RECOLLECTIONS

OF

 

MARTIN

 

 

FROM 1942 – 1959

 

(The childhood memories of Susan Lane Poole)

(now Sue Johnston living in Australia)

 

 

MARTIN

 

The Coote Arms

This is where we used to catch the bus to Salisbury. The village bus, run by Mr Flemington (more later) used to carry passengers from Martin in the mornings to meet the Wilts and Dorset 8am bus to Salisbury, so that workers and school children could travel into the city. He used to meet the bus which left Salisbury at 4.45pm and 5.45pm and transport passengers back to the village. Some days each week his bus used to travel direct to Salisbury, disembarking passengers at The Canal, and departing The Canal at various times during the day. There must have been periods when his bus did not run to connect with the Wilts and Dorset service because I used to bicycle to catch the bus to school, leaving the bike at the back of The Coote Arms, so I could walk across the road on the return route and cycle home again. At various times over the years, I recall our blue Morris waiting for me so that I could be driven home, either by my mother or my father. This all took place during the years when I was nine to seventeen, and I did some of that cycling in my teens on my drop handled ‘racing’ bike!

 

The Working Men’s Club

I didn’t go into this building very often but I recall a timber floored hall with a bar at one end where the locals used to go for a pint. My father was a frequent visitor and loved the company of the people who lived in the village.

 

The Shearings

This family lived in the end cottage of a small group on the left hand side, towards the village centre. There were two boys, Kenneth and Gordon. I think they both worked in Salisbury but I clearly remember Gordon worked with a coal company and was covered in coal dust at the end of the day. He/they used to keep their bikes behind the cottage opposite the Coote Arms on the Martin road.

 

Mr Lewington

This old man lived for many years in a cottage near the red brick Council Houses, just up the road on the opposite side from Stanley Bennett’s farm. He was apparently retired and had a waxed moustache, as I recall. I don’t know his story, but he may have been in the military. I recall he had a little dog which he took for walks, wearing a grey/beige overcoat/mackintosh, a trilby hat and sporting a walking stick.

 

Mr Bennett

Mr Stanley Bennett was a portly man with a red ruddy face who owned a farm opposite the Council Houses – I don’t remember if he had a wife. For some reason, when I was fairly small, we used to visit him quite often and we used to go into their sitting room which was in the front of the house – he was very friendly and I used to sit on his lap and he would tickle me and make me laugh til I had to jump off. He used to have cows in his farmyard.

 

The Council Houses

I don’t remember the names of the families who lived in these houses, except I think the Butcher family who occupied one of the houses up the lane? There were quite a few members of the Butcher family and I recall some of their faces but not their names – maybe one of them was called Reg. In 2002, I met the oldest surviving member Mr Butcher, aged 94, on a walk up Sillins Lane – I was with my Zambian relatives and we stopped and had a chat – he could remember my parents. I think he told me there were only two Butchers left. When I returned to Martin in 2006, I saw his grave and others of his family.

 

The Chapel

The Chapel was set back from the road a bit, down from the Council Houses, on the right hand side. It always looked shut up and uninviting – I think they had services there from time to time.

There was a house called Highbanks further down the road but I can’t recall the name of the people who lived there, and I can’t remember exactly how many houses there were along this stretch of road before one cane to the Manor House on the left hand side.

 

The Manor House

This was a large house which had a neglected air about it, in which lived the Smith family. I don’t know if there was a Mr Smith. Mrs Smith had brown eyes and grey hair in a plait around her head, I think? There were a few children, older than I was. One was called Suzanne, a lovely girl who married a soldier who was killed at the time of Suez – they had only just got married when he was sent there. Suzanne used to travel to work on the bus and had a sad expression, poor girl. Her younger sister was called Marion. I don’t know who owned the Manor – my father was interested in its history. It was sold when I was in my teens and the new owners did quite a lot of work to it – I recall going into the walled garden for the first time when a village fete was held there. I have a feeling the occasional soccer match was played on a field behind the house and recall watching one.

 

There is a lane to the left by the Manor House and this led to a right of way through the fields past the church yard which came out to the road beside the cottage ‘Packbridge’ at the other end.

Mr Frampton

Mr Frampton had a farm along this laneway. I don’t recall a Mrs Frampton! He used to keep heifers in the three fields at the back of our property, Harris’ Farm. He used to drive his tractor through our orchard to the fields and fill the two old bathtubs and a small water tank with water for his animals when the water was low. I don’t remember what they did with these heifers – they never had calves – maybe they went to market when they were fully grown. I don’t remember how the heifers were transported to and from the fields or how often – there were always cows in the fields, it seemed!

 

Mrs Chapel

She was a small, round lady with a lovely smile who used to live in the house on the corner of this lane and the main street – was she Mr Frampton’s sister and did they perhaps live in the same house? My memory is a bit hazy.

(Note: Harold Frampton and his mother, Agnes Chappell, lived at Garrett’s farm.) 

 

Nellie and George Waters

They lived on the opposite side of the road to the Manor House where the road curves, in a white house. George Waters was a great friend of my father’s – they spent a lot of time together and my father was very sad when he died. When he died, he apparently smiled and described beautiful meadows where he was going.  He was buried in the Martin churchyard and when my father died, my mother made sure he was next to, or very close to, George’s grave. Nellie and my mother were great friends also and played bridge together with others – I remember Nellie’s sitting room clearly, sitting patiently while the ladies were playing bridge! She used to do patchwork. Nellie came on holiday with my mother and me to my grandparents’ house in East Wittering in Sussex one summer when they were away in Scotland – Nellie liked to eat salad every day and we were a bit tired of salad by the end of the stay! Nellie laughed a lot and was great fun to be around. I don’t think they had any family. They had a lovely garden, with flowers and vegetables.

