Episode One

Born in Lytchett Matravers the seventh of eight children, in a three-bedroomed thatched cottage, life was for me as a child wonderful. We roamed the fields and had our hop-scotch chalked out on the road, which we vacated to let the cows pass.

Sitting beneath the lilac tree, I remember looking upwards on a beautiful summer's day and seeing the leaves and branches transformed to a dazzling canopy. It was one of those breathtaking moments in life which make you feel so glad to be alive. Long summers, lazy days watching the wonders of nature, birds and animals, wild flowers etc, definitely better than sitting at a computer, like today’s children - we were the lucky ones.

Lytchett Matravers was a real farming community, plus wheel-wrights, village stores, a bakery, Post Office, petrol pumps and a garage. We boasted five shops and now we have only one, no petrol pumps, no bakery - but we do have a butcher, a fine school and two public houses, and in later years the Royal British Legion. The village has lost so many things; we do not want any more to go.

Farming and all the smallholdings were once part of village life, where people worked in the village, no petrol needed to commute! It was cattle and green fields, with just a sprinkling of buildings, but now it’s turned around. Farms are turning to other things to be viable.

The Church (St Mary’s) was where the village used to be in days gone by, after the Black Death; they abandoned it and moved up the hill to where Lytchett Matravers now stands. The Chapel used to be at the top of the High Street, near the Village Hall. The Village Hall was called Victory Hall and stood where Victory Court now stands.

Lytchett also boasts ghostly past. Huntick Hill, where a gibbet once stood, was where Judge Jefferies from Dorchester had people hung, drawn and quartered and displayed on the gibbet - and to this day is occasionally seen a horse-drawn mourning coach, all lit up. I know it’s true because I’ve seen and heard it.

Episode Two

'Crunch, crunch, crunch' came the sound of my brother's boots on the brick path as he returned from the farm where he was a tractor driver, which told us kids it was tea time. There was usually eight of us round the table and manners were observed at all times - always "please" and "thank you" and asking to leave the table - then out to play until 9 pm, weather permitting.

Down the lane we'd go to the broken tree, a huge tree stump we sat on and talked. In those days there was no thought of us being unsafe, the door at the cottage was only locked at night. Then the kettles were all on the black iron range, there was always hot water for our washes in an enamel bowl which got emptied outside - and so to bed.

Episode Three

Six weeks summer holiday, it seemed like a life-time then. Out came the shorts and sandals, playing out and about in the woods and fields.

Hay making was a wonderful time. If I close my eyes I can still smell the aroma of freshly cut grass, see the horses pulling the hay make, loaded wagons with Blackie the horse pulling hard up Wickham track, us kids we would run alongside, loving every minute. Then the tractors came, the Orange Alice Chalmers Series B. It had a lovely wide seat and we could sometimes sit with the driver.

And on Sundays the long walk, three times - twice to Church and once to Sunday School. Sunday School was in the old Rectory, we all marched round the huge polished table singing "Onward Christian Soldiers". The seaside once a year on the Sunday School Outing, usually to Weymouth, it was such an exciting time; the coach and seeing the White Horse on the hill and then the sea and the sand, the warmth of the sun on your body and the feel of sand between your toes. Some things stay with us forever.

Episode Four

The six weeks summer holidays drawing to a close brought the worry of going back to school and going to a new teacher in the Victory Hall. Everyone saying "Wait till you get in Miss J- ‘s class" with her Thursday night spelling lessons, when you stayed behind until you get the words right. On one occasion I couldn’t spell PIANO, every time I started to say "P- E-" and her hand came around my ears! It was gone five and I was the last one when she wrote it on my hand in ink and lent me a dictionary.

Years later the lady in question came to Lytchett Matravers to give out prizes at the flower show, and when I went to speak to her she pointed a finger at me and said "PIANO!". I immediately said "P-I-A-N-O!" and to my surprise she said, "I did penetrate that thick skull then!".

By now it was harvest time, they all worked late on the farm and we went and helped carry the sheaves. I loved to watch the horse pulling the binder and another with the rake, which gathered up loose hay or straw and then a big metal handle was pulled and all the loose hay was left in nice lines across the field to be gathered up. The farmer had a smart rickyard, all thatched, it looked really lovely. At a later time the threshing machine arrived and there were long belts connecting the tractor to the machinery; nowadays it’s the combine harvester, and all done in one go on the fields, the straw separated from the grain.

They were lovely days, we learned so much about the land, the seasons and especially the wildlife – the flora & fauna on nature walks where we all walked in two’s to see things of special interest. But there lies another tale – which I’ll leave for next time.

Episode Five

Walking to school on those cold frosty mornings, when your breath was like steam emerging from your lips. The wooly hat, the long scarf which was wound round your neck, then crossed in front of you and tied at the back. Before you set out a piece of bread and dripping inside you, to keep the cold out. Then at school the tortoise shell stove, and our little bottles of milk we put round it to warm - it was a third of a pint, and it was free.

School dinners must have been a godsend for our mothers, as they neither had the meat nor money to buy it. Mum would open a tin of corned beef, mix it with a huge pan of mashed potato, onion and herbs, put it all into a large meat tin and mark it out in squares to be put in the oven till it was all brown and crispy on top. That would feed a large family with some veg - we thought it was lovely and called it Mother’s Hash. And those wonderful stews, which simmered on the kitchen range for hours on end, were really lovely especially if there was a rabbit in there. Pigeon pie was another good wholesome meal, and skimmer dumpling which was cooked on top of a saucepan full of cabbage. I still do it now. Christmas day was the only time we had chicken and it was real treat. The Christmas puddings were made months earlier and stored, they were far nicer than mass produced ones nowadays!

Once Christmas was over, Spring was on its way. Flowers budding, birds nesting, so much interest going on with the hedgerows all bursting into leaf; the dog roses, honeysuckle, hawthorn - the sights and smells were all in abundance. Meadow sweet always grew along by slug pond, the aroma filling the air, even before you got near. The cuckoo points which we were told to leave well alone, as they were poisonous.

I think we were lucky, we had it all, a lot of today’s children rush home to play computer games etc. and they miss all the wonders of nature which are happening all around them. If only they stopped and looked and enjoyed!

‘Country Girl’

Cart on Wimborne Rd c.1925
By kind permission of Mrs. S. Percival

The Chequers Pub and Garage c.1920
By kind permission of Mrs. S. Percival

Wimborne Road c.1920
By kind permission of Mrs. S. Percival

High Street c.1920
By kind permission of Mrs. S. Percival

Lytchett Matravers School c.1900
By kind permission of Mrs. S. Percival