We have had memories submitted by the following people (please click on their name to jump to their memory). If you have a memory that you'd like to share please do get in touch.
Caroline Davey / Rosemary Wilson / Amelia Godwin / Keith Rippin / Mike Smallwood
Caroline Davey / Rosemary Wilson / Amelia Godwin / Keith Rippin / Mike Smallwood
With Caroline Davey’s memories we are privileged to be hearing from someone whose family links have been local for a very long time.
I think that I am very fortunate to have lived for the whole of my life within five miles of where both sets of my grandparents lived, and where all four sets of my great-grandparents lived.
My paternal grandfather was born at the Batch in Swainswick and lived for all his life in Swainswick, apart from two brief spells as a child when he lived at Langridge at The Grove, and also in the house where I now live. He went to Swainswick School and was followed there in due course by my father, myself and then my two sons. Hopefully, in 2021 one of my grand-daughters will become the fifth generation to there.
My paternal grandmother was born at Whitcombe Farm in Fairfield Park. Her family farmed briefly at Upper Farm in Langridge. A few years later in 1900, they moved to farm at Court Farm, Langridge where they remained until the farm was sold to the Bowyers in 1951, when my two great uncles retired.
Court Farm was rented from the Blathwayt Estate until some of the Estate was sold in the 1920’s and, as sitting tenants, they were able to buy the farm. When I was a child there were fifteen farmers in the valley producing milk. Now there are only two. In those days the milk was collected every day in churns. Now it is collected on alternate days by a bulk tanker.
How times have changed!
Caroline Davey
I think that I am very fortunate to have lived for the whole of my life within five miles of where both sets of my grandparents lived, and where all four sets of my great-grandparents lived.
My paternal grandfather was born at the Batch in Swainswick and lived for all his life in Swainswick, apart from two brief spells as a child when he lived at Langridge at The Grove, and also in the house where I now live. He went to Swainswick School and was followed there in due course by my father, myself and then my two sons. Hopefully, in 2021 one of my grand-daughters will become the fifth generation to there.
My paternal grandmother was born at Whitcombe Farm in Fairfield Park. Her family farmed briefly at Upper Farm in Langridge. A few years later in 1900, they moved to farm at Court Farm, Langridge where they remained until the farm was sold to the Bowyers in 1951, when my two great uncles retired.
Court Farm was rented from the Blathwayt Estate until some of the Estate was sold in the 1920’s and, as sitting tenants, they were able to buy the farm. When I was a child there were fifteen farmers in the valley producing milk. Now there are only two. In those days the milk was collected every day in churns. Now it is collected on alternate days by a bulk tanker.
How times have changed!
Caroline Davey
Amelia Godwin of Tadwick recounts the story of a special horse - SPRING SPICE
At the age of 47 we have said goodbye to our wonderful Spring Spice. I wanted to write this to pay my respects to the most amazing pony as he deserves to be remembered - and what a wonderful life I have shared with him. I was 10 when we went to look at Spice from an advert in the Western Daily Press. I knew instantly that he was the perfect pony. He was beautiful with his shiny chestnut coat and Appaloosa white spots. He was gorgeous and it wasn’t long until he was settling in at his new home Tadwick Farm. My whole childhood was about Spice. We trotted along the country lanes and Bridleways every day. We knew them like the back of our hand/hoof and as my abilities grew, we hit the show jumping ring. He was a natural - he would quite literally fly around the ring, and we loved being part of the Avon Vale Pony Club and all the fun of Pony Club Camp. He was perfect. As I got older and moved away Spice found a new home with Hannah Ryan. She had spent years riding with me and it felt right that she should enjoy riding Spice, and I knew she would look after him. The years went by and Spice and I had grown older and, as a wonderful surprise, Mum and Dad arranged for him to come home. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was lovely to have him back. 20 years on from that day Spice has continued to play a huge role in the lives of my brother Alastair’s three children, and then my own two daughters’ lives. They have all loved riding him, brushing and cuddling him. He was so gentle we could do anything with him. Spice used to love looking down the Valley. He would stand and stare at it taking in the beauty as we all do, and always loved it when Hedley’s cows were in the neighbouring field. Even in his 40’s Spice would make us all laugh with a buck and a canter around the field. It is an amazement to everyone that he lived to the incredible age of 47 and I have to thank my Mum and Dad for firstly bringing him into my life, but also for the years of devoted care you have given him. We will miss you Spice - the fields will never be the same but you are resting now and will always be remembered. You really were a once in a life time pony. I would like to thank Richard Davey for your support on the sad day of losing him and to thank you for helping us lay him to rest at Tadwick Farm. Thank you Spring Spice, you really are a legend. Amelia Gough |
Rosemary Wilson writes of her memories of the Valley and the Church since childhood