(Note: Mr and Mrs Waters lived at Shepherd’s Cottage.)

 

Next to their house, was a cottage end on to the road – I can’t remember who lived there, maybe it was the Stockleys? But next to that was the village forge – I clearly remember watching the blacksmith working away there when I was quite young. Eventually it shut down and I am not sure if it is even there anymore.

 

Douglas and May Main

They lived on the right hand side of the road, next to the Forge and their farm was called The Limes. They were wonderful, warm-hearted, hospitable people and I loved them dearly. We spent quite a lot of time with them – they had little terrier dogs which used to jump up and lick one. I think one of them was called Susie. They had a tennis court and I remember my mother playing tennis there while cut ants in half on the concrete path out of curiosity…can’t quite remember my father playing but he used to in Norther Rhodesia so he probably did. Later in my teens, I was allowed to invite friends to Martin for a tennis party at the Mains’ house. When I was younger, Mrs Main used to hold children’s parties and we used to play Oranges and Lemons with great excitement at the thought of being caught and having our heads chopped off!! They had a niece called Ann Sandle who was a little older than me – she had auburn hair and freckles and a lovely smile and giggled a lot – she used to stay with the Mains sometimes and went to the Godolphin School like I did. I hear she still lives in Salisbury. The local Wilton Hunt used to meet in the yard at the back of the house on occasions – that was always very exciting with the hounds running around, horses everywhere and drinks being served.

The Wilton Hunt used to meet at the Coote Arms sometimes and go and draw the woods along the Broadchalke road. I was lent a pony by some people who live in a house just down from the Working Men’s Club at one stage and was lucky enough to go on a hunt with them one day – my father and I used to regularly follow the Hunt on foot, until one day I was actually there when the terriers were sent into an earth to help dig out the fox, and I saw the expression in the fox’s eyes as the dogs were dragging him out by the nose. That was the end of fox hunting for me – barbaric.

 

The Goldsboroughs

About opposite the Mains’ house is a nice looking brick house which had a barn behind it. A family called Hayles lived there for some time – they had a daughter called Jenny who went to the Godolphin too. They had horses and moved to the Whitsbury Down/Coombe Bissett area – I enjoyed staying with them after they moved and riding their ponies with them. The Goldsboroughs then bought the house – they seemed quite well to do but I don’t remember much about them. They were older people and didn’t appear to have any children.

 

The Symes Family

Next to the Goldsboroughs was a cottage in which the Symes family lived – or at least Mrs Symes lived there with her son Brian, who was about my age? I don’t recall a Mr Symes. She was a short, round lady and Brian had fair hair and wore glasses?

(Note: The Symes family lived at Bennetts Cottage)

 

 

The Priest’s House

Next to the Symes’ cottage is The Priest’s House. Apparently a priest lived/hid there during a time of persecution.  I recall being shown where he was reputed to have hidden in the house – maybe under the stairs area? I think it was in this house I was shown a portion of a wall consisting of plaster and a sheep hurdle-like construction which was very old – but it may have been in the dining room of Harris Farm. Violet Kaulbeck lived there with her two children, Carolyn and William (Willie). Carolyn was a couple of months older than me and Willie a couple of years or so younger. My mother and Vi were the closest friends imaginable. Colonel Kaulbeck was separated from his family. Their home was a second home for me. My mother taught Carolyn and me under the Parents’ National Educational Union homeschooling scheme from the ages of six to nine – it was a wonderful education system and my mother a gifted teacher, who enabled Carolyn and myself to be accepted into the Public School system through the Common Entrance examination of that era. Our schoolroom was the room on the left hand side of the house as one enters the front door. It had a brick floor and a wood stove. The sitting room had a big open fireplace, the kitchen at the back an Aga on which to cook. I remember the warmth of the kitchen as our mothers enjoyed a coffee break and a chat. I think there were three bedrooms upstairs and sometimes I slept in the spare bed in Willie’s bedroom. There was a big rambling garden at the back of the house and a garage with a flat above it, in which lived Mrs Gregory for some time – she was Vi’s mother. When we were nine, Carolyn went away to boarding school in Camberley and studied ballet – she was a gifted dancer. We both went to dancing classes at Gwen Pinniger’s Academy in The Canal, Salisbury. Somehow, Vi met a wealthy man called Andrew Dunlop who lived in Southern Rhodesia – he had a farm there and she married him. The house was sold and they all went to live near Que Que, which was very sad for us. My mother always kept in touch with Vi, who sometimes returned to visit England, and when I was living in South Africa in the late fifties, my mother came out for a holiday and went to stay with the Dunlops. Carolyn married a farmer there and I am not sure what happened to her brother. Carolyn and I were tremendous friends as children and found her little brother very tiresome – but I am sure he was a great little fellow! I have forgotten the name of the older couple who bought the house – he developed Parkinson’s disease, poor man.

Opposite Priest’s House was a cottage in which lived, at some stage, a young man called Peter who drove a ‘sports’ car – we were very impressed with this dashing dark haired man who drove around in his convertible!

 

Fred and Winnie Hacker’s village shop

This was the hub of the village for many years – they had a son called Dennis. Hacker’s shop sold everything, it seemed – except for meat (and maybe, later, fish) which appeared certain days of the week in a door to door van, from which we received our meagre weekly meat ration. We had an account at the shop and my father used to get quite upset at the bills – one of the reasons my mother decided to take a teaching job at St Probus School in Manor Road, Salisbury! There was a post box outside the shop during the later years. I used to get my sweet ration from the shop after the war and managed to make a Mars Bar last a week by slicing a piece off each day – I could also get Horlicks Tablets in a little glass tube with a cork in the end, secured by a piece of blue sticky tape. Chocolate was a real treat and I believed my mother when she told me that if I had more than two pieces I would be sick! We had food rationing for many years after the war and if I went to stay with a school friend, or vice versa, we always took food of some sort to help out.

