NEW STUFF

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An’ that just reminds, as the  tale tellers say. 

Our young Sall, she left her place and come 'um t'other wik; cos o’ course now us a got our bit  of fortin, us couldn't think o’ lettin her got out as a ornary sarvent. She'll 'ave to go as a 'elp or companion or summut o' that sort. You know them thear places  whear  thears a bit more work only yer titles a better sounding one. 

Well, as I wer' a sayin', our young Sall she come 'um, an' I  went an’ went an met 'er at  the station; an’ afore I 'ardly 'ad time t' ax 'er 'ow she wer agettin' an' she said. "Oh, mother, you really will have to get a new dress, for  yours is getting quite shabby." "Lor, bless you, gal," I said, "My frocks good enough for me, I only  ’ad' it when our Nobby wer christened  un’ e'll only be twenty come next leasing time." But ’owether nothing 'ud do but what I must ’ave a  new 'un. Of course I left the orderin' an it  t' our young Sall, cos o' course, I doant understand much about such things. An' she said,  “Of course, mother, you must have one of the  latest fashion. I think one of the Hobble skirts would suit your beauty.”  I must say as 'ow I got rather a nice figure - plump you know; not one o' them thear  'ungry looking  ones what makes a quartern loaf begin shiverin' when they look at it. Altho' the ole man when 'e’s got 'is urge up,  does say as 'ow l be like a india rubber ball on stilts.

But, ’owether, I didn’t no nothing about ’obble skirts.  What I knowed about was ’ow my corns make m'  ’obble bad  enough till I’ve ’ad a go 'at ’em wi’ the ole  mans raser. then they a bit easier; but it's a funny thing,  I allus notice that when the old  man shaves wi’ it it  always makes 'im that  lively, e ’ops about like the pays [peas] do  when our young Slens a parching ’em in the fire shovel. But as I wer asayin,  our young Sall sais as 'ow I wer t' 'ave a 'obble skirt, and course,  a 'obbld  skirt it 'ad t' be.   Well, the dressmaker brought it um,   an’ the next Sunday arternoon as ever wer I put it an. An’ of all the cust  things as ever I see that wer the one. I  tried t’ put  it over me 'ead,  but  me 'ead wer too big  for that job for it  udn’t gon through that 'obble  nohow, an' so I had to pull it the same as the ole man does ’is trousis an’ then some of the stitches began to get rather disagreeable and begin to shout. You can take my  word,  these 'ere sort of frocks be rightly named ’obble.  I started to  come down stairs, but, oh dear! I didn't no which leg to start wi' fust. An’ if you’ll believe me,  I ’ad to sit down  an’ slibber down like children when they fust walk. Anyhow I did manage to get down an' started getting the tay. Just then in comes our young Slen, an' I were a 'obbling about, an’ 'e said. “Well, mother, 'ow y' do 'obble, be yer fit bad?” An' I said,"No boy, it be this  ’ear new frock." Then in come our Lively, an 'e stood their agrinnin' as bad as if 'e 'ad drunk a pint of vinegar." Ho! Ho!Ho!" he said. " Ha! Ha! Ha! Mother a y' started wearin' yorks [yokes] around yer frock? Y' doant  mean  to turn yer calves  out to grass, I can see; you got ’em tied up for the winter."

Arter tay,  me an' the old man went out for walk. An’ them thear chaps, some an’ ’em said, “Hullo, Sall, what be y’ practising ready for the Sack  race at the sports next year at the  Feust?" [Tingewick Annual Feast- like a mini Buckingham Fair, full of fun, stalls, eating and drinking. ] "Well, I can tell y’ as 'ow us didn't  stop out very long. The wust part wus to come though—'ow about goin' upstairs?  It wer no good me thinking of walking up or ’obblin’ up so the ole man 'ad t'  gimme picky back, wi’ Lively pushing behind, an' even then when I went to take it off I 'ad t’ get the ole man to give bit of a pull. 

One day in the though I got into terrible 'obble,  like our poet  [Commonly called the Tingewick Poet; it may well be that the Poet and the Philosopher shared one body!] did when 's three-wheeled bicycle shied at a threshin' engine, an' nearly got 'is  flowin' locks combed wi’ the engin' wheel. But as I wer' asayin', I wer in a fix,  for a cow an' calf walked into our ’ouse cos the front door stood open, an' if  our Nobby didn’t 'obble  off quick as 'e could up the garden out o’ the way. There I wer a  jumping about an' couldn't get out o' the way,  but I daresay my antics frit ’em a bit for they wer soon persuaded to quit. Then t’other night our ole man comes in an’ 'e said, “Sall, I've seen some chaps wi’ ’obble trousers an.'  An’ I said,  “What, 'ave ’em got some 'obble trousers now?" “Well," 'e said, “The chaps I see  wer ’obbling." He said they 'ad bin t’ see if the ducks wer' at  roost, an’ they werdn’t, so  they went stir ’em up with long pole an’ they got the “quack" after it too,  for when they came um they wer walking just as I’ve sin some of my little bovs when they wer fust breeched you know, they ’obbled. Well, t' cut a  long story short, one day our ole man said. “Sall, you might jist sort the taters." Well I went to stoop down to start it, an’ if I didn’t, pitch 'ead fust into the scuttle, an’ their I 'as t'  scuttle for a ’at till the ole man come an’ picked m' up. 

