The
Village Policeman
We once had an extremely nice and capable village policeman. Police Constable
Bloomfield used to patrol the village, kept watch over the building sites,
appeared outside the school and the pub (he knew when it became necessary)
and was always willing to help on poaching, motoring or other offences,
whenever a parishioner sought his help.
The children at the Manor were quite young and one
Christmas Eve all had stayed up later than usual.
Eventually they went to bed and were fast asleep
when Father Christmas came down the chimney! This
pleasant ritual accomplished, all were fast asleep
when the telephone rang. "Who on earth ..." "This
is the Police speaking," and after apologising
for the disturbance, the voice requested an outhouse,
stable, garage or lock up, at once. "My goodness,
whatever is it you want to lock up at this hour?" "A
corpse, sir. We have just picked up P.C. Bloomfield
from the road just over your crossroads at Upper
Town. He had apparently fallen from his bicycle after
a heart attack."
We were naturally concerned that the children would
not want to go into the stable to play and that the
gundogs would not go sniffing around! However, all
was done quickly and quietly before anyone was about
and by the time we got up, the corpse had gone and
all was cleared up and tidy. No-one was any the wiser.
But what a Christmas present!
Christmas at the Manor was a very happy time. Not
only were the children the right age but there was
a very good choir in the village at the time and
most was made when they visited the larger houses.
There were also two German sisters, Dot and Mia,
at the Manor. Mia was a very good cook whilst Dot
would help in the house. Both were very kind to the
children and when the choir visited the house, complete
with handbells, all gathered around the Christmas
tree in the hall with mince pies and hot punch and
joined in the carols. One very impressive move came
from Dot and Mia, who were big girls with very good
voices. They set the children half way up the stairs
and the company present gathered around to listen
to the duet Silent Night sung in German.
The lights were dimmed and there was only the glow
of the hall fire and the Christmas tree lights, together
with the sound of handbells. It made a perfect Christmas
Eve.
It was indeed a great pity that the neighbouring
United States Air Base was near enough for the GI's
to discover the German girls. It was not long before
the girls wanted to visit their homes in Germany,
accompanied of course and no doubt paid for, by American
personnel. The visits became rather frequent and
at one time, on returning from a short stay away,
it was obvious that the United States had nearly
taken possession of the Manor!
Arthur
Bantick served the community as postman
for very many years. The heavy steel frame and
broad rimmed wheels plus a heavily laden carrier
fore and aft made pushing his bicycle round the
parish twice every day in all weathers a task that
would not be tolerated today. He was the general
delivery man for the shop, a member of the Pakenham
Concert Party and he also took part in the sporting
life of the village.
Born in 1894, he enlisted in Lord Kitchener's Army
shortly after the outbreak of war and saw considerable
service on the Western Front. Having been reported
missing, he was later found to be wounded and a prisoner
of war. After his demobilisation, he resumed his
life in Pakenham and made an outstanding contribution
to the life of the Parish, being a member of the
choir for seventy seven years. His love for his church
never failed. He had his difficult times and sadly,
towards the end he lost his sister who had shared
his home in Church Cottages for so many years. He
struggled on alone until on 29th August 1979, when
at the age of eighty four he died peacefully, leaving
his war diaries to help the restoration of the Church
he loved and served for so many years.
There was a special occasion when the Chairman of
the Parish Council was asked to make a presentation
to Miss Connie Gray, the retiring postwoman, who
had succeeded Arthur Bantick. As Connie always attended
Evensong it was decided it should be done at the
conclusion of the service when she would surely be
there. The collection for her had been kept a secret,
as had the time and place of the presentation. This
happened in Woman's International Year 1975
and it was most appropriate when so many women were
becoming leaders in all walks of life, even to such
high office as Prime Minister, that the woman of
our village should have been Connie, for she had
pushed her heavy bicycle around the Parish twice
a day for many years, in all weathers and always
with a smile.
The cottages at Upper Town and the Plains are very
old, the thatch was very dirty, birds and vermin
had made inroads and the whole roof line was misshaped.
