Looking Back 

 by Annie Beaver

   Annie with her mother on the doorstep of her home for 89 years, taken early last century

She lived some 89 years in the same house on Oundle Road (see picture left), and loved the village, its occupants and way of life passionately.

 She was a keen local historian, and has left a wealth of local history material which is forming the basis of the history section of this website.

The following account of life in the village before the First World War I found amongst her effects after she died in 1995. I have tried to retain the original wording and punctuation where possible, but I've had to slightly re-word a few passages for clarity. 

You are welcome to download this for personal off-line reading, but the copyright remains with the beneficiaries of Annie's estate, and any request for publishing this material should be addressed to me.  

David Simpkins Jan 2001.

Looking back, 88 years is a long time, but somehow, some people and events seem very close. My first memory is of the day my parents came to live in Weldon. 

I was born in Corby in 1903, and when I was 2½ years old my parents decided to move to Weldon, known then as Weldon -in-the-Woods. It was a raw, grey morning in early February. Warmly dressed in thick coat and bonnet and wearing buttoned boots, I was lifted on to the seat of a horse drawn four wheeled trolley loaded with furniture. There, firmly wedged between mother and the driver I made my first journey along the muddy road to Weldon. When we arrived at the cottage in Oundle Rd, where I still live, I was puzzled to find Granny Kilsby at the door. She of course had come with an earlier load. 

Coming to Weldon meant my father had to walk four miles to work, so I only saw him to say "Goodnight", except on Saturday afternoon and Sunday. Grannie, who was a monthly nurse, lived with us when she was not out on a "case". When she was home, she would take me for long walks, pushing me in a perambulator. This was made of wood, and lined with "American Cloth", a kind of oilcloth, cold and slippery. It had solid wheels and was without brakes. On these walks I learned to love wild flowers. 

As I grew older, I could run along the roads in safety, as there was no traffic, apart from a horse drawn trap and heavy farm carts. Old Peter Preston would come jogging along on Laxtons' Pony, clipperty clop, or as we said it sounded like three hapence for tuppence. The farm carts and wagons, like ships of the road, came along, pulled by heavy horses. Their hooves raised clouds of white dust as they pounded the road. 

From my bedroom window, I could see Manor Farm, it was an exciting time, when one day I could look out and see foals staggering about on long wobbly legs, Grannie had no peace until she took me down to see them. In the next field we would find lambs.

When I was old enough to go alone, I would run to the stack yard, there would be a number of hen coops, each with a hen frantically trying to call back their fluffy chicks who had wandered away. 

On our walks we picked young nettles, to be made into nettle beer to clear the blood; later there would be cowslips to make into wine. When I was too big to ride in the pram, it would be filled with wood for the fire. To this day I love sticking. As we walked along the lanes, the air was filled with the song of the skylarks. I often found a nest in the grass at the side of the road. If we passed Way Past Close, where many plovers lived, we would hear their haunting cry "Pee Weet, Pee Weet".

At the side of the road, a high bank ran for about 100 yards to the entrance of Bears Lane, a path went along the top of it. Here we found all kinds of wild flowers. Along the ditch at the back could be found the earliest violets and primroses. No one knew why it was called Grannees' Bank. In the 1930' s, the council in their "wisdom" leveled it. Lady's' Bedstraw, Stitchwort and Wrest Harrow have not been seen there since. 

Our cottage, stone built, has four rooms, light and a good size. All the cooking was done on an open fire. There was an oven on one side, and a small boiler on the other side. This had to be filled with a bucket. All our drinking water had to be carried from the spring beside the road known as Back Street. Now it is Church Street. Rain water for washing and cleaning was caught in large tubs. During hot summers, when no rain fell, more had to be carried from the spring. 

As time passed, I began to work out the seasons. During the weeks after Epiphany, came Plough Monday, when plough boys went from house to house hoping to be given a few coppers. At one time they dragged an old plough with them.

When Easter came, we made sure we got up early on Good Friday, ready for the baker who had been rushing round the village with his horse and cart, making sure everyone got their Good Friday treat; warm, sticky hot cross buns for breakfast. Easter Sunday I was awakened by the sound of church bells and went downstairs to find a small basket of Easter eggs on the breakfast table. We also had to wear something new. If the money could not be spared for a new hat or dress, a new hair ribbon or handkerchief, otherwise the crows would punish one. 

