During the 1940s and ‘50s Yoxford was a self-sufficient village. Everybody knew everybody else and the horrors of the War brought us closer together. The children were familiar with all houses and the people who inhabited them.
‘The Garden Of Suffolk’ was the name given to the village which was surrounded by three large parks. Certainly until the onset of the war the village estates were preserved as parkland with the arable being kept to the outskirts. Today more land is cultivated but new building has been restricted to the village centre or ‘village envelope’ as they call it nowadays.
‘Ivydene’, (NB now known as Harding’s) where I grew up, was situated in the High Street fairly near the hub of the village. It is nearly 60 years since I left Yoxford but I can still remember all the houses and shops and who lived in most of them.
Imagine going on a tour of the village. Coming out of the front door and taking care to step over the freshly whitened step, turn right. The first small shop that we reach was a tobacconist and confectioners. We called it the sweet shop as nobody in the family smoked a pipe or cigarettes. Old Mr. Baillie, assisted by his daughter, ran this ‘front room’ shop. Christian names were not so widely used then and certainly not by the children so throughout the tour most people will be referred to by their surnames. Miss Baillie was a retired nurse and very starchy. The shop shelves appeared to be laden with bottles of sweets, tins of toffees and boxes of chocolates as well as all the necessities for smoking. Now I believe that the containers were mostly dummies and there was not much stock at all. We would visit Mr. Baillie on a Sunday morning to purchase the sweet ration. Father insisted on buying Quality Street toffees. These were individually wrapped in foil and cellophane. I was convinced that there would have been an extra toffee per quarter pound if there had been no wrapping!
Most of the houses in the village were timber-framed but with brick fronts rendered to make them appear larger and more grand. Looking behind the sweet shop and the neighbouring cottage is a row of small cottages with a communal lavatory, well and pump. These cottages are low-lying and prone to flooding in the winter.
To carry on along the street there were two groups of council houses, built at different times as the designs are different. All of these houses had large gardens but no bathrooms and no garages.
In between the groups of council houses was the Primitive Methodist Chapel and house. The chapel was rather small as was the house. Mrs. Mayhew, a widow lived in the cottage. I remember her telling my mother that she suffered from eight different complaints and she did not suffer in silence. She was very proud of her son who was a Drum Major in one of the Guards’ Brigades and led the Trooping of the Colour. Next was another confectioners which was run by Mrs. Morphey and the yard behind was stacked with loose coal and coal sacks ready for delivery by Mr. Phil Morphey who always appeared to be covered in coal dust. I avoided him. At the end of the war Mrs. Morphey sold Lyon’s Maid ice-cream. Three pence would buy a slice of ice-cream in between two wafers. Such a treat!
Beyond the second group of council houses was a little lane (actually a driveway to a farm) but known as Sandy Lane. A little way along was a bridge over the River Yox and there was enough water to play Pooh Sticks. If you had time to turn left there was a footpath through to the other side of Askers Hill and at the right time of the year you could play in the hay or find the bottom half of an old humming top and fish for stickleback.
The donkey meadow was on the far side of Sandy Lane. The donkey did not have a specific name and was known throughout the village as ‘the donkey’. He was alone in his meadow quietly chewing grass and would come to the gate if you offered him a carrot. Otherwise he really did resemble Eeyore.
From time to time the donkey disappeared and a small travelling circus or fair occupied the meadow. If you looked at the telegraph poles you would see the posters advertising the coming event. This caused great excitement amongst the children. The circuses were usually small family-run affairs. The main tent would be erected and the seating inside was basic. The entertainment may have consisted of three or four performing horses, a juggler, acrobat and clowns. I did not realise that each member of the family would have more than one skill and so thought that there were more participants than there were. I did not like the clowns. I thought that they were silly and not particularly funny. The fairs were, again, run by small family groups. There would be roundabouts, swing boats, shooting galleries, hoopla and if you were lucky there may have been dodgem cars. My father was very fond of fair rock and he would take me to buy some of that. He would not have a go at the shooting. I knew that he had been in the Rifle Brigade and should have been able to win a prize but perhaps he had had enough of rifles in the First World War. Unfortunately he felt sick if he just looked at a roundabout or the swing boats so we did not stay for long.