That ended the skirt, for I took and got the scissors an’ made some slits it, same as turnpike sailors* slit thear  boots when they pinch 'em.

[ tramps dressed as ragged sailors who roamed England pretending to be have been ship-wrecked and begging for alms; the Turnpike Sailor was a Drawing Room   song in Edwardian days]  

Adapted by ED from a piece she wrote for the Buckingham Advertiser in 1910

 Bucks Herald 23.07.1842

Real Game.—A curious affray took place between a cock and a cream-tin, in the Market-square, at Buckingham, on Friday week. The cream-tin was set out at the door of Mr. Bradford —chanticleer perceiving his reflection, began setting up his hackles, of course his supposed opponent did the  same, which produced terrible onslaught by the cock, who was not driven away until he had begrimed his opponent with his own blood.

In 1850, Buckingham’s leading ironmonger was Henry Miller Bradford who remained in  shop and works  in Market Square.  He had married Mary Arnatt of Tingewick in 1841 but, sadly,  the couple didn’t have children. I fear that by the time of this story, Mary had died, aged around 38. Perhaps, Henry felt fancy free. He certainly was ready to ‘splash the cash’, for early in January, he bet the mature, rich, singleton farmer, Mr. Crawford of Newton Purcell a wager of £50 (£6000 in today’s money) that Crawford wouldn’t be a ‘Benedict’ before a year was out. 

Was it as omen of ‘Things  to Come’ when Mrs Howard, Mr. Crawford’s housekeeper,  who was confined to bed by illness at the New Year in a 1851, managed to ignite her bedclothes with a candle? (Fortunately  her screams were heard and with help she escaped serious injury.)

On the last day (08.01) of the wager, Mr Crawford  took Miss Painter, the daughter of a rich Mixbury  farmer, to church. Mr Crawford had won both wager and a well endowed lady, leaving our Mr Bradford to ruminate on  his lost fortune and agonise over  the scorn of the nation because this story went  ‘viral’ in newspapers across the land. 

So… how does Shakespeare help to decode ‘to be a Benedict’?

Clue, if you need one: M.A.A.0.

Was Mr. Bradford  ‘down and out’?

Not a bit of it. Within a year, he’d married Miss Warr, a farmer’s daughter from Benthill Farm. She proved wonderfully fecund and filled their house with baby Henry’s and Henriettas. The family moved to the largest shop in Buckingham, the former Cobham Arms Inn (now Angels Boutique in West Street… see image), and Henry Miller Bradford  was  elected Town Mayor in 1858 and 1859.

As fir William Crawford, it may have been a case of ‘easy come, easy go’ for in 1880 he was declared bankrupt.

Buckingham, Friday 2nd October, 1863

" In front of the Town Hall, on the elevated pavement, were a considerable number of females, some of them accompanied by their mothers. Some of the girls were very young, some were more advanced in life, but one object had brought them thither. They were desirous of finding a home for the next twelve months, and had come to Buckingham fair to see who would have them. Up and down in front of this assembly, farmers and others walked, and talked and looked. Fixing their eyes on one of the girls, who looked strong and healthy, they approached her, and questioned her as to her abilities as a servant, and the wages she would require for twelve month’s service. A sum was named, but the questioner thought it too much. He would give her a sovereign a year less than she asked. His was not a hard place. She would have the evenings to herself, and she might have a holiday occasionally. But he said, "She must not wear a crinoline, neither must she ever wear artificial flowers on, or in, her bonnet. She would be required to wear a cap, because his wife did not. She must not have a sweetheart/for that might unsettle her mind and make her neglect her work. Her friends must not visit her, for if they did she might be tempted to give away what did not belong to her. He liked her appearance much, would she take his bidding?”

The poor girl had stood some hours in the fair. No one else had offered to hire her, so, for five pounds a year, she consented to become the servant of him who had laid so many restrictions upon her. 

