Every Picture Tells a Story (in this case many stories)
Next again is Holly Bush, our local village pub,
As well as drink you can get if hungry, a little bit of grub,
For a gathering of the locals, this was the hub,
News and gossip turned around in the village pub.
This picture was taken Feb 2011 of a twenty years old picture showing almost all the village apart from some outlying cottages
Just west of centre (left) of the picture is the Holly Bush pub red roof white walls, the block of buildings just below it is my farm.
The old brick building this side of the pub on the road side was the village mortuary and this side again on the road side with its chimney was the blacksmiths shop.
The open bit of road and grass is the Village Green funnelling up to the lynch gate and the path to the church.
This side of the Green is the school and its playing field below.
Top left of the picture is the farm where I was brought up along with three brothers from the age of five.
The lane directly above the church is the Back Lane running away to the village Ford where the road dips through the Brook and a small brick foot bridge.
Coming back up from the Ford is Church Farm, (almost every village had a Church Farm) where I started farming at the age of twenty one.
Village Farm is just down from the top left the long white farm house and its building just below forming a square farm yard.
The lane running out bottom centre of the picture, and a mile further on is where father started farming and where I was born and on again leads to the local Town.
Directly above the Pub was the Smallholding and Wheelwrights Shop where the wheelwright among other thing made the coffins for the local diseased, and his brother who milked and looked after his twelve cows, he used to dig the graves, they also had a village hearse, sprung, with wire spoke wheels with rubber tyre and a Tee handle to be pulled by hand.
Above that the cottage standing forward at the roads side was the Village Shop and Post Office
Top house to the right is the Vicarage and the group of houses below it is the site of the huge old vicarage, three stories high and about fifteen rooms and huge cellars, a good proportion of the rubble went to fill the cellars when it was demolished
A Tour of our Village (1950's)
The Village has its own clock, for to tell the time,
On the tower of St Chads, every half hour it does chime,
This its done for many years, and to wind it up you climb,
Three big weights on cables, crank it many times.
In the tower set in oak frame, sit its ringing bells,
Ropes and wheels for swinging, its congregation tells,
Come to church for service, to have your sins expelled,
All the parish can hear them, peal of Village bells.
The vicar has his job to visit, all parish elderly and the sick,
Take all the Sunday services, with sermon long and epic,
Christmas Easter Harvest, Christenings funerals and weddings quick,
He is kept so busy looking after, all village elderly and sick.
Out and down the church path , is the village green,
Under the lych gates, standing all serene,
Looks a little weathered, for all the years its been,
Guarding the church yard, on the village green.
Also on S------ford green, was the village pump,
Standing in the corner, on a grassy hump,
To prime it work the handle, almost had to jump,
Water all the cottages, from this well and pump.
Across the road to educate, is the village school,
Teacher at the blackboard, sitting on a stool,
There to help the children not to be a fool,
Basic reading writing, maths in the village school.
Further down the village, was the blacksmiths shop,
Making all the horse shoes, on the anvil hot,
Hammer always ringing, shaping metal without stop,
Give the horses new shoes, to make them clip and clop.
Undertaker in the village, is at the wheelwrights shop,
Lays out and measures them, makes a coffin non-stop,
His brother digs the grave, and family lines the coffin
All the week they make farm carts, in the wheelwrights shop
Next again is Holly Bush, our local village pub,
As well as drink you can get if hungry, a little bit of grub,
For a gathering of the locals, this was the hub,
News and gossip turned around in the village pub.
Down at the post office, in the village shop,
Sells all essentials, also chocolate sweets and pop,
Letters parcels postal orders, have a hefty whop,
Rubber stamp saying S-----ford, in the village shop.
The postman comes on his bike to visit, six days of every week,
Delivering post and parcels, each morning his bike it creaked,
Collecting all the gossip while, having cup of tea he'd speak,
All about what he'd learned, on his round six days every week.
On all the farms they have cows, and they produce the milk,
Beef and chickens hens and geese, sheep with fleece smooth as silk.
They have mixture of everything, corn for cows and pigs,
Hay and roots, rolled oats and peas, feed the cows produce the milk,
In all the cottages were the families, men who work the land,
Herdsmen, wagoners, and those to anything can turn their hand,
Early start in all weathers, generally a happy band,
They work late at harvest time, all these men who work the land.
Countryman
If you would be known, and not know, vegetate in a village; If you would know, and not be known, live in a city.
Charles Caleb Colton (1780 - 1832)