To be a Farmer’s Boy

Bull Lane in Lewes, Sussex, is not exactly in the elite part of this market town. In fact one could pass by without even noticing the small passageway which widens as one walks down the steep lane. But that is where I saw the light of day, in one of the two cottages facing downhill.

When I reached toddler stage I could look out over the protecting half door and see the stables to my right where my father and mother worked and on the left the slaughter house at the back of the butcher’s shop whose front was in Lewes High Street.

My father helped to look after the racehorses in the stable and mother cleaned the bothy where the stable lads lived. She was always delighted when she was given a pair of their long leather boots. She could make them last a little longer although to them they were worn out.

Cattle and pigs would come down the lane on their way to the slaughter house. So that is why I was behind my protective door – I could see all that was going on while safely out of the way.

I was not really alone here, as next door was also a child of my own age peeping over his door, so near we could almost touch hands. His name was also George. We each had a box of bricks one Christmas, which we lined up on the table then gradually pushed them over the edge. The noise made by them sounded to us the same as the sound the animals made on their way to the slaughter house. Then we’d rush to the doorway and call, “Did you hear mine?” Then rush back and repeat the performance.

I was taken out by my mother in a mail cart. This was a forerunner of a pram. It had two small front wheels, two larger ones behind and a wooden coach-built body which was pushed by a handle on either side. I liked riding in it because I knew we were going up among the shops, and I knew a sugar bun was in store for me when we reached the baker’s shop.

The first shop at the top of the Lane was Briggs’ the tailors who displayed in his window a pink hunting jacket on one side and a sailor’s uniform complete with gold braid on the other side.

Next was Dushart’s the toy shop, very exciting, but we didn’t linger there as money did not allow us to have many toys – only at Christmas.

The next was Coppard and Likeman, where hares and rabbits were hung high above the window level, also pheasants, partridges and larks were hung by their necks. Fish was displayed on the marble slab, open to the road. No one bothered about a few flies in those days.

Mr. Marsh the Butcher was next. He also had his shop front open to show his joints of meat to the passersby. White bladders of lard hung in his shop and at Christmas, a pig’s head with a lemon in its mouth graced the slab. Inside the shop at this time would be a live fatted bullock. People would choose what part of the animal would be their Christmas roast.

At last we had reached Stevensons’ the bakers where my mother bought me my favourite rice bun, with sugar dots over the top. This kept me amused while mother got on with the shopping.

In this High Street I have seen prisoners hand-cuffed to warders being transferred after their sentence carrying pathetic little bundles containing their belongings. Also on the Assizes Day, I enjoyed seeing the trumpeters outside the Town Hall when the Judges arrived.

My mother would then have extra work to do, by cooking for the judges at Castle Gate. Then I would be tied in my pram and put inside the castle grounds, where I could see the big cannon in front of me. When mum wasn’t quite so busy she would get me out of the pram, and I would climb all over the cannon and run about on the surrounding grass.

Our cottage rent was two shillings and sixpence a week, which seemed the usual rent for a two up and two down cottage. Three bedrooms would be seven shillings and sixpence and for a really large cottage or house it would be ten shillings a week. So when one thinks of a man’s wage at that time, which was twelve and sixpence a week for most labourers, it was as much as we could afford.

When I was old enough to be trusted outside the door I investigated everywhere. I loved the mauve bunny mouth flowers of the cress growing over an old grey stone wall. The ash hole was interesting where all rubbish was thrown in a three-sided concrete compound. Men would bring large tubs and shovels to empty it every now and then, carrying it to the top of the Lane where the dust cart waited with its patient horse.

The horse dung was thrown out of a window on to a pile outside, and on frosty mornings steam would rise from it when the soakage froze. I would slide on it, and in my mind, I felt I was sliding the width of a pond. Large black flies hung around this in the summer and by hitting it with a stick they would fly up in a cloud, only to resettle a moment later. If Georgie Barker and I wandered too near the slaughterhouse the man would come out waving a knife and frighten us away.

The lamplighter came with his long pole to pull the gas-lit street lamp into life, then in the morning to put it out.

The milkman left cans of milk on the doorsteps and took away the empty cans. My companion and I gathered up as many cans as we could find and wandered away in the process. We were found on the steps of St. Anne’s Church surrounded by milk-cans. Our mothers were given the impossible task of replacing them. We were not content with just doing that: we had wandered into the Church as well. I don’t know what this man said to us. He might have been the verger. The only thing I remember was the knobbly knuckles of his hand as it rested on the back of a pew. He sent us outside where our mothers found us.

My maternal grandmother who lived at Ashcombe was taken ill. So mother took me with her when she went to help nurse her. Granny sat in her armchair most of the day. Mrs. Sturgess from the Manor House would bring her jelly, made in a stone jar. As I stood by Granny’s knees she would pop a spoonfull into my mouth. As Granny got worse she stayed in bed and I did not see a lot of her, but Grandad, who was a shepherd, took me about with him. He would take me down the drive to the main gate by the Lodge and wait for the mail cart to come. We could hear the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves long before he came into sight riding on his red box-like cart. I don’t remember him giving us any letters. But I expect we had to be there to collect if there were any.

Grandad’s flock was folded on the other side of the road, so we walked across where, by the roundhouse, a man sat flint knapping day after day. He wore goggles with wire mesh eye pieces. The flints were used in buildings and the chips for road making.

We passed under the railway arch where sometimes a train would rattle by overhead. The noise was like thunder. We would then climb into the signal box to say good morning to Mr. Payne the signal man. He had a mugful of cocoa sop and offered me a spoonful which I refused. Then he let me help pull the brass-topped lever. I felt I was helping to run the railway.

Grandad and I went up the hill a bit farther to his sheep. As he let them out of the fold I would sit on the grass with his sheepdog who was a wonderfully obedient animal. Grandad would say “Stay”, and nothing would make him move. I could roll on him, sit on him, and even urinated in his ear. Still he would not move.

A little farther over the downs behind the New-market Inn an uncle of mine was ploughing with his ox team. He had four: Lark and Linnet, and Rock and Ruby. They worked in pairs.