Another of these gentlemen wanted a servant, and his sight was not so good as it used to be. So he called in the aid of his eye-glass, and wandered up and down with his glass to his eye, searching for a servant, like some astronomer searching for a stray planet. The way in which these poor girls were quizzed, and examined must have made them feel anything but comfortable. A rosy cheek was a passport to a situation, but a pale one was passed scornfully by. How anxious many a mother looked, when a master approached and tried to hire her daughter. How pleased many a master looked, when he  had hired a good servant as he thought, for little money. As we stood, watching their movements, we could not help wishing this was the last fair for hiring domestic servants in this manner. We might be wrong, but we could  not help thinking no really good master or mistress need resort to Statute Fairs to find servants. We were glad  to see the numbers of those who do so, growing less, and the sooner there are none at all, the better. The number of servants who stand in the fair for hire, is, we, are happy to find, on the decrease. "

[ Penned by Thomas Baker, once the Editor of  the Buckingham Express, who fell from favour when he backed the first ever Strike by Agricultural Workers in Gawcott. He resigned and moved to Littlehampton. ]

Recollections of Buckingham Statute Fair  around 1850

[Stature  was an alternative to Charter]

Buckingham “Statty”, when I was a boy,

To kiddies like me was an annual joy. 

We longed for its coming, and when it arrived, 

To get much enjoyment always contrived. 

For weeks we were saving our half-pence and pence. 

Nor touched our hoard under any pretence, 

Until the stalls and shows stood in tempting array. 

And then our few pence quickly melted away. 

Outside the “Three Cups” there were sausages hot, 

So rich that we only could eat a small lot; 

And up in the square “Okey King”  had a stall

With baked pears and pickles enough for us all. 

Sometimes a menagerie tempted us in.

And  boxing booth touters made terrible din; 

Big women and dwarfs to amuse us were there.

And many were hawking "the fun of the fair.’ 

Of whirligigs, too, there were many, and these

Were always successful we youngsters to please. 

Of Stalls there were many, attractive with toys

To draw out the pennies from girlies and boys; 

Cake and gingerbread stalls were arranged all in rows

And gave out scent which tickled the nose; 

“Aunt Sally” was there, and cocoa-nut shies -

We pocketed these and damaged her eyes. 

Theatres also we had our full share.

In which Shakespeare's plays made us wonder and stare- 

How cruel we thought that black-faced Othello, 

And came away hating the murderous fellow. 

Of dancing shows, too - these of various size— 

With their troops of performers delighted our eyes; 

The capering clowns with their milk-water jokes 

Were sources of  pleasure to all us young folks; 

The ladies and gents decked in courtly array. 

our memories linger and will not away. 

Though old we have grown, with pleasure think 

Of these scenes far away on memory's brink; 

And sometimes are tempted to wish were young, 

To witness the scenes which rhymes I have strung.

              THOMAS BAKER. Roseleigh Littlehampton. October 11th, 1910.

George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham, used his quick wit to ingratiate himself into the bedchamber of the restored King Charles II. 

This is how he described the town of Ipswich in the 18th century to the King

“A town without inhabitants, a river without water, streets without names , where asses wear boots.”  

To explain:

Ipswich was a poor town without industry and, hence, it had been slow to grow;

In summer, its river was apt to dry to a mere trickle in its estuary;

It was so small with  few streets which  didn’t need names;

But what did the comment about asses wearing boots  mean?

Villiers was referencing Christchurch House, a Country House near Ipswich. That  Noble’s Seat  possessed  a bowling green. Asses were used to drag the rollers.  In the absence of boots, worn  to increase contact area of the hooves, the asses would have  punctured holes in the sacred turf.  

Horse, donkeys and asses wearing boots  rolled the cricket pitches of England for hundreds of years until the internal combustion engine became the dominant provider of  motive power.

The key to understanding why asses wore boots is this law of Physics:

Pressure = Force / Area

Boots or leathers strapped on the hooves of the beasts increased their  area of contact. Magicians always rest on a BED OF NAILS  to increase the contact  area and thus reduce pressure on their skin. The Royal Latin School in Buckingham bought a big box of heel protectors when it moved to a new site in 1963.   Lady  parents  arriving for ‘Do’s in its School Hall cum Gymnasium wearing stylish stiletto heels were commanded  to put a protector on each heel to avoid splintering the expensive, smooth, wooden floor.

A  recent discussion on Facebook produced other other memories of Nags in Boots.

June Hall remembered:

Gosh Ed, so many memories - when Buckingham Golf Club was first in existence, and before the coming of manual lawnmowers, the horse which pulled the grass mower wore boots, to save the precious turf - and I well remember wearing heel guards to save the previous floor at RLS - many moons ago...

Canon Brian Lillistone responded: 

When I lived in Herefordshire I knew an old gardener who had started work as

the 6th gardener at a country house. By the 1970s the house had been blown

up, its estate sold and he had bought the walled garden s and orchard which he

cultivated still. One day he produced some leather objects and explained

about the ponies wearing these leather shoes when they mowed the lawns.

Our Conclusions:

For hundreds of years, horses and asses wore boots or leather foot bindings when they were doing ‘donkey’ work on lawns, cricket pitches and other grasslands which needed to remain flat and smooth. George Villiers' cheeky remarks about Ipswich had led us to recover a forgotten technology that was employed in Buckingham eighty years ago.  (E.G.)