WILLIAM LUMSDEN
How long have you actually lived in Craster?
I came to work on the farm at Dunstan Square in 1943, and
I came to live in the village after I got married in 1950.
When I first came to Dunstan Square there was a prisoner of
war camp up on the hills there, the Italians were there first,
then the Germans came. Before that, before they had them there
at the prisoner of war camp, it used to be a Radar station
and there was a big mast there which they took down later on.
In fact the concrete block house where they had the big engines
that drove it, which was Rolls Royce, is still there. A big
concrete block house on the top, have you ever noticed it?
They took so much of the hill away and they had 4 nissen huts
set back into the hill, stretched right down. I remember once
the POW's thought they would put POW right along the hills
in whitewash stone. After they got them finished we had to
bury them all cos you see them for miles away. The quarry you
know, my father in law told me that when he worked in that
quarry up there, when they used to have the wire systems down
to load the boats at the harbour, sometimes they would come
at night and say we'll start at 7 in the morning, and if the
boat was loaded by half past 10 they were finished. Things
were really bad then. Things have changed quite a lot in that
time, when we were youths, nearly everybody went to chapel
or church then, and the chapel used to be packed. They used
to hold these things called squarries, they had a supper and
everybody was invited sort of thing. The place used to be packed,
but it's all changed now. My father in law told me once, there
was a fellow called Nightingale came here to preach, and he
was one of these hell and damnation sort of preachers, and
he got them all to throw away their pipes and baccy. They were
leaving them on the rocks on th^ir way to chapel, and he says
they were all going back with a candle and a jam jar looking
for them at 12 o'clock at night.
We had a boys group, and you know that little house outside
the pub there, there's a little cottage there on the right
hand side, well the council let us have that. It was a condemned
property then, but a fellow called Joe Young used to be the
boys club leader, and he was a master at the Dukes school,
and he was also on the council at Ainwick and he let us have
it for a boys club. There was also a girls club, which was
run up at the Towers , and Lady Craster was in that. We had
scouts, a scout troop and we used to go away for camping weekends
and a for week and all, down to Leybum in Yorkshire. There
seemed to be quite a lot going on, but of course mind, there
is a youth club I don't know how often they meet, and Alan
Punton is in charge of that now. There is not the same for
young people as there used to be now I don't think. There's
always been a football team. When the war finished that was
the best team they ever had. When all the lads came back from
the war you know. They must have had a good team when Adam
Dawson played as well, 'cos he went to play for Chesterfield.
That was before the war. They were kicked out the league you
know. What for? For fighting. They were hoyed out the league
like, in fact one of them was suspended sin die. They rescinded
that later on. They used to play up at the Castle fields, at
the top of there. Well you know it sloped towards the sea.
A lot of the teams that came here reckoned it was a 2 goal
start for the Craster team. They've still got their football
team and they gan out the village for the lads. The lads come
out of Alnwick. They enjoy it and they've got a grand pitch
up there. Ally Grey let them have that. They got a grant, a
government grant to build that club house, and Lord
Howick gave that bit of land it stands on. They've been very
fortunate in that respect like.
When I first came here, I used to come down to the village
from the farm, well I came every night really. The fishing
boats if you were down here in the afternoon when they came
back, I've seen them, there was very little free boat left,
they were full of fish, haddock, cod and whatever you know.
The war was on you see and there was any amount offish and
stuff then.
So there was plenty to eat during the war then?
Any amount. On the farms you were allowed to keep 2 pigs,
but you had to give in your bacon coupons, and you were allowed
to keep 2. Well we always had 2, we used to kill them and salt
them down. How long did you keep the pigs before you killed
them? Normally they would be about 16 stones weight, you went
by the weight of them. The sheds there, some people used to
take them there to be salted, and they salted them in a sort
of a barrel, put them in the brine. Whereas we didn't do that.
My grandfather used to cure ours, and the sides of the bacon,
he used to rub them with salt until they sweated. Then you
laid them on straw, on about a foot of straw, so they could
drain away. They lay there for about a fortnight. The hams
and suchlike, well they used to have to get into the joint
and put saltpetre and sugar. That used to cure them, By, it
was lovely stuff man. When you had it, it was about a quarter
of an inch thick. There was none of this white froth floating
around the pan then, like you get now. I don't know what they
do with it.
