大象传媒

Continued from Part One..

A SQUAUK

The rector had a second son who visited us one day with his wife and a spaniel. All three of them were in the kitchen along with Mlle mother and me when the spaniel took a flying leap out of the window. There was a squawk from outside so I charged out of the door in time to see the dog making off toward the lawn gripping a black hen in its mouth. The dog with the hen by the neck dashed across the grass and into the laurels which seemed impenetrable for anything larger than them, knowing the way well I followed. In the room sized clearing under the canopy the dog dropped Skipgrace and looked at me in amazement, obviously it had not expected me to be able to follow. Defeated, it made off back to the house as fast as it could. Skipgrace was in a state of shocked stupor but physically unharmed, I picked her up, made sympathetic noises, walked back to the house with her quickly to make sure the dog had not grabbed another, and she rejoined her comrades. The dog was confined to the car for the rest of the visit.

One hen was having us on a string, regularly an egg would appear on the wash house table. Then one day I was walking out that way when Skipgrace was about the business, she glared at me so I went quickly back into the laundry, heard a distinct thud, then her proud cackle as she hopped out over the lower part of the stable type door. When I told him my father suggested we put an egg cup on the table and train her to put it straight in.

THE OTHERS

Other occupants of the courtyard were the rats which usually escaped our attentions by running into the well or by climbing the walls. It always fascinated me the way they could climb walls, this they usually did by scampering up the crevice created by the right angled meeting point of the surrounding wall and that of a building.

The rectory was built on the side of a hill and the drive continued past its eastern end at first floor level to go on to the barn. I am sure that at some time there had been a path past that end of the house at ground floor level, but this was now blocked by an outside W.C. at the front and an outhouse dedicated to storing apples at the back.

At the side of this drive was a water tank which was supplied by a nearly horizontal section of downpipe from the roof and which provided water for the W.C. Along that end of the house were a series of nesting holes set into the wall.

The scullery was a lean-to on the end of the main building with the remnants of that old path outside its wall, the only window for the scullery was a skylight. Mum, Mlle Asheman and I all wondered what the strange hissing was which we could hear from the scullery each evening. This was a weird intermittent hiss with various tones and cadences. For days we tried to look out of the skylight to find out what it was all about but could see nothing. Then one day when no one else was around I very slowly crept across the floor as the hissing came from overhead until I could see the horizontal section of downpipe. Then the two white barn owls spotted my movement and flew silently away. When I next had total silence except for the hissing I managed to get into a good position to watch. Obviously it was a Mr Barn owl and a Mrs Barn owl that lived in one of the nesting holes. They were sitting side by side on the pipe and necking. That is the only way to describe it in one word, rubbing their necks gently together they were talking to each other and I did an early Johnny Morris in my imagination as to what they were saying.
"Ssssssssss." (You really are a bit of all right.)
"Ssssssh." (You're pretty good yourself.)
"Sssssssshsh." (I do love you.)
"Ssshssssh." (You're the only one for me.)
"Sssh shush." (I see a movement.)
"Ssssshss?" (Breakfast?)
"Ssssh Sssssh Shsh." (No that human again, let's go.)

A BIT SAD REALLY

Old George our gardener was also the provider of rabbits, I would go to his cottage and collect one, take it back and skin it, then hand it to mum for cooking.
One day the rabbit I was skinning was full of milk, I ate my share with difficulty, thinking of it's poor little offspring starving to death while I ate their mother. I had to console myself with the thought that it was only natural and the result would have been the same if a fox had got her.
This led me to the notion that man should capture all wild animals to protect the herbivores from the carnivores, then farm the herbivores humanely for the benefit of all creatures.

THE SAUNA

In the wash house was an old dome oven, essentially a large diameter pottery pipe built into the wall and fitted with a flue. To use it was filled with dry wood which was then lighted and stoked up, when the walls of the oven were glowing the ashes were raked out and the cooking could start.

First the bread requiring a very high temperature, then the roast, then the cakes, then the sponge cakes for example, but this made a perfect sauna for sick chicken. From time to time small chicks "get the gapes鈥�, a nasty illness which causes them to keep raising their little heads and opening their beaks in what looks like a silent scream.

The cure we learned is to heat up an oven to a good but bearable temperature then put the chicken in a box and in the oven, after about twenty minutes it will start chirping loudly in protest, this means it is ready to take out. The treatment never failed and several birds were saved in this way.

YOU PULL THE DAMPER OUT etc

The cooker mother used normally was a large kitchen range with about three ovens and a huge hob. Lighting the fire in it was an art which it took mother some time to learn, so at first Jessie had to light it every morning. It was totally worn out, the water tank to the left of the fireplace had a leak so could not be used, although the range did have a back boiler which supplied hot water for the bathroom. The control of the heat by the manipulation of the various dampers was another highly skilled performance and only Jessie knew how to get to its many flue channels to clean the things.

When mother mentioned this to the rector he was adamant that there could be nothing wrong with it at all as it was new when he had come to Pillaton a mere fifty years earlier. Indeed the rector had great faith in anything built before the "Great War" (1914 to 1918 he meant); this included his yacht which he kept in the barn. One day he offered me a great privilege, he would show me this yacht. He had already explained at great length how he had brought it up the river Lynher to Notter bridge thirty years before and then arranged for it to be taken from the water. After that it was brought to Pillaton for storage, and of course it was pulled all the way by horses in those days. He was sure however that it would still be in perfect condition ready for the water. Solemnly he opened the great doors, dutifully I stared into the deep gloom of the barn. The vague outline of a boat was dimly discernable, then it was left to continue rotting in peace.