My memories of the Langridge valley begin in the 1960s. On miserable dark Sunday evenings when unfinished homework loomed my Mum, Tess Snell, would say ‘Let’s blow the cobwebs away’and take my sister and me for a drive along the lanes of the Langridge valley. We sang at the top of our voices and returned to our homework with renewed vigour. In better weather we would often picnic in the field opposite the church with our long-time friends the Portnall family, building dams and bridges in the stream at the bottom of the field. Later, in the 1990s after my Mother had retired from the Nursery Nurses College in Bristol, she started attending the church bringing Primrose Sawyer with her. When I re met my husband Kevin we used to bring her to church together. We became very involved in the life of the church. Kevin and I were married there in 2009. I remember it was a bumper year for weddings. I think there were 3 or 4. My son Ben was married to Eloise there in 2011. Both Ben and Eloise’s daughters Esmee-Rose and Beatrice were baptised there. My Mum died just after her 93rd birthday in September 2015 and we had her funeral at St Mary Magdalene Church led by Neville Pearce. The sun shone and I knew she would have approved. At her funeral Kevin took his son Douglas into the graveyard to show him the beautiful view down the valley. He told Doug this was the place where he wanted to be buried. Kevin became ill that day and his death 6 weeks later was a terrible shock to us all. Kevin's funeral was held at All Saints because the tiny church in Langridge that he loved was too small to accommodate all his friends and colleagues who wanted to be there. But he has his spot in the graveyard, where he is buried overlooking the view he loved amid the peace and tranquillity of Langridge Valley. |
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Keith Rippin’s memories of living in Langridge
When we purchased our cottage, completion took place the Friday before the August bank holiday. No-one had lived in the cottage for several years before our purchase with the result that the orchard was so overgrown with plum suckers that one could not see the boundary at the end of the orchard and we did not know how much land we had. The bank holiday weekend was wonderful with many of our male friends hacking through the under/overgrowth with machetes (bought from Tommy Bests for the purpose) and their other halves making tea and sandwiches - the weather also was perfect! On our wedding day, in the morning before the service (and perhaps to settle my nerves for the forthcoming Bridegroom's speech) I fished in the brook at the bottom of the orchard and in the other brook running down through the wood and paddock and caught 24 trout - biggest about 11 inches and all returned unharmed to the water - when questioned I claimed that I had been carrying out a survey of the trout population and the general state of the brook - in those days there was a great deal more water in the brook all summer long. On the night we returned from honeymoon (the first night in our new home) we heard a dreadful row going on in the orchard - thinking something had got our cat I charged out (I cannot recall whether I wore any clothes) with a torch and followed this awful snarling and growling through our back fence and up over Hedley Davey's field. When I caught up with the noise I discovered it was caused by a pair of boar badgers going at it hammer and tongs, throwing each other up in the air and somersaulting and then rolling down the field in a fighting ball - I left them to it! I also recall snowy winters in one of which my sons, John, skied to work in Bath – and also driving in the snow. At the time I had a Saab, the underneath of which was fairly flat, and to negotiate the drifts one had to approach them rather quickly in the hope of "tobogganing" over them to reach the road on the far side, where there was much less snow, and the driving wheels could get some grip. When the snow was really deep George Bowyer would come down the road in his tractor with a bucket on the back to take anyone who wished to go to Larkhall for a paper/groceries etc. On the first trip, going along Tadwick Lane the ground on the right falls away quite steeply into the valley and I could see that George's steering wheel and the front wheels of the tractor bore no relation to the direction in which we wanted to travel - I seriously considered bailing out until George explained that he was steering using the individually operated rear brakes. When we purchased our cottage there was no running water. The previous owner had installed a galvanized water pipe from a spring in our wood from which he would fill a pail, bring it over to the cottage and pump the water up to a header tank by a rotary pump in the bathroom. Judy did not go a lot on this arrangement so (with the benefit of a grant from Rycroft Hartley) the cottage was connected to the mains in Rycroft's field several hundred yards away and the pipe was mole ploughed down the fields, under the brook, through our wood, under the road and into our kitchen garden. In the process the JCB slid down our steep bank and very nearly ended up sideways in the brook. I also recall the work I did to the cottage including damp-proofing and laying new floors. I was not best pleased when Judy (at the time very pregnant with John) visited the loo via the plank, which I had propped up on bricks at each end leading from the hall to the pedestal, and lost her balance and fell off the plank into my new wet concrete! There are many memories (some not repeatable) over the time we have lived in the cottage (more than 46 years) and for perhaps the first 20+ of those years our cottage was referred to as "Mr James' cottage" (Mr James being the previous owner) - I would like to think however that now we and our children (and grandchildren) can properly be regarded as "locals". |
Mike Smallwood – My waterways; it all started with gas
