CD1

(72 mins)
 

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BORN WEST LUCCOMBE 1910 / FAMILY BACKGROUND / FATHER STONEMASON FOR HOLNICOTE ESTATE

Born 30.12.1910, Honeysuckle Cottage, West Luccombe. Second name Noah. Father stonemason on Holnicote estate. Parents lived at Church Cottage when first married. As family grew moved to Honeysuckle Cottage when wheelwright there retired. Have been there ever since, just over 200 [?100 check] years. Has two older sisters  Amelia professional teacher with own school, other started teaching but didn't get far [shows framed photographs on windowsill and talks about them, one with car out hunting, including grandfather].

Remembers grandfather [indicates photo]. He had the keeping at Lucott farm and was land agent for man called Litson who owned the farm. Mother's two brothers were inspectors of police in Hendon, London and other one was one of big five in Scotland Yard. Several brother-in-laws in police profession. One at Alcombe called Gooding. A brother-in-law, Walter Allen, married younger sister. Put on duty in Porlock for quite a spell. [Back to top]
 

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SCHOOL

Brought up in Honeysuckle Cottage. Went to Allerford school. Closed now. Left at 14. Had no time for learning but mother had bright ideas for him and sent him to Minehead. Three or four of them cycled every day to school for five years.[He went to Townsend Road school in Minehead for 2 years].

Lived in one of cottages by bridge when married.

Allerford school not bad. Lady called Cox head teacher. Her husband was gardener at Lynch for the Hughes [phone rings]. Three classes, infants to leaving school, in same room with moveable partition. Used to hold dances and whist drives in school, eventually had village hall built. School not bad. 300 people [?check] from various places - Tivington, Luccombe, Lynch, Bossington. [Back to top]
 

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RENT OF PROPERTY / NATIONAL TRUST / QUARRY COLLAPSE / QUARRYING
 

They've kept the house decorated for all these years. National Trust wouldn't do anything. Back then under Aclands cottage was £8 2/6 a year rent. Today it's £3000. Social helps them but it's a lot of money to draw from anyone. Used to be a quarry in behind ground opposite [points out of window to field where sheep are grazing, in link between Burrowhayes Farm, National Trust and quarry]. He saw it started. Father was nearly killed once. Father told him that digging under rock there were a lot of deds [?sp] (earth and fine stone) and that several times in the morning they noticed trickles of earth coming down. The chap working with him wondered what time it was. Father had a grandfather clock in corner by door with a mason on it, with decorations depicting his trade. So came down to look at clock. When he got back fellow was standing by Horner bridge waving his arms. It had all collapsed where they were working. Old Farmer Floyd at Burrowhayes kept all his implements there, seed drills, things he used once a year, all buried under slide.

At one time quarry was right in against road, today it ends up there [indicates sheep by fence out of window]. Quarried for stone to build the houses. One side of quarry softer stone then other. Looking for hard stone. [Back to top]
 

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BURROWHAYES FARM / HELPING LAMBING AS A BOY / SISTER VIOLET / TAILORESS

Burrowhayes Farm second home to him. Always there. Run by brother and sister, so no children, so he got all the attention [laughs]. He would have been about 4 or 5. Got in the way probably. They used to keep a lot of poultry, pigs, sheep. Thinks they lambed 99 ewes every year. Rents not as dear then as now. Ground there [points out of window to hillside where sheep are grazing] to back of farmhouse was covered with daffodils. As he got older and knew what he was doing he'd go up there on many occasions, 12-1 o'clock at night, walking round to see ewes when they were lambing and reporting back to farmhouse. Spent many an hour up there. He would have been 7 or 8. He would go back and tell them a ewe was trying to lamb and Bill Floyd or his sister would come up and deal with it. Then he'd come home and go to bed.

It was only up a path from the back of the farmhouse. His parents knew where he'd gone and would check up every so often, wait for him to come in again, come out and walk round, call his name.

His older sister [shows photo] Violet was a tailoress, learnt in the early part of her life sewing down with people called Braddock at Allerford, making dresses and that sort of thing. Then a tailor called Perkins from Porlock asked her to work for him and eventually she married one of his two sons. They're dead quite a while now. The Braddocks had a son, George, not quite right in the head. [Back to top]
 

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WOMEN FARMING / DICK TUCKER NEXT DOOR / EAST & WEST LUCCOTT FARMS / NUTSCALE RESERVOIR / NT AGENT, COL REEKES / WEST LUCCOMBE FARM
 

Not unusual for a woman to farm. Next door neighbour now has two farms of her own. He knows two of three different women, up on the hill, farming on their own, including woman next door. [unclear comment about hill farms and the NT].  When East Luccott and West Luccott farms came up for sale Dick Tucker next door bought them. He knew Dick quite well before he died and he told HR how he got a lot of it. HL can remember when Nutscale reservoir was built. Part Holnicote farm and part Dick's farm [unclear comment about NT].