When I was on the farm then, all the men used to work in the
quarry and then came to help us on the farm at night. I diwent
na how they did it, cos it was heavy work then.
There was very little machinery in the quarries that particular
time. They used to come to do seasonal work, at night. They
used to help us at harvest time. I've seen them sit down to
have their tea, and fall asleep, they were that tired. We used
to get extra rations on the farm for the harvest, which only
amounted to, be maybe, well me and my father worked up there
and you maybe got 4 ounces of margarine or another half a pound
of sugar or something like that. Oh yes, cheese was the thing,
you could get so many ounces of cheese. That was a week like
you na, when the war was on.
Was there any girls? Oh yes, land army, but we didn't have
any at Dunstan Square, the land army. We used to get-the prisoners
you see. The Italians or the Germans. When they closed this
one here, the German prisoners were at Embleton. That's when
I learned to drive a car. The boss was away with his brother
and Mrs Rowell says to me, you have to take the prisoners home.
There was 4 of them and it was just a little Ford car like.
Well I drove a tractor from when I was a kid, but when it came
to getting the car out of the garage, I kept bumping it. I
got them in and got them to Embleton and one of them could
speak relatively good English, he says thank you very much,
but tomorrow night we will walk. We ended up pushing it out
of the garage. So they mixed in then, these prisoners? Aye,
one. I never knew his surname, but we called him Franz, he
only had half a heel on his right foot, and I asked him one
day how it happened. He had been in Russia and he had climbed
out of this ditch and there was a machine gun dead in front
of him, and it fired. He threw himself back and as he went
up it took his heel off. He was dead lucky like. He said if
they'd been there another month they would never had gotten
back, they got a real hammering like. They were good workers,
different to the Italians. If it rained the Italians used to
pack it in. I lent this lad Franz an old bike, and because
we were all out at weekends, of course they couldn't go to
dances like, they went around the countryside, He arrived back
one night and said they were moving to Wooler, and then back
home. The war was finished by then and he brought the bike
back and it was like'brand new. I said to him you'll have to
go and see the boss mind, when you come back, cos he'd worked
for us for about 3 years, and I took him up to the farmhouse
like and the boss said he would run him home in the car. I
didn't see him after that. By he made a rare job of bike mind.
We got on all right with them, they were good workers ye na,
the Germans.
Back to the pigs, I remember when I was little, when there
was a pig killed in the village, people used to knock on the
door with potted meat and things. We used to live like lords.
There were about 6 houses up in the square, and for about a
fortnight, we had spare ribs, and pigs cheek. We used everything.
The only thing we didn't use was its squeal. My granny used
to make the black pudding and whatnot. She bled the pig, you
had to keep stirring it like to stop it clotting, and she used
to put these little squares of fat in it, and mint or sometimes
a little bit of sage. She made white pudding with the lungs.
Everything was used, nothing was wasted. We used to come in
for our dinner at 12 o'clock and of course we had the sheer
legs set up ready to hoist it up on. Everybody had the boilers
going in the wash houses, so you got any amount of water. The
butcher used to come from Embleton, and the pig was killed,
scalded, hung up and finished and we were back at work at 1
o'clock. Aye, everybody lived well on the pig, sausage and
everything. Mind something I couldn't stick was pigs trotters.
I could never fancy them. I like pigs cheek mind, cos we used
to salt it the same way as we used to salt the bacon, but it
was only in a few days.
There would be plenty of fish in the village from people just
catching it and bringing it in, rather than having to buy it.
Any amount of fish in the wartime. Did you used to barter it
or just give it away? This fellas father. Luke Robson, Alan's
father, he ran it then. He also had 2 wagons then, tipper wagons
he used at the quarry, of course,. I suppose there would be
a lot of work for them When they made all these runways and
suchlike along the tuggle and there was another one at Boulmer
that they made. They were only for aircraft that were more
or less in distress, somewhere for them to land if they were
badly shot up. There would only be about 3 men to a boat then.