Towards Sibton was the hamlet called Little Street. This was a collection of small cottages and houses leading up one side of Askers Hill. My first piano lessons took place in one of these cottages. I was six years old. The teacher was Miss Wright. She was an elderly lady but I quite liked learning to play some of the tunes that we sang at school
The last house of all belonged to the carpenter and wheelwright, Mr. Wright. (I wonder if Miss Wright was a relation). Further up the hill was the meadow where the villagers had their allotments. These were plots of land on which people planted fruit and vegetables to help out the rations. Father had an allotment but he had to pay somebody to dig the ground and then plant potatoes and other vegetables. There were no small sheds for stowing tools so these had to be carried there. Cycling or walking to the allotment, harvesting the vegetables and then carrying them all home was a real chore added to which father did not like gardening. I liked visiting the allotment as I preferred to eat my vegetables raw. There is nothing nicer than peas straight from the pod.
At the top of the hill stood a pair of iron gates leading to a tree-lined avenue. At the end of the avenue was the village cemetery. This used to be kept in an immaculate condition. Looking to one side of the central path the graves all belonged to the Church of England people, the other side the Chapel people. At the bottom corner were the unmarked graves of paupers and the pathetic row of graves belonging to German airmen whose plane was shot down in flames.
At the bottom of Askers Hill, nearly into Sibton is a lane leading through to Sibton Green. It was here that father taught me to ride a bicycle. It was a red New Hudson and was second hand. I can’t remember much about those lessons but believe that I learnt quite quickly.
Across the road and returning to the village, back over the hill, through Little Street and opposite the donkey meadow are two cottages. Mrs. Blowers the dressmaker lived here. Her husband was the gardener at Elmsley.
Miss Wade, a mysterious little old lady, lived at Elmsley. It was a large house on the corner of Hogg Hill and the High Street and opposite the donkey’s meadow. I wonder if she owned the donkey? I believe that her family had lived in the West Indies because she sent me a collection of beautiful sea shells. (NB They had sugar estates in St Kitts).
On the opposite corner of the road are the main gates to The Grove. This large house and estate was where my father had worked as chauffeur before the slump of the late 1930s. Sometimes the church fete was held on the Grove Park. I remember that one year, I must have been between 12 and 15 years old, there was a ‘bowling the cricket ball’ competition. Competitors had to bowl a ball at a single stump placed some distance away. My friend Marian actually won the prize having beaten all the local lads. The fact that she had two brothers may have had something to do with it.
Returning to the High Street, there was parkland and the next house was ‘Gardener’s Cottage’ (now Beaumont House. It was built for Charles Lomax). This was where mother and father lived when they were first married. The cottage belonged to Grove Park then. Behind the next few cottages was a ‘plantain’ or old dump where people had thrown rubbish many years ago. We used to search the ground here looking for shards of pretty pottery which we cleaned and stuck on the old chimney on the rockery.
A row of cottages was next and then a very old house given several different names, the ‘Maids’ Head’ being one of them (NB Old Beer House).
A large, imposing house was next. Set back from the road it looked cold and unwelcoming. This was a house into which I never went. The occupants were Mr. and Mrs. Mumm. The story was that they had something to do with champagne. The house is called Hope House and had been a children’s home.
The little old cottage next door was a complete contrast. Beech Cottage was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Eagle. Mrs. Eagle was Welsh and used to help mother in the house. There were three grown up children and during the war two evacuees living in a small cottage. Goodness knows where they all slept. When the daughter Lynwyn (?) married I was a bridesmaid. The adult bridesmaids wore pale blue dresses trimmed with maroon ribbon and I wore peach satin. I still have the pale blue headband that I wore. I think that I was only five or six years old.