When they stocked reservoir with brown trout and rainbow trout there was an agent at Holnicote called Reekes, one of those people who knew everything and knew nothing. Out of Army, Col Reekes. Not the sort of man to be put in charge of a large estate. After war another farmer came in at West Luccombe. His mother was Lady St John, lived in London, moneyed people. He wanted to go farming, plenty of money so that's what he did. It was let to him by Reekes [laughs]. Prior to that West Luccombe had been run by people called Clark. HL was brought up with them. They had two sons, Jack and Dick, and he came exactly in between the two.

[recognises neighbour's car driving past] They keep an eye on next door as well as their own place. There are four families in West Luccombe [farm] now. All four brothers, recently married [?], living under one roof. All farming it. Supposes older brother in charge. Two or three of them are married. [Back to top]
 

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FIRST GUN LICENCE / RABBITTING

The sons Jack and Dick are both dead. He used to go rabbiting with them. Farms then were full of rabbits, had to be thinned out. Would go out Saturday afternoons. Has done it all his life. Shoots them. He was 14 when he took out his first licence. Got all the gen regarding licensing from his two uncles when they came down from London to Porlock to see their mother, his grandmother. The Luxots [name indistinct] they were called. Uncle [name indistinct] was friendly with someone at Stowey Farm, called Beadle. When he retired he bought some land from him and started farming. HR understands Mr Beadle kept pedigree Devon cows. [unclear story about his uncle's 24 year old son, big headed, went round with silver mounted walking stick].

HR taught himself to shoot. Remembers first shot, he hadn't yet got a licence, in fields above Burrowhayes.

In later years there were so many rabbits you were in great demand to shoot them. They used to net them at Hawkwell Farm, between Luccombe and Timberscombe. It still belongs to NT. Farm came up at place called Huntscott, on way to Wootton Courtenay. He bought it. They were very good friends, had known each other for years. He asked HR over to catch rabbits, said they were throwing them on the dunghill. He could ride on his bike from Allerford to Huntscott in straight line, via shortcuts. He could go there before breakfast, shoot 18-20 rabbits, bring them back on the bar of his bicycle, paunch them and sell them for a shilling each.

There were so thick that if you waited a second or two you would get two or three in a line, pull the trigger, and with multiple shot in the cartridge and get three or four of them. Back then there was a man at Bossington called Farrant. He bought these rabbits from the same man. He told HR one day that he went over and there was a single hole in the middle of the field. He put the ferret in and put down net and they caught 34 rabbits out of one hole. [Back to top]
 

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FERRET STORY / RABBITING WITH FATHER / LUCCOMBE MILL & THE PRESCOTTS

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He had a ferret. His father bought it for him when he was a boy from a man called Thorpe who used to live down at Porlock Weir. He used to take on some of the rabbiting on Porlock Hill, he'd bred some young ones [story of father buying one for him for half a crown]. His father picked out smallest ferret in litter, a great delight to HR.

That ferret would follow him everywhere, through the hens, hopping and jumping, playing with them. She came in season, HR found a mate for her and eventually she had her young. She had a box with two compartments. This side would feed and mess, straw the other side. He'd go out every morning and feed her. He'd always heard never look at young ferrets or the mother will eat them, they wouldn't rear them if you did. This particular morning he must have dropped something. He went down to pick it up and had his hand on the edge of the box. He felt ferret coming up to his hand, chattering away [imitates sound]. He could see she'd had her young in the night. She caught hold of his little finger in her teeth, not hard, and started dragging his hand. Remembering what he'd been told he thought 'O-oh, what can you do about this?'.  She carried his hand right into the nest. She'd had seven youngsters and she curled up with them in the warmth of his hand. From then on he could do anything. If he was out and she was a bit longer than he thought she should be he'd bop on the bike [taps on arm of chair] and she'd come out. A marvellous ferret. But then, like everything else, it dies.

She never had a name [laughs]. They used to carry ferrets round in a small seed bag, but he'd put her in an open inside pocket. He'd only have been seven or eight years old.