They were all corbies then, there was none of the bigger boats
like Douggie has now. Like Eddie Grey's. They told me, well
I didn't know cos I've never gone to sea, but they used to
pull them up with the capstan. There were 2 capstans down there
and they used to put the long bar through and they would all
walk round and round, and that's how they used to haul them
out of the harbour. Adam Archbold's son -in-law came up from
Liverpool and he brought a little winch and a Bedford engine,
and that was the first winch they ever had. (1947). They reckon,
I don't know if it's true mind, but they tell me all he got
for his bother was 2 boxes offish He was an engineer, and he
thought it was terrible that men had to walk round and round
just to haul boats up. I think it was dark Chapman gave them
a winch that one that's there now. They got a Ford engine onto
it, then they built the winch house. When you come to think
having half a dozen corbels to have to pull up with this capstan
thing, after you'd done a day's work at the sea.
Marjorie, when was it those 3 fisherman were lost from here?
February 1928. Jimmy
Sanderson was one, William Stevenson was another, Mary Bowlen's
brother was the other, but that wasn't her real name if you
know what I mean, it was like a bye name.
I think her real name was Archbold, it was her brother. These
bye names, they all had them. Because they were all called
after their grandparents and their great grandparents and they
all had the same name. My grandfather was called Hemp, now
that's something to do with rope isn't it? They hadn't even
anchors on the boats. They had stones tied to a rope which
they used to drop over the sides.
Marjorie now talking. Before I go away, I don't know if you
want this information or not. I've just thought about it. This
shawl was brought from Kashmir to the Tyne in 1810, and they
used them to carry their babies, they didn't have prams, like
the Indians. Jane Smailes who was married to the Dawson man
this is what she carried all her children in - she had 7 sons.
She had 7 sons, and a grandson, cos my fathers mother died
in childbirth, and he was 2.1/2, so she inherited him, so that
was like 8 sons she had. My father was granny's fourth. His
ears used to stick out and I said to him, how does your ears
stick out like that Bob, and he says it was the way my granny
used to put my bonnet on. So most of the bye names came up
like descriptions or marriage or something. Somebody was telling
me about some woman called Midge. Jenny Midge. Well she was
little like, Joyce Shaw's granny. She was horrible actually.
Well you know what children are like, when they get a chase
of somebody, they go back for another one won't they. Well
we used to do that, it was dreadful really. She lived next
door to the chapel in Chapel Row, and of course we used to
play up and down the steps, jumping up and down them or sliding
down the banister thing, and she used to chase us. Well of
course we went back for more, and we used to put our tongues
out. Kind of delinquents in those days. Kids used to get into
all sorts in those days, things that they'd get put into court
these days.
So we were just talking about the war time really and fishing.
What about gardening in those days and garden produce? Well
I don't know about that, but you know where I've got my allotment,
what they used to call the tattie grounds. I just heard what
they told me, that every house along the front had a strip
of land which was eight drills wide, which was approximately
16 feet. It used to be marked with stones, and they used to
whitewash them Sometimes there used to be hell on, because
some people used to shift the stones. They used to have deeds
for that, I've got them, but they are at the solicitors, I've
got my rocks in a copy of the deeds as a north side owner,
now. I'm sure he would let you have them to photocopy them.
Well he's got them, 'cos they are just a copy of the deeds.
The squire at one time used to send the horses down to plough
it for them, because they lived off that. They used to have
potatoes and whatever they had. At that time there was no dole,
and they lived on salt fish. They salted a lot offish away,
the herring and things like that, because if they couldn't
get to the sea, well that was what they lived on. There was
nothing easy. It must have been difficult living in those days.
They used to have the Craster feast once a year. They reckon
they painted everything, if you stood still long enough, they
would paint ye an all. I suppose they would come from Boulmer
and Seahouses and all over, their friends like. Of course if
you hadn't a bike you didn't get out of the village. They used
to use the tattie runs, because that helped them to get through
the winter. That's they way I've always thought of it. There
was no dole and if they weren't at sea, they weren't making
any money. In the war some people had them as gardens, but
they're never planted right up, like the way they used to be.