Round the corner from Hackers’ shop, facing the triangular piece of grass called Martin Cross and looking up the main street, was Rose Cottage.

 

The Anderson Family in Rose Cottage

Margaret Anderson lived here with her husband and two teenage daughters, Sheena and Frances. I think her husband was home on leave during the war and was cycling to the Coote Arms when he suffered a heart attack peddling up the slight slope outside the village and died. I remember Sheena and Frances rescuing me from a spider on my bedroom ceiling when I was very small – they were lovely girls and I still have two of the books they gave me when they moved away to London. My mother and I stayed with them on a couple of occasions in their London home, which was a terraced house with a garden out the back which opened onto a small park. I was taken by train to London to my father’s dentist to have baby teeth extracted because my second teeth were too large and crowed my mouth, or something. I was put into the dentist’s chair and firmly held down while the gas mask was put over my face, which was terrifying, and I can clearly remember the blood after the extractions. When I felt better in the evening, we all went out to some theatre as a treat…No wonder I have a horror of dentists and anaesthetics, but do still enjoy the theatre! Mrs Anderson was cuddly and nice and it was through her childhood friendship with a Winifred Krohn that I was given the opportunity to travel to South Africa and work on the Krohn’s farm in 1957.

On the opposite side of the road, just down from the Priest’s House, was a cottage in which lived a middle-aged man named Mr Thomas. He used to catch the bus to work each morning and carried a brief case. Next to his cottage was a delightful, small thatched cottage called:

 

Lavender Cottage

Miss Nora Beckwith lived in this cottage and she played bridge with my mother and the other ladies. I used to sit patiently in her sitting room, too, during these sessions. She was a nice, friendly lady and had a friend called Colonel Louis Strange who was decorated during the war for his work as a paratrooper behind enemy lines – I have his obituary somewhere. He obviously suffered from post-traumatic stress and used to stay with her for recovery periods. We had to be very quiet when he was there, usually upstairs resting.

 

The White Hart

I don’t recall the history of this building which had been divided into two dwellings – but probably it was a coaching stage, because there was a yard behind it and a shed in which the village bus was kept. We used to walk up the street in the mornings to board this but which was parked in the yard, ready to leave for the Coote Arms or Salisbury, whichever day it was scheduled to run – I think it went direct to Salisbury on a Tuesday and a Thursday, Thursday being Market Day in Salisbury. Mr Flemington used to drop me off outside our house on the return journey, I recall. I don’t remember the names of the people who lived in the White Hart – they probably changed over the years.

 

George Poore and family

They lived in the house next to the White Hart and on the corner of the lane leading up to the Church. George Poore was the local chimney sweep and used to visit our house. He wasn’t my favourite person.

 

Reg White’s Farm

On the corner of The Cross, sort of opposite the White Hart, was Reg White’s farm. if I remember correctly, my father and he were very much involved in the preservation of Martin Down for the public when it was in danger of being taken away from the village – people who lived in the village had sheep rights on the Downs and there was a massive fight to preserve these rights and stop it from being ploughed up. The case went to court, I think, and it’s all recorded – I so clearly remember the sheep grazing on the Downs and the shepherd’s hut next to the sheep hurdles where they slept at night, and the sound of the bells. I still have a sheep bell in my possession. The grass on the Downs was cropped so fine and there were beautiful flowers in the spring and summer.

Next to Reg White’s farm and before Sweetapple Farm was a cottage in which lived…

Dora Abbott

I seem to recall a round, balding man called Colonel Abbott and they were probably retired. He may have died at some stage because I went to the cottage quite frequently when Dora had bridge parties and she seemed to live on her own – or maybe he made a point of not being around on such occasions! She was a tall dark haired lady with a big deep voice, very welcoming.

 

Sweetapples Farm

Raymond Fison (of the Fison Fertilizer family) lived here with his sons, Edmund, John and Henry. He was probably in his forties, a slight man, with sandy greying hair? His wife had died and his sister, Joan Bond came to live with them as their housekeeper. Edmund was my age, dark haired; John slightly younger, fair haired and tall – Henry had dark eyes and lived with his grandparents in Salisbury until he was old enough to join his brothers and was quite a bit younger than us. The boys were at boarding school and only home in the holidays – I’m not sure where Edmund went (maybe St Probus in Salisbury?), John went to Marlborough where he excelled in cricket and I think went on to teach cricket at some boys’ school. My father took me to Lords once to watch him play. Edmund joined the Army – the last time I saw him we went to London together by train to the theatre, probably in 1960, and saw a comedy with Brian Rix in it! I met him in Salisbury once and we went for a coffee at the NAAFI Club – maybe he was stationed on Salisbury Plain. I don’t know what happened to Henry. My mother was very friendly with Joan Bond, who I remember as a rather depressed lady, wearing glasses, who smoked a lot. I think my father didn’t like my mother going there very much. In time, Raymond’s sister left and a new person called Sylvia Dalziell came to be the housekeeper.  She was an ex-Wren and very direct and good fun and got on well with my mother also – Sylvia and Raymond got married and they built a new brick house up Sillens Lane on the left hand side, which was quite an excitement. Raymond brought a little Messerschmidt ‘car’ (basically a single seater with room for a passenger in the rear and a glass? roof which was a novelty in those days and which preceded the three seater Isetta, in one of which I later drover around Yeovil filled with three small children, a dog and all the shopping!) Raymond and Sylvia eventually moved to Fowey in Devon and my mother always remained friends with them and used to visit them from time to time.