SUPPLIES

The rector had told my mother never to use the village shop as it was not proper for "the rectory" to do so, his sons though had told mother to shop there as much as she liked. Nevertheless the rector went shopping in Plymouth once a week for the grocery order, these forays followed a strict routine.

The groceries were a standing order with one of the "top" shops in Plymouth, so any modifications to the standard had to be notified to him before he started. This had to be in writing of course because he could easily get things wrong if any other form of communication was attempted, so mother never bothered unless there was a huge overstock of something.
The hire car with uniformed chauffeur would arrive, the rector with due dignity would enter the vehicle, then he was gone for the day. In the evening he would return and solemnly hand over the box of goodies.

Mother had negotiated that Saturdays would be her free day however so it was then that mum and I would set off on our bikes to go back home for the day. Opposite Saltash station was a house with a cycle park where we left the bikes and carried on by train, then, upon our return with anything else the shop in Pillaton could not provide, we collected the cycles and peddled back to the rectory.

THE WEDDING

Then came the day of the wedding. This was to be a big society wedding to which the rector had received an official invitation. He had convinced himself that, as the senior, which is the oldest, clergyman in the area they would of course ask him to officiate. Consequently he had spent hours of preparation of a suitable sermon because of course he would be delighted to do so and this was to be his really big day. To start with he could not book his regular hire car, which was very aggravating, they could at least have arranged something for such a customer as he.

Mlle Asheman, mother and I assembled to meet the car when it arrived, tell him it had done so and see him off, but when it turned up we all knew there would be trouble. Surely enough he was not happy with it at all, it was not a proper hire car, it looked modern when it should look traditional for such an occasion, it was the wrong shape, it was too small, it was not black, then when he saw the driver was a woman he was outraged, her assurances that there were no men left at the car company to take her place did nothing to mollify him but he had no alternative except to go through with using it. Of course it had no glass screen between the driver and passenger either, so a very aggravated rector, resplendent in his best official black, proceeded with as much dignity as he could muster, to place himself in the back seat. Then, solemnly, sitting back correctly, the sloping roof tipped his tall silk hat over his eyes.

Mademoiselle promptly dodged out of the doorway and cracked up. Mother, with experience of a husband who was a one time comic in an amateur concert party remained straight faced until the car moved out of sight, then she allowed herself a chuckle. I really felt sorry for the old man but could not help joining the hilarity when he was safely out of sight. Of course when he arrived back home he was most upset, they had not had the common courtesy to ask him to officiate. Mademoiselle was soon distracted though by the solitary rose growing in the middle of the hedge by the drive and went into her "The last rose of summer left blooming alone" routine.

There were several roses, each blossoming in splendid isolation in succession on that plant, and each time she saw one of them she quoted the words slowly and solemnly, complete with appropriately theatrical gestures. Her version of "The last rose of summer left blooming alone" was quite a performance in its own right.

A BOMB ?

One wild and stormy night we heard something like a huge explosion. This was a puzzle, surely no enemy aircraft would be flying over that night so it could hardly be a bomb, maybe there had been an unexploded bomb somewhere which had suddenly decided to go off, but it sounded very close, as though it was in the house.

Mademoiselle, mother and I all started a search for damage. I am not sure if it was mother or Mlle who found out what it was. The rector believed in fresh air, especially at night, so always had his window wide open whatever the weather. Inside the window was a roller blind and to stop it blowing to the ceiling a great array of heavy weights was arranged along the window sill to hold it down. That is until the whole lot were deposited on the floor by the gale, this was our "explosion - The rector never heard a thing.

PEACE SORT OF PEACE

Often in the evenings mother and I would sit at the window of her bedroom looking out over the valley toward and past the village, a lovely view as the sun went down. From there we could watch the rooks flying home to roost and hear the rumpus in the village when the pub turned out.

This was especially true once a week when the butcher had his night out. He lived at Pillaton Mill a hamlet in the valley and to get home he had to go down the lane which we could see from mum's window. The rumpus in that case was all his mates loading him onto his carthorse. Soon we would see him, singing and swaying astride his steed as it ambled from titbit to titbit among the plants in the hedgerows. As it munched them his singing changed to chivvying until it moved on, then the song restarted until it spotted something else it fancied and the tune reverted to the chidings.

He often delivered his meat in a wagon pulled by a less gigantic horse and one day when he was doing so I asked him why he never rode this animal which looked more like the type people usually ride.
"Oh". was the reply. "He's not reliable enough."

Another peaceable activity was scything the long grasses and nettles or using the sickle, which we called a hook, on them. It is essential to be peaceable when using these things for unless you keep a calm mind, the first will have your feet off and the second your fingers or hand. Part of the rectory grounds was set out as a lovely terraced garden complete with a bower. Not decoratively lovely then as everything was overgrown, but this made it even better to play in as damage to plants is not too important especially when they are weeds anyway. At the bottom of these terraces was a sizeable lawn and at the end farthest from the house a sheer drop of about fifteen feet or so. At the bottom was the enclosure of the well which supplied the house on the other side of the lane with water. In this house were two London evacuees, a lad a little younger than me and his sister. He and I had a favourite perch in the laurel trees overlooking the lane where we could sit together on one branch with our arms resting on another at just the right height.

Of course he never ventured further into the rectory grounds than that, no one wanted to get told off by the rector. I was sorry to leave Pillaton but I was now thirteen and secondary school called.

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