The next cottage is no more than a large dolls’ house. Mr. and Mrs. Benstead and their daughter Barbara lived here Mr. Benstead was a painter and decorator.
Opposite Ivydene is the house now called Starlings. I cannot remember there being another name. Old Mrs. Baldry lived here with her daughter, Muriel Biddlesden and granddaughter Janet. Janet was one of my friends and we used to visit each other’s houses to play. Janet had a birthday party every year. These were a mixture of the good and the bad. I enjoyed the food (it was wartime) but the games which followed the birthday tea were not particularly much fun. ‘Postman’s knock’ was not too bad but I did not like ‘pass the parcel’ if forfeits were included and ‘spinning the plate’ was another nightmare. How we suffered for the chance to have one or two chocolate biscuits!
At one end of the house is a small wing and it was here that my father had his first butcher’s shop. The shop was a square room with a brick floor and white-washed walls. There were two windows and in one corner stood a large walk-in ice-box. This was an early type of refrigerator and was kept cold with large blocks of ice fetched from Lowestoft in the back of the van. The maroon shop door was a ‘stable’ door and on two sides of the shop was a wooden shelf. This held the greaseproof paper and newspaper for wrapping the meat. There was an ‘Avery’ scale with beautiful brass weights. Mother had great difficulty with the calculations required if the goods weighed more than one pound. On a high shelf was an old clock shaped a bit like a church window. In the drawers under the shelf were wood and steel skewers, knives and string. A large wooden chopping-block stood in the centre of the shop. This block was scalded with boiling water and scrubbed with a wire brush, therefore the top was rather undulating. On the steel rails around the ceiling hung the quarters of beef, whole lambs and pigs and the inevitable strings of sausages.
When the garage at Ivydene was converted to make the new shop there was a tiled floor, an electric refrigerator, an electric mincer and sausage-maker but the sausage meat was still mixed in the bungalow bath. The sausage skins were ‘organic’, (no plastic rubbish) being the cleaned and boiled entrails of the animal. They were packed in salt in large square boxes. It became my task to dip these in cold water one at a time and run the water through them to remove the salt and soften them ready for filling. This was not the most pleasant of jobs as the water had to be cold and the salt caused any small cut or scratch to sting. Nobody thought of rubber gloves. Before I went to school I used to accompany father to the fish market at Lowestoft Harbour. I can still ‘see’ the ice-crusher at the end of the market. The noise was very loud and frightening.
I believe that my first proper bicycle came from Mr. Fairweather’s shop next to Father’s butchery. Bicycles were in short supply in wartime and mine was a second-hand red New Hudson. Later, when I was 11 or 12 I was given a brand new Raleigh with exciting wire brakes but I was not allowed drop handle bars as they were considered unsafe. The cycle had to be ordered and there was a wait of several weeks for delivery. It cost £26.
Further along the road was the old workshop (NB now a house, Cottons) where father kept his van after the new shop was built. Near that was an unusual building with a balcony (NB Milestone House, formerly Verandah House).This building was a shop, a rather dark and dingy shop as I remember. There was a counter covered with pieces of leather of all shapes and sizes and the shelves were laden with dozens of pairs of shoes. The whole place was a complete muddle. I really do not know how the shoe repairer kept track of all the shoes. This shop belonged to Mr. Philpot. (It used to amuse me that father always wrote his name in the day book as Ppot.)
A very old building with a mock Tudor front is the Griffin Inn. I did not go into this inn when I was a child but had some meals there much later on. During the war it was simply a pub serving wines, beer and spirits when available. The sign outside advertised the fact that Bullards of Norwich owned it. Behind an ancient brick wall was a bowling green. This was a mystery to me as you could not see over the wall and I had no idea of bowling. On the corner opposite the church was a collection of old buildings which had once been the outbuildings belonging to the Three Tuns Hotel. This had burnt down many years previously and the space where it stood was left as rough land although I do believe that there was a pillbox on the corner. (NB now there is a house, The Old Bowling Green).