The lath and plaster were crumbling and only the
old trellis work held them together. The water supply
was from wells in the garden and there were earth
closets down the garden path. But such was the availability
of farm labour and shortage of houses that they became
overcrowded, as families grew up or came home for
a roof over their heads. It was the acute shortage
of housing that delayed condemnation and demolition.
With the coming of mains water, then sewage, major
modernisation began to take place; in fact, over
the years, most of these old cottages have been "modernised" more
than once, the latest being a comprehensive overhaul
from damp courses to re-roofing, exposing the very
old oak beams, inglenook fireplaces and the ship
deck timbers treated and exposed. Although modern
bathrooms, WC's and heating make them warm and cosy.
they remain very old and maintain Upper Town as
an attractive little hamlet.
A party of American visitors who were looking over
the cottages enquired, "Say, what's the history
of these places?" "Oh, I can't tell you
much about the history, only that they were built
before your country was discovered!" was the
reply. "No!" came the exclamation, "Wilbur,
did you hear that?"
Of the families occupying these cottages, there
were Foremans, Dyers, Waters, Twitchett, Lott, Arbon,
Smith, Stone, Peck etc., all notable characters in
their own way. There has always been a Foreman on
the books. The father was known as Prim,
a very likeable old man who fathered a large family.
One of these, Brassey, after staying several
years was drawn to London, whilst another of his
brothers, Peter (see below), became a cowman
and worked his way up, through many multiplications
and scientific progress, to taking charge of a large
dairy herd. It was said of Peter that he would never
accept a stripe in the Army because of the responsibility
and so it was as cowman. He was content to remain
under another until sickness compelled him to stand
in and there he remained for well over twenty years.
Yet another brother, Fred is still working on the
farm, but single and living in lodgings!
Peter
James Ronald Foreman was conscripted into
the Army, wounded at Dunkirk, but returned to the
Manor Farm and was actually pulling and topping
sugar beet when he was asked to be a cowman in
1947. He died on 26th November, 1980, still a cowman.
Ernest
Smith lived at The Plains cottage
with his wife Amy and son Derek for over twenty
years. They were a contented and very united small
family. The three of them were so very devoted
to each other that the sad death of Amy in 1972
broke up this happy little family. Ernie, as he
was affectionately known by his workmates, and
Derek moved away from The Plains into the Street
where they were looked after by Ernie's sister-in-law
Nellie until Ernie's sudden death on 12th January
1980.
Ernie had taught Derek all he could and they worked
the farm machinery together. As mechanisation increased,
so did their knowledge and interest. What a wonderful
example they were at the harvesting of crops, with
Ernie handling one of the large combines, whilst
Derek followed with another. Similarly, Ernie would
top the sugar beet with one machine while Derek would
follow behind harvesting the roots with another,
each helping the other and really enjoying it.
This partnership of father and son, extending over
sixty two working years, has now ended. The village
mourned the passing of Ernie and Derek now takes
a more important place in working the farm. He still
lives at Lilycot in the Street, looked after
by Nellie.
Baden
Gerald Lott (1900-1983) died in the West
Suffolk Hospital on 23rd August 1983. With his
passing at the age of 83, the local community has
lost one of its best known characters and he was
certainly part of the old establishment of the
Pakenham Manor Estate.
He lived with his wife Sarah in one of the Upper
Town cottages and worked on the Estate all his working
life, being associated with the pre-mechanisation
age of arable farming.
He was a tremendous man on his legs, he would walk
many miles in a day sowing small seeds from a seed
barrow which he pushed over rough ground like a wheel
barrow, backwards and forwards, hour after hour and
acre after acre. He was a master sugar beet hoer,
one of the earliest to rise and always a competitor
to get to the field first in the early morning.
The Suffolk Show was held near Ipswich in his day
and it was customary for the staff to make this an
annual outing. The show used to afflict him with
a prodigious thirst. After one very tiring day at
the Show, when he had quenched his thirst rather
liberally, he missed the last train back to Thurston.
Whereupon he set off and started to walk home, arriving
as the congregation were coming out of church and
having to get Sarah to cut his boots off!
