Tom Brown was a member of one of the largest Glemsford families. Apart from a few years away working, and a few more important years as a prisoner of war, he lived in Glemsford from his birth in 1916. He died in 2002.
These are extracts from an unpublished text. Tom gave me written permission to publish them here, but any further reproduction, other than for research or personal interest purposes is forbidden without permission from his estate. I would, in any case, be grateful to be told of any use to which these extracts are put.
As I got a bit older, life became increasingly more interesting and full. One day an aeroplane crashed or made a forced landing at Easty Wood, and half the school played truant to go and view the wreckage. I did not go, but some of my elder brothers did and brought home a piece of the wreckage as a souvenir.
Three or four of us would walk to Boxted every Saturday morning to collect a couple of pints of skimm milk from Miss Moyse whose people farmed there. I do not know if my parents paid for it when the Misses Moyse (there were two of them) came to Chapel on Sunday. I do not remember actually handing over any money on Saturday. The walk was 21 to 3 miles each way. The Misses Moyse used to come to chapel in a pony and trap, although later they graduated to bicycles. The visiting minister used to cycle in too. The ladies bicycles in particular were real bone-shakers, the 'Sit up and Beg' variety. The chains and gearwheels would be completely encased in an oil bath and this also acted as protection for the ladies dresses, some of which were very long.
My mother used to buy her bread from a Mr Malyon of Brook Street. He delivered by pony and cart. We ate a lot of bread. That, and potatoes were most definitely our staple diet. He was very good to us and gave us extended credit until such time as we were able to settle up.
There would be an occasional visit from a Concert Party who would give their shows at the old British Legion hut, and after the Women's Institute Hall was opened up we would see an occasional film, and sometimes straight plays by a visiting drama group. I did not pay to go in as I used to get a complimentary ticket by taking notices around advertising the events.
I got a job as a backus (backhouse) boy with Mr Fenn, a baker, or more correctly it was the ladies of the house who employed me. I got 116d (71p) a week for this, and I did all the usual jobs such as boot and shoe cleaning, knife cleaning etc., but I will come to that later.
At Christmas time there would be turkey, goose, duck and chicken plucking to be done at Mr Fenn's, as they raised some poultry for sale. As the plucking was going on I would help sort the downy feathers and put them in pillowcases which would be put on the top of the brick baker's oven to dry, then later used to fill pillows or cushions. The biggest tail and wing feathers would be tied into bundles and also laid on the oven until required for making long-handled cobweb brushes or anything else for which they were suitable.
1 used to do these jobs in between school hours, an hour before school, during the mid-day break which lasted two hours, after school plus Saturdays.
Every Armistice Day we all paraded to the War Memorial, the services being always held on the 11tn November, whatever day of the week it fell on. As the service was being held, all traffic would be stopped while it was in progress, although there was not a great deal of traffic anyway.
The silence would be heralded by the firing of a cannon on Tye Green, fired and owned by Mr Ernie Hartley the wheelwright. Everyone observed and respected the silence then, and a second resounding boom which could be heard all over the village, would mark the end of the silence.
I well remember Ernie Hartley. He used to wear steel-rimmed glasses right on the tip of his nose, and looked at you over the top of them. Outside his wheelwright's shop were waggons, carts and tumbrils in various stages of repair or manufacture. Wheels and huge tree trunks would be lying all over the green, and we would play see-saw on them. We called see-saw 'Teem-a-Tawter', and would give each other some bumpy rides.
At the other end of the green was Mr Pettit's yard. He was an undertaker and had a lot of logs on the green too, but his logs were used for the making of coffins. Their wood was properly seasoned, none of the kiln--dried stuff of today.
At some time during this period I entered hospital to have my tonsils and adenoids removed. They must have been pretty bad as 1 had to go in a second time as they would not remove them all at the same time. On the second occasion they also removed two of my front teeth.
During the summer when the fields were ablaze with scarlet poppies: we would pick the petals and take them down to the local chemical works or 'scent works' as it was more popularly known. These were bought by them for a few coppers per pound, and processed to extract a colouring agent used in children's cough mixture. This source of income has now been wiped out by the advent of toxic weedkillers.
I would also collect the ripe blossom of elderflower, although we needed an adult with us as the flowers were mostly too high for us to reach. The same firm would buy them from us and they would be distilled to make toilet water and for an oil used in flavouring. This income provided us with a little pocket money to be hoarded against the buying of Christmas presents and such like, and was not to be spent without very serious consideration.
I and my mates would walk to all the local fairs. There were many more of them then, at Cavendish, Long Melford, Glemsford of course, and sometimes even to Hartest which was a long walk. On Hartest Green is a very large stone, a relic of the Ice Age, it was found in a field at Somerton, a village a couple of miles away. It was harnessed to a team of 16 horses who dragged it down to its present position on the Green. We children used to be intrigued by a legend, in reality a leg-pull, and which still puzzles children today, which says that every time the stone hears the clock strike twelve midnight it turns round. We believed this and begged to be allowed to stay till midnight to witness this phenomenon. We were never allowed to stay. It was some time before we understood the legend and realised that it would only happen if the stone could hear.