Turn right and there was Billy Chapman’s old garage. Billy Chapman was a real character. He served petrol from one of the first electrically-powered pumps which he had had installed in 1937. He was a clever man and rigged up a television using a neon lamp and scanner to receive Baird’s broadcasts from Crystal Palace. After the war as television became more popular he did not bother with a new set as he considered the programmes a ‘load of old tripe’. My father used to take his van to Billy for any repairs that he was unable to do himself. Billy’s ingenuity was a lifesaver when new car parts were in very short supply.
Next to the garage is the house where the Headmaster lived (Red House). I was a bit afraid of him but his wife was nice. Charles Hacon had two children, a girl called Brenda and a boy called Cedric. They were my friends, approved of by my parents.
Further on the right-hand side is another entrance to Grove Park and the cricket ground. After the war it was decreed that all Sunday matches had to end at 6.00 pm.so that the players could attend Evensong. The matches ended on time but I think that the players were more likely to go to The Griffin.
Opposite the park gate and standing on the corner was the church. The church tower has an imposing spire but the inside was renovated in Victoria’s reign and though they probably saved the fabric of the inside a lot of the older features were lost.
I was baptised here. Uncle Bob was my Godfather but I remember no Godmother, perhaps it was Aunt Nellie? Later, in 1962 I was married on a cold March day. Like all the local brides I enjoyed the walk up and down the path leading from the road to the church door. Inside the church the middle aisle contained the pipes for under-floor heating and above the pipes was this decorative iron grille. I chose low-heeled shoes as I was sure that I would catch a thin heel between the patterns of the grille.
Behind the church was the house where ‘Auntie Smith’ used to live. I can only remember that there was a very high ceiling there.
Opposite the cricket ground was the Village Hall. The present one has replaced the building we knew as ‘The Hut’. This was a wooden building which had belonged to the army in the First World War. This was where village entertainments were held. Once a week chairs and old seats taken out of a bus were set out in the main room and a film show was held. We used to like to sit on the bus seats at the back as they were more comfortable, anyway I was not allowed to sit too near the front. Father said that to do so was ‘bad for the eyes’. The cost was no more than two shillings (10 pence). We saw educational films starring Old Mother Riley, Ronald Shiner and other comical films. I suppose that more adult films were also shown but I cannot remember my parents going to see them and I would certainly not have been allowed to go.
During the war dances were held and I particularly remember father complaining because one woman wanted to collect her meat ration on her way home from the dance.
There was a billiard room in which children were not allowed but smoking was. There was also a small bar run at functions by one of the local publicans, a kitchen and a small but freezing ladies’ toilet. Children’s parties were held in the hut and at Christmas there was a party for the school children when more embarrassing games were played. The worst of these was ‘the flour cake’. This featured a cake made of flour and possibly a dash of water to consolidate it. Victims, usually the older children, had to cut slices off the cake without disturbing the matchstick standing up in the middle. When the match eventually fell, the poor soul who was responsible had to pick it up from the heap of flour with his teeth. Obviously his face was covered in flour causing much amusement to the onlookers. I did not find this particularly funny and was glad when the whole thing was over.
After the inevitable tea Lady Hambling came and presented all the children with a shiny new shilling (5p). I think there were other gifts because I had a pretty little maroon basket. In front of the hut were two more bowling greens. We were not allowed to walk on the grass but the greens were not very large. To the side were two tennis courts.
Further down High Road were pretty cottages with large gardens. One was occupied by Miss Moy who had been ladies’ maid at The Grove. She did not venture out very much. In another house lived Miss Carter. She was commonly known as ‘the nit nurse’ and would come to the school and search through our hair and check our hands for head lice, fleas and scabies. It was she who told me off because I could not plait my own hair. I was most upset.
