Church and pub
Well I shall go on. As I have said we lived between the church and the pub, called The Sun, we were witness to what happened in the church, not many weddings but more funerals. Also if I was working out in the garden, people would come to tend graves or to sightsee, it was a pleasant old church but on its way to closure, the vicar had several parishes to attend to.
In this photo is Jo's decoration of the church, they would come over just before Xmas to cut holly from our tree in the front,, and I would always hope that the birds had not eaten all the berries.
In this cold church we would have our parish meetings in winter and discuss the problems of the village. Several years back, the 'Bridge Farm' had been sold, to another farm in a village a few miles away. Bridge farmhouse was a handsome building, but had a clutter of ruined farm buildings, think there was a couple of derelict cottages behind the house. Of course when a property is sold the newly arrived owners want to put their stamp on the place. Their stamp was to do the ruined buildings up to become a wedding venue place.
Can you imagine the discontent this aroused in the breasts of the villagers, especially the incomers. What about the noise? what about the cars? The cars were a problem, for the reason it was called Bridge Farm was that the narrow bridge was but 50 yards up the road. You came over the bridge, turned sharp left on a 'zig-zag which turned sharp right just as you passed the farm, leaving the farm entrance on a sharp bend.
Every problem was brought up and we all looked at the plans, there was so much work done on the planning. What about the owls who were in residence in the old buildings for instance. The farmer's wife sat bravely through the discussions and promised all their worries would be accounted for - but you know people, chuckle....
I would love to know where this story has ended up, for soon of course the pandemic loomed out of the sky like an angry god and put paid to so many dreams.
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| My daughter and Lillie |
To return to the pub, here we often had meals, Lucy the young girl who ran the place, also cooked take-away meals as well. It was a quiet pub, no rowdiness, no police, just locals, including the farmers around and also tourists or walkers.
One Saturday though there were police at the pub and a sad tragedy unfolded. The young grandson of the pub's owner had hung himself in the pigeon shed. He was in his early 20s, despair, who knows but it shocked us all. He was buried in the church yard right outside our side window. This window had a blind to pull down if there was a burial going on. It had originally been put up by a friend who was a curtain maker who lived in the village to stop Matilda worrying about being next to a grave yard (she got used to it as we all did).
The family tended the grave regularly, mowing around and always bringing flowers. But it was the sibling brother who would always come in the evening, sit cross-legged by the side of the grave and talk to his brother, I would see him as I went to shut the hens in.
Below is a rather long video of Jo ringing the bells. They were both very patriotic as well, David would always have a flag flying, whether Welsh (they had a Welsh cottage) or British. He was a town crier, and they often travelled the country to town crier venues, he resplendent in a blue coat would shout the news of the town. Think he was the town crier for Malton down the road.
In the video there is an appearance of someone else, we called him the 'Lord of the manor' though only in fun. He looked after the structure of the church, and lived further along the road but his two fields backed on to several gardens, including ours, which had a copse just outside. His wife's sheep would occasionally stray into the grave yard.
The vicar in my old village used to hurry from the church service to get to the pub by opening time; he had to care for the rest of his flock as he put it. Your lovely picture of the pub reminds me of the "night of Mick's trousers". It happened on a New Year's Eve in the 1970s and Mick was warming himself in front of the fire in a pair of polyester trousers which he'd got for Christmas. You can guess what happened next....the fastest a pair of trousers has ever been removed in a public place. Mick is now an old man but he can seldom go into the pub without someone reminding him of that fateful night.
ReplyDeleteI suppose that is called 'living memory' about your story. The story will not get lost by later generations but will be embroidered along the way. I haven't covered the story about Nelson yet who lived by the pub but you could always leave the price of a beer or a meal for him at the pub.
DeleteI laughed out loud at John's story. My brother in law was working for the township and they were using a tractor implement. The post hole digger stopped, so my brother put his weight on it. His pant leg got caught in the power take off. My sister says, "Thank goodness we were poor." His old raggedy blue jeans ripped completely from his body, taking his BVDs with him. He stood there trying to keep his bits covered as his coworker laughed hysterically. The local post mistress also wrote for the weekly local. Luckily, she didn't have her camera.
ReplyDeleteThe stories keep rolling Debby! My one event is when I walked down the busy road by our local hospital, the RUH. with my skirt tucked in my knickers wondering why everyone was sounding their horn.
DeleteOh my gosh. What a riot.
DeleteA nice story. Happy New Year to you too.
ReplyDeleteHere's to a good New Year to you both in Bath as well Tom.
DeleteThis time of year does bring back a lot of memories of days long past!
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year, Thelma! Best wishes for peace, joy, and good health in 2023!
And the same back to you and your family Ellen. Let us hope that peace does eventually arrive for Ukraine.
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year dear blog friend. Lovely to read your reminiscences - always tinged with sadness aren't they but then that's life. Here's toa happy 2023 Pat x
ReplyDeleteIsn't it interesting how one memory triggers others and incidents come tumbling out of dusty places in our minds. Some homes have been harder to leave than others both because of people known there or because a landscape became dear. I was last in the hometown of my childhood in 2009 for my father's memorial service--at that time we had been away for a decade. So many changes--and I've never wanted to return.
ReplyDeleteI always see the mind Sharon as similar to the faceted silver light that rotated on the dance floor when I was young, things just come into the mind completely unasked for.
DeleteThere now--there was a dance hall nearby in my youth that had one of those rotating silver lights--I might never have thought of it again. [Of course we weren't often allowed to be there!]
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