Ashcoombe is only a hamlet consisting of six cottages and a farm house. Three of the cottages were occupied by members of my family, Uncle Bill Pope, Uncle Albert Pope and Grandad Pope. Mr. Phillips was in another and Mr. Rusbridge a bit farther up the lane. In the Lodge which was by the main road lived another Mr. Phillips.

The womenfolk seemed to arrange their work together on washing days and baking days. On Mondays clouds of steam would pour out of the communal out-house, and on baking days lovely smells of fresh baked bread and cakes, which they would carry to their cottages on huge trays. I was never allowed inside, but peeping through a knot hole in the door I could see a long black shovel which was used to get the bread out of the oven.

I went one day with my mother to a cottage on the bank of the main road. There were other children there; it might have been a Mothers’ Union meeting. On our way back, the mower had been working and I cried to see the daisy heads all lying there. I gathered a handful and put them in water when we reached home.

Grandad brought in a basket of birds one day – some sparrows, but mostly finches. My mother just skinned the breasts and cut them off to make a sparrow pie. Sometimes we had rook pie, and at lambing time it was lambs’ tail pie, as all lambs’ tails were docked for cleanliness, and also to improve the meat. The nourishment would all go into the body. When tails were left on, they got very fat. I don’t remember what these pies tasted like.

On Lewes market days several carts would pass along the road, some with pigs held down by netting to prevent them jumping out. Sheep and cattle with their drovers would go by. At the end of the day carts were lined up outside the Newmarket Inn. While the drivers were inside slaking their thirst, the horses drank from a horse trough by a hovel under the bridge. They would wait patiently to be united with their drivers, and should a driver have over-drunk he was helped into the back of the cart. Throw the reins over the horse’s back, give it a gee-up, and it would find its own way home.

The doctor’s cart was low where he sat. The driver held the horse’s head while the doctor visited the house. He came quite often now, as Granny was dying of cancer.

I do not remember seeing the coffin arrive but on the funeral day a farm waggon was brought outside the cottage. Thick layers of straw were on the boards and the coffin laid on it. Waggon and mourners followed it to St. Anne’s Church in Lewes and Granny was laid to rest in the churchyard.

Mum and I did not stay a lot longer as arrangements had been made for Grandad to live in with one of his sons. His two daughters-in-law were both named Frances. I knew them as “Big” Aunt Frances, and “Little” Aunt Frances. “Little” I did not like. If I was left in her charge she nearly always tied me in a chair, to keep me out of her way. But “Big” Aunt Frances I liked, especially when she reached for the tin on the mantleshelf, adorned by red-coated soldiers, and I knew that I was going to get a sweet.

It was at Ashcoombe I saw my first bird’s nest. The Rusbridge boy who was a lot older than me lifted me up to see the neat nest with four blue eggs in it. It was near the flowering currant bush by Granny’s gate. The bush I thought had raspberries growing on it.

The cockerel in the farmyard when crowing would sit on top of the pump house. A cock pheasant would come and have a fight with him. They always lived to fight another day.

A large tree was felled while I was there. I did not see it fall; no doubt I was kept well out of the way, as I was by now only two years of age. But I saw the men stripping off the bark and a large chunk to one side I was told was for a butcher’s block.

When we returned to our cottage in Lewes, George Barker was pleased to see me. He now had a play-mate, and we being a little older now could wander farther afield. In the meantime another boy had found his way down the Lane, he was Rolly Pelling, also a girl Maggie Hyde. We were all in skirts in those days. We only started to wear knickers when we started school, so all looked very much alike. But I found the difference when Maggie could not urinate up the wall like us others.

We had not been back at Lewes very long when I was sent to live with my Aunt Jenny at Falmer. She lived in the cottage next to the school. I had cousins there too. One I called Stosher who had a home-made four-wheeled cart. I was not allowed to touch it when he was around, so waited till he was in school, then ran up and down the road with it. This fetched him to the school window where he would bang to attract my attention and make signs to me to take it back. This attracted the concentration of the rest of the class. So the teacher told Aunt I had better start school as well and I was not three years old at the time. All Aunt Jenny had to do was lift me over the wall into the playground. At lunchtime she would hand me a hot cake or sausage roll. I liked Aunt Jenny.

Stosher liked to piggy-back me on the stepping stones across Falmer Pond to our Secret Island where we could go birds nesting or climbing trees. We wandered up the Vicarage path to collect fir cones, but were turned away by the Vicar.

The pond was the water supply of the village. Cows and horses drank round its edges and villagers got their water from a pump which stood above the filter beds on the school side of the pond. I was lucky enough to be near when the men came to clean it. I went down with them. I had white shoes on at the time. When I came out they were green. The pump had a brass plate attached to its wooden casting, on which was inscribed “Presented by the Earl of Chichester.”

The Earl passed by one day when town boys were playing about with the pump. He hit one with his stick who turned and swore at him and called him a silly bugger.

The lavatories in the village were all bucket type – some with one or two holes in a wooden seat. The bucket was taken out the back of the outhouse by lifting a trap door, the contents emptied in a remote part of the garden. Inside the door one went in were the usual bucket of sieved ashes, and shovel, and hanging on a nail by string were cut up squares of newspaper. Should anyone stay in there too long, one would assume they were reading too much.

Soldiers camped in the field above the cemetery while I lived there, in rows of tents, and they had sports which the villagers came out to watch. I remember the tug of war the best.

Mr. Moulden was the farmer. He had his own threshing tackle, which he would hire out to other farmers. Mr. Cherryman was the driver. He always had a clay pipe upside down in his mouth.

The vicarage was next to the farm, then down the Lane towards the main road was Mr. Slark the blacksmith. He would shoe all the farm horses and the mules when the soldiers were there, also renew the iron rims on carts.

Mrs. Unstead kept a sweet shop and tea garden in the Lane the other side of the school. The nicest sweet I tasted was a caramel from her shop.

There was another Mr. Unstead who had a small holding near Falmer Station. He kept a few cows and supplied the village with milk. Each day he would carry two large cans of milk up the road to the village, each containing two gallons, and should he sell out, do the journey again.