(Note: The Fisons built Orchard House)

 

Martin Down

The history of this is well recorded – I have happy memories of roaming all over it and the occasional horse ride, during one such time when I fell off the horse which bolted home to the house near the Working Men’s Club and left me to sheepishly return on foot, asking people not to tell my parents about the incident! We often used to drive up there and sit at Blagdon Gap and enjoy the view in the afternoon and I used to play on the ditches while my parents talked. There were lovely birds up there and my father used to show me birds’ nests and we used to watch the birds around us. When I returned there in June 1997, I stopped there despite the No Parking signs (imagine that…No Parking indeed), got out and sat on the ditch and revelled in the view – there was a cuckoo calling in the distance and it was magic. People used to picnic there sometimes and play French cricket. There used to be a little timber house situated on the left of the end of Sillens Lane but I don’t think it is there anymore. During the war there was a small rifle range where the Home Guard, of which my father was a member, used to practice regularly. My father was a keen amateur archaeologist and knew a lot about the barrows, Roman roads in the area and there was a Romano British village once on the hills beyond the end of Smollens Lane – one could pick up flint tools there if one looked very carefully.

 

The Village Hall

This was the scene of whist drives and the occasional amateur dramatic performance! I remember watching the setting up of tables for whist drives, in which I don’t recall my parents being very active players. They tried hard to teach me three handed bridge when I was about twelve but I hadn’t a clue really what the calling was all about – it didn’t seem logical, was boring and I would rather play demon which was fast, simple and deadly. Whist never came on the agenda. I think there was a wood stove in the hall to heat it, similar to the one in the Church which caused the fire in the Church roof. The amateur theatricals were always hilarious and my mother played some parts – she really enjoyed acting. I rather think Mr Hacker took part – he was an outgoing sort of man. I am sure the Hall was used for all sorts of other activities but not for a school child who always seemed to have heaps of homework.

There was a cottage next to the Hall – was this called Ivy Cottage? Can’t recall who lived in it. Opposite was the laneway to All Saints Church.

 

All Saints Church

This Church centred very much in my life, from my earliest memories. In the early days there was bell ringing – bell ringing practice and then on Sundays calling the congregation to Matins and Evensong. As the congregation declined over the years, this was reduced to a single bell, probably rung by the current vicar. I was baptised and christened at the age of three by the Reverend Skilbeck Smith beside the font, which was in the bell ringing area at that time – we hadn’t long been living in Martin and my father’s brother, Austin Lane Poole, travelled down from Oxford for the occasion to be Godfather. He took this role very seriously and was a wonderful, caring Godfather who gave me all the instalments of the Oxford Junior Encyclopaedia as they were published after the war – I still have them. My Godmother was Appolline Neay Darroll, a cousin of my mothers who was visiting from South Africa – she offered to take me back to South Africa away from war-torn England. My parents declined the offer which was just as well because the ship on which she sailed was torpedoed with all loss of life. My mother woke from a nightmare in which she saw the ship disappearing through the mist with me on it – it turned out to be about the same time that the ship sank. I have a much used small black Book of Common Prayer for use in The Church of England – my father wrote ‘Susan Darroll Lane Poole from her Father and Mother 30^th August 1942’, the day of my christening. My first daughter, Fionna Darroll Love, was also christened in this church on 13^th May 1962, by the Reverend Roger Keeley from the West Harnham Church, as there was no vicar at Martin at that time.

In those years when Skilbeck Smith was the vicar the church always seemed full and we were regular attenders – we all had ‘our’ pews. My father and Skilbeck Smith became firm friends and we used to visit the vicarage often. They had three or four older children and a grass tennis court close to the house. We used to walk across the field behind the church to go there and there was a noisy rookery in the beech trees which lined the short road to the house from East Martin.

Later, after the Smiths left, the Reverend Corke became the vicar, who had a melancholy air about him and a droopy moustache. He lived with his sister, Miss Corke, and the vicarage seemed very cold and empty. They really did try their very best to fill the shoes of Skilbeck but somehow the congregation dwindled – my mother gave up going and my father ended up going to Damerham where there was a dear old man called the Reverend Moule. I used to go with him sometimes and mostly sit in the car with my book while he and Mr Moule had a pre-lunch drink and shared amusing stories in front of the fire in his house afterwards! Hi son, Charlie Moule, became the vicar after his father, as I recall?

Mr Corke had a Sunday School for a while and I used to go. I think my father and he had some differences of opinion at the Church Council Meetings, of which my father was a member for some years. Mr Corke and his sister opened their home to several young me who could have been refugees, some were from Europe – and no doubt gave them a good start in life. I remember a couple of them – one became an electrician and I think his name was Roland. I used to attend evensong pretty regularly in my teens and used to walk up to and from the church by myself and join maybe half a dozen people for the service. Miss Taylor from East Martin used to play the organ and after she gave up, Mr Corke used a tape recorder for the singing. It wasn’t very inspiring but I just loved the atmosphere of the church and still have great joy revisiting. I was allowed to take a day off school by the headmistress to attend a Billy Graham Rally in Wembley Stadium. Mr Corke had organised a bus trip from Martin and a group of us went – that injected some life into my Christian experience! I received instruction at school and was confirmed in Salisbury Cathedral.

