enter competitions at fetes and shows in the surrounding villages. He was so good that he was barred from entering in some villages.
At the age of fourteen he was apprenticed to his father as a blacksmith, shoeing horses in his short trousers. I assume the apprenticeship lasted five years. After that he had a series of jobs as a journeyman at Waltham, Croxton Kerrial and Ponton.
When he was nineteen, he met my mother. (For further details of their courtship and much else, please see my article on Margaret Jane Mackley).
He bought a motorbike to get him to his various places of work. He often told me that he spent all his wages keeping the motorbike on the road. One Tuesday evening, when he was 21, he was riding along the road from Grantham to Bottesford. A car came out of a side road and knocked him off his bike. He had a broken hip and other injuries. Fortunately he had a bag on his back, which, he said, saved his life. Shortly after the accident, my maternal grandfather happened to be driving by and he took Hugh to Grantham hospital. After that I never heard him complain about his hip, but if he was standing around he would always put his hand on it to support it. He never rode a motor cycle again, nor any other form of motorised vehicle – but he still rode his bike! Needless to say, I was always discouraged from having anything to do with motor bikes.
Bill Simpson was his best friend in Barkestone. I believe that they were best man at each other’s wedding. Bill’s father owned the Post Office and General Store at Barkestone. Hugh used to “help” in the shop on Saturdays, when he was still at school.
Invitation to Bill Simpson’s wedding
Hugh and Maggie at Barkestone, c.1935
In 1935 my mother moved with her parents to Skegness. Hugh got a job working for a blacksmith on Roman Bank for the summer season. He had a room in my mother’s parents’ house. He confided in me one day towards the end of his life: “We were very good – we didn’t do anything we shouldn’t have!”
At Skegness, 1935: Hugh Mackley. William, Enid and Jim Robinson
In late 1935, he bought a business in Wymeswold. The house and premises were owned by a Mr. Hayes, who lived in the adjoining property. Mr Hayes had been the blacksmith, but had sold the business some years before to a Mr James. I have the impression that Mr James had not been too successful and that the business had been run down. There was also competition from another blacksmith in the village, who worked from behind the pub, appropriately named “The Hammer and Pincers”.
My parents married on 25 January 1936 and moved to Wymeswold the same day. His brother, George, who was 16 at the time, went to work for him.
Wedding Day, Barkestone, 25 January 1936
Left photo: George (left) and Hugh, Wymeswold c.1936
Right photo: By the backdoor of the first Wymeswold house, c.1936
Hugh and Jim at Barkestone c.1942
Maggie, Hugh and Jim, Barkestone c.1942
I don’t think Hugh was ever short of work. Before the war there were over twenty farms in or near the village. Each farmer had one or more work horses, which needed shoeing. (The first tractor came to the village about that time.) I never heard much about the other blacksmith, so I assume he must have retired soon after Hugh’s arrival. In any case, I think he was a very good craftsman and would have beaten off any competition. During that pre-war period, he had very little general work.
All that was to change when the war came in 1939. An aerodrome was built in the area between Wymeswold and the villages of Burton-on-the-Wolds, Prestwold and Hoton. One of the contractors offered Hugh a big and well-paid contract in connection with the building of the aerodrome, but he declined. He said: “These people paid well, but then dropped you when they had finished with you”. He had plenty of other work. The farm horses still needed to be shod. In addition, the Government decreed that vast swathes of pasture land should be converted into arable land. Hugh couldn’t make ploughs, but he could make the harrows and drags, which were needed to break up the soil. All the farmers needed these.
Hugh was exempt from military service (reserved occupation). He was, however, required to join either the Home Guard (“Dad’s Army!”) or the Auxiliary Fire Service. He chose the latter. Their only “action” was to put out a haystack fire in the field at the bottom of our garden.
His business changed after the war. Ferguson produced a small new tractor at a price which most farmers could afford. By 1950 there were only a few working horses left in the village, but the farmers still needed harrows and drags and repairs to their agricultural machinery, which had not yet become too complicated for him to undertake.