In the late Forties my father had a wonderful idea; he wanted to have a family boat to use on the many Midlands waterways. As a young teenager, I was very excited with the new project. Every month when the list of naval craft for disposal came in the post, it was earnestly scrutinized for any suitable small craft. We all ventured once to Caernarfon, to see Expedition, a twin-engined 50 ft. coastal boat complete with a walk in engine room. I got more excited when Dad put in a sealed bid for the vessel, which was the practice with war surplus boats in those days. Fortunately, in a way, our bid was not successful; as I am sure we would have lost our lives in such a large and old boat. This procedure was repeated a number of times and various family trips were taken to see other surplus bargain boats. This surplus list described some craft as in need of some repairs or the craft filled and emptying with the tide! War surplus boats were given up and instead Dad purchased a converted ex ship’s lifeboat which was being re-fitted by Bailey's, a caravan company, venturing into a new field. Why gas you may ask. Well, Dad had bought some shares in a new company before the war called Calor Gas which had done rather well, because Joe public was fed up with coal fires, and so he sold them at a great profit to buy the boat. Bailey's said the boat was ready, so the family, plus all our new boat gear, were packed into the car and we drove to Worcester to start our first holiday on Mermaid, a 28ft very basic four berth gaff rigged motor sailor. We arrived at Diglis basin to find the stern under water and a boat hardly ready for two weeks' holiday as promised by the boatyard. My Mum was not pleased and Dad was worried. After a day's delay we loaded gear on board and set out on our first boat trip, down into the River Severn. It was exciting as in those days the river was blighted with big petrol tankers plying up to Stourport from Avonmouth causing much wash to small craft, resulting in any loose plates etc. going flying. Most of us learnt our boating skills very quickly but it became obvious that the river had limitations. Mooring on the river was difficult because of the continuous heavy wash from the tankers and the high banks. We could find calmer waters, by going into one of the canal connection basins, but not venture on the canals, as Mermaid was too wide,. Thus we were limited. The boat was by present standards very basic, since there was no galley or proper bathroom. She had a sea toilet stuffed in the bow. It was so small that all had to be dropped before reversing in to sit down, and then close the doors around oneself and consider the two strange pumps on each side. The engine was shall we say, temperamental, it was a so called ‘marinised’ old Morris car engine. Cooking was carried out on either a Primus or a wick paraffin stove mounted in a metal box, used in the open cockpit if it wasn't raining. Not a very convenient arrangement! In reality, the scene was being gradually set for my mother to wish she was on dry land. My younger brother Peter, I and my Dad accepted the limitation as really it was like camping on water and quite challenging. During our second summer on the River Severn, it was decided that a more adventurous cruise should be undertaken. Our destination was Barry harbour in South Wales where the boat originally came from. A pilot was booked to guide us from Sharpness to Portishead as the first leg of our passage. Mermaid was made ready for the planned two-week summer cruise, starting from Worcester. We sailed and motored down the river Severn, through the various large tanker size locks. Below Tewkesbury lock we were into the semi-tidal stretch of the river to Gloucester, where you hoped the lock gates would be open to allow your entry before being swept past the lock entrance by the strong river current. Once through the lock we were into a large complex of commercial Docks at the start of the Gloucester Sharpness Ship Canal. We cruised along avoiding the tankers and were only held up by the numerous swing bridges. We passed under the Severn Railway Bridge which was swung for higher vessels. On arriving at Sharpness, we were told to moor up and wait for our pilot to arrive. I can remember some lads had left their bicycles lying across the dock railway near our boat and seeing them crushed by a tank engine which suddenly appeared. The whole dock area was humming with activity as large coasters were loaded. Our pilot arrived and duly took us through the sea lock at high tide when the River Severn was slack. As the pilot was used to tankers, he wanted, for a change, to sail down the estuary. This he did, but after some time he realised that our progress was not as rapid as with his usual boats. Thus it was decided to motor but, on arriving at Portishead, we were unable to stem the tide as our engine was not powerful enough. At this point, the situation changed to an emergency. The pilot beckoned a small cutter to come to our assistance from the dock. The parents were starting to get anxious. My brother and I were stuffed down below in the cabin where we stupidly shared some sickly chocolate. Due to the motions of the boat and various bumping as our tow tried to get a line aboard, we unfortunately lost the chocolate. By now it was getting dark and the tide was running faster with the result that the cutter lacked the power to get us both back to Portishead. The larger pilot cutter then came to assist both of us and towed all of us safely into the Portishead harbour. We moored up for the night opposite the coaling wharf for the power station. Some members of the family felt they had had enough seamanship experience for one holiday. I think my mother and Peter left for home by train the next day. This epic voyage marked the end of longer family cruises. Sometime later Dad booked a pilot for a return to Sharpness and hence back to Worcester where Mermaid was moored. I suspect there were some parental discussions as next year the boat was moved to more friendly waters further away, but that is another story. |