The station master lived at the station. He was almost the Earl’s station master who could order a train at any time and there would be the station master resplendent in uniform and gold braid waiting for him.

When I returned to Lewes from Falmer I found I had a baby sister, but I went back to Falmer a little later when Grandad died at Ashcoombe.

It was also Coronation year. A tea party had been arranged by the Earl of Chichester to be held in Stanmer Park.

Just inside on the left where cows had been grazing, men with scythes cut the grass. The cows were removed and trestle tables arranged. After a huge tea a bonfire was lighted. A woman remarked to my aunt that I had no business there as I was not a resident, but my aunt stuck up for me in no uncertain terms. When the earth had cooled down where the bonfire was lighted, a tree was planted to commemorate the coronation.

I had not been back in Lewes long when I contracted scarlet fever. I was taken to Lewes Isolation Hospital which is on a lower road opposite the Landport Estate. From my window I could see steam ploughs working where now are houses. The hospital was run by a man and his wife. I was not allowed visitors but fruit and eggs were left outside the door for me. The man’s job was to stoke the boiler which seemed also to heat a large oven where he put mattress and blankets in a wire cage and shut the door. The wife did the cooking, housework and bathed me. I had different colour baths while there; one was blue and another yellow. There was one other girl there when I arrived but she went home the following day.

As I got better I had my meals with the man and his wife. Then came the day I was well enough to go home, but it was not to Bull Lane.

While I was in the Isolation Hospital my father had applied for a job as racehorse trainer to a Mr. Havelock-Allen at Novington Manor. To get home we took a train from Lewes to Plumpton, then about a mile’s walk to the Manor. We lived in the Manor, Mum doing the cooking and Dad helping with the racehorses. I had restricted parts of the house, but felt quite happy there.

One day there was a meet of the foxhounds. It was lovely to see them; they had a good chase and the fox ran towards the Manor and took refuge in a culvert. The terriers were put in to drive it out, also big poles. There was an awful noise of hounds baying and barking, men shouting then the master holding it up, and cutting off the head and brush. But by then it seemed all in pieces.

There was another boy around who would come and play with me. He went to Plumpton School, so was a lot older than my three years. He had an idea of a grain elevator made out of a board and bricks. He cut grass with scissors, and we pushed it up the board making it fall in a pile as it fell. So simple a pastime, yet to me it looked real.

I should like to have gone to school with him, but as yet I was not school age. Mother consoled me by saying it was too far for me to walk.

We were just getting nicely settled at the Manor when 11r. Havelock-Allen hung himself in a nearby wood. He’d got himself into debt over this racehorse venture. So Dad was out of work and we had to move from the Manor.

Back we went to Lewes but in a very poor part, Eastport Lane. But as Dad was out of work beggars can’t be choosers. He would go out daily to look for work. Holding horse’s heads at 4d a time was alright on race days, but it was no wage. One job he applied for was helping to train blood-hounds.

The man handed Dad a coat, told him to go around the woods and fields where he liked. He would give him half an hour’s start, then he would let the dogs loose.

After letting the dogs have a smell of the coat Dad did as roundabout a way as he could through the woods and fields. After about an hour he hung the coat on a gatepost and went home to dinner. When half-way through there was a pack of blood-hounds baying at the door, he was afraid to open it. He did not keep that job.

In Eastport Lane cattle and pigs passed on their way to the market. On hot days they would get exhausted, and I have seen pigs collapse and lay in the gutter to be collected later.

On one such a day our side gate was open leading to the yard, where there was an outdoor copper.

A bullock ran in and the drover climbed on the copper to allow more room for the beast to turn round, when his foot went through the lid and into a copper of hot water. His shouts and language really terrified me. I ran out of the way.

Mum had to do washing for other people, and also went back scrubbing the quarters for the stable lads.

There were some small shops in Priory Street where Mum did her shopping now. It was no good going up to the High Street with so little money. She could get fourpennyworth of pieces, and a piece of suet at the butcher’s to make a pudding, and twopenny-worth of piccalilli from Mr. Yates. And we could take a jug to Mr. Uridge for pennyworth of milk, which was dipped out of a large bowl with the aid of a dipper which hung on the side. In his window was honey in the comb. It looked so delicious but Mum said it was only for rich people.

I was again sent to my Aunt at Falmer. I think it was one less to provide for now Dad could not get work. Then on Sundays I had to go to Granny Fairway for my Sunday dinner. They both had old age pensions of 5/- a week but that Sunday joint was a banquet – beautiful juicy beef I have never seen the like of since. Then at teatime dripping bread from the joint with that gorgeous brown jelly at the bottom of the basin. But always caraway seed cake which I disliked. Nevertheless I was well fed, apart from that, yet I always stayed thin. I would amuse myself after tea with Granny’s egg-timer, watching the sand filter from the glass top, to the bottom, then turn it again to repeat the process.

After a while I returned to Lewes because I was old enough to attend school. George Barker and myself started the same day at St. James School. We had not been going many days before we got the cane. It happened this way. We both went out to the lavatories, and at the same time a little girl went into hers. So for a bit of fun we went round after her. George Barker pulled her off the seat and i smacked her bottom. For this we had to toe the line and receive a whack with the cane on each hand.

The poor old teacher reminded me of a picture of Queen Victoria. She was short and fat, and her legs were so swollen they hung over her shoes. The older boys would play her up, but they did not always get away with it, because the policeman or vicar would administer the cane if need be.

My father at last got a job as a farm labourer at Southease, a village near Lewes. It meant some work with horses which he understood and a cottage was provided with the job. So we moved there.

It was not a very comfortable cottage. The door which opened on the living room was a poor fit. It was so draughty under the door that the carpet would blow up at one corner. We would put a sack along the bottom to keep back the draught. Then Dad nailed a piece of lino along the bottom that flapped quite noisily, and was frightening. There was an open grate to cook by, where pots and kettles got black with the smoke. It was a hard task on Mum’s part to keep the smell of smoke out of food that was cooking.

I went to the village school. I took some binder string with me one day and held it between my nose and upper lip making it look like a moustache. The children laughed at me so I was made to stand behind the blackboard, with it still in position, when in came the vicar. He would come in unannounced and question us on religion. I managed to put the binder string in my pocket, so no questions were asked.