Time passed and all too soon the fifth milestone came and school loomed.

The day came, and dressed in a neat dark dress and white pinafore, I trotted up the lane with mother. School seemed better when I found, waiting in the porch, children from neighbouring cottages, who were also attending school for the first time. I was fortunate the school was only just around the corner from my home. Some of the children had to walk almost two miles across fields from farm lodges.

The infant classroom was entered by a small stone porch in which we left our outdoor clothing - up two steps and into a large room, lit by three high windows. It was a cozy room in winter, with a bright fire in an open fireplace. Here we sat on long backless forms. At first we had trays of sand and slate pencils. With this we learned to write the alphabet and draw pictures. Then we progressed to pieces of thick cardboard painted black and coloured chalks. These did nothing for our white pinafores. We learned to count on bead frames. 

May Day was something to look forward to. We did not worry about new dresses. Money was too scarce, but we all worked hard to see who could collect the best flowers. During my school days we paraded all round the village on May Day. The Queen in white, King, Prince and Princess, Duke and Duchess in colourful costumes. Maids of honour with headdresses of fresh flowers. The rest of the girls carried flowers. If you could find a fancy basket you were top of the league. Some had to settle for a shopping basket. The owner of a nice doll placed it in the center.

We looked forward to ending our walk at the Rectory, where we knew we would be regaled with warm, sticky currant buns. 

Three times during my school days we were all taken to church to attend a funeral. In my first year was the funeral of the Rector, I do not remember much about that, only the flower lined grave. The next was that of the headmaster, S.G. Adams. Then we had to line up two by two, each couple carrying a wreath between them. The last was a schoolmate Wallace Adams 12 years of age.

When the First War started we were taken into the fields to collect blackberries and acorns. I also remember when an aeroplane passed over we were taken into the playground to look at it. 

Before the War the village crier would come around the village ringing a large handbell.

We would go to the door to hear what he had to tell us. Perhaps it would be some cattle missing, or an auction sale or any other piece of news. One who could spread news faster than the crier was Billy the Post. He cycled down from Corby three times a day. He would push open the door, hand in a letter or card, and tell you the news. "It's alright, so and so is coming to see you tomorrow", no need to read the card.

There was a man, Italian I think, who came round with his street piano. On the top sat a tiny monkey in a scarlet jacket. I always hoped mother could spare a penny for me to give to the monkey. It was so tiny with dark mournful eyes. I can still feel the clasp of its little cold fingers. 

In those days we could safely play in the street. When the weather was cold, skipping ropes came out. If there was no money to buy a proper skipping rope with coloured handles, a piece of mothers old washing line would do. We had to be indoors before the lamplighter came round. Bowling hoops too was a good way to keep warm, the boys had heavier iron ones, girls' wooden ones were lighter, with these we ran races and got really warmed up. 

Then there were the games we played at school, many singing games children do not seem to play today, some very old "Queen Ann", "Green Gravel", "See the farmer sews the corn", "Fox and hens", "Romans and Britons", "Grandmother Gray" and many others. 

In the late Spring and Summer, we found plenty to interest us. During the Winter, Hardwicks' pond was often frozen. Then many hours were spent sliding and skating, until the ice started to break, then it was out of bounds.

When Spring came, Hardwicks was a lovely place. Along the banks of the pond one could find Yellow Iris, Marsh Marigolds (Maysie Blobs), Ladies Smocks (Milkmaids), Ragged Robin, Quart forget-me-not, Water Plantain and many more. Frog and Toad spawn could be collected. Snipe would fly up from the thick vegetation. The Willowbrook ran close by, and there  were Kingfishers to be seen, their beautiful feathers gleaming as they flashed along, Moorhens too with their broods of young ones. Sometimes too a Grey Heron could be seen, standing meditavely on one leg, waiting for any unwary fish.

Many hours were spent by the brook with our little fishing nets and jampots, and floating paper boats. 

Round about Whitsun there was some excitement; it was sheep washing time. The brook was blocked by planks, and the water diverted into a deep pit. The rest of the year, the planks formed a footbridge.