I have mentioned the fire in the roof – my father could hear a loud popping sound one night and looked out of his window and saw the flames. Everyone rushed out to try and do something – probably a fire engine came from somewhere! I think the fire was caused by the iron chimney flue overheating the roof timbers and caused quite a lot of damage. A safer new stove was subsequently installed. My father was very interested in the history of the church and devoted many years to the writing of his book ‘The History of Damerham and Martin’. I can remember helping my mother arranging the flowers in the church for various occasions and some wonderful Harvest Festivals, probably in Skilbeck’s time; also taking flowers from our garden to give my mother on Mothering Sunday. Although my parents no longer lived in Martin, my father’s funeral service was held in the church and he was, of course, buried there – close to one of his beloved elm trees, which are no longer in the field  beside the churchyard at the back. Maurice Whitelegge’s grave is nearby, next to George Waters also, I am pretty sure – so they probably have a good old chat. If one stands at the entrance gate to the Churchyard at the end of the lane and look up towards the Downs behind our house, one can see a hawthorn tree on the hillside – my daughter Clayre and I scattered most of my mother’s ashes around the base and the remaining few inside the hedgerow at the top corner end of the top field at Harris’ Farm (near where the cowslips used to grow).

 

The Village School

On my fifth birthday I woke up all excited because I could now go to school – to be told I had to wait until the school said I could go – maybe at the beginning of the next term. There were probably two schoolrooms. Mrs Woodvine, who lived at Tidpit, was our class teacher – we all sat in tiny chairs and wrote with chalk on slates and I can still see the Alphabet Poster in my mind’s eye. Playtime in the playground was agony for me – some of the big boys frightened me and one stepped on my foot and blood seeped through my sock. I ran away one day and went home. I had to return to school the next day and didn’t get into trouble. Later that year my father decided to send me away to live with  his sister Peggy and her husband Cuthbert Baines who lived in a large stone house in Great Rissington in Gloucestershire. Their daughter, Eularia, ran a home school for her two children, Rachael and James, and I stayed with them for probably a term. It seemed like forever – I slept in the big ‘nursery’ on my own and used to watch the search lights in the sky at night – there was an airfield nearby at Rissington. I might enlarge on that experience later. There was an old Romany caravan in the garden in which pears were stored and to this day, the smell of a ripe pear takes me back into that caravan as if it was yesterday. My mother came one day to collect me and then began the PNEU home schooling described earlier.

 

Mr Barter’s Farm

Mr Barter had the farm next to the Village School – he had a son called Tony who was about the same age as myself. He may have had cows which grazed in the field behind the Church. Tony and the boys in the village gave me a bit of a bad time when I went to Godolphin and had to wear the regulation straw boater hat at all times when in school uniform. I always felt very embarrassed to be seen by the boys in my ‘board’ as the hat was called by the school! Some of the Grammar School kids used to knock our ‘boards’ off and throw them like frisbies around the inside of the Wilts and Dorset bus on the way home! Mr Flemington wouldn’t have allowed that to happen on his bus. When I was young, I wasn’t allowed to play in the village street with the other children – my parents said if they wanted to play with me they could come into our garden – subsequently, I used to hang over the front gate and watch them wistfully as they roamed and played in freedom along the road which was virtually empty of traffic in those days – much more fun than confined to someone’s garden. Later, when I was older (maybe about 12 years) I was allowed to ride my bicycle to visit a friend in East Martin and the boys used to bale me up and tease me along the way – I can’t remember what about but it was always a relief to see an empty road ahead of me!

(Note: Mr Barter’s farm was Princes Farm)

 

Mr Sellwood’s Farm

Opposite Harris’s Farm and next to the Barter’s Farm was Mr Sellwood’s Farm. The house was divided into two dwellings – Mr and Mrs Sellwood lived in the right hand half with no family and Mr and Mrs Daley with their two daughters, Daphne and Sylvia lived in the part adjoining Barter’s Farm. Mr Daley probably worked for Mr Sellwood who had a small dairy and fields along Smollens Lane, one of which was opposite the top field belonging to Harris’s Farm. He had a horse and cart in which he used to drive around and I remember my father helping him with the harvest at some time in the early years, with a reaper and binder drawn by horses, the stooks drying in the sun and then the building of the ‘hayrick’, presumably after the threshing was done. Probably the Dibbens were involved in all of this. Of course, a tractor replaced the horses in due course. Mr Sellwood loved dogs and had a black cross spaniel with short legs (which probably mated with my father’s golden cocker spaniel) and later had one of the puppies which was called Jasper. I had a puppy named Nick from the same litter. The three dogs used to meet up on the road outside our driveways, look up and down the street and take off in one direction together without hesitation – it was hilarious. After the black dog died, Nick spent so much time with Jasper that my father gave him to the Sellwoods – I was a bit put out because no-one asked me but it was explained that Nick would be happier there.

Daphne Daley was a lot older than her sister – I think she went to La Retraite Convent School in Salisbury and then got a job in an office in the town – she used to catch the bus every day and was such a pleasant person. She eventually got a boyfriend and married him and lived in Salisbury. I don’t remember much about Sylvia, she was much younger – maybe she went to the local school. Mrs Daley was very homely and used to wear a pinafore over her clothes – sometimes I used to go across to their house and was taken to the dairy in the farmyard at the back of the house, where they had a cat. They were all nice, friendly people to have living across the road.

(Note: Mr Sellwood’s farm was Andrew’s Farm)

 

Mrs Read’s Shop

During the war years, a very elderly little lady called Mrs Read lived in the house next to the Sellwood’s farm – it seemed a gloomy, grey house set slightly back from the road behind a hedge, with a large monkey puzzle tree growing in the front garden. To the side on the right was the shop. One walked up a path to the shop door, which had a bell attached to it which rang as one entered, and inside was a small room lined with shelves and a counter on the left and towards the back, behind which little Mrs Read served her customers. I wasn’t aware of Mr Hacker’s shop in those war time days but maybe it was because Mrs Read had our ration books and we couldn’t shop anywhere else – she used to weigh everything meticulously and fill little blue bags with flour, sugar etc. Fortunately my father was an excellent gardener and we had plenty of vegetables, fruit and chickens to augment our meagre food supplies. Eventually Mrs Read closed down her shop – maybe she was too elderly to continue, or maybe Mr Hacker offered a more comprehensive service.