Another time when put behind the board I kept looking at an apple on teacher’s desk brought by one of the class. It was rosy and shiny: I was sure I could just reach it. Temptation got the better of me. I took it, had a bite and in replacing it, it rolled off the desk into the wastepaper basket. The teacher turned quickly but noticed nothing.

At weekends we children amused ourselves about the farm buildings. I could milk a cow by the time I was seven years old, and when eight I earned sixpence a day at harvest time for “stannarding” – that is holding the horse still by its head while sheaves of corn were loaded on the cart. I would walk on at a command, then on the word “Stannard”, I would stop. It meant “Stand Hard” or “Stand Still”. Then at the end of the week I would line up with the men to get my pay. Most I gave to Mum to help buy boots which wore away quickly on the gritty country roads.

Sometimes we would move the sacks in the barn to disturb rats and mice; we’d have the farm cats handy to catch them.

One farm cat was very good at it. I have known her eat eight mice in succession, and sit with her paw over the hole till she had eaten the previous one, then release one more. After that she just slept for hours.

This same cat would come into the cowstalls while milking was in process, and if milk squirted from the cow’s teat towards her she would stand on her back legs, and try to divert the flow of milk into her mouth by patting it with her front paws. We laughed at her efforts. She would be wet through with milk and when dried out resembled a hedgehog.

We used this cat for our “fox hunt”, by putting her in a sack, and taking her up the hill. By the time we released her she was very angry, so she always beat us back to the farm, no matter how fast we ran.

The time was drawing near to our annual School Concert. The teacher lined us up at the far end of the hall in order to test our voices. We were given a moment or two to decide what to sing. I was going to sing “The Minstrel Boy” as it was the only song I knew all the words of.

Each child sang in turn. When the boy before me sang “The Minstrel Boy” I was taken aback. I must sing something. My voice sounded good the day I bellowed in the empty rainwater butt, till I was stopped abruptly by a whack across the buttocks with a walking stick held by Jasper Botten, the farmer, who said when he wanted someone to scare the rooks he’d send for me.

I was shaken back from my thoughts by the teacher asking what I was going to sing. I had to think quickly and the first thing that came to my mind was the indelicate words to the tune of “Cock-o-the-North”, which were “Chase me Charley, chase me Charley, lost the leg of me drawers …”. There I was stopped to be told the words were not suitable, neither was the voice, so there ended my audition for that year.

The following year I must have done better because I was chosen to sing in a group. My mother was delighted, she bought me a new suit, and a large white collar to wear on the stage. It was lying on my bed before I went to school, ready for me when I returned from school in the afternoon.

When afternoon school was over, some of us boys stayed behind to arrange forms across the hall in preparation for the concert. Various curtains were hung by the side of the stage and along the back, making it all look very professional. The teacher asked if someone would hang the wall maps over the windows to shut out the light. This required the window pole. Another boy and myself made a grab for it and a tug of war followed. I won the pole and hit him over the head with it. The teacher turned on me in anger and said for that, I would not be in the concert.

I had to go home and tell Mum, She too was mad about it, especially as she had bought the suit she could ill afford. She punished me by sending me to bed early, so I didn’t even see the concert. Away went any ambitions of ever getting on the stage.

I did not like our cottage at Southease. I would go into other boys’ homes or my Uncle’s next door, but went home by bedtime. It was to me an unfriendly place: oil lamps and candles for light, a communal pump outside (so all water was carried in by buckets), that draughty door. To have a good fire, all wood had to be sawn and chopped, which meant a lot of hard work. I came in for this chore as soon as I was able to use a saw. There was the usual little house at the bottom of the garden which I avoided going out to after dark.

Taking a lighted candle in a jam jar gave one a bit of confidence, but when one sat on the cat that used to sleep in there, all fears returned. My mother showed me how to use the hollow handle of the shovel, pointed to the back of the fire, to relieve myself instead of going out in the dark. I seemed to be very nervous at this time, especially if there was a storm. But my mother was terrified of them. She would shut herself in a cupboard or put her apron over her head when it lightened, so she did not help my fears. My cousins next door emphasised it too if I went in there. I went to bed in their house one night in a storm and kept my head under the bed clothes. I was sweating and they kept saying “coo, that was a lovely flash” or “hope it thunders louder next time” – so I couldn’t get away from it. As I grew older, I got better.

The Rev. Foster was vicar at Southease. His daughter banded us children together, and called us “The Band of Little Helpers”. We were supposed to show the congregation to their seats, sing in the choir and gather up the hymn books after the service. After Sunday School in the afternoon she would take us to the vicarage to tea. I think it was her crafty way of making sure we would be there for evening service. After tea the Vicar would let us walk around the garden. He said we could have any fruit we found on the ground but not to pick any. Of course there never was any on the ground. So one boy would accidentally knock an apple off a low branch with his elbow as he passed, the one behind pick it up. Then we’d share it. We were not called “Little Helpers” for nothing.

In a barn the Rev. Thomas had two very old bicycles. We were not allowed to touch them. They were real old bone shakers and are now in the Brighton Museum. My uncle had a bike too, a more modern one. That too we daren’t breathe on. When he mounted it he propped it against the wall and made sure both feet were on the pedals before riding it. One day I might have a bike and I would be most daring, push off one foot and throw the other leg over as I had seen others do.

The church roof at Southease needed repairing, and when the slates were being removed it was found bees had made it their home for years.

Everyone in the village brought containers to carry away the honey, even baths as there was so much, and all had to be cleared before work could proceed. It must have weighed tons. Everyone had as much as they could take away. That was a real treat for all.

Country people do have bonuses apart from their wages which are low in comparison to town workers. They each have a cottage at a very low rent with a garden where they can grow their vegetables; they usually have at least one pint of milk a day, faggots for firelighting, wood and logs for the fire, pea and bean sticks they can cut for them-selves. The only drawback is finding time to do all these things after the long hours worked on a farm.

It was my job to leave our milkcan at the cowstall on my way to school and pick it up on my way home. I didn’t always get it home safely. To kick a football on the way was a great temptation, and even if I stood the can down, someone or something would knock it over. Then I would have to go back and beg for more.

