School in the country.

School in the country.


Moving from St. John's primary school in Weymouth to Long Bredy school was a big change.  From one large class of about 30 children all in the same grade, to one class of about 20 kids from the age of 6 to 11. What a difference.

We even did country dancing and ringing hand bells as part of our weekly routine. Different, but certainly fun.

The school lunch was cooked at the school, and us larger boys took turns to go and collect water for the cook from a spring at the bottom of the lane where it met the village road. What a surprise.

I was only there for the end of the school year as I had taken the 11+ exam before leaving Weymouth. As I passed, next year saw me on the bus each day to Bridport Grammar. Another adventure on the road to adulthood.

If you have a photo of the school, please post it here.

Thanks 

Visiting my Grandfather in Weymouth.

Visiting my Grandfather in Weymouth was quite a trip. I traveled down on the bus from Kingston Russel which took about an hour and was usually a double decker so . could sit on top at the front. The route took us via country lanes through Martinstown and down through Upwey, finishing up at the old Bus Station behind King Street near the railway station.

As my Grandfather still lived in Derby Street it only took 2 minutes to get to his home where we used to chat. Some days I went fishing on the New Pier at Weymouth harbor. Even caught a fish sometimes too, a small bream or whiting. As I was walking back to catch the bus I passed the Pavilion theater and noticed a workman high up on the building with water in a bucket (which he was spilling) and a whisp of smoke coming out of the wall nearby. I walked on down to the bus station and was amazed when the bus home drove up to the esplanade to see the Pavilion burning like an enormous bonfire. As the building was wooden no real surprise I suppose. This happened when I was 12 years old in 1954.
Picture courtesy of BBC. 

More of Life at Kingston Russel

More of Life at Kingston Russel Farm.
I have been back in recent years with my parents (now sadly departed) and it brought back a flood of memories.
Learning to drive a tractor, going into the dairy and seeing the cows being milked, collecting our daily quart of milk straight from the cooler, fresh and creamy. All things that helped me grow up and understand how to get on with country folk. All things that would not be permitted these days I am sure, due to all sorts of rules and regulation.

Collecting birds eggs was also part of a normal boys life too.

The man who lived in the house next to us was a professional rabbit catcher! This was in the year before the dreaded mixamatosis hit the rabbit population. I went out with him some times as he set 120 traps each day, those rather cruel things. He also had some ferrets and I was allowed to borrow one some Sunday mornings and go out on my own adventure. It seemed very exciting to take his dog, a ferret and some nets and find a rabbit warren to hunt in. Once in a while I caught one, cleaned it, took it home to my mother and skinned for her. Mum would then stuff the rabbit and bake it for lunch. It was a great treat.

The two Baker brothers ran the farm and some evenings when it was dark they would take a tractor out into a field and zoom about with a powerful hand held light. This would allow them to dazzle rabbits so one of them could club the poor animal and that was that. Such was country life.

Leaving Weymouth for Kingston Russel Farm

Well it was time to move. My parents decided that they had lived too long with Grandad Martin and needed their independance, so we were going to leave the seaside for the country. So off we went, all the family together to look at country cottages.
Winterborne Abas was the first village we visited but there was not much garden. The loo was a shed at the end of the garden too.
Eventually we found paradise on Kingston Russel farm. About half a mile from the main Dorchester to Bridport road and one of a pair of two story cottages. Ours was the left hand one of the pair as you look at it from the front and had about half an acre of land. Just what Dad and Mum (I hope) wanted.
It was a sort of dream land. Woods and fields for a young lad to explore, and a big dairy farm with friendly staff.

Just before we moved I had sat my 11+ exam at St. John's School in Weymouth, and while waiting for results went to the village school in LongBredy. An interesting little place with one classroom, one teacher, and perhaps twenty or less children all together. We had fun learning all sort of things in addition to the 3 Rs. I learned to make model aircraft with the teacher after school, and as the crow flies it was only about 2 miles over the hill to get home. So I got the habit of going on foot when I was ready.