In 1949, Mrs Duce, who lived in the thatched cottage next door to us at number 60, wrote a parody of Longfellow’s poem, The Village Blacksmith, featuring Hugh. She wrote it for her son, Roland, who was four or five years younger than me.
Mrs Duce’s poem c.1949, copied by Hugh
There was a special feature on Wymeswold in September 1949 in the Loughborough Monitor. Hugh’s photograph and a brief report was in that.
Hugh Mackley working at his anvil, August 1949.
In this photo, which was not published, he is working at his anvil, making a horseshoe. The next photo shows him working at his forge. The bellows had been powered by electricity since 1942 or 1943. (I can remember, as a very small boy, pumping the handle of the old bellows.) An array of blacksmith’s tools can be seen on the wall of the workshop.
Hugh Mackley working at his forge, August 1949.
His business changed again in the fifties. The agricultural machinery became more sophisticated and so needed qualified mechanics to repair it. But, as the decade progressed more and more people could afford riding horses. Furthermore, many of the older blacksmiths had retired, so that there were only a couple of other farriers within a ten mile radius. Hugh refused to buy a van, so, if people wanted him to shoe their horses, they either had to bring them to him or come and fetch him. He had plenty of work, especially after he got the contract to shoe the forty-odd horses at the prestigious Quorn Hunt.
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.
Thus he began his career in 1936 mainly shoeing horses and that was his main occupation when he retired in 1969.
His father died in 1942, so for nearly 60 years he was head of the family. He was best man at his brother George’s wedding and “gave away” his sisters, Edie and Nellie, when they married a few years later.
At sister Nellie’s wedding, 29 July 1950
Right to left: Hugh, Edith (his mother), Nancy, Nellie, Ted (Ted’s relatives)
He was a member of the Leicestershire branch of the Farriers and Blacksmiths Association (I don't know the precise title). Indeed he was chairman for many years. He used to go by bus to Leicester via Loughborough for their meetings on the appropriate Saturday afternoons. The secretary, Clem Phillips, and his wife drove over from Market Bosworth to visit us sometimes. They took us over to see them on at least one occasion. Clem Phillips liked to enter shoeing competitions, but he never persuaded Hugh to do so. I did, however, see Clem “performing” at the Leicestershire Show, when it was held at nearby Prestwold Hall.
Hugh was a devout churchman all his life. He learned bellringing on the four bells at Barkestone Church. One of his favourite stories was that he rang a muffled peal for a funeral of a Barkestone centenarian, George Cant, who had been born in 1821! When he came to Wymeswold, he joined the team of bellringers. They had a strong team in the early years, but this had dwindled to two or three by the early fifties. Then I took it up and persuaded some of my friends to join, so that for four or five years we had a strong team. During this period, Hugh learned change ringing – along with the rest of us. For a few years we went on Saturday afternoons bellringing in different churches in North Leicestershire.
Wymeswold bellringers, April 1937
Left to right: Jack Peel, Percy Jalland, Ernest Charles, Bill Hickling, Rev. Bourchier, Ernest Bates, Bishop Willis, Warner Wootton, John Smith, Billy Baker, Hugh Mackley
A new vicar, Charles Powell, came to Wymeswold in the late forties. In 1950, he invited Hugh to be his churchwarden. The other churchwarden was Bill Hickling: they were to “rule” in tandem for the next 18 years. Hugh went to every Sunday service during that period, apart from the occasional weekend, when he was away. There were often three services a day: Holy Communion, Mattins and Evensong. (As an aside, as a server, choirboy and bellringer, I was expected to go to all three services as well – plus Sunday School in the afternoon!)
Mr Powell retired in the mid-fifties. There followed a long interregnum, while a replacement was being sought. Hugh was the main sequestrator. He had to become acquainted with the details of church governance, as indeed did I as an educated teenager. As well as making sure that the day-to-day running of the church was in good order, he had to arrange for suitable people to take the Sunday services.
