大象传媒

Memories of Wembworthy, North Devon, 1940-1946
Pete Butler

As a baby, I was evacuated with my mother and brother to the village because of the 鈥榖litz鈥� in London. My father had been called up in the army, I was only ? months old , my brother was 8 years old. Much of this story was told to me by my brother Ernie and mother (Lily), but I can recall many things as I grew older. The three of us lived in the vicarage for a short time before we were housed in no.8 the village where we lived until 1946. As we recall, the rent was 4/- per week, the cottage had no running water, there was a stand pipe on the corner of the end cottage. There was an outside privy with an earth closet . The kitchen / front room had a big black fire range. Incidentally when we lived in the vicarage we had to draw water from the well in the garden - it was very spartan, not like the present day. I don鈥檛 remember starting school 鈥� just that the school was past the kennels where the hounds of the Eggesford hunt were kept. The headmistress was Mrs Worthington. My mother used to help clean the school house as a part-time job . She kept in touch after the war until Mrs Worthington moved to Wooton-under 鈥擡dge, Gloucestershire when they lost touch.

One of the people we made friends with was Lizzie Cockram who was the Post Mistress at the post office at Speakes cross. She had a parrot in a big cage, and all us children used to love to talk to him until one day somebody opened his cage and he flew through an open window and was never to be seen again. Another time, the postman opened the postbox that was let into the outside wall, but he left the door open. One of the little girls was with us, being very small she climbed inside and I slammed the door shut, she screamed so loud that Mr Yeo the postman ran out and let her out. I don鈥檛 think my Mum was very pleased with me . I must have got a tanning, but I can鈥檛 remember now. Mr Yeo the Postman had very big scars on his face. My brother told me years later that Mr Yeo had been shot in the First World War. He rode a big black bike and was a very nice man. We kept in touch with Miss Cockram for some years until we found out she had moved to an old peoples home at Crediton. The post office was closed down and re-opened in the village but I don鈥檛 think there is one there now.

Just around the corner from the post office was Jack Skinner鈥檚 grocers shop, where mum used to shop. Mr Skinner used to sometimes give us kids a lift in his little grey car when he delivered his goods. Across the way from the post office was the village hall where mum used to go to 鈥渨hist drives鈥�, she sometimes used to play the piano there.

Opposite the 鈥淟ymington Arms鈥� pub was a garage run by Mr Frank Pidgeon with one petrol pump, he pumped by hand. Mother used to get my brother to take an accumulator to the garage to charge it up for our wireless as we had no electricity, only oil lamps. Halfway between the village hall and the village itself on the left hand side was a wind pump to supply the standpipes. The pump was the type in the Western films.

A couple of my school mates in later years were Derek Sanders and Billy Sanders who I saw many years ago driving a tractor through the village. I was told he worked in a place called Barton. One Christmas, we 鈥榖orrowed鈥� a fir tree and decorated it. I think it came from Eggesford Forest, but don鈥檛 let on!

My mother used to help with the flowers in the church. My brother was in the church choir, the vicar was Reverend Wickham. In the next cottage to us lived Mr and Mrs Dart and their daughter. He used to make farm gates, etc. At the back of the cottages were what we called the 鈥渓innys鈥�, which we must have meant 鈥渓inhays鈥�. They were for storage. The track at the end of the row of cottages led to Sanders Farm which had a duck pond we kids used to skim flat stones across the water. Next to the farm was a big barn with an engine powered thresher for the corn. I assume it ran on heavy oil. The old man at the farm used to cut my hair. We also had to take the earth closet to the farm to empty 鈥� horrible. We kids used to hep at harvest time, pushing down the stooks of corn for the farmhands to load onto a trailer to take back to the barn to be threshed. When the corn was harvested, the rabbits were trapped in the centre of the cornfield as it became smaller. The farmhands used to kill them with sticks which I did not like at all. Mum used to be given a rabbit sometimes to make stew which I loved.

When my cousins used to visit us we had great fun playing in the ruins Eggesford House, if mum knew what we got up to she would have been worried sick. We also played in a big quarry at Eggesford. There was a lake at the bottom and rails and hoppers to play on. My brother went to school at Chulmleigh. His teacher was a Mr Jenkins, the boys called him snowball because of his white hair (but not to his face). When Ernie left school he went to work with Gilbert Earl in his workshop (no longer there) next to the vicarage driveway. He was taught to make coffins, gates, etc. Ernie and Mr Earl once had to measure up somebody who had hung himself in a barn on a farm. Ernie very much enjoyed working with Gilbert. His mother lived nearby. Sad to relate, Gilbert died at a young age, leaving the village short of a craftsman and a good man. Ernie learned a great deal from him. Ernie had to make a sledge one winter, as the roads were thick with snow they had to walk to Winkleigh for food and came back crying with the cold. I must have stayed with a cousin until they returned. 1944 gave us some excitement when American tanks on exercise stopped at the bottom of the village. They were training for D-Day but we did not know that at the time. Mum made the tea and gave them cakes that had been sent from Australia in food parcels by my aunt Maggie. When the soldiers left they gave mum two chickens. I hate to think where they came from. Ernie was given a crossed sabre cavalry badge by one of the tank crew.

Food was on ration so sometimes we had rabbit stew. My mum had to skin the rabbit and dig out the lead shot. I can recall dried egg powder. Mum used to get rosehip syrup and orange juice for me from the welfare. I can remember on V.E. night going to Winkleigh to see a firework display. Dad came home on leave every so often for 48 hours. Once when walking from the station in full kit, rifle, etc, a post office van passed him and stopped up the road. My dad, thinking he had got a lift speeded up. The postman jumped out and said sorry he could not give him a lift as it was against regulations to give lifts to people. He felt he had to explain this to my dad. My dad was not very pleased I can tell you. The postman drove off leaving dad muttering under his breath.

Our house had been bombed in London, so when dad was demobbed he came home to us safe and sound. He obtained a job with Mr Harris who had a contract to cut and haul timber in Eggesford Forest run by the Forestry Commission. Mr Harris ran his business but was too old for combat as a pilot. He flew for Ferry Command that flew new aircraft to their squadrons. He flew his own 鈥渢iger moth鈥� from Winkleigh aerodrome and often used to do a barrel roll across the village to tell his wife he would be home soon. I think he had a sports car, I鈥檓 not sure of the make. It did not take long to drive from the aerodrome. My dad worked cutting trees down for pitprops and other uses. His great friend was Bill Undrell who many years later I saw in his house near the bus shelter by the church. They never saw each other again. Another friend in the village was Mrs Tucker, her house was almost opposite no.8, we used to visit her after the war when we were on holiday. My grandmother came to visit us in Devon, and she was taken ill in the Lymington Arms public house, and later died and was buried in the churchyard. Her name was Elizabeth Flora Blackley. Over many years, the family have been to Wembworthy church to pay their respects and lay flowers and sign the visitors book. The churchyard is always very neat. In 1946 we had been told we had a prefab home to go to in London. My dad鈥檚 job had been held open as he had been called up for war service. He had been a furrier by trade. I forgot to say we had a black cat in the cottage. I don鈥檛 remember if it had a name, but on the day we left mum had the cat in a basket on the platform. Just as the train was about to leave the cat jumped out of the basket and ran away. We did not have time to try to catch it, and we never saw it again 鈥� and they say a black cat is lucky. So after six and a half very happy years in Wembworthy, we left for London. We have been back many times to tend Gran鈥檚 grave and will as long as we can.

These are my recollections of Wembworhty Village 1940-1946.

Peter Butler

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