Pakenham History : Pakenham-Village of Two Mills - NR Whitwell

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.

Baden Lott and the Queen Mother - Cambridge Show, 1961

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:

In the church vestry is an old photograph of the Pakenham Fife and Drum band. The members are named, together with their nicknames. Included are:-

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:-

There are still Bonker, Dogga, Wagga, Skipper, Field, Dunson, Gobba and Bowler and no doubt on reading this, many will come to mind.

Fourpence Peck has worked on the farms in the Parish and until quite recently was a tractor driver on the Manor farm. When he was a boy he was asked to do certain work for one of the ladies of the village. She said she would pay him four pence at the end of the day, to which Harry Peck took the strongest objection and was heard to mutter oaths and grumblings for a very long time. He would suck his teeth and nod his head in utter disgust, "Four pence indeed!" and so another village nickname was born.

Nathan Stone, Baden Lott and Fred Twitchett