The new vicar appointed was Lawrence Jackson. He was a big (rotund) man in his twenties. This was his first parish – he had previously been curate at St Margaret’s church, Leicester. He had a huge personality. Whereas previously the congregations had been small, people came from miles around for the evening services, so that even the side aisles were full.
Lawrence was disabled – he had had polio when he was younger. He rode around the village on a Vespa or a Lambretta. He was not too scrupulous with the letter of the law. He was very popular and someone bought him a motor car. He did not have a driving licence, but was allowed to drive around on ‘L’ plates, accompanied by an experienced driver. On a number of occasions he persuaded Hugh to go with him. Problem: Hugh didn’t have a driving licence either!
On another occasion, the two of them went to see Mr Weldon, who owned a factory in Nottingham, and was one of the wealthiest residents of the village. I don’t recall what they went for, but what they were given was several large glasses of whisky. My mother was not well pleased.
Newspaper caption is incorrect. It should read: Les Smith, Hugh Mackley,
Faith Jackson, Rev. Lawrence Jackson and Leslie Daft.
After a few years Lawrence Jackson left Wymeswold to take over the much larger parish of St James the Greater in Leicester. Hugh was again sequestrator until the arrival of the new vicar, Charles Bennett. Mr Bennett was an older man, but he had a very attractive (and flighty!) daughter, who was about the same age as me. Mr Bennett retired a few years later, so Hugh had a third interregnum to deal with. Jennifer and I decided to get married in Wymeswold during this period, so it was my father, who had to arrange for a curate from another diocese to perform the marriage ceremony. He also signed our marriage certificate on behalf of the church.
Jennifer and Jim’s wedding, 27 February 1965
Left to right: Stan Sheppard, Ann Coy, Hugh, Grandma Robinson, Maggie, Janet Harrow, Jim, Jennifer, Shirley Dixon, Nan Sedgwick, Grandad Harrow, Myrtle, Kathryn and Spencer Harrow
Hugh was very popular with the ladies. I don’t think he ever strayed too far from the straight and narrow, but there was one farmer’s wife who flirted with him quite openly.
Wymeswold Parish Council had six members. Usually, when a member retired, or died, the other members co-opted someone else to the vacant position. So, towards the end of the 1940s Hugh became a Parish Councillor. Again he continued to serve until just before he left the village in 1969. He was also a Feoffee. These were trustees of legacies, which had been made for the education of poor people in the village. (I received a grant from them in 1956 for the purchase of my Harraps English/French dictionaries at a cost of £8; it was given to me on condition that I never sold them; I still have them and still use them!)
For many years – long after I had left Wymeswold School – he was a school governor. The chairman of the governors was Mr Hodson, who owned a factory near Hathern. He was also chairman of the local Conservative Party. One evening they were discussing the appointment of the successor to Mr AG Smith, who had been the headmaster, when I was at the school. There was some criticism of Mr Smith. Hugh tried to defend him by saying “My Jim did all right under Mr Smith.” To which Mr Hodson retorted “Your Jim did all right in spite of Mr Smith!”
Hugh was a member of the Conservative Party and therefore involved in a small way with the selection of candidates for the Melton Mowbray constituency. Anthony Nutting was the MP for the early years. He was very talented and went on to be Minister of State in the Foreign Office, but resigned in protest at the Suez invasion in 1956.
As I wrote in the article about my mother, a big change occurred in 1952/53. Some years earlier, Hugh had bought for £100 a plot of land, a quarter of an acre, at the junction of Brook Street, Clay Street and Hoton Road. It was a nondescript piece of land, which had been the bottom of an orchard owned by a farmer called Alf Mills, who lived on Clay Street. The original idea was to keep poultry on it. I remember studying brochures for hen houses. However, the ones that he was looking at were going to cost £200, so he decided to build a house and workshop instead.