I'm about the only one left with an allotment along there David
Clarke he set a piece last year, he had a bit land with that
house he bought, but nowt like it used to be from the tales
that these old chaps that told me. A lot of them used to hand
dig it, if they weren't at the sea, they would dig it and sometimes
they used to get the horses. They had a thing called the north
side owners, which now I think is defunked, because all the
records have been lost. If you had the land, you had half a
vote, these north side owners. If you had a strip of land with
your house, it was worth half a vote. I think all that has
gone by the board now. The showing of vegetables and leeks
clubs, when was that started? Paddy Rayboume was the first
secretary of the leek club, then George Butters took it over
and he had it for donkey's years. From when it first started,
I've always been attached to the leek club. How long? I can't
remember now, it's been that long. I can remember the first
leek show. Graffy Dixon had come to live here from Blyth. When
was that then? I'm just trying to think, middle fifties, fifty
four. I can get it for you cos Alan Dixon will have the book.
Every village had a leek club. There was about 40 members here,
in fact there was a waiting list, to get in, but now it's down
to about 20. It was a great thing at one time like.
How did the farmers and the fishermen get on? All right. They
were covered by the
Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries, they all came under
the same thing. Locally it didn't make any difference. I went
to 9 different schools, whereas the fishermen stayed put, but
farm people went from farm to farm, till we came here, and
I said to my father, that's the finish, I've had enough of
this. So you'd had that since you were a little boy you'd moved
about? Aye. Aye. It used to bother me when I was a little lad.
I used to think that if my father fell out with the farmer,
then they would put us out of the house and then where would
we go. You get these things into your head when you're a kid.
That's why I thought, one day I would have my own house and
nobody would be able to put me out. It was my mother that got
all the work because some of the houses you went to were filthy.
She had them all to clean out and paper, and before you knew
where you were, my father was off to another farm. If somebody
offered a pair of young horses or another shilling a week,
he was away. Mind we had a good father and mother, we never
could complain about that. When we came to Rennington, the
windows had all been knocked out of the house. Old Jack Dunn,
he was the joiner up there, and he had to go and get some board
and board them up. The place was filthy. I said to my father,
then, that's the finish. Then we came to Dunstan Square and
we just stopped there and that's how we are here. My sister
lives along there and my brother lives along the top there.
I worked at Dunstan Square for 14 years. Are they the houses
where Eleanor Venus lives now? Yes that's them. We'd been there
a year when Eleanor Venus came, and Angus Lowerson came the
following year, he's still there. He's 80 odd now. He went
to work in the pipeworks. He says I worked there 35 years and
I hated every minute of it. I wouldn't have liked to have spent
my working life some place where I didn't want to be. Canny
lad is Ken, he's not well now mind. He used to work at Longbenton,
the ministry, before he came up here. So did you always work
on the farm? No. I more or less sold myself to the highest
bidder. I worked on the farm until I was 26, then I had 6 pound
a week, which was a pound more than the minimum wage. I couldn't
complain about the job. Of course you got overtime at the harvest.
If you were married you got a house, but the house went with
the job. Marjorie's mother died and there wasn't much point
in waiting any longer, cos she didn't want to leave her father,
so we just went to live with her father. I used to walk up
to the farm every day, that was nothing then. At that time
the myxomatosis was on with the rabbits, and there was one
morning I went up there and I found 30 odd rabbits. They were
just sitting there, poor things, with the blood running out
of them. I couldn't eat rabbit after that. It was a terrible
thing to see. Then Bill Robson asked me if I would like a job
driving a wagon. There was a difference between 6 pound a week
and 15, but I was working 60 hours a week or more, cos sometimes
you filled the log sheet. You shouldn't do that mind. I worked
for him for about 14 years. Then I went to Alnwick and got
a job on the post, as a postman. My wage then was 16 pound
a week for 37 hours. I used to work part time on the farm.