Harvest time was a busy time for us boys. Summer holidays were always a joy. We worked with the men in the fields, and got paid for it.

When a good part of the corn was cut in ever decreasing circles we boys would stand around with sticks and dogs. The rabbits run inwards for cover so they have to make a bolt for it as the last is being cut. Not many get away. Then they are divided among those who want them. With ours the best went to the butcher in Lewes, who bought them off Dad. The money Mum kept to help buy boots for school. Ours wore out very quickly on the gritty roads. When all the corn was cut we could help “shocking up” and stand it up in “stooks” to dry off. This took a bit of practice but one learns quickly when there is money on the end of it. The sheaves glistened in the sun, a lovely sight.

After a day or two in came the waggons to take it away. It seemed hot and sunny during this time. The men always had a thirst. The farmer put a barrel of cider on a sawing trestle in the corner of the corn field; an enamel cup was near by, and every now and then, a man would make his way towards it. We boys were not allowed it, but Mum gave me a bottle of cold tea and I enjoyed that.

At this procedure I went “stannarding”, I was eight years old now and just tall enough to hold the horse’s head by the strap. At a command I would lead the horse forward. Then at a shout of “stannard”, would stop while the sheaves of corn were loaded on the waggon. These were taken to a prearranged place where the corn stack was to be built. It was never far away but two waggons or three would be doing a shuttle service all day. For this job I earned sixpence a day.

After all the harvest had been gathered the women were allowed to go gleaning, that is picking up all the corn left behind by the reaper. My mother did this. For a few pence the miller would grind it, and it was always used to make our Christmas puddings.

There were also pea and bean picking on other parts of the farm and potato picking, all very back-bending jobs. Then the mangle pulling, which was done by a team of gipsies who came yearly. But we boys would do the earthing to where they built a mangle pile to be used for cattle food during the winter. We helped get the cows in, and helped milk them which all brought in a bit of money.

I had another source of money. The doctor’s wife was a secret whiskey drinker. She would give me sixpence if I went to Newhaven and bought her a bottle always delivering it at the back door. I gave mum some of my money, as she never seemed to have enough. But when I had a few shillings saved and my thoughts turned to spending some, I went into Lewes and made a bee-line to the toy shop. No need to dash past it, as I did in my pram years ago. I could gaze as long as I liked. I wanted something real good, something to last so I took a long time making up my mind. It was to be the Meccano set: all those strips of metal, and nuts and bolts would keep me amused for hours. I had not got quite enough money, but I went in and asked if they would save it for me. I said how much I had. I needed another two shillings, which I said I could get by the following week. So the shopkeeper took it out of the window and put it on a shelf.

Next Saturday could not come soon enough. I almost ran all the way to Lewes, hoping that the shopkeeper had not changed his mind, and sold it during the week. No he hadn’t, and as I passed over my money for the neat parcel he gave me, I was the happiest boy in Lewes that day. And the happy evenings I spent with my cousin in his home will always be in my memory. We made all sorts of farm vehicles, some really worked. We had an elevator which looked the real thing when it was carrying grass. The next thing I must get was a clockwork motor to really make it work. It took several weeks and the school holidays were corning to an end; also not much money from farm jobs. But I did make it, and all the winter evenings were spent making working models with my cousin.

I was growing up fast now. I was about eleven years old when I had a longing to own a bike. I know they were very expensive, but I had seen in a newspaper that all one needed was ten shillings deposit. I spoke to my uncle who had a bike. He said there was no harm in saving, even if I changed my mind about the bike and to encourage me, he made me a wooden money box which I put on the mantle piece. As I earned money I popped it in. Till I went to it one day and it was empty. I cried and stormed until mum said she had to take it to buy medicine for my sister who was ill, she said she would replace it but never did. I had to think of another way to hide my money in future. I decided to put it in a cocoa tin and bury it in the remote part of the garden, near where the lavatory bucket was emptied. It would be undisturbed – no one would go near, I would do it all under cover of darkness. Should I go down the garden they would assume I had gone down to the lavatory.

All went well, and when I had ten shillings, I took it to my uncle, who exchanged it for a note. I did not want to leave it in the tin in the garden in case it got wet, so I looked all round my bedroom for somewhere to hide it. I decided behind a picture hanging on the wall but alas, that also disappeared. I guess mum had it again and was too ashamed to admit it.

I went crying to my uncle who suggested me giving it to him to save, which I did, and my money accumulated until I had my next ten shillings.

I cut out the advert in the paper and put in a note to send me a bike, enclosed my ten shilling note and name and address then waited for it to arrive. But I didn’t know it was not as easy as that. Along came a form and contract paper to be filled in too. My father would not sign it, as he ought, as I was under age and me, not knowing about such things, didn’t write to ask for my money back. I shed buckets of tears whenever I thought of it. The first bike I had I bought in Lewes market for two shillings and sixpence. It was without mudguards, and had solid tyres, so no fear of punctures. I saved to buy mudguards and brake blocks, and a lamp. My uncle helped me put it safely together.

Now my journeys for the whiskey were a joy to do on my bike. Other people made use of me for things such as getting prescriptions from the chemist: even the woman at the sweet shop would get me to bring her back a jar of sweets as by now I had a carrier on the back of my bike. I got a bit cheeky too. I would whistle at girls as I rode by and thought I’d made an impact on them now that I was the proud possessor of a bike.

I started to go to the picture house in Newhaven on Saturday nights, and even treat myself to fish and chips before returning home. That bike opened a new life for me.

When older men were being mobilised in the first world war, younger children could leave school to do farm work. There were prisoners of war working on our farm. Two were billeted with us. I got on fine with them. I was now twelve years old, and could almost do a man’s job. I especially knew all about cows, mating and calving. More than once I had been called upon to help deliver a calf, as I had a small hand. I was a good milker, and could carry heavy sacks on my back. I was eager to leave school. I had done well, was good at most subjects, so I left.