Much earlier in life, when only 13 years of age
and living at Ixworth, Baden took his first job at
the Queach farm. He had to get up very early in the
morning, walk to work, do a full day's work and then
walk home again, some two to three miles each way
- all for the manly wage of three shillings and sixpence
per week (17p).
This journey took him from Ixworth along the Turnpike
towards Hungry Hill (now the A143), where he would
turn off to the right and after a further mile would
eventually arrive at his place of work. He of necessity
carried his breakfast and his lunch in his bag and
was often harassed by the numerous tramps. These,
having been turned out of the Workhouse in Bury St.
Edmunds at 5.30am would be on their way along the
road to the next workhouse and soon found out what
young Baden Lott was carrying in his bag! Although
Baden took evasive action by taking a short cut up
the Plains cartway, thence across the fields, he
could not always get to his diversion quick enough.
In the end he was compelled to give up his job, on
account of these molesting tramps who stole his food. |
There was a happy time for Baden in 1961 when, together
with workmates Fred Twitchett and Nathan Stone, he
was presented with his Long Services in Agriculture
Medal by H.M. Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother at
the Royal Show at Cambridge in that year. This was
a very special and happy time for all the staff and
their families, who had a wonderful day out. They
each have a photograph and when the colour film is
shown in the village it always arouses exciting enthusiasm
and applause.
Fred
Twitchett was a little man but so very
tough, as it was later proved. He was, perhaps
because of his small stature or unwillingness to
quarrel, subject to all manner of jibes, jokes
and ridicule. He was the scapegoat for everything
that went wrong; how he accepted the blame for
breakages, miscalculations and even the weather,
was quite remarkable. He nearly always ended with
a smile and answered to the nickname of Fivepence.
Frederick Ernest Twitchett was born in Pakenham
and lived in one of the smaller cottages on the
Manor Farm. He lived with Maud and their only child.
He was not one of the best beet hoers and would
worry very much about his work. Although the farm
foreman would check his work frequently, it was
necessary to "have a look" from time
to time, so he would give apprehensive glances
as he watched the counting of the plants he was
leaving or saw the foreman bend and separate the "doubles". "Am
I doing it good enough for you?" he would
urgently enquire, very much afraid of a reprimand
after the inspection.
This beet hoeing was "taken" by the men,
who agreed to be paid piecework rates. Establishing
the settlement price became increasingly tiresome
in the later years and it was not uncommon for the
haggling to last all week; but eventual they would
settle down and earn all they could in the time by
being paid for each hundred yards of beet properly
singled and weed free. They found the very early
hours of the morning the best time, whilst the small
plants were standing upright and the air was cool.
Of course, as the day went on and the sun got warmer,
the plants would flag and so would the men. There
was much competition among the men to be the first
on the field and should Fivepence not be
one of these, he would be subject to incredible excuses
and reasons. It is certain the deflation of his tyres
was no accident! It was not unknown for his "dockey
bag" to be missing of his bottle of "drink" gone
when he eventually hoed his way to the end of the
row where he had left them.
During the long bitter winter of 1962-63 he caused
some anxiety. There had been times of late\when he
had been unwell and it was thought a light job was
more appropriate. Nothing could be lighter than pigeon
scaring, so the farm foreman placed him in a field
of sprouts that the pigeons were attacking. He had
to walk around a twenty acre field beating a stick
on an old oil drum and hollering at the birds, whilst
Richard Simpkin, one of the boys on the farm, did
likewise on another field some distance away. Each
could hear the other, as the air was still, cold
and frosty. As soon as the pigeons were disturbed
on Richard's field, they would come down on Fivepence's
field, where the hollering and noise would restart
and continue until darkness fell. As the weather
persisted, so this scaring continued, day after day,
from early morning to dusk. As the frost increased
in severity, so the pigeons seemed to multiply and
become more desperate and they began to lose the
fight, which worried Fivepence no end. Organised
shoots killed hundreds of birds and many would be
seen to drop from the sky exhausted and starved.