(Note: Mrs Read’s house was Shelley’s)

 

Next to the Village Hall described above, was a cottage facing the School – but I can’t remember who lived there, as I said before. It might have been called Ivy Cottage. Next to this house was a thatched cottage in which lived Mr and Mrs Dowson.

 

Mr and Mrs Dowson

For many years, Mr and Mrs Dowson used to live in this thatched brick cottage with a thick hedge in front of it. I think his name was Malcolm and he used to belong to the Home Guard, as did my father. He seemed quite elderly and had fine features. He had a pony and trap and he and my father used to go out in it – once I went with them all the way to Cranborne which was very exciting – we must have gone through Martin Woods. Some old man owned a cow which he kept in the field at the back of Mr Dowson’s cottage and he used to sell us milk which he delivered in a small white enamel milk can – my parents commented that the milk was quite blue and creamless. I don’t remember who lived there after the Dowsons left or what happened to them but they were very friendly folk. Towards the end of the war, a small German plane was forced to land in Mr Dowson’s field – you can imagine what a stir that caused. I suppose the pilot was handed over to the Americans who had a camp on a hill along the Blandford/Salisbury road not far from the turning to East Martin, towards Salisbury. The Americans injected a bit of life into the village with their convoys, marching troops etc – that was the first time I had ever seen a black man. A couple of their officers became friendly with my parents and used to visit. I can remember them sitting around a log fire in the big open fireplace in our L-shaped sitting room in the evenings and someone playing a guitar. Colonel Hays was one of them and he kindly sent me a doll from America after the war was over. There was a wooden fruit box in our barn with the word California stencilled on the side – I used to dream of going to this place and believed it to be in Canada. Even when I learned it wasn’t, I was still determined to go to Canada until 1957, when I changed direction and went to South Africa instead. My mother ran the village post office during the war which enabled us to have a telephone and she accidentally overheard a few military conversations when the lines got crossed! The post box was built into our front wall. Later on, German prisoners of war helped lay the mains water pipes along the footpath outside our house – I was rather scared of them but they laughed a lot and were happy to talk to people. Signposts around the countryside were removed, so it was easy to get lost.

(Note: Mr and Mrs Dowson lived at Simmy’s Cottage)

 

Denzil Kerly and his family

Denzil was probably in his thirties, stocky of build, and wore dark blue overalls. I think his father lived with them also but have very vague memories of his wife, or if they had children. Denzil’s family supported the Labour Party and at election time had posters in red writing put up outside his house, which was a challenge because the Conservative Party Rooms were in our house and we had posters outside in blue writing! The cottage was thatched and I think had cream plaster covered walls and a date, about 1640, in iron numbers on the front of the house. There was a hedge with elderberry bushes and sheep hurdles between our gardens at the back and no doubt there was very little about our family disputes that the Kerly family wouldn’t have known…my parents could be quite vocal and heated over some matters…

(Note: Denzil Kerly and his family lived at Yew Tree Cottage)

 

Harris’s Farm

I shall write a separate account of life in this smallholding!

 

William (Bill) Bowles

On the other side of Harris’s Farm lived Bill Bowles and his wife – they were both quite small people in stature. They had a daughter called Celia who used to do housework for my mother when she became a teacher in Salisbury – Celia was a very jolly person. (There was another lass in the village who used to help around the house once – her name was Nancy – she had brown eyes, curly hair and giggled a lot). Bill Bowles was a gem – he used to grow vegetables in the part of our kitchen garden which adjoined his property, as it became too much for my father to run two vegetable gardens, having another one cultivated at the end of our orchard. Bill used to scythe the orchard for my father from time to time, using the old long handled scythe – I recall the sound of the stone sharpening it. I used to talk to Bill a lot and took a photo of him with me to South Africa when I left home.

(Note: Bill Bowles lived at The Old Farmhouse)

 

Jess Poore

Jess lived next to Bill Bowles, with his sister Nellie, as I recall. His property ran alongside the kitchen garden mentioned above, in which Bill gardened. There were pine trees along the fence line and I used to enjoy the sound of the wind blowing through the. There was an old apple tree nearby in our garden which I used to climb and sit and enjoy the peace; the apples were cooking apples and my father used to wrap them in tissue paper and store them in old suitcases in the barn. There were lots of snowdrops along the hedge at the end of the garden towards the fields, and there were raspberries, currant bushes and rhubarb growing through an old rusty bucket. I don’t remember what Jess did – maybe something to do with machinery. He was younger than his brother George.

(Note: Jess Poore lived at Clovelly, now Mulberry House)

 

Next to his house was a small field called The Pound, in which stray animals were kept in days gone by. Probably while in my teens, there was a house built on this land which became the home of at least one vicar in later years – when my mother died, I went to visit a vicar there and I am pretty sure he took the service at my mother’s funeral in Salisbury in 1988. It wasn’t possible to have the funeral at Martin for some reason, although we were able to add my mother’s name to my father’s gravestone.

 

Smollens Lane (Small End Lane?)

There is a laneway direct to the Downs which enters the village street next to the site of the Pound. I think it is called Smollens Lane. This lane ran alongside the top field of Harris’ Farm and we had a stile through the fence. Opposite our land was an entrance into a field where Mr Sellwood used to grow his wheat. It was a lovely walk up to the Downs – Reg White had fields which also bordered this lane behind our fields. At the end was a small chalk quarry – if one walked straight up the hill one eventually ended up on the earthworks near Blagdon Gap (described above). To the left of the hill, there were two or three barrows and my parents and I used to sit on them and enjoy the view towards Windmill Hill and watch the hares running across the fields. I haven’t been able to find these barrows in recent years – they must have been ploughed up which would have greatly upset my father. The site of the Romano British village was beyond the barrows and marked by lots of flint stones in the earth, with views across to the Martin Woods and a farm called Kites Nest?