My first day I was so eager I got up at 3 a.m., lit a lantern and walked down to the stall. It was locked. I sat and waited two hours till the head cowman came to open it. I got through the day all right but was glad of an early night. I was not so eager after that, and as time went on I began to dislike it, as I had so little time to myself, and I was too tired for anything after a day’s work. I would fall asleep after my midday meal, and mum would shake me to wake up for the afternoon’s milking. I have also fallen asleep while milking a cow. This life was not as good as I thought it was going to be.

I rode my bike to Newhaven one day just as the cross-channel ferry was arriving. I stood by the quay and watched it dock. It looked grand, then a thought struck me – I wonder if I could get a job as a cabin-boy.

I went round to the office and spoke to a man who said I was a bit small, but if I could put two inches on my chest in a month, come back. He showed me some exercises to do with the aid of a broom handle: but now when I think about it, I think he was pulling my leg.

I told Dad where I had been. He told me to do away with the idea, as I had security on the farm. But I was not satisfied with my lot. I wanted to see life. I could see the lights of Brighton reflected in the night sky and I thought when I get a bit more time off I would go there. A bus went there but I had a good walk to the bus stop. The bus went to the Palace Pier at Brighton, then returned after a short stay.

Next Saturday afternoon I walked to the bus stop. I was in good time. The seat next to the driver was vacant so I sat there. I felt almost like royalty as we drove along. It seemed miles and miles, till we reached the Palace Pier where our journey ended. I walked along the sea front by the railings, smelt the sea air and noticed all that was going on. The vendors on the beach with papers, and plates of shell fish, stalls selling Brighton Rocks, people with “kiss me quick” hats, everyone enjoying themselves. Even those asleep in the rows of deckchairs were loving every minute. The girls all looked so smart and I in my shabby clothes could not expect to be noticed by them.

I kept looking over my shoulder at intervals to make sure the bus was still there, as I had to go back on it, otherwise I would be lost as I did not know my way around. As soon as I saw the driver get in I ran and took the front seat again. Yes, Brighton was good but if I wanted to talk to girls I must definitely smarten up my appearance.

I thought about all I had seen as we travelled back. My mind was full: the boatmen plying for hire – I’ll go for a boat trip one day; I’ll also buy a Brighton Rock to take back proving that I had been. As our bus pulled up at Falmer my Aunt Jenny was passing. I gave her a wave and leaned out the door to exchange a few words. I felt very important. Brighton had whetted my appetite. I must go again.

I went into Newhaven one week to buy myself some “posh” clothes: a pair of grey flannel trousers, a pin stripe jacket and a brown trilby hat. When I think of it now I shudder. But I had no one to advise me on dress sense. I was only 13 years old, and I wanted to look grown up. No wonder the girls ignored me. I must have looked like a scare-crow in their eyes, but I enjoyed the bus ride each way.

I was difficult to wake in the mornings. Dad was always moaning about it and mum was almost in tears with her efforts: but nights were not long enough for me.

I had that unsettled feeling again. I wanted to break away from farm life. I thought of the racehorses in the Lane where I was born and those at Novington Manor. I loved horses. I had heard of a training stable at Jevington near Eastbourne. I would go there and try to get a job as a stable lad, and maybe later on a jockey. I was small and no matter how heartily I ate, I did not put on weight. So when afternoon milking was finished I did not go home. I started off walking the 15 miles to Jevington. It took hours. I think it was about eight o’clock when I knocked at the large front door. It was opened by a maid. I asked to speak to the boss, who came to the door. I asked if he would take me on as a stable lad. He said, “what does your father think about it?” I said, “he doesn’t know.” “Then you’d better go back and ask him”, was the reply.

So wearily I retraced my footsteps home, I was very tired and had not eaten since midday, I pulled a turnip from a field, rubbed the dirt off and ate it. I knew part of the countryside nearer home for short cuts, but as daylight went I kept to the road. I got home just before midnight. Mum was waiting up for me and said Dad was wild because I was out so late, knowing what a job it was to get me up in the morning. I told Mum where I had been and just dropped into bed exhausted. I had to be up four o’clock for milking so it was a very short night.

Mum had explained to Dad where I got to the night before, so when I turned up for breakfast I was in for another barrage of words. He said, “look here, you are living in a farmer’s cottage. Therefore you are obliged to work for him, so don’t think of running away again”. I said I’d get another job and find lodgings. Then Mum said “I shall miss the money if you go”. Dad also pointed out that he might be told to go if I left, as the farmer would get another father and son in our cottage. I was fed up with both of them. I went out and slammed the door. I’d go and have a talk with my uncle. He would listen. He could advise me.

I told him how dissatisfied I was with my life. I wanted to do something else than farm work day after day. He explained that was what I was brought up to, and I was not qualified to do anything else. There was no alternative in the village, it would mean going away, and I was a bit young. But he suggested going to Newhaven and joining the R.N.V.R. like my cousin. Maybe if I liked it I might in time get into the Navy. This appealed to me, so off I went on my bike and I joined. There were varied activities to do with Seamanship, drills and sport. I liked the boxing, and sometimes weekend trips in a boat. I didn’t have the opportunity, as farm work is seven days a week. This new activity filled a need in my life. Work seemed less of a bore. Also I had a smart uniform to wear once a week. I felt a different person when I wore it.

Time went on, then fate took a hand. My father was changing his job. He was taking a job as shepherd at a farm at Ovingdean, near Brighton. I was delighted. I was very impressed with the town, or as much of it as I knew – for I had not been any farther than the sea front.

I was nearly seventeen now and of course felt real grown up. But my job was only carter boy. That is to look after a horse, and cart anything that needed it, such as root crops to feed cattle, and dung to spread on the land. We took no notice of mud or smells. One got used to it. The bother was getting rid of the smells when work was done, and now that I was grown up I tried to take pride in my appearance.

Ovingdean was a small village. It consisted of mainly Ovingdean Farm, and a boys’ preparatory school. A few bungalows were scattered around on unmade roads, and a bus ran half-hourly along the coast road, which was about three-quarters of a mile away.

There was a large staff at the school, mostly maids, also a butler, pantry boy, and kitchen boy. They all had half days off a week, and I got to know them by sight after a while, as they walked down the road to catch a bus.