He used to ride out rabbiting with his father. Would go down to small farm called Luccombe Mill, other side of Luccombe. Every Saturday they'd have a gun apiece. He didn't think much of them as shots, you've got to shoot in front not behind. They were shooting at the rabbit but the rabbit was gone on. It was a small farm, no more than 40 or 50 acres. Today all these places have been done away with, let out to horse owners or whatever. At that farm there was a man and his wife, who'd lived there all his life, 3 sons and 2 daughters. He never heard that they were in debt in any respect. They were pleased to see them because they were clearing rabbits off their crops. He was called Bill Prescott, the older son was Bill. He did most of the work on the farm. To add to income he bought an old bus and used to run that one, going to Minehead. One of them, Cecil, was a carpenter for a local Porlock firm. [Back to top]
 

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HELPING FATHER / WALNUT TREES / ACLANDS / GROWING POTATOES

He'd help his father if he was building a wall. He'd mix cement, bring him stones, whatever and watch him so he knew how to do it. He's done a fair bit of masoning, roofing, tiles.

The walnut tree outside the cottage must be 250 years old or more. He can remember it when the bark was smooth. Now it's all cracked. There were 3 of them in a triangle. They played rounders there, from tree to tree. It's the only one left. [BJ says they are looking out now at quite a busy road, opposite a junction, with cars going by] It used to be horse and cart. They've raised it up over the years, it used to be all flat.  It was all level except for the growth, the stinging nettles and brambles. It was different then. The Aclands were good landlords. They'd send men over and keep it cut back. He's known father and next door neighbour, Jack Moor, paring the hedge across the road after they came home from work, getting nothing for it. Jack was a carter, a horseman.

In the fall father would help them [the estate] out harvesting, haymaking, and when spring came, planting time, they'd ask if he'd like to put in a few spuds. He put a rank of spuds in the field, tend to them, weeding. They'd do all the machinery. He used to grow them at 2 or 3 farms. One year they had about 3 tons of potatoes, in a good season. Mother after washing days would clean out the copper and put in the spuds, which would be fed to the pigs and poultry. It wasn't a lot, financially, to them. Those potatoes were like a lot of balls of flour in the copper. They took them out with a shovel. [Back to top]
 

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KILLING PIGS / SALTING / MANURE

They used to kill 2 pigs a year, nothing before 10 or 12 score. A man came from the butcher to do it. They used to hang them up on the beams of the old workshop, put a sheet round them, to keep the dust off he supposes. He'd come in the morning to kill it, hang it up. And the next day he'd come and cut it up. He can see him now. He'd have his saw, saw down through the spine, drop half the carcass on the jib, which was like a table, and cut it into small pieces [phone rings].

The pig would be hung up on a gammer, a piece of wood sharpened down with notches each end. He would pull the legs apart and let it cool down. It would come out as still as could be. He used to saw down through the middle of the back and cut away one half onto the jib and the other half he'd keep on the gammer. He'd cut it up as you wanted it, small or large. You couldn't do much about the hams and shoulders, so they were the first in the salter. They packed them down. Then the next lot would be the ribs and fat bacon. Of course you had a lot of salt. They used to buy a 25 lb bar, about 6 inches square. A fair bit of salt. The hams would be down in the brine all the time, but mother used to keep a mug to dip up the brine and pour it over the meat 2 or 3 times a day. The head and bits, all went in. But they were used first. The liver and that sort of thing, were used up quickly.

After it had been in the brine for 3-4 weeks they would haul it up so it would drip off. They would hang it all round the larder, to stay until they were used. He wishes he could see some of it now [laughs].

He used to hold on to the rope when the pig was killed. As years passed, so the humane killer came in. That was easier than ever. He [the butcher] just put the muzzle against the pig's head and drive a spike out into the brain. He had to have a licence for it. But it was an improvement. The butcher would bring the humane killer with him, wrapped up in his case.

Before the humane killer they used to haul the pig over to a spot where there was a strong hook. Put the rope over the hook, haul the pig up and the butcher would slit it's throat. The blood used to go on the yard, down in the gutter and out into the river. They used to clean it all up [unclear].

Of course, apart from keeping the pig for meat, you had all the manure from it, for the garden. Their garden got more than enough, actually. Father would sell off, or give away, a cartload or 2. He knows a chap who used to come over from Bodley Hill. It's what's wanted out there now. [pause for tea] [Back to top]
 

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FATHER SWEEPING CHIMNEYS

His father used to sweep chimneys. He'd start off in the morning and come back about 4 or 5 o'clock and relate what he'd seen, and who, during the day. He'd sweep 20 chimneys in a day. When he came in [laughs], the first thing he used to do was go in the galvanised tub. Mother would have the copper going for hot water and HW used to scrub his back. He'd be black. It was only a thin suit he wore. He couldn't wear anything heavy because it might be a hot day and he'd be in a worse mess than ever. But he kept himself fairly clean. [Back to top]