Miss Read, The Power of Chocolate, and Snowflake's Farewell

I was going to put some snow photographs in the post but then I remembered these paintings, they give you a wonderful panoramic view of the village across the valley.   Most days my walks take me through these meadows, up the farm track and down past the cottages.    Miss Read (some of you may well remember her, she has featured in this blog many times)   grew up on the farm in the left hand painting.

No need for the photographs, these are much better.    This is exactly how the village (I would call it a hamlet because it is so small, but it does have a church, so that disqualifies it) looks under a blanket of snow - and here is one of my photographs to illustrate.

We have had a few inches of snow, enough to make everywhere look magical and enough to have a snowball fight or two.   It can go now.

My granddaughter discovered that one of her Guinea Pigs had died yesterday.    She sat on her daddies knee and had a jolly good howl, may even have accidentally wiped her runny nose on his shirt, but was eventually consoled with a cup of hot chocolate dotted with marshmallows and swirled with cream.  

Once the hugs, plus the magical healing power of chocolate had soothed the raw emotions, her mum gently suggested that they should plan a funeral for the little animal.   

Owl Wood has a small pet cemetery within.  My dear old Toby One is buried there, along with assorted pet hens, a cat, a Guinea Pig, and a large wild mouse which the grandchildren found dead in their garden several years ago.

I found a suitable box, Grandpa dug the grave, and granddaughter set about writing a poem about Snowflake the guinea pig.     I added a tiny gold and pearl crown, some beautiful blue glass beads and a few assorted bits and pieces, small tokens for Snowflake to take on her journey.   A small handful of rose petals, ready for scattering, and we were ready to go.

The ceremony was brief, snowflakes fell from the sky as Snowflake was laid to rest.

Post me your Favourite Corset

Small ad seen in an old Women's Institute magazine from 1952:  "Post me your favourite garment - Corset, Brassiere, or Corselette, no matter how old fashioned you may think it is.  I will gladly send you a free estimate for copying it.  Satisfaction or money refunded."

I found this image on pinterest
though i have lost track of where it originated.

I bought the magazine from an ebay seller. 

I don't belong to the WI, but Miss Read was a very active member for much of her life, so I want to scan and greatly enlarge some items which I think may be of interest to her.    She may be losing her sight, but she is most definitely not losing her 'marbles'.   

I think she will enjoy doing a bit of 'time-travelling', she may even remember some of the events and discussions which are mentioned, though the only mention I can find of our village is that three members gave a demonstration on pastry-making and pastry fillings. 

Meanwhile, just five or six miles away, a Dr B gave a talk about his alpine adventures with Lincolnshire schoolgirls, which was probably much more fun than the talk given by Mr L on the care of the feet.   There was a  talk on electric cleaners, another on dress-making, though I think I would probably have enjoyed the talk which ex-Police Sergeant R gave on 'A Policeman must have nerves of iron', rather more.

During her reminiscences Miss Read has often made mention of the plays which were performed in the village hall and the magazine is full of advertisements for play scripts, comedies seeming to be the most abundant.     There is an item on theatrical makeup, another one about village drama and the coronation, drama reviews and, most helpfully, what to cook when funds are low.

It makes for an interesting read for me and, I hope, for Miss Read.

Miss Read at the Manor House Part I

I slathered myself with arnica gel (after my fall) and carried on with my day;

 I had a meeting to attend

and

 papers to deliver,

  the typed-up notes on 'Miss Read's Wartime Memories'.

I got to the village hall a little earlier than everyone else

so that I could turn on the heating (ceiling-height electric things, not very effective!)

to cheer the place up a little.

Our 'Miss Read' used to live in the Old Rectory, right next door to the village church,

then when she was 10 years old her family moved into the Manor House.

The house was demolished in the 1970's, nowadays that wouldn't be allowed,

even these remains are listed and protected.

Luckily we have Miss Read's memories of the place to call upon.

The core of the manor house was very old, but the main house and Hall were built in the 16th century from bricks which were produced in local fields.

The walls were 39" thick and caused a few difficulties when it came to curtaining windows

- especially during WWII when blackout curtains were necessary -

smaller, dormer, bedroom windows were a real problem.

Her father was responsible for fire-watching, distribution of gas masks

and

checking on the black outs in the village.