At that time our drinking water had to be carried from a spring in Back Street (now known as Church Street) When sheep washing time came, all households had to carry home enough water to last two or three days, as the dirty water drained from the sheep's fleeces ran into the spring.  That was one of the few times a year when some of the boys played truant 

Many of our games were based on things happening around us. For instance, teams of horses drawing wagons were an everyday sight; also teams drawing timber drags, light gigs drawn by more spirited horses, and of course fox hunters. All of these we tried to imitate; using skipping ropes tied to our arms. We could make a four or six horse team to drive along the road, with one "horse" we could race along the pathways. Five stones, marbles and tip cat for the boys all came in their right season. 

It was not all play, if we wanted a few coppers for pocket money we would run errands for our neighbours. In early Summer when grass meadows were laid for hay, we would take the farmers' cows to graze on the wide roadside verges, before morning school and in the evening. In hay time, when men were working long hours, I would hurry home from school to carry tea to the hayfield for a nieghbour who had a small farm. Off I would trudge with a big gallon can of tea on one arm, and a market basket full of home made bread and butter cake and tarts on the other. On a hot summer afternoon I was glad of a mug of tea after carrying it all for almost a mile. 

There were telegrams to be delivered to a nieghbouring village, a distance of about two miles. For this an adult was paid sixpence per telegram. When we children did it we only got half a stick of barley sugar. Our way, or one favourite way was to leave the high road and go through a wood. In this particular wood so many things could be found, I am afraid many of those telegrams were very late arriving at their destination. 

Weekends were the time when we trotted off to the village bakehouse to take cakes and pies to be baked. Some of our nieghbours with large families would make enough to last a week, and as I could only carry two cakes in a basket and a tray of tarts in my hand, it meant several journeys. In the afternoon these all had to be collected. For that I had a penny. At Weldon Fair when extra baking was done I had two pence. All these odd pennies were saved up to buy a long for box of paints and little presents for Mother and Dad on their birthdays.

I think the baker charged one penny per cake or tray of tarts. On Sundays, especially in hot weather, when people did not want a big fire in the living room, we would carry the Sunday joint (when there was enough money) to the bakehouse, with the mixture for the yorkshire pudding in a can. The baker would put it round the meat later. 

From time to time a tall rather gaunt man would come through the village. We called him "Dancing Jimmy", as he went along, he would play lively tunes on a tin whistle, and instead of walking would do a sort of step dance. I do not remember seeing him speak to anyone. 

In late Spring, I would go with Mother or Granny to pick Cowslips and primroses for wine. In those days the fields were yellow with Cowslips and the woodland coppices full of primroses. 

Weldon Fair was one of the highlights of the year. Pennies had been hoarded for weeks. Many friends came from surrounding villages, and for three days the Green was full of bustle. Father would say, "it is time we got the oil lamp cleaned and filled", as the days were beginning to get a little shorter. 

When we walked down Bears Lane to Laundimere Wood, we would find several gypsy caravans standing on the grass verge. Most of them had lurcher dogs tied to the vans. The horses would be grazing and small children playing around.

Outside the vans a wood fire be burning with an iron pot hanging from an iron hook. The Gypsies would stand quietly watching as father and I walked along. I was always taught not to fear but treat them with respect. When the gypsies got to know us, the men would talk to father. Some of them had many wise sayings. As time went on, some of the women would take me into their vans and show me their little treasures. The vans were remarkable for their cleanliness. The little stove was polished like a mirror. The bunk beds built into the back of the van were covered with snowy white covers; some trimmed with hand made lace. Later some of them showed me how to make flowers from green elder; the men showed me how to make clothes pegs. Some of these people were very handsome. They were the real Romanys. I always remember one in particular, every Weldon Fair, one of these families could be found, I think the name was Lee. The day after they arrived a knock would be heard on our door, it was I suppose, Mrs. Lee. She was very tall and very handsome, thick black hair coiled like a coronet, large dark eyes. She would say, "Is the old lady at home?", she had come to see grandmother. She would be asked to come in, and stayed about twenty minutes. One day she came, and as usual, said to grandmother, "Have things been well with you?". Grandmother said her sister had died, and she missed her very much. Although I was only about nine years old, I always remember that day. Mrs. Lee said "I am sorry lady, but don't fret, you will be with her before the year is gone". With that she went and mother said she never saw her again. Grandmother died the following Christmas Eve.