I got on quite well with the other village boys. We would congregate by the pond wall in the evenings to have a chat or do acrobatic stunts on our bikes. One or two village girls would hang around encouraging us, and on Saturdays off I went to Brighton.

Some of the farm boys walked down the Gap to meet the nine o’clock bus from Brighton to escort some of the maids, as it was a dark walk for them. I joined them on these occasions, just walking a short distance behind them with the other lads. We didn’t talk to them much. It was just to be there.

I got to know their names, and I grew daring enough to ask one to come to the pictures with me. She was rather expensive in her tastes, always wanted to go in the high-priced seats. I thought I would try and please her, so one evening bought her a box of chocolates to eat while in the pictures. She almost threw them at me. I did not know before she came to Ovingdean she was packing boxes of chocolates, and was sick of them.

When the school holidays came around she wanted me to carry her suitcase to the bus stop. I started off all right. Then she started nagging me about my meaness in not exchanging the chocolates for boiled sweets. So I put her suitcase in the middle of the road, and walked away. That was the end of my first attempt of courting.

Next one was when I was told of a dance at Woodingdean. I could not dance, but I hung around the bar with others, also trying to chat up a girl. One was sitting near and I made small talk and seemed to make an impression. She said she liked dancing but preferred the larger dance halls, so I arranged to meet her and take her to Sherry’s the next week. I had not been there before. It all looked very grand and out of my sphere, but I wanted to impress this girl. I would not have much pocket money left for the rest of the week, because she would want a drink during the evening.

I did not expect her to turn up looking so smart, with her long ankle-length dress in a lovely shade of yellow, and a short brown fur jacket. She carried a wide white scarf over her arm, and her handbag was of glittering sequins. I was proud to escort her through the door.

Through the evening she had several partners as she had visited this place before. In between dances she sat by me, always throwing the wide scarf round her shoulders till she was invited to another dance. I got used to helping her put it on, but I just sat there all the evening listening to the band.

At the interval I asked if she would like a cup of coffee. But she preferred a glass of sherry, which I bought.

The dance didn’t finish till midnight. The buses had stopped, so we set off to walk home, via St. James’s Street, Freshfield Road, round the Race Hill to Woodingdean where she lived. I was hoping to have a kiss and cuddle somewhere along the way, as the dance did not interest me. But there was no co-operation on her part, so we kept walking.

The front room light was on as we neared her house, and before we reached it her mother appeared at the open door, demanding an explanation why I kept her daughter out at this hour of the morning. I said “there were no buses”. She replied that I should have brought her home by taxi (gosh, I had not that kind of money) and told me never to come near again. So there ended romance number two.

The Lodge keeper’s daughter at the school was a bit of a tomboy. She would run off with caps marking our goals while we were kicking a football around in the field. We’d give chase and get it back. It was all in fun. I threatened to fill her knickers with chaff if she did it again; there was plenty around as the thrasher had been nearby that week. Of course she did it again. I grabbed her, and with great difficulty held her up by her ankles, I called to the other boys to come and fill her knickers with chaff. But they just laughed. So I had to let her go. Her face was very red, but she left us in peace after that.

For all that I liked her spirit, and thought of asking her to come to the pictures with me. She replied she would like to, but her father would not allow her to go with boys.

We had to think of a way round it. It was arranged for her to go into Brighton with another maid to tea at her house, then all three would meet afterwards to go to the pictures.

Everything went according to plan. I sat in between the two girls with my arm round Edie. We all went together to catch the nine o’clock bus. But at Kemp Town the butler from the school got on. He must have told her father, who gave her a thrashing with his belt. So for her sake I kept away.

There were other girls at the school, to go out with. The cook was a few years older than me, but I took her to the pictures once or twice. I also took out two of the laundry maids. It was a change from male company all the time, and I didn’t like going around on my own. Life didn’t seem too bad now. I was more contented. But Dad still grumbled about me being out late at nights when I had a job to get up in the mornings. The only bright spot to my day was the evenings, and I wanted to make the most of it.

A golden opportunity came my way. A cowman was wanted at the farm attached to the school. I applied and got the job. I was so pleased about it. No more carter boy. It was a cleaner, higher position job. But were my parents pleased? No – all the same old arguments came up I am in a tied cottage therefore obliged to work for that farmer, and we were employed together, it might mean Dad’s dismissal. I said I could easily get lodgings now, and it was time I could please myself. Mum was in tears as she didn’t want me to go, my money would be missed.

I gave in my notice to the farmer who was not very pleased. I said I would find other lodgings in case he said it first, and there our association ended. I did not hurry to get lodgings as Dad’s job was safe, and we would not be turned out.

Once again came a turn for the better. The laundry maids were leaving at the school. They occupied a cottage attached to the laundry. My mother asked for the job, and my sister who was in service came home to help. So we all moved into the laundry cottage. Everyone now seemed happy and no problems.

I started to go out with another girl at the school who had her home in Brighton, the same one that had to sit one side of me in the cinema, while I cuddled Edie the other side of me. She invited me to have tea at her house. It seemed very large in comparison to our cottage, but as there were ten children in the family, it was a necessity.

It was a Sunday when I visited her parents in their front room. The other younger ones were at Sunday School. The older ones were in the living room.

We had a cup of tea as we chatted. The children returned from Sunday School. But no noise went on. They each peeped round the door, said “Hello” and withdrew.

When tea time came round, and I went in they were all seated round the large table, ail eyes turned on me. I tried to make small talk with her parents during the meal, but the children did not say a word. They grinned at me now and again. I did not know they were not allowed to talk while at table. Mealtimes in our house were the noisiest times of the day.

I told my mother about it, and said I had never known such an orderly family, and wondered how long this friendship would last.

Well it lasted four years and one day I was talking to her father about getting a job in town. Her father worked in a factory. He said there might be some vacancies, advised me to enquire at the office.

I did not hesitate to try for a job there, how much better than what I was doing now! I was eager to learn anything in the engineering line. I was accepted, and taken on as a centre-lathe turner.

I donned new bib and brace overalls for my new job. The workshop seemed enormous. A man went by pushing a trolley full up with bright brass pieces. I don’t know if they were nuts or washers, but I thought what an achievement if only I could make some.

