I Remember When in the 40's

My first recollection of school was a governess called Miss Knight in the schoolroom next to the kitchen. Aged 7, I was sent to the Wells Cathedral School’s junior department and at 8, I was sent to Durlston Court Preparatory School at Swanage. In 1940 we seemed to spend much of the time in the cellars, sheltering from the German raids. The School was evacuated to Earnshill at Hambridge near Langport in Somerset, much closer to home for me. This was a large 1930’s country house owned by the Coombes family. Mr Coombes had recently been killed in the war.

My schooling was a great concern to my parents since I was quite good at Maths but I was totally unable to read. I had many hours of extra lessons under Miss Dawson whose character was emphasised by her bright yellow bicycle. I believe that if I had been educated today I would have been diagnosed as dyslexic.

The local farmer was called Harry Forward and we as children used to help out (I am sure we really got in the way). He was considered to be a very forward-looking farmer. He had about 60 shorthorn cows and a brand new cowshed with a milking machine and a bucket plant. The milk had to be carried to the dairy and put over the cooler into churns. At a later date between my Army time and going to the Royal Agricultural College (The Royal Ag), I spent 6 months being a farm student at Harry Forwards. I learnt to hand milk during this period since the machine was not considered to be efficient enough and every cow had to be ‘stripped’ in order to get the last 1/2 pint out.

He brewed farmhouse cider. The men had their own cellar and were allowed to take their flagons of rough cider to the fields instead of paying them overtime. It had a high alcohol content and was very rough to my pallet. Harry had his own cellar and brewed it in port or sherry barrels. The result was a much smoother brew. Two occasions I remember to this day. An army platoon called in one evening on its way from Windsor to Cornwall. The soldiers were allowed into the men’s cellar and the officer encouraged to join the farmer’s. The next morning the men were legless and not one of them was able to turn the taps off.

On another occasion when I returned as a student myself and two other students had been having a Saturday morning drink and the other two decided to cut off my mangy looking moustache, a relic of my army days, with the cow clippers. I feared for my nose but they got half off. I was relieved of an embarrassment.


Stephen Bond