Some shifts I was finished at 2 o'clock, cos I started early
in the morning. I did that for a while, then I got on to the
telephones. At that time they ran together the post office
and the telephones. I spent the rest of my time on the telephones,
that was 25 years. I had a brain haemorrhage when I was 56
and that was it. For about 3 years I wasn't worth very much
like, so I just left the post office and that was it. If I
had my time to begin again mind, I would never leave the farm
like. I still help my son in law one day a week, when Ally's
clipping up there I give him a hand with the clipping, and
putting the silage in. It's grand to get back in. I know I'm
getting a bit lang in the tooth. When I working in Alnwick,
I used to say to the lads in the Springtime, I could smell
that soil as I was coming in here. They used to tap their heads
and say he's nuts. Sometimes they used to say what's the sea
like this morning, because some of them were anglers. I used
to say I don't know cos I didn't look at it. They used to say
well you've nearly been in it. I wasn't interested.
When we had the boys club, we used to sometimes go to Newcastle
for weekends, to
Grainger Park boys school. You could take boxing, drama, orienteering
or anything like that. It was really good. The lads were interested.
We used to have concerts. We used to have them on 2 nights
here and then the big night of all was when we went to Boulmer.
I suppose there was no televisions. No. You could go to 3 or
4 dances a week, if you were so inclined. I've seen us go to
the pictures in Alnwick and walk out to Rennington, go to the
dance, then walk home. Or Embleton, there used to be good dances
in the Creighton Hall. You never saw anybody the worse the
wear with drink or anything like that. The dance was the main
thing, not going to the pub. Now they've got to go to the pub
first, before they go anywhere else. I think that thing standing
in the comer, is to blame for a lot of that. So there would
be a lot of people walking around the country lanes? Wye aye.
I've seen up to 20 of us walking along that road from Rennington.
My boss, Mr Rowell at the farm, he asked my father to first
foot him, and my father never went. He says to me will you
be my first foot, and I said to him, what about my mates? He
says fetch them all. I took about 14. We'd been to Embleton
dance, and we'd stayed there until Auld Lang Syne, and then
we came home. I took them up there and we ended up around the
piano, singing like. We went every year after that. They enjoyed
it as much as us I think. He was the best boss I ever had,
a gentleman. He's been a captain in the Army in his day. He
came from Hexham, the Tyne valley to farm here. He was a grand
man he was. There was none of this creeping along the stone
walls to see if you were working or anything like that. He
would say, I'll come out and see you this afternoon, and you
knew when he came to see you, you could bet your bottom dollar
that she had some old ladies there playing bridge. He used
to say they drive me crackers. He was a grand fellow. Robert
Rowell. He was the farmer at Dunstan Square then. Did his family
stay in the area? He died there. You know Jim Hardy, of the
House of Hardy, well he's married to Mr Rowell's daughter,
Gwen. He only had one daughter. So there's a lot of links between
the different villages, they've inter married. They've married
lasses from Rennington or Embleton, through the dances. At
one time ye didn't get far. There was no cars nor ought. After
the war there was the odd motorbike. Johnny Grey had his father's
car, it was a little Austin 10, we were at Rennington dance,
and I said how about a lift home. He say aye, well there were
about 10 of us. and we used to drive along on the mudguard
and keep hanging on to the little side lights. We all piled
on, he started her up but she wouldn't move, she kept cutting
out. He said we'll just have to leave it and come back in the
morning. So we walked home, and we walked back on the Sunday,
and you know the stay on an electric pole, the big steel stays,
somebody had lifted it over and put the bumper bar around.
It's a wonder we didn't pull the ruddy pole down. So we walked
back home. It was black dark, there were no street lights then.
I once got fined for riding a bike without lights, coming from
Rennington. I was coming along the top of Dunstan, it would
be about half past 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning, and there
was this car coming along with just little side lights on,
and this voice said to me, look there's somebody lost, and
I turned round and it was the police. He says where have you
been, and I said I've been to Rennington dance. He said you've
no lights on, and I said no. I haven't got any. He said what's
your name, and I said well you know my name. He said I'm asking
you your name. So that was it. We were working on the harvest
at the time, when he came with the summons and gave it to my
mother. I didn't see it. My mother says I've had a man here
from Embleton, the police. You have to go to court for riding
a bike without lights. He's been here and hour and a half,
he's been reciting Robbie Bums. A typical old copper. He was
a great bloke, he used to go to our football matches. Ned Dawson
said to me it's your turn to sell the raffle tickets. He said
start with the police. I went passed him, went round the fields,
and come back and said that's it. He says have sold John any,
I said no, and he says he'll be annoyed if you don't sell him
any. The man had walked right up the field, so I walked up
and says do you want any raffle tickets. He says what do you
think I've come all this way up here for, to get out of your
road. I could hear Ned Dawson laughing right from the bottom.