At the end of High Road where it joins the A12 was the famous village sign of the ox crossing the ford. I don’t know what happened to it during the war as all village signs were removed or obliterated.
To the right and across the road is the Old School. This has been closed for many years but was used as a dining hall for the present school during the war years. Church Sunday School was also held there. I remember my class walking around in a circle each holding a cake candle and singing ‘God make my life a little light.’ I only went to Sunday school in the winter as we used to go out on Sunday afternoons in the summer. It was because of this that I never completed a book of picture stamps and a full book entitled you to join the annual outing. I was more miffed about the stamps than the outing.
Further up the Mile Hill was Mill House. Father lodged here at one time and complained that the lady of the house did not own any fish knives or forks and that because of this the taste of fish lingered on the steel cutlery.
The old Police Station was right at the edge of the village. The Mile Hill is about a mile long and was a drag on a bicycle. One very cold day we were travelling to Ipswich and the cork flew out of the top of the van radiator. Something to do with the effect of water boiling!
Turning back to the village sign and walking towards Darsham along the A12, on the right was a brook – hence Brook Street. The brook had an iron railing along the path side. This railing was very useful for somersaulting over. This was something that mother never knew about, if she had there would have been a Big Fuss.
At the junction of Brook Street and High Street was the cottage in which Barclay’s Bank (Bank House)hada small branch. The bank opened on Fridays and was useful as the larger branches were at Saxmundham or Halesworth. These do not seem very far away these days but when very few people owned a car, buses were infrequent and Darsham Station was over a mile away the little bank was very handy.
In the middle of the junction stood The Jubilee Seat. I do not know whose jubilee it was meant to celebrate but it was here that we used to gather as teenagers and discuss all the rubbish that young people consider to be important. (NB the seat was built in 1935, reputedly by carpenter Ezra Cotton, to commemorate the Silver Jubilee of King George V). Opposite the Jubilee Seat was The King’s Head public house. This was another pub that Father did not go in. Next to the pub was a little sweet shop owned by Ida Chenery. I used to go in here with Brenda to buy her sweets. Next to the sweet shop was the ‘Pye’ Factory. This was owned by Freddie Andrews and employed several women. I thought that they made pies and it was sometime before I found that the women were chosen for their dexterity and made radio components!
The Co-op was next. Again I only ventured in here with Brenda. On one side of the shop was the grocery and the other was a drapery selling everything from boots and shoes to handkerchiefs. My mother did not use the Co-op and I was not really allowed to go in. She considered it to be ‘common’ and a shop suitable only for the working class. It seemed very daring for me to go there and I could not understand what all the fuss was about.
The White House was next. This was a large house which was very close to the road and therefore more grey than white. Dr. Marriott and his family lived here and the surgery and dispensary were in a small building in the garden. I believe that this is now a cottage. Inside the waiting-room were wooden benches alternately painted cream and green. There was no appointment system and it was strictly ‘first come first served’. In the middle of the room was a small table on which was a supply of old magazines. One in particular was called ‘Lilliput’. This contained a selection of stories, features, cartoons and photographs of scantily-dressed ladies. I thought it was wonderful and was the only thing that made a visit to the Doctor bearable.
On the corner where the road to Leiston branches off from the A12 was a pretty little cottage which was the lodge for Rookery Park. Sir Hugh and Lady Hambling owned the large house and grounds. This was where church fetes would sometimes be held.
The second road on the right led to Dunwich. There was an arch over the railway line and we would go onto the embankment to pick ox-eye daisies and into the adjacent wood to pick pink violets.
The main road carried on to Darsham Station. Before the War my father would take me for a walk on a Sunday afternoon to Darsham Station and would buy me a Nestles Chocolate bar from the machine on the platform. The station was quite busy in those days. There were waiting-rooms on each platform, one for ‘Ladies’ and one for the rest of the passengers. The gardens won several prizes for tidiness and beauty. One special feature was the name ‘Darsham’ picked out with rambler roses.
Opposite the station was The Stradbroke Arms. In the garden was a large walnut tree. Father would arrive home in the autumn with his basket full of fresh walnuts.
Heading back towards Yoxford stood the ‘Fairy Wood’. In those days we were free to wander more than now and Father and I would climb a steep pathway (the ‘slippery slip’) up the bank and into the wood. We would search for fairies, primroses and violets. We found the flowers but the fairies proved to be elusive. (I was a devotee of ‘Sunny Stories’ by Enid Blyton).
Another little lodge cottage was at the entrance to Cockfield Hall. There was a footpath through the park to the village. During wartime the park and beautiful Tudor mansion were requisitioned by the Government for the Army. The pathway was closed and we had to walk the long way round to and from the village to the station. The journey was now one and a half miles but seemed further after a day in Ipswich or Yarmouth.
Walking the long way round, Satis House and its grounds can be seen. Lady Miles lived there but the house is now a hotel.
Next to the Bank and along High Street was a large house where Mr. (usually called ‘Old’) Morgan lived (The Retreat). He was a dentist and held his surgery in Saxmundham. He was not half as approachable as dentists today. Next to his house was a barber’s and hardware shop. Further on the left is the New Vicarage. This was where I went for Confirmation lessons from the Reverend Hyde-Parker. I was then 17 and old enough to argue. Mother went later but she was older still and even more inclined to argue. Yoxford School at that time catered for children aged from five to 15. It was a typical late-Victorian building but was larger than many village schools.
Opposite the school was the Methodist Chapel and Schoolroom. At one time mother and I went to the Methodist Services. The hymns were more cheerful than the Church of England but saying the psalms instead of singing was boring and the sermons were a bit long.
Next to the school was a shop with an imposing glass front. This was Horner’s draper’s shop which sold everything from shoes to fabric and cushions. Mrs. Rumsby worked here. She was very helpful. Above the shop lived Father’s friend Claude Hart and his wife and daughter Vivien.
Also on this side of the road was the Post Office, paper and toy shop which belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Shepard. Mrs. Shepard worked hard but her husband was always tired. He used to deliver the daily papers. (Sunday papers were delivered by a man who cycled from Blythburgh). Unfortunately our house was the wrong side of the New Inn and so our papers used to arrive a bit late!
Next door was London House. Another friend, Janet (Chenery) lived here with her brother Peter and an aunt and uncle. Janet’s and Peter’s mother had died when Peter was born and Ida and ‘Kipper’ Kett looked after them. The wooden building in front of the house was a butcher’s shop. Next was the bakery (Fisher’s) This had been where years before villagers had taken meat and puddings to be baked in the large bakery oven.
Opposite was the other entrance to Cockfield Hall. The small lodge on the right of the gates was where the District Nurse lived. I believe her name was Miss White. She was very starchy, abrupt and frightening. Not a bit like today’s nurses. The building on the other side of the gate was in a mock-Tudor style to fit in with the Hall. The front of it was, and still is Horner’s grocery.
Mr. Horner’s son was called Jack, poor lad. I did not go into Horner’s very often as our rations came from a small shop in Sibton but every Christmas there was a model monkey, about one foot high with a banana in one hand on display in the window. That hand would move up and down to give the illusion that the monkey was eating. Christmas was really getting near when the monkey was in the window.
Harry Chapman’s butcher’s shop had been in the family for some time and the front sported blue and white tiles. The shop is now a house but the blue and white tiles are still there. Harry was a friend of Father’s and would give me a lift to Rendham School when the weather was bad. When Father became too ill to carry on with the business it was sold to Harry.
To continue down the right hand side of the High Street there are three small shops. The first was the Chemist’s run by Mr. Healey. He sold patent medicines, shampoo, soap etc. Doctors’ prescriptions were dispensed at the Doctors’ dispensary. (NB Actually, this was next to Manor House, the home of the Horner family. It has since been demolished and a modern house has replaced it.)
The next small building was Dudley Clarke’s barber’s shop. Like the doctors there was no appointment system and it could take a very long time to get a haircut. Not only was he very slow but he talked non-stop.
The third shop was the green grocer’s. This was a quaint little wooden building. I believe that there was a garden with this shop and a lot of the goods were home-grown and very fresh. One speciality was freshly-cut ‘proper’ cress. Harold Smith the owner was also a children’s entertainer-cum-conjurer. His act was good when first seen but after a time you knew what was going to happen next. Never mind, there was no TV, proper cinema or theatre so Harold was better than nothing and certainly better than playing games.
The Rectory, complete with a large garden was the largest house in the village street. It was an old white building and always appeared to be in need of some care and attention. The garden was surrounded on the road side by iron railings. These railings were the same as those around ‘Ivydene’ and the church and were not removed during the war. This did not please those villagers whose railings had been taken ‘for the War Effort’.
The Vicar at that time was Rev. Matthews. He seemed to be very old and eventually suffered from dementia and died. After that a smaller house was bought for the Vicar to live in and the old Rectory sold.
Two houses called ‘Merivale’ and ‘Barnsdale’ were next and a shop which I believe was also a library. This was probably part of the next shop which was, like Horners, a small department store. Mr. Chapman owned this shop. The end nearest the library was the drapery department which sold all kinds of clothing and fabrics. The far end was the grocery section. This was where we bought our groceries after Father stopped going to Sibton. At that time shopping was a slow business as people were served individually and goods had to be weighed and packaged separately. Sugar was sold in blue bags, sweets in small triangular bags and butter and cheese in greaseproof paper.
Two very small shops were next. These were really the front rooms of cottages. The first ‘shop’ was owned by Mrs. Blowers. She was a widow and her daughter and son-in-law shared the cottage with her. The inside of this small shop was a revelation. The window was crammed with goods for sale. There were baby clothes, small matinee coats, bootees, bonnets and mittens knitted in mostly white (useful if the baby was unborn), pink or blue and sometimes lemon or pale green but never the dark colours of today. Also in the window were babies’ smocked dresses. These were often made by my mother to help Mrs. Blowers as she had been recently widowed. When one walked into the shop the counter was on the left side. I cannot tell much about that counter as it was always covered with ‘stuff’. Around the shop were shelves and pigeon holes full of wool and other articles of haberdashery such as tape measures (feet and inches), ribbons, lace, buttons, snaps and hooks and eyes. At that time wool was what it said on the label – wool. There were no artificial yarns at all. The wool came in two thicknesses, 3- and 4-ply. These were finer than the double-knits of today and had to be knitted with fine needles and so required a prodigious number of stitches. Garments made from these wools needed careful hand washing or they would shrink and felt.
The wool was delivered to the shop wrapped in brown paper labelled with the colour and ply. Inside the package would be the wool packed in long hanks or skeins. These hanks had to be wound into balls before knitting could commence. The best and easiest way to do this was to find a patient second person who would hold the hank over outstretched arms while you wound the ball – loosely, not too tight. Clever people could wind the wool so that the end to be used came from the centre. This stopped the ball rolling all over the place. Another way was to hang the skein /hank over the back of a chair or even to perform both operations on your own arms. This could be tricky as there were the inevitable tangles. I enjoyed the challenge of not having to break the wool at all as knots made the finished knitting look untidy.
During the War old garments would be unpicked, unravelled, washed, wound into skeins and re-used. Unfortunately the wool remained crinkly which led to an interesting texture of the finished jumper. We knitted all sorts of things, from socks to hats and the infamous child’s bathing costume. Mine was green. It fitted until it got wet and then the weight of the water made it drop!
The entire wool shop was in such a muddle that it took ages to buy anything. In the back room of the cottage was a harmonium – a small kind of organ as well as plenty of other clutter.
The second cottage-cum-shop belonged to Mr. and Mrs. E. (Ted) Page. Ted Page was