In the autumn of 1952 there was a dispute about the eastern boundary of the land, which was owned by Mr Pennington, an estate agent in Loughborough. According to our solicitor, “Dickie” Clifford, Mr Pennington had had the concrete post nearest the road erected about a foot inside his property. The second post had been correctly positioned, but the remaining eight or nine posts had been lined up with the first two, so that Mr Pennington was “stealing” several square yards of land. Hugh and Mr Clifford pulled out the offending posts. Mr Clifford was at pains to point out that they should not touch the first two, which had been erected on Mr Pennington’s land.
I have already described the house (in the article on my mother) so I will concentrate on the workshop. Whereas the old smithy was 300 years old, dark and divided into three sections, the new workshop was light and spacious and open plan. But, as before, it was near to the house, so he could have all his meals at home. He had worked for just over 16 years in the old smithy and he was to work for about the same period in the new one.
Left: 1A Brook Street
Right: Hugh Mackley at his ‘new’ forge at 1A Brook Street (Leicester Advertiser, April 7 1967)
Other than visiting their parents, Hugh and Maggie did not go on holiday together until 1959, when they went on a coach tour to North Wales.
My parents’ first holiday, Wales, 1959
Skegness
As reported elsewhere, my grandmother persuaded my parents to move to Skegness in June 1969. My grandmother argued that they could live rent free and that they wouldn’t eat much! I think the clinching argument for Hugh was that he had some sort of health problem. Be that as it may, he was to spend the next 22 and a half years in Skegness, almost as long as the 23 and a half years he had lived in Wymeswold.
At least in the early years, he was not happy in Skegness. At Wymeswold he had been an important member of the community: churchwarden, parish councillor, school governor. As a blacksmith he not only earned a living, he also earned the respect of his customers as a skilled craftsman. Skegness is not a large town, but it is twenty times bigger than Wymeswold. Hugh had no status there and no income. Indeed, he had to continue to pay his National Insurance contributions (or at least he thought he did!) in order to safeguard his state pension at the age of 65.
With Jon and Peter, Skegness, 1975
He gradually settled down in Skegness. For a few summers he got a job working in a shop. He also got involved with the church. He used to play tunes on the bells – a six- or eight-bell carillon. One of his tunes was: We love the place oh God. He was also made responsible for the hiring of the Church Hall.
Left: At Barnet after a visit to Bushey c.1977
Right: Villers-la-Ville, Belgium, c.1980
Left: With Betty Fardell , Boston c.1978
(Betty was the daughter of his employer in Waltham or Croxton Kerrial in the 1930s)
Right: At Compiègne, c.1979
He pottered on for another 14 years. There were three or four old ladies, for whom he did shopping. Then, in early 1984, my mother became ill and died in April of that year. Hugh was devastated. We had returned to live in England and came to see him regularly. Some people from the church, including Eric Damms, the churchwarden, and his wife, Beryl, were very good to him and invited him for Sunday lunch. Several times a week he used to go to Harry’s, a cheap eating house on Roman Bank, for his mid-day meal.
I used to telephone him every Sunday evening. One Sunday in early June 1985, I telephoned him. As usual, we didn’t have a lot to say. In passing he had said that he had been out to visit a friend. I had noted that that was slightly odd, because I didn’t know he had any “friends”. I didn’t think too much of it, but, a few minutes later, for something to say, I teased him that he hadn’t said where he had been. He avoided the question.
The following Tuesday it was a warm sunny evening and we decided to have dinner on the lawn. Jennifer said there was a letter for me from my father. I opened it and, instead of starting at the beginning, I scanned down and alighted on the words “and we have grown fond of each other”. The beginning of the letter had been carefully (and no doubt painstakingly) drafted to lead up to the climax, that I had seen straightaway. The point of the letter was that he had met a widow, called Molly, and he was asking my permission to get married again. He assured me that this didn’t mean that he thought any less of my mother. Moreover things would be arranged so that my inheritance, and that of Molly’s daughter, would be protected.
Jennifer and I went for a long walk in Cassiobury Park after dinner. We were pleased for him and decided that we ought to telephone him straightaway. When we did, he said that Molly was sitting there waiting for our call.
