Some three years ago my uncle Vic, now in
his 92nd year, started jotting down memories of
his early years in response to questions from
various relatives regarding family history. I
found them so interesting that I offered to type
them up and encouraged him to keep going.
Eventually I submitted the manuscript to
Plowright Press for inclusion in their Ordinary
Lives series.
My uncle was born in Lambeth, but has had a
lifelong connection with Lambourn, his mother's
home village. He spent childhood summer holidays
there and his family sought refuge in the village
from the London Blitz, whilst he himself served
in the RASC in Iceland and North Africa. After
the war, Vic decided not to return to his
previous occupation as a waiter at London's
Waldorf Hotel and has lived in Lambourn ever
since.
Vic's Grandma was Mary Alice Taylor nee
King (born in Pewsey) widow of Tom Taylor, a
Lambourn butcher. Her unmarried son Fred, the pig
slaughterer, was always known as Shady. Two other
sons, Harry and Jack were the fathers of Vic's
Lambourn cousins. Harry was also a butcher and
Jack a carpenter. Vic's mother was Harriet Annie
Cox nee Taylor, who went to London in service and
married Ted Cox, the manager of an off-licence in
Southwark. Ted also had Berkshire connections as
his father George was born in Hungerford and his
grandfather Barnard in West Hannay. George and
Barnard were both blacksmiths. This is one of
Vic's clear memories of rural life just after the
end of the First World War.
I was born and brought up in Lambeth, but as
children my sister Gert and I often used to spend
holidays in Lambourn. I always stayed at
Grandma's and Gert at our Auntie Emily's, where
there were plenty of cousins to mix with. Our
mother's only unmarried brother, Uncle Fred,
lived with Grandma. His nickname was Shady and he
was a well-known, popular character in the
village. Many country folk kept pigs and Shady
was always called in to kill the pigs when they
were ready to eat. They would rely on Shady, not
just people living in or around the village, but
on isolated farms on the downs, perhaps a three
or four mile walk away.
The
picture was taken on the occasion of an Alexandra
Day fancy dress procession in the village around
1919. Vic is on the extreme right dressed as a
baker. Next to him is his younger sister, Gert.
I must have been about ten or eleven years old
when I went to my first pig killing. I remember
that morning when I got up Shady said to me, 'Get
theeself ready, we be going pig killing'. He told
Grandma that he was taking me and she said she'd
have a hot dinner ready for us when we got back.
I can still remember starting off that day. It
was a beautiful morning, Shady slung his bags
containing his butchering knives over his
shoulder and we set off. We went up Sheepdrove
and after walking some distance we left the
roadway and walked over the fields until a small
farmstead came into sight down in the valley.
Shady said that was where we were going. I was
glad as it was a warm day and I was beginning to
get tired and thirsty.
When we eventually reached the farm a couple
of dogs came out to greet us and we met the
farmer and his wife and family. The first thing
the farmer did was to go into his shed and draw a
mug of ale from a barrel, which he brought to
Shady. I can even now hear the farmer's wife
saying, 'You've brought an assistant today', and
Shady answering, 'Aarh! That's my boy'. She then
fetched me a large bottle of what I think was
cherry cider. I was feeling parched by this stage
and just gulped the first lot down - my first
enjoyment of the day.
Now it was time for work. The farmer had two
younger men there, maybe his sons, and they got
everything ready: a large heavy wooden stool and
plenty of straw. Pig killing is not for the
squeamish and for my first introduction I never
stood and watched everything, but I couldn't
escape the sound of the pig squealing. The men
had to get the pig on the stool (I'm not sure if
they tied it down or not) and then Shady cut its
throat and drained the blood into a bucket. An
alternative method was to hang the pig up by its
back legs before cutting its throat and bleeding
it that way. I witnessed several more pig
killings later and began to get used to it.
Shady told me that nothing is wasted with a
pig. The blood is used, also the trotters and
chitterlings (intestines) and the head made into
brawn, with the rest of the meat cut into
different joints. After he'd cut it all up, Shady
was always given a share, especially the
chitterlings which he would take home to Grandma.
Then you'd find her sitting in the woodshed which
adjoined the cottage and she'd be cleaning and
washing the chitterlings ready for cooking. With
a variety of ingredients she would make faggots
and get them ready for Saturday, when so many
people would come to buy them that she could
never make enough. Grandma's faggots were
legendary.
At the end of the summer, usually the
beginning of September, Dad always took his
holiday and he and Mum joined us at Lambourn. One
of the reasons they liked to go then was because
the Lambourn flower show was held about that time.
The flower show was always held in the cricket
field along the Upper Lambourn Road. It was a
large field bordered on one side by Lambourn
Woods with trees all round the other sides. There
was a beer tent run by Mr Bellinger, landlord of
the Sawyer's Arms in the High Street, and two or
three other marquees housing different showpieces.
Besides the flower, fruit and vegetable, and
craft exhibits there was also pony racing with
betting, athletics in the afternoon and a dog
show. Then there would be a fair with roundabouts
and swings and all the other wotnots. During the
evening the village band would arrive for dancing
on the green to round off what was always,
weather permitting, a truly enjoyable day.
It's perhaps not surprising that when I was
young I always had a tear in my eye when it was
time for us to return to London. Each year it
would be the same - Mum would be carrying a big
bunch of flowers, Dad would be carrying the
luggage, and Gert and I would be carrying the
bags of fruit and veg from Grandma's garden.
['Vic: Lambeth to Lambourn' is £11.95 Plus
p&p £1.50 and can be ordered from bookshops,
on-line from Amazon or direct from the publisher:
Plowright Press, PO Box 66, Warwick CV34 4XE. The
ISBN is 0951696084]