I clearly remember a magnificent silver brooch Mrs. Lee wore. It was a very curious design. Possibly Egyptian. 

From time to time tramps would pass by, milestone inspectors as they were nicknamed. Most of them were very quiet. Now and then one would knock on the door and ask if we would give him a can of hot water. The can was an old meat or fruit tin with a piece of wire for a handle; they were always given it, and would bring out a spoon full of tea

In a screw of paper. If times were good they would be given a drop of milk to put in it, and perhaps a slice of bread and dripping. Almost always they would take it with a polite "Thank you misses" 

There was no sewerage in the village then. Some outside lavatories like ours had a wooden seat with a large bucket under it. Others, known as earth closets, had a seat fixed over a pit. The buckets had to be emptied into a hole in the garden. The others only once a year. For this, all the ashes from the fires, and other rubbish were piled in a heap during the year, ready to cover the contents of the pit. The word would be passed along the street, "Johnny is doing the closets tonight". Then there would be a rush to close all windows and doors. Unfortunately this always took place on a hot summers night when the moon was full. Later, ashes and sewerage was carted to the allotment gardens. 

After all the fun of the fair we began to count the time to the "Harvest Holiday", and hoped for plenty of sunny days that we could spend out of doors. Not that it was all play. When the weather was good and the harvest early, word would pass round that such and such a field was cleared and gleaning could begin. The women would collect sacks and set off wearing old straw hats and wearing a large "harden epon" (Hessian apron) in which to collect the ears of corn. First, one had to make sure in which parish the field was situated. If it was in Little Weldon, no one from Great Weldon was allowed in, and vice versa. Many wordy battles could be heard at this time, sometimes not just words and the daring person who had broken the rules left very quickly. No one was allowed in any field until the corn was carried and the broken stalks raked up and carted away. Sometimes a mean minded farmer would leave heaps of rakings in the field for weeks, others would tell the men not to rake too closely so that there would be plenty of corn to be gleaned. Although we had no hens, I always went, in cotton frock and sunbonnet. I had a basket and a small sack. The small amount I gathered helped to feed our nieghbours hens for a week or two. 

When we got back to school our minds were soon turned to the next highlight of the year, Bonfire night. In the meantime, there were Saturdays to be spent blackberrying. At that time most of the fields had thick hedges full of blackberry brambles. After dinner Father armed himself with a long stick with a hook at the end, Mother and I with baskets. While Father pulled down the brambles with the hooked stick, we filled our baskets with the big juicy berries. During the year, when the ground was warm and damp a walk to the nearest field would provide us with a basket of fresh mushrooms. Late September/October, we would go to Park Wood, where Father would shake the hazel bushes, and I, sitting on the thick golden fallen leaves, would gather up the ripe nuts. Does anything taste nicer than a freshly gathered ripe hazel nut? On the way home we would go by the tree with red Crab Apples.  Most of the Crabs were yellow, but Mother liked the red ones for jelly. A little later were Sloes to be gathered for wine. 

For sometime before bonfire night boxes, branches blown from trees and anything else that could be found that would burn, had been piled on the Village Green. On the evening of November 5^th, people from all over the village gathered to watch the lighting of the fire. Some had saved a few coppers to buy a few fireworks. It was a jolly time on a bright frosty night. The boys raced around with their sparklers. So far as I remember there was no rough behaviour; the older men keeping careful watch on the thatched roofs of neighbouring cottages. One year there was a bit of mischief enjoyed by many of the onlookers. A man living nearby stood watching the fire. From time to time he would shout, "Go and get some more stuff, the fire wants mekin' up". This the boys did, and it burned beautifully. Next morning however the storm broke, Joe found his faggot stack had disappeared; but as the chaps said, he told them to fetch wood. It was their way of paying him back; he was in the habit of interfering with their affairs. 

On the opposite side of the street from our house was the entrance to a farmyard. The farmyard belonged to Mrs. Elizabeth Jinks, a widow who lived at the Nags Head Inn. This was a very old pub that faced the Green; a fairly long low thatched building. From the inn door, one reached the farmyard by crossing a brick floored yard into an outside kitchen that adjoined the stables. Above the kitchen and stables was a large room, known as the club room. This was reached by a flight of wooden stairs, supported by heavy wooden posts - This was the meeting place of one of the Friendly Societies. Once each year they had a "Club Supper". This was an evening to look forward to by the members. Mrs. Jinks prepared the supper that was laid out on long trestle tables covered with white cloths. There would be a joint of beef, sometimes home cured ham and suitable vegetables. These were followed by jellies, fruit pies, several kinds of tarts and a very special cheesecake. The recipe for which no one knows. Later there would be a singsong, and plenty of beer. It was a matter of wonder that men managed to get down those stairs when they went home. 