We became sore in the armpit, our trigger finger
bruised and cracked, head aching from continual percussion
and exposed skin chafed and frosted. Fivepence would
get home looking dead beat and his face and hands
blue with the cold and frost. Upon enquiring about
his welfare, his wife Maud said that as soon as he
got home each day she would remove his boots and
socks so he could thaw his feet and after a bite
to eat he would go straight to bed. Christmas came,
still he patrolled his field; we could hear him hollering
miles away. He came on Boxing Day and for days after.
It was several weeks before we could resume picking
the sprouts that were left for market. In the end
we abandoned them to the pigeons and Fivepence got
over his ordeal and became himself again. The photograph
of him receiving his Agricultural Long Service Medal
from the Queen Mother at the Cambridge Royal Show
in 1961 should have the caption "And how he
deserved it".
There was one prank played upon Fivepence that caused
a twitter around the farm. One of the men had been
put back on sack mending, whereby he would use a
strong adhesive to patch up the rat torn sacks and
generally make them corn tight for further use. Usually
a very badly torn sack was cut up for patching -
clothing, trade mark and all. In those days it was
nothing to patch clothing until there was hardly
any of the original garment left, as clothes and
boots cost very precious and hard earned money for
farm workers. Fivepence had removed his jacket whilst
working nearby. A day or two later then men were
baling hay and the old type baler necessitated a
man sitting on each side of the bale chamber to thread
or receive the wires as the other pushed them through
and knotted them. Fivepence was sitting doing this
with his back to all who approached. On getting nearer
one could see a patch in the middle of his back,
that had the large letters ICI in a circle, advertising
that well known fertiliser! He did not mind the ragging
in the least and continued to wear the jacket proudly.
It was after a wedding celebration at the Manor
that his workmates persuaded him to recall his experiences
in the Home Guard during the Second World War. All
those engaged in the production of food were deemed
to be in a "reserved occupation" and were
to remain in their jobs for that purpose. There were
of course older men, those not physically fit and
other classes that were drafted into the "Land
Army", including boys and girls, gypsies and
prisoners of war. Notwithstanding the long and arduous
days spent in the fields, many of these people also
volunteered for the defence of their country and
homes and gave extra time to train in various branches
of service. One of the more popular for the fit and
able farm worker was the Home Guard. In its earlier
form it was known as the Local Defence Volunteer
Corps and each man turned out dressed in what
he could get; his uniform consisted only of an arm
band with the large black letters "LDV" and
his armoury might be a twelve bore shot gun, an old
rifle or pistol, even a scythe or billhook.
The earliest parades were reminiscent of those mustered
against the Tithes Act, marches on Westminster
and Agricultural riot meetings. They eventually received
equipment and trained into a good fighting force.
As part of this training, camps were organised at
weekends, when the platoons from the villages would
meet and encamp together for exercises. It was in
the large marquee that had been erected on the lawn
of the Manor, after Sheila's wedding, that all the
men and wives were entertained and after being well "fed
and watered", began to get merry. The focus
was again on Fivepence. His glass was refilled with
champagne - not his normal tipple - and all seemed
to gather round his table. Others moved over at the
sight and anticipation of more fun at his expense.
It became one big party - laughing, joking, singing
- when suddenly Gordon Peck called for silence and
asked Fivepence to recall his Home Guard days. At
first, reluctant to be bullied into any such thing,
he sat there with s large grin on his face, glancing
from one to another to try and determine the situation. "Come
on Fivepence, let's hear your Army days" said
one. "He's still thirsty, poor feller" said
another. "There y'ar Foivepence, drink that
Bor!" as another glass of champagne replaced
his empty one. It took quite a little coaxing and
persuading before old Fred loosened up a little and
began to say how he joined up.
"What were you in the Home Guard, Fivepence?" "I
used to work in the Cookhouse, along with the Cook
Sergeant," replied Fivepence, to many yells
of delight and laughter. Then followed the facetious
questions - with answers to fill in any lull that
appeared likely. Rosalind Peck sidled up to him and
in a compassionate tone suggested he must have been
a good cook, then "Leave him alone, it's not
fair, is it Fivepence?" "Yes," said
Gordon, "He must have done his cookhouse job
alright 'cause they made him a Lance Corporal".