Opposite the Pound, were two or three small cottages which fronted onto the laneway – I don’t remember the names of the people who lived in them. Beyond these cottages, fronting the village street, was the Dibbens’ place, complete with harvesting machines etc, I recall.

(Note: The Dibbens lived at College House)

 

Maurice Flemington

Maurice owned and ran the village bus and lived next door to the Dibbens with his wife. He was a very likeable tall, lean man with blue eyes, greying hair and seemed to always wear a cloth cap and a grey mackintosh type coat! His wife seemed younger – I remember her as slim with fair hair but I can’t remember her name – probably just ‘Mrs Flemington’. Their house was the last one on this side of the road – the water meadows stretched as far as Tidpit – there was a stream running through them and yellow flowers grew along the banks. I don’t know who owned these meadows – probably the Woodvine family at Tidpit.

(Note: This cottage was demolished)

 

Next to Mrs Read’s village shop, on the other side of the village street, was a big mound on the bend of the road opposite Smollens Lane, (Small End Lane?). Behind the mound, was a deep ditch, along which water ran. I am not sure now which way the water ran, but in days gone by, long before we came to live in Martin, water used to flow along the village street and obviously when a proper road was made, this water was piped underground. The entrance or exit, depending on which way the water flowed (I am pretty sure it flowed out of the large pipe), was into this ditch, just past Mrs Read’s house. There was another large pipe carrying this water under the road around about the entrance to the Dibben’s place – I can just remember clambering through this pipe as a child, thinking it was a great adventure. Just past Mrs Read’s house there was a pathway over the mound which led to the Council Houses built along the side of the road opposite the water meadows.

 

Council Houses

These were semi-detached brick and whitewashed walled homes – maybe about eight homes altogether? I can’t remember everyone who lived in them but Celia Bowles married a young man called John Read and they lived in the second one along the row. Bill Bowles went to live there also, after his wife died. Sadly John died in a motorcycle accident. Other people who lived along there were the Bradford family, who had a son called Johnny who rode a bicycle; and the Harris family who had twelve children – she was a tiny person, very thin – they had a longhaired black and white dog at one time and Mr Harris also rode a bicycle. I don’t know if all twelve children lived in the house – maybe some had grown up by the time we arrived in Martin. I think the Perry family lived in one of the houses – I recall a young man named Ron Perry?

 

The Whitelegges, at Packbridge Cottage

Maurice and Eleanor Whitelegge became good friends with my parents. They had three children, Susan, David and Sylvia/Pamela? All older than me. They had a tennis court and kept rabbits and guinea pigs. I think the children were away at boarding school because I don’t remember them being there all that much. Mrs Whitelegge had a piano and began to teach me to play when I was about six or seven before we acquired an upright piano of our own – I later continued lessons at school. For some reason, the Whitelegges went away for a period of time and my mother’s parents rented the cottage – it was wintertime and I remember staying with my grandparents there. Perhaps the pipes were frozen because I have a memory of my grandfather going to our house to extract water from our well by bucket. The Whitelegges were very friendly people and I remember going to sherry parties at their cottage and them visiting us on similar occasions – my father and Maurice got on well and their graves are close together which seemed appropriate. Eleanor was still alive and active when I returned to England in 1988 when my mother died – I met her when visiting Martin and we had a lovely talk. I think her daughter Susan lived somewhere near the area but I wasn’t able to meet up with her in the short time I had available. Maurice was tall and of slim build, Eleanor was shorter and vivacious with wavy, grey hair. I have no idea what Maurice did for a living! This cottage was the last in the village, situated at the junction with the road to the hamlet of Tidpit and the road to East Martin. There was a pathway, with a stone ‘bridge’ across the roadside ‘stream/ditch’, which ran alongside the property into the fields behind and a right of way which led to the back of the churchyard and then into the lane next to Mr Frampton’s farmhouse. Another right of way led across the field behind the churchyard to a gate and then over land to Captain Rhodes farm beyond East Martin – there was a footpath to the Vicarage which branched off to the right just past the gate.

Walking along the road to East Martin, I recall a bridge over the little ditch which carried the rainwater – as a child, I sometimes used to walk along these little ditches in my Wellington boots and thought it was great fun. I think there was a little pond at times in the spare land on the corner and probably there were waterbirds around because the big house on the right as one proceeded down the road was called Bustard Manor.

 

 

John and Jill Baker

John and Jill Baker lived in Bustard Manor and had a big farm there which stretched up to Toyd Down.  They were a young couple and had two children, Richard, a bit younger than myself and Bruce. Bruce had some problems with his legs, I recall, and used to be taken to an osteopath for treatment. Richard caught polio which caused great concern but it must have been a very mild case – I was kept in quarantine in case I developed it, but all was well. They had a golden retriever dog which sat on our front doorstep in the snow one winter when our cocker spaniel bitch was in season!

For some years, one half of Bustard Manor was let to tenants, Mr John? and Mrs Dora? Haines who had a daughter a few years younger than me called Jan – Mrs Haines also had a grown up daughter from a previous marriage called Judy, who used to come and stay sometimes – she was very pretty. I don’t know where Jan went to school when she was little but we became good friends and used to play together a lot – she eventually went to Godolphin when she was older. I loved her parents and spent a lot of time at their place – they used to take me to the beach with them at Sandbanks, which was a huge treat and we had such fun. They had a huge rocking horse in the kitchen which we could ride, and a polished timber bannister down the stairs along which we could daringly slide – it seemed awfully steep and high. Mr Haines worked at Boscombe Down, something to do with the Airforce probably, and they later moved into a prefabricated home out there, where I stayed overnight with then on one occasion.