Molly’s first husband had been part owner of a large ironmongers’ business in Boston. Her daughter, Pauline, was married to Brian Drinkall, who had been headmaster of one of the two secondary modern schools in Skegness. They were about to merge and Brian was taking early retirement.
Hugh and Molly were married in September 1985. I was best man and Pauline was matron of honour. Pauline’s daughter was at the church with her small twin sons. As the bride walked up the aisle, one of the boys shouted out: “Grandma! Grandma!” He was not referring to the bride, but to her daughter! The reception was held in the sunshine in the North Shore Hotel.
A number of women were very disappointed when Hugh married Mollie. Indeed a policeman’s widow was said to have died of a broken heart! Be that as it may, many years later, we were talking about how he met Molly. I said: “Just think, if you hadn’t gone there, you might never have met Molly”. To which he replied: “Never mind! Someone else would have nabbed me!”
Molly owned a two bedroom ground-floor maisonette opposite The Ship on Castleton Boulevard. Hugh went to live there, when they were married. He decided to sell the house in Park Avenue. This took a long time, but eventually, the following June, Jennifer and I had the task of clearing out the house: this included some of my grandparents’ possessions, most of my parents’ possessions and a few of mine. Hugh had kept a few things and we had a load of stuff sent to Watford, but we had to be pretty ruthless with the rest. Hugh was very good and let us get on with throwing away his lifetime’s possessions with hardly a murmur. Until … a bedroom had been created in the attic, accessible by means of a drop-down ladder. It was not used and no-one went there very often. It had accumulated a fair amount of junk over the years (though not nearly as much as there is in ours now!) Our last task was to clear out the attic, which we did with exemplary thoroughness. One of the things we threw away was an old (and moth-eaten) church bell rope. Hugh enquired what we had done with the bell rope and was really upset when we told him we had thrown it away.
80th birthday celebration at the North Shore Hotel, Skegness
Left to right: Molly, Hugh, Betty, Jim, Jon, Peter, Phil, Jennifer, George
Nottingham, c.1992: Jon, Jim Peter, Hugh
Hugh and Molly were married for over 16 years. They were happy for the first nine or ten years. Then Molly began to develop dementia and things got more difficult.
In August 1999, we went to the south of France to see our newly-born granddaughter, Katia. We were also planning to retire to Antibes in a few months’ time. When we got back to Brussels, I received a phone call from our younger son, Jon, to say that he was at Pilgrim Hospital, Boston, where his grandfather had been taken, after being knocked over by a car.
Hugh had a broken hip. He spent several weeks in hospital, and, for the rest of his life, he was not very mobile, though he did have a walker, which enabled him to go out a bit. A carer visited him three times a day.
The effect on his wife, Mollie, was devastating. As far as she was concerned, he had gone across the road to get a light bulb and never came back. She went into a nursing home. She came back to her home for one night, but it was not a success.
Peter and Caroline brought their daughter Katia to see her great-grandfather in the spring of 2000. The photo of four generations was taken outside Hugh’s maisonette.
We decided to come and live in Skegness. This was originally planned for November 1999, but we came eventually on 1 July 2000.
I probably spent more “quality” time with Hugh during the next 18 months, than at any other time – though we did have three lengthy visits to France during that period. When I was not otherwise engaged, I went to his house after dinner to play cards and drink whisky. When I was a child my father had taught me to play draughts, dominoes and crib. In these last years we played crib. He had a peg-board, which had been given to him by his Uncle George when he emigrated to South Africa in the nineteen-twenties. We were evenly matched and at no point before the last evening did I think that it was a chore to be there.
I was at his house when he died. I was very upset, but drew comfort from three conversations. A few months before he died, I asked him what he thought about dying. He replied that he wasn’t afraid to die, but he wasn’t looking forward to the journey. In the event, as far as I can ascertain, the journey lasted only a few minutes. On New Year’s Day 2002, I went round to see him and wished him a Happy New Year. He replied: “Happy New Year, Jim and many of them. Don’t wish me that!” He died 11 days later. Finally, I rang Faith Jackson, Lawrence’s wife, and was complaining about the tablets, which I believed had caused his death. She replied: “Jim, his time had come!”