Yeh, they were good days then.
It seems to have been a nice settled place doesn't it? Aye,
I wouldn't like to live any where else. Look at mining villages
at the same time, people coming in and out of them all the
time. It was a good place to bring a family up. The school
was alright was it? Did they go to Dunstan school your children?
Aye. They started at Dunstan, then they built this one. This
is a letter I got from my uncle in London in 1941. You can
read it and it will tell you when the bins came down. He wrote
that from Brighton. I think he said something about those horrible
Germans. He left this village when he was 17 because he didn't
want to go to sea. They expected him to, but he didn't want
to cos he was always sick. He went to London at 17 to look
for a job. He got a job in a gentleman's outfitters in Clapham
Junction. Eventually he owned a gentleman's outfitters shop
in Clapham Junction, I don't know if it was the same one. He
retired to Brighton in 1939. He came back every year for a
fortnights holiday. He was always very good to us, we all went
to see him when he came back, he always had bags of sweets.
You were talking about nicknames, it's going to be an interesting
part of the history.
Some people must have not liked their nicknames, and some people
would have liked them. I think they just accepted them. His
family doesn't like it very much, there's Clippy Archbold,
William Gibb Archbold was his name, but everybody called him
Clippy. I didn't, 'cos I didn't know him all that well, but
all the fishermen used to. If they were talking about him,
they always called him Clippy. How did he get that name then?
I have no idea. They still call my wife Marjorie Dawson. It's
the same with Annie Jane Roberts, they still call her by her
maiden name. You know what I mean. When I worked for Bill Robson,
the lads used to call me Fatty. I diwn't know why. It didn't
matter to me what they called me. I think Seahouses would be
the same. All that sort of names stuck on them. Ralph Archbold,
old Harry that lives in the field, he's in his eighties. He
would be the very bloke to have a crack with mind. He's lived
here all his life. He lives in the first house through the
gate. He's a canny old fella, I think he'll have lived in that
house since it was built. He's doing his windows like, and
he's going to put some more in. I think he must have secondary
double glazing in it. I went over there to spray his brussel
sprouts for caterpillars. He says I've got some glass for you,
I thought I didn't want any glass. Bill's going to put some
new windows in the front, and I told him to keep the glass
back for you. His father was a bit of a character mind. Old
Raffa. Just after the war when Harry and Jack came back, they
were both away in the Army, he bought a boat, a new corbie,
and he had netted a salmon. The bailiffs came up and took the
net of him and he had to go to court, and he had to go to Newcastle.
He said to the magistrates, I had 2 sons away to the war and
I sat all the war knitting them nets, and that buggar there
come up and took them away. That's not right you know. You
know what the magistrates said - case dismissed. Another time
he reckoned he'd seen the Loch Ness monster out there. This
was on the radio, on the BBC. Telling them what it was like,
all these big humps. When he was finished, they started to
play It's a sin to tell a lie. He was a character. He used
to play the melodeon on the end of the pier on a Sunday morning.
The boss used to give him corn for his hens 'cos he kept the
key for the gate, and he used to come up and get the corn.
He only had half a dozen hens. He came this time, and says
I've got no corn for my hens. I says well mind there's none
at the farm because we're waiting for the harvest starting.
Well I diwn't kna what I'm gonna do.
So I went to the boss and says Ralph Archbold up here for some
corn for his hens, but
I says we haven't got any. The boss says I've got some of the
pellets I bought in
Alnwick, give him a stone of them and tell him that 2 ounces
a day is quite sufficient for a hen. So I went down and says
he's given you some of what he feeds his hens on, but you've
got to give them very little. Because it's good stuff. The
hens must have been ready to lay, because he came back 2 days
after. He says. that's grand stuff, I was getting no eggs at
all, and I got 2 yesterday. He'd walked all the way to tell
us that. He says I've never known stuff like that.