Jan and I and Richard all played together sometimes and I remember the farm buildings at the back.

There were some other cottages along the road to East Martin and a turning to the left into the driveway to the Vicarage – I remember opening the beech nuts which used to fall to the ground and the noisy rooks. The Vicarage house was grey and looked depressing in the winter. Beyond the driveway, along the road on the right-hand side, was Mr Taylor’s farm.

He had cows and I remember riding on a cow’s bony back in his farmyard once! He lived with his sister, Miss Taylor, who used to walk across the fields to the church to play the organ for many years.

 

The Bailey family

The Bailey family lived in the right-hand side of the cottage next to the Taylor’s farm for a few years. Mrs Bailey used to help around our house at one stage too, and helped make sausages and faggots when our pig was slaughtered. She had a daughter called Nina. I have a feeling Nancy, mentioned above, may have lived in the other side of the cottage.

The road then turned a corner to the left – straight ahead was Paradise Lane, along which my father found a white baby owl which had fallen out of its nest. As he wasn’t able to return it to the nest, he took it home and reared it himself – it became his pride and joy and was named Parson. He used to shoot rabbits to feed it and eventually it made its home in our barn – it was a beautiful bird and sometimes flew in through my bedroom window of an evening and sat on the floor hissing – I didn’t like that very much and my mother would come to the rescue and put him back outside again. Sadly it drowned in a water butt at the back of our barn, having flown down to drink and toppled in but its wingspan was too big to get out again. My father was dreadfully upset as he felt he should have netted the butt.

 

The Du Pury family

There is a cottage on the corner next to Paradise Lane in which Colonel Du Pury lived with his wife and two children – David and Suzanne (I knew her as Sue). They were older than me but we saw quite a lot of them. They eventually moved away. They must have been friends with Mrs Anderson who lived in Rose Cottage and kept in touch because Sue was offered work on a farm in South Africa owned by Mrs Anderson’s friend, Winifred Krohn. These two ladies had been to school together, I thing and Mrs Krohn went out to South Africa when young and married a farmer, who later died. Mrs Krohn’s daughter Anne wanted a year away from the farm to travel to England, so Sue Du Pury went to work in her place – and later I was offered the chance to help out as well, which was a wonderful experience for me and the opportunity to work and travel around this fascinating part of the world. Sadly, I was then unaware of the existence of my Zambian relatives. But that is another story.

(Note: The Du Pury family lived at Hollyhock Cottage)

 

Further up the road in East Martin there was another farm or two – one on the right hand side where a lady lived who was a dressmaker – she made me some clothes when I was in my teens. On the left hand side, on a slight rise, there was a red brick house in which lived Captain Rhodes. Who he was I have no idea – he seemed to live alone, was retired, portly and wore a cravat! We used to walk over to visit him occasionally and I remember him taking the daylight saving issue very seriously.

(Note: Captain Rhodes lived at St Brides Farmhouse)

 

Continuing on along the East Martin road, one meets up with the main road to Salisbury – up the hill from there towards Salisbury, on the right-hand side, was the camp for the American troops – there were Nissan huts there for a long time after they left. Further along there was a petrol station and the son of the owner was Hedley Coombs – he was still living there in the 1990’s when I called in there one day to say hello – but he was out somewhere. Further along the road there was a timber house behind a high hedge in which lived Mr and Mrs Towell, and further along the road before one starts down the long hill towards Coombe Bissett, there was a gypsy encampment on the right hand side. They used to catch the bus sometimes and always smelled of woodsmoke. Sometimes they visited Martin, selling wooden clothes pegs and things.

 

Tidpit

Instead of turning left towards East Martin, one would follow the road straight ahead, over a little bridge, towards Tidpit. I recall driving over this little bridge with friends as fast as possible so the car would become slightly airborne, all of us laughing merrily – perhaps the current generation are just as stupid!?

The first cottage on the right hand side was occupied for many years by an elderly lady whose name escapes me, but I can recall her quite clearly – she was a bit of a recluse, I think. Further down, by the cross roads, on the left was a more modern red brick house in which I think the Hibberds lived? The road, or track, to the left led to Windmill Hill and Toyd Down. Windmill Hill was quite a feature in the landscape – it had a chalk quarry over quite a large area which used to stand out, very white – it faded over the years as the quarry ceased to be in use. It was a great hill for tobogganing when it snowed!

(Note: The Hibberds lived at Corner Cottage)

 

From memory, there were the remains of a Roman Road across Toyd Down – my father was always interested in tracing these old ways. On the left hand side, at the cross road, towards Damerham, was a double cottage set back a bit from the road. In the cottage nearest Damerham, the Bailey family relocated from their home in East Martin – Mrs Bailey was very unwell at this stage, resting with the foot of the bed elevated to ease the swelling of her legs – she was quite a large lady.

On the opposite corner was another thatched cottage in which lived a couple who had two children, one of whom I think was named Charity. Down the road which led to Martin Woods and Cranborne, lived the Woodvines.

They owned most of the land around this area and the nearby cottages were probably for their farmhands. Mrs Woodvine was the teacher at the village school and I remember her as being a very kind person – there would have been two class rooms in the school and she taught me with the youngest children. I have no recollection of who taught the older children in the class room next door! Maybe she magically taught both classes…

Further along this road towards Martin Woods, there was another farm called Kites Nest.