Jim Mackley, Skegness, 21 March 2021
Early memories of my grandparents: Peter Mackley
« Are you spent up - again? » That was my Grandpa as I held out my hand asking for more coins. I used to love the penny arcades at Skegness Pier, in particular the coin pushers. We would spend hour after hour at the machines, and he taught me all the tricks and traps. One time, I remember him complaining gently that I had spent a whole pound. It seemed huge at the time, and I felt a little guilty. Another time, I made 14p profit, which I was allowed to keep. I felt really rich.
I’m pretty sure I can remember my first visit to Skegness, even though I could only have been around 3 at the time. I remember the house split into 2 separate maisonettes which seemed rather unusual. Grandma and Grandpa lived downstairs and we stayed upstairs - sleeping in the main living room (I think). I remember the ice-cold toilet with hard toilet paper, the pantry with so many nice things inside, a real piano ... and the chimes of several grandfather clocks.
39 Park Avenue was a great place to stay - but then I became very worried when they built a Police Station immediately opposite. “What do they do to people who are bad?” I asked Grandma. In retrospect, I guess what she probably said was “they lock people up”, but the answer I heard was “they chop people up”, and there was no way I was going to take any risks. I was always on my best behaviour!
Despite the police station, I loved Skegness - it was easily the most exciting place in my world. At first, the best place was the park. Grandpa used to push me on the swing. I’m sure I would still insist he pushed me well after I was old enough to swing myself.
Grandma was a kind soul. She taught me to play Good King Wenceslas on the piano. I can still remember how to play it today - and it’s usually one of the first tunes I attempt when messing around on a piano. She also taught me God Save The Queen, and these are still probably the only 2 tunes I can play by heart.
On one visit in 1976, my poor Grandma was played my entire record collection, A sides and B sides - it must have been around 20-30 songs in total. I asked her to rank all the songs in order starting with her favourite. It must have been an ordeal for her, but she kindly obliged. The winner was “Love Enough” by Cliff Richard, the B-side to “Miss You Nights”. I couldn’t understand why she preferred that to ‘Devil Woman’.
That same summer, I was playing crazy golf at Arnold Palmer. Just in front of us was one of the female singers from Brotherhood of Man, who were performing on the pier that night. I think it was the first time I saw someone famous in person. I was so excited - but Grandpa had never heard of Brotherhood of Man! I couldn’t believe it - “but they just won the Eurovision Song Contest”, I said incredulously.
I have fond memories in particular of the few summers I spent with my grandparents on my own. Grandpa used to drop me off at the Fun Palace then go and do his shopping. It was my favourite place in the world, and I would spend hours there with new friends. We’d be back in time for lunch and I can still smell the roast dinners that Grandma would prepare, often with cabbage. I don’t think I had cabbage anywhere else, and I didn’t particularly like it. I used to love the bread that Grandpa bought at the local bakery - but only the rounded part of the slice. My all-time favourite was the local potted meat. We could only get it in Skegness and I’ve never tasted anything the same since. The smell and taste of potted meat sandwiches will always be synonymous with my childhood.
As a special treat, Grandpa would occasionally buy me a 99 ice cream, whipped ice cream with a chocolate flake. I was once worried that it was called a 99 because it cost as much as 99p. Grandpa reassured me that it was only 34p which still seemed a lot.
Every day they would buy the Daily Express from the newsagent on the corner. I thought the lady there was very strange, as she used to call me “ducky”. In the newspaper was a word game, with the challenge to find as many words as possible from 9 letters, always using the letter in the middle. We’d also play Scrabble, draughts and dominoes. I could never understand why you should say “I’m knocking” when you couldn’t play.
Skegness was a small child’s paradise - the beach, the pier, the donkeys, the amusement arcades, the fun fair, the mini-golf. It has so many wonderful memories as a child and I loved revisiting those memories though the eyes of my own children a generation later.
Peter Mackley
21 November 2020