Mrs. Jinks ran the small farm with the help of John Smith, who managed it well. I liked to see Mrs. Jinks come down the yard with her milking pail, and carrying her stool under her arm. A stout, grey haired woman, she wore men's boots and cap; when she was milking the peak of her cap was turned to the back. She also wore a clean hessian apron. In busy times Mrs. Gilby, her daughter helped. She lived at the end of the street. Known as "Fat Hannah", she also wore men's boots and cap. 

The farmyard was our playground if John was working there. I thought it great fun to be allowed to turn the handle of the turnip pulper. As the turnips were chopped they made a lovely slip slop noise. "Fat Hannah" and her husband also had a few cows If I was sent to her house with a message, I could not get away until Hannah had finished asking questions, "Had I been to school, was mother cooking, how many petticoats was I wearing?", and would often lift up the hem of my dress to see for herself. I did not like going there.

When Christmas and Weldon Fair time came, Mrs. Jinks dressed in her best - a neat black dress, and a white lace cap with cherry coloured ribbons. 

We had nice nieghbours. The first I remember was a Mrs. Andrews, a widow who lived next door. She was a bright little dark haired person. Some winter evenings I was allowed to go into her house and "help" her sort out her box full of ribbons, laces, and buttons.

On the other side were "Grandpa" Aust with his long white beard, and "Granny" Aust, stout and rosy. Next to Mrs. Andrews lived Mr. and Mrs. Charlie Aust. The front room of their house was the village Post Office - Mrs. Aust's brother looked after that. The only telephone in the village was in the kitchen. It had a rather heavy looking receiver, and when using it Mrs. Aust would turn a little handle about three times, then say "Hi,hi". 

Then there was Josiah Mears who rode an old "sit up and beg" bike.

On the other side of Horsebrook Lane, was a good stone built cottage with a huge garden round three sides. Here lived "One armed Billy" He was of medium height with spiky sandy hair and a large wart on his nose. I do not know how he lost his arm, but he worked hard, kept pigs and hens, and grew large crops of vegetables. Always on Weldon Fair Saturday I was sent to buy Mother a peck of broad beans; his front garden was always full of them. His wife was a tall, angular woman with an uncertain temper. I remember one day, when we came out of school, her granddaughter and another girl started fighting. Someone told Mrs. Glithero, who rushed up the lane followed by two of her daughters. We were all standing at the school gate watching the fight. Unfortunately I was the nearest when Mrs. Glithero arrived and got a smacked face. John Mason said "Hi missus she didn't do anything" and got his ears boxed for his trouble. 

Next to that cottage was a house occupied by a woman named Emma Burbidge. There was also a man, perhaps her husband, I never heard called anything but "Johnny Trot". They were both elderly and rather bent, I was sometimes sent to ask for a pennyworth of Penny Royal. Emma, who was never seen without her old black hat, would put on her pattens (a wooden sole raised on iron rings and strapped on to the shoes to raise the feet from the mud) to cross the lane to the garden ground. 

Next to this was a small farmyard used by Charlie Aust. This place made a splendid playground for his young son and I. Sometimes there would be a litter of young pigs, nine or ten of them. Little pigs are some of the most amusing little animals; even more playful than lambs. Perk and clean with tightly curled tails they would race and tumble all around the straw filled sty. 

Another family lived nearby, Mason the name, Mr. Mason was known as Ducky Bill, or Billy Duckie. Most of the village people had nicknames. Often other people did not know what the real name was. 

During the winter, teams of horses could be seen ploughing the land. After the days work was done, they would be taken home. The ploughman would rest his tired legs by riding sideways on one of the horses. When they reached the brook at the bottom or our garden, the horses would be walked up and down in the water to wash the mud from their legs. They would then go home by way of Horsebrook Lane. 

From our back windows we could see a long line of stables, and would watch the lovely chestnut hunters taken out for exercise.