The ground floor drawing room and living rooms had wooden floors, laid directly onto the ground,

and therefore very draughty.

The scullery, pantries and kitchen had brick floors.

Ground floor rooms had very high ceilings

so heating was a real problem,

particularly during the war years when coal was severely rationed.

The old wall and gate, another remnant.

At some point in the history of the house, concrete had been used to make a floor for

a passageway and two of the bedrooms on the upper floor.

This caused the floor to slope so badly that beds had to be put on blocks to get an even keel.

The house had 8 bedrooms and lots of dark corridors and twisting staircases.

It was cold and damp, especially during those war years.

There was an indoor lavatory, upstairs.

To use this facility you had to carry a bucket of water upstairs with you

because the water system was not working.

There was also a twin seater outdoor lavatory.

Baths were taken once a week, in front of the fire, in a zinc tub.

It was quite a ritual as water had to be heated and then buckets were used to fill the bath.

Electricity came to the village in the late 1940's

so her childhood memories are of candles and oil lights,

ceiling oil lights

because her mother was always afraid that lamps would be knocked over.

This is all that remains, the old medieval hall, the house adjoined it at the far end.

This beautiful old building has seen many alterations over the years, 

I often stop by and just look at the brickwork.

History written on the walls.

Picture this hall about 65 years ago.

The Manor House was still attached.

It was Miss Read's wedding day

and

her wedding breakfast was taken in the old hall.

There were flowers, straw bales, and as great an abundance of food as was possible

to produce in those post war days.

Fingers crossed that I can persuade Miss Read to open her photograph album...

Our very own 'Miss Read' (with walking stick)  making her way home, after the meeting.

The building in the distance, with the blue sign,

was our village school.

These days it is a private residence.

Village Life and a Village Death

Yesterday I attended another meeting at our tiny village hall.   It is a new group for the oldies and the new oldies, a new initiative by the local district council -  to show how much they care for country folk and the elderly.

I must extract my tongue from my cheek.

This is the same council which intends to make us pay for the street lighting in the village (eg they say the call-out fee would be about £700 to have someone change a light bulb... which could explain why we once had to wait almost two years for the only one near us to have the bulb changed) otherwise they will remove the poles and that will be that forever.

Of course this has stimulated much heated discussion within and without the village.  As ever there are those who want the lights left on, others don't see any benefit to themselves so are happy to opt out, while the rest simply don't care.

The jury is still out.   Either that or we just haven't been told of the final decision yet.

Anyway, they have some National Lottery funding burning a hole in their pocket and someone had the idea of opening up the village hall once a month so that the older folk (how strange it feels to be included in that group,  don't they realise that I am really only in my 20's?) can meet up and enjoy some social connection.

Yesterday's little gathering was attended by, perhaps, a dozen people.   Pretty good for such a tiny, and I do mean tiny, village.

We had cups of tea and slices of cake, lots of chat and discussion about how to proceed.    We will only meet once a month - funding can be found for the rent of the village hall and for expenses for someone to come in and give a talk, lesson, demonstration.   Doesn't sound too onerous, at the moment but that could change.

Although I notice it is the same ones as usual who have to set up the tables, make tea and then stack chairs, etc.   Nothing changes.

Miss Read, one of our village elders, a former school teacher, is going to get the ball rolling, which is nice of her.    Someone else wants to have an art class, another wants some plant advice from the more green-fingered among us,  and the idea of a meal at the pub was mooted too.    All pretty tame stuff.

But how about this?

Poppy, how about giving us a demonstration of how you can make these wonderful garnishes, or perhaps you could show everyone how you serve tea, Chinese-style?   The special tea would be purchased through expenses.

I think something like that would be well received and greatly appreciated by everyone.   Have a think about it.   Your audience would be tiny but very appreciative of your skills.

The tea ceremony would be something completely different and they would love the beauty and formality of it.

Enough of all that though.

The village has lost another elder, one of the truly long-term residents.  His family have lived here for generations - the old village blacksmith.

I posted about him on my old blog.  This was taken a few years ago when he had to give up working the forge due to ill health, so all the equipment was auctioned.  A sad day then and a sad day today.

The village signs acknowledge that we were once lucky enough to have a village blacksmith, so he won't be forgotten.