After the war those fields along the
bottom were ploughed. We used to have corn stacks along there,
and the threshing
mill used to come in. There was very little soil along the
top. The rock in places, it's a flat as this floor. The plough
used to slide along the top and turn it over. You know that
film Arthur's Kingdom, well we are on that you know. We were
stocking corn along there, and we'd cut the corn and it had
lain for 2 days. It had rained and rained, and the boss says
we'll have to go and pick it up or else it's going to be growing
into the ground. We had old army topcoats on, and we were picking
it up and stocking it. when this chap came along carrying a
camera and a tripod. He says do you mind it I take a film of
you but you'll have to take your coats off. I says we're soaking
wet man, and he says I'll give you a pound each, and they were
off in a flash. We only had 3 pound a week then. Years after
it came on there. There was me, Geordie Armstrong, me father
and Angus Lowerson. I always laughed at Geordie, cos he always
wore a cap, he was a very particular sort of bloke. Bob Smailes,
you can see him on that film, Charlie Kaysleigh, Charlie must
have had a boil on his neck, cos there's a great plaster. In
the war, he used to grow his own baccy, old Charlie. He had
about 30 hives of bees as well, there's none now. When the
baccy was ripe he used to get me to go up, he had one of these
presses the printers use. He used to put the leaves in salt
petre. He used to criss cross the leaves, a little bit of rum
sprinkled on and he had to tighten it down. He'd cut the sides
off straight. It would be like that for about a month, and
every now and then we'd tighten it, and this black juice used
to run out of the sides. That's what he used to smoke. There
was 2 aviaries of canaries here. Jimmy Smailes had some and
Jack Archbold. Now Jack was blind, and he
had canaries up that garden. He had the feeders on the side,
and he used to take the feeders down
and blow into them the get the shell out. He could put it straight
back. He was totally blind, so was his brother Roger. He used
to put his fingers directly into the nests, he knew exactly
where they were. To see how many little ones there were. He
didn't show them, it was just a hobby. His old shed's up there
now, it's covered in ivy.
Parking is hopeless now isn't
it. Has it changed the numbers of visitors that come to
Craster now. Nobody takes visitors in now. Marjorie's mother
taken them in since well before the war. In fact she used to
let part of the house. If you worked in the quarry then, sometimes
the men were finished by half past ten and they paid them off
then. He was once on the dole for 2 years. He told me, he was
a grafter mind, he worked till he was 80 odd in that garden,
he says you got that lazy you couldn't be bothered to feed
the hens. They talk about them now catching them out for getting
money for nowt, but they paid 6d a week into this fund in the
village, and anybody who was off sick, got 10 shilling a week.
They all had the flu, the grandfather, Marjorie, her mother,
they all had it, and her father had to get up and feed the
hens. Somebody saw him feeding the hens and they stopped his
money. I wouldn't like to live anywhere else. I've gotten on
well there. This thing where they say you're an interloper
well I think it's just the way you think, because I've never
felt an interloper. The people seem to mix in here in Craster,
whereas as in some places where there's some posh houses, people
seem to think they so much better, but you don't get that here.
I heard some people in Cornwall by the harbour, they lost the
gate off the house and they told the police. The police who
came up says maybe the goats ate it. Basil Trail used to go
around in a Rolls Royce, he lived over yon side, BT1 was the
number. It was worth about 60,000 pounds, the number plate.
He was sitting in the pub this Sunday, oh yes he said, hard
work never killed anyone. That's right Basil. The only people
it's never killed are buggars like you, because you've never
done it. I can tell you of half a dozen men who never retired,
because they brayed their guts out in the quarry with a 14
pound hammer. The next Sunday he says to me I think I owe you
an apology. I said no you don't owe me an apology at all. You
see you've been brought up at the other end of the stick. You
didn't know. The trouble with you fellows is you don't know
you don't know. I admired him after mind for saying that. Billy
Williams, he never got to 50. They are the same fellows who
used to work all day in the quarry, when the war was on, then
come home and work on the harvest field till dark at night.
Was that particularly hard work in the quarry. Oh yes. You
used to break stone up with a hammer then, now they pick it
up with a machine and feed it into the crusher. They've got
secondary crushers now.
|