The statement that Fred got a stripe was the occasion
for further shrieks of laughter, which made Fred
very indignant and so he went on to explain what
justified this high rank.
"I had pans and pans of sausages on the fire
and I had to watch over them and measure out each
to a man". Apparently Brassey Foreman, like
others, always got half cooked food on these occasions
and so added to the Lance-Corporal's difficulties
by stealing what appeared to him to be better cooked
ones. So as soon as Fivepence turned one that appeared
brown "Brassey would pinch it" complained
Fivepence. "Then there were the spuds" he
said, "They all complained about them being
half raw".
To the enquiry as to how Fred Twitchett got the
nickname Fivepence it was told that when
he was a little boy living with his parents in Pakenham
Fen and being anxious to earn a little money for
his home, he would assist the butcher, a Mr. Watson
from Bury St. Edmunds, who travelled out to the village
delivering meat. Young Fred could not speak very
well, but he tried to assist by imitating Mr. Watson
as he called his wares. "Meat, meat, five pence
per pound, fit for the King of England to eat, to
eat". A few yards behind came young Fred running
to keep up and yelling "Five pence a pound,
fit for the King of Bingey". "Pay you next
week Mr. Watson" a woman would call out on receipt
of her meat. "No lady, not this firm - that
firm is coming behind!" and so went Fred Twitchett
- "Five pence a pound, Five pence...".
He was called Fivepence for the rest of
his life.
Nicknames
On looking through the Charity records of 19th Century
there is a list of nicknames contained in Poors Firing.
They are listed as follows:
|
Most of the boys of the village acquired nicknames
from habits, jobs performed or other mannerisms and
these nicknames stuck for a very long time, some permanently,
especially if there are a number of men of the same
family name. There have been many Parish Assemblies
and Village Meetings concerning public affairs when
the Chairman of the meeting has conducted the proceedings
in a most formal manner and yet nicknames have been
used. Instead of being referred to as Mr. Foreman or
Mr. Stone, it would automatically be Smoker Foreman,
Nate, Fourpence Peck, Fivepence Twitchett and
so on. There were so many Foremans in the village that
it was so much less confusing to identify by nickname.
Smoker Foreman got his nickname when, as
a boy, he was employed with a steam threshing tackle
that toured the district at farmers' request. Wherever
the tackle had to be, young Foreman had to get up
early and walk several miles (perhaps even to Stanton
or Barrow) to reach his engine, where he was required
to get the fire going and have a head of steam by
7am. Another of his duties was to make the toast
by the engine fire. Since the toasted bread invariably
tasted and smelt full of smoke, he was nicknames Smokebread,
which became Smoker.
Bonker Foreman obtained his nickname by
frequenting Raymond Twitchett's little sweet shop
at the end of the village Street. There would be
numerous cats sunning themselves on the shelves among
Raymond's wares. The boys of the village would send
Ernest Foreman into the shop to buy their sweets,
so when Raymond introduced a new line of packeted
sweets called "Bonkers" at 1/2d per packet,
they became very popular and were an immediate success.
Each Sunday afternoon the boys sent Ernest Foreman
to buy them all Bonkers and Raymond did quite a good
trade as Ernest bought so many at a time. One Sunday,
Raymond saw Ernest coming for his customary order
and said to him on entering: "From now on I
shall call you Bonker". It stuck for
the rest of his life.
Bonker lived down the Fen but came to live
in the Street quite near the little shop some years
later and certainly lived on well after Raymond Twitchett
and his shop had gone.
Charles Wagga Foreman could give no other
reason than that all Charlies are Waggas around the
neighbouring villages, so this automatically stuck
to him to distinguish him from all the other Foremans.
Without doubt Foreman is still one of the most prolific
family names in the Parish! In addition to the four
on the 1914-18 War Memorial in the Church porch,
there was a family of four brothers who lived together
in a house in the Street, their distinguishing nicknames
were: |