I was shown how to work a lathe, and told what to do. I was very careful, as I wanted to stay at this trade. The money was good, and there was overtime too if I got on well. A Brighton girl, and a town job, how wonderful!

The first thing I had better get would be a new bike. My other one was not fit to ride, so I had to catch the bus daily, most times run, as I still was a bad riser, and at times miss my breakfast.

When I had been at my work long enough to understand it completely, I was given overtime work. I’d never earned so much money in my life. It was very easy to buy a bicycle now, and a new one at that. I could now cycle to and from work. I could do the journey in twenty-five minutes, a bit faster if I was late.

After overtime when I left work at seven o’clock in the evening someone had stolen my bike. I had no money on me for bus fares, and no one around that I could ask for a loan. I could have cried as I walked back to Ovingdean over the hills. The police did not seem very concerned, just asked the colour, and remarked by that time it could be re-painted. Now I had to go back to the bus ride each day till I got another one.

I had become a regular visitor to this girl’s home, and I more than liked her. We got on very well together, so my thoughts went a little farther and I asked her would she get engaged to me. She consented, but said I had better ask her father’s consent, as she was under twenty-one.

The next Sunday when I had tea at her house, I went specially to ask her father’s consent. But somehow the opportunity did not arrive until we had our hats and coats on ready to go. Then I blurted out, “Have you any objection to Daisy and I getting married”. Her father said “This is a bit sudden”. I then corrected myself and said, “I mean engaged”. Her father said he’d no objection as long as we knew what it meant, and saved for a good start, as one never acquires it after marriage. We just said “Thanks”, and dashed out the door to catch our tram and bus back to Ovingdean. I felt the happiest man in the world.

We were both agreeable to save as much as possible. Her money was low, being in service. So instead of going into Brighton to the pictures, we went for walks over the hills. There were wide expanses of open land then. Also “hiking” was the craze of the day, so we met others blazing the trail.

I said we were together for four years, and it was entirely my fault why it did not last longer. I thought an engagement ring was a wedding ring. I pestered her quite a bit to achieve my end, till one evening as we were saying “goodnight”, she took the ring from her finger, and gave it back to me, saying if I could not wait, and that is what the ring was for, I could have it back. I was ashamed of my behaviour, but I was too late to repent. I had lost her.

When I told my mother next day, after a very bad night, she fainted. Also during the day she passed out two or three times, saying “Poor Daisy”. I had no idea so many people could be so upset over what I thought was a private affair. But everyone liked her.

I felt completely lost for some weeks. I was pining, till I met up with an Italian waiter. We had a few drinks, and I said how lost I was. He said why pine over one girl, he could introduce me to dozens. In my half drunk state he took me to this place, and sure enough the girls were very friendly. I bought drinks for them, and had more myself – little knowing it was for favours. I was left with one of them in a curtained cubicle and what happened is so sordid and degrading. I hate to think back on it. Of course I had to part with money as well. My Italian friend hired a taxi and sent me home. I felt horrid about it for days, but was curious. I would like to go back there when I was sober, just to be clear headed enough to know what was going on.

I thought as our engagement was over, the money could be spent as I wanted. I took to whiskey and I went back to the “House of Easy Virtue”. Why I went back I cannot say, but money soon dwindled that way. So I stopped going.

I bought a motorbike and spent quite a while servicing, and riding around on it hoping I might find another girl friend, who I could have a pure friendship with. I did have one or two but no more than just a friendship. There was no depth to our meetings. I took them to the theatre, or picture house, and that is all. Whether we met again or not did not matter one way or the other.

I had lost track of Daisy for about three years till I had a letter from her to say, that she was back in Brighton, and if I was not doing anything on her next day off would I meet her, at our usual place of years ago, half past six o’clock, under Castle Square clock – would I? …

I hurried home from work, and changed into my best suit, I could not eat my tea that my mother had ready for me, I was so excited, yet nervous. On the way downtown I called in and had a couple of whiskeys to fortify myself. There she was looking more lovely than when I had last seen her. We shook hands and walked along the seafront, talking of all the things we had done since we parted, and by the end of the evening, it seemed as if there had never been a break in our friendship. From then I vowed to behave myself, and we started saving again for the future, a wiser and older pair who had learned by their mistakes.

My job at the factory went well till the neon sign age started. Then several men were stood off, and all overtime finished. Then the factory was opening another smaller one at Wooston, I was asked if I would go. I said I would not because I had just got engaged and wanted to stay in Brighton. I did not know that my refusal would mean dismissal. I found a note in my pay packet at the end of the week, and six hundred other men had the same.

This was a real set back. I did not want to be out of work, and the thought of queuing up at the Labour Exchange with all the others did not appeal to me. I thought I could always turn my hand to farming, so I bought a West Sussex Gazette, and looked down the column of situations vacant.

I went on my motorbike for interviews, and one job I applied for seemed to offer prospects. It was for chauffeur-gardener-handyman for a Colonel Webber at Lowfield Heath. He was a bodyguard to King George V. I went up there and was on test for a week or two – to see if we suited one another. The job was not quite as advertised. The only driving part was getting the car from the garage and taking it around to the front of the house and cleaning it. There was a bit of gardening and stoking boilers and two cows to milk. So it was varied work.

I was told at the end of a month that I suited and if I liked it, there was a bungalow that went with the job. I went along and looked at it. It was very small. No tap water or drains, an open grate in one room. It would require oil lamps and candles, a well for water, and bucket lavatory at the farther end of the garden. How like the places in my childhood! I was not very impressed. But I had to ask Daisy what she thought as that was her domain. I would be out working most of the day. Could she make this into a place to live in? She was not used to such primitive places.

The next weekend we looked at it together and tried to picture how it would look when furnished and decided it would be a start. So the money we had saved was spent to furnish it. It took £60, which we had saved, and that included everything for use – bed, wardrobe, chairs, tables, linoleum, curtains, pots and pans. What a spending spree we had, and what a transformation in that little bungalow. So here we were right back in the country and so happy. I must have been born to be a farmer’s boy after all, and the country had called me back.