I had no money for the fairs, of course, but I got my fun from just watching. There was one man who owned the roundabouts, or galloping horses, a Mr Wright. Sting Wright we used to call him. On seeing all the children milling about would once during the evening let out a stentorian shout - the magic words' 'Free Rides'. All of us would immediately swarm onto the horses and the roundabout would be submerged by children. Our vigil having paid off we would disperse among the other attractions, but we did not leave the roundabouts until then. If any of us had any older brothers present they would be sure to have a go at the coconut shy, and if they had any luck they would give us a coconut to share between us. It had to be broken open with a large stone, but that did not deter US.
I used to go for a haircut to a house just opposite the Tower Meadow. It is now a newsagent's shop. The barber was a Mr Jack Porter, a real joker. He was not a professional, just a back-yard barber. Nearly all barbering in the village then was this back-yard work. Another one of the barbers was Ben Oakley who did the Brook Street end of the village, and there was at least one more who lived down Egremont Street way and looked after that end of the village. His name was Percy Chatters or 'Kipple'
Jack did most of his hair-cutting on Sunday mornings. He just cut the hair of his mates and their families. My younger brothers and the one just a bit older than me, Basil, would come along at the same time. We did not pay as my elder brothers would settle up when they had their hair cut. The cut was quite literally a basin placed over the top of the head, upside down, with a very close crop right up to the edge of the basin. The basin was then removed and the hair on top of the head trimmed short. The charge would be 3d or 4d. Who says there is anything new in the 'Skinhead' haircut of today?
My mate Ginger Mealham came along one Sunday, sat in the chair and after one side of his head had been trimmed - just the one side, Jack asked him if he knew the price had gone up. Ginger said he did not know and had only got the usual 3d or 4d with him. Jack said 'Oh well, if you've only got half the money you'll only get half a haircut.' And that's all he got. Poor Ginger pleaded with him to finish it, then he would go home and get the rest of the money, but Jack was adamant and in any case said he had far too many customers waiting. He told Ginger to bring the rest of the money on Monday night then he would finish the haircut. So Ginger had to go to school on Monday with half a haircut and face the teasing of his mates. The price had not gone up. This was all done in fun, just one of Jack's jokes as he could not really have cared less about the money.
We did not smoke at that time, but I recall the slot machines which sold Crayol cigarettes at 3 for a penny. These were real coffin nails. Sometimes one of the gang would produce a penny and we would try them, purely for adventure, but we never became addicted. Woodbines were ' also available, in an open top paper packet - they were tuppence for five. We would usually light one and it would go the rounds of the whole gang as one puff was about all we needed. Sometimes we would cut a nice piece of elder wood from the elderberry shrubs, choosing a young piece which was straight and pithy, then we would gouge out the pith, cut a mouthpiece, then an airhole in the top and we would make ourselves a whistle. Or we would trim it up and make a popgun.
I would roam around the meadow and the adjoining land by Mr Fenn's, and Mr Gilbert Fenn who sometimes kept pigs on Lodge Farm, which was farmed by Collie Goodchild, would take me down with him when he went to feed the pigs. I would roam around these places looking for eggs which would be laid in some peculiar places such as under farm machinery or even inside it, in ditches and very often in a bed of stinging nettles. This occupation was very pleasant, especially as often happened, they were so well hidden that there might be half--a-dozen or more in the clutch before they were discovered. Often they would not be discovered at all, and the first we would know that a hen had been laying away was when she brought in a brood of chicks to be fed. This was always a delightful event, especially when the ducks did the same and brought their little balls of fluff home.
Guy Fawkes Day meant virtually nothing to us. We had no fireworks; there were not many bonfires. They would have been too dangerous anyway to have in our own backyards with so many thatched houses about, and there were no organised parties.
We did do a bit of carol singing at Christmas time. It was permitted then. There were many bands, varying from one to a dozen people in each, all very unorganised, there were so many gangs doing this that none of us got much reward.
Funerals were very showy affairs. We didn't appreciate the sadness of those occasions - who does at that age? Death was very remote as far as we were concerned. A big, black, shiny hearse, horse drawn, with one or sometimes two horses, draped with black ribbons and plumes, followed by horse-drawn cabs for the mourners. Every window-blind (everyone used roller blinds then) would be drawn, all traffic came to a halt while the cortege passed and every person on the route would stand still, doff his hat if he wore one, and bow his head as a mark of respect. The procession, travelling very slowly, would be preceded by the funeral director on foot and often a policeman as well. The church bells would toll and the whole village would be aware that some departed soul was in its way to its last resting place.