The other rather surprising thing I found  as a new boy from Weymouth (about ten miles away) was that there were a number of words and expressions in the local country dialect that I did not understand at first. Apart from that, country dancing and playing on hand bells were a couple of new experiences.

Well I will see if  I can find any old photos that fit this topic. Be in touch later.

Small Boys in Weymouth 1949

And what do small boys do in Weymouth in about 1949. Well we roamed around the harbour and went fishing on either the new pier or the old pier. I remember that just off to one side of the old pier there was a place where it was almost allways possible to catch small bream, and these were taken home where my mother filleted and fried them. Really good they were too. Otherwise the fish were often rass or what we called rock salmon, which we just threw back in the sea.

But best of all was going with my father in his boat to empty the lobster and crab pots or fish for conger eels by Portland Harbour wall. We would anchor just off the wall and try to catch these rather clever fish. They were tricky because they would take your bait and then back into the wall and hang on with their long bodies. To stop this happening it was necessary to strike and pull hard as soon as they took the hook and get them away from the wall before they could get a grip of it. My Dad was pretty good at it and the sight of a one to two meter long fish coming into the boat and then thrashing about all over the place was pretty exciting.

When we got home with our catch my Mother would prepare the lobsters and crabs for the fishmonger, and the whole catch would go to the shop. Fish from a local fish shop in Weymouth at that time was usually locally caught and very fresh. I wonder how it is today.

Another favorite playground was Radipole lake park. There was a long stainless steel slide that we used to polish with candle wax and the seat of out trousers to make it faster. Perhaps it is still there. But just a little way from the slide was a pool on which we could sail our toy boats, and there were all sorts there. Great sailing boats, model steam ships and paper boats that Dads would make. All together a very special place.

And of course there was the railway. Boy do things that are in hindsite certainly naughty and perhaps a little dangerouse. There was and perhaps still is a footbridge over the railway on the way to the park. And when the steam trains (and they were all steam trains then) passed under it the train would puff out clouds of steam and smoke. Us boys would take small stones and try to drop them into the train's funnel as it got close to the bridge. If we were successful they would be shot out under the bridge and clatter against it making a good old bang. There were also some shunting lines behind the park and if we had a halfpenny we would put it on the track where the shunted trucks were going to pass. As the trucks ran over the coin it would make a mark and move down the line. So after several trucks had run over it (and it was safe to take a look) there were several imprints of the coin on the metal railway line. I am sure they are all worn away by now and the line is inacessible too I expect. Perhaps I will take a look when next I am in Weymouth.

Recovery from heart Attack - Home again

Back home after a total of nine day in the hospitals. I was transferred to From Vichy to Moulins only two KM from where I live on the Tuesday after the crisis.

Now I am taking six medications per day and feeling very well with non symptoms except for a very occasional pricking sensation in my chest. My main concerns now relate to the level of physical activity I should allow myself, and gaining a full understanding of the reasons for, and possible long term effect of the medications I am taking.

As my next consultation with the cardiologist is scheduled for early June, I want to bring it forward and get proper clarification on these matters.

Life begins again - After a Cardiac accident - Heart Attack.

The 29th of March saw me with a blood pressure reading of 17/12 and my partner calling the French emergency service number 15.

A Dr. and nurse arrived very quickly hotly pursued by an ambulance. Yes it had happened, a partial blockage of one of the arteries that feed blood to a muscle of my heart was giving me some discomfort and needed urgent attention. So we rushed off, with all sirens going for a 45 minute ride to Vichy, the nearest hospital with the specialized facility to deal with me.

I have begun to tell the story more fully in a separate blog, but it has a small place here too I think. Suffice it to say, the hospital staff did a great job and a stent was inserted about half an hour after i arrived. The result was an almost immediate relief from the distress I was in and me on the road to recovery........

I have now been home for ten days and feel very good. Need to take it easy and allow the heart muscle to repair, but should be as good as new in a few months as long as I do not get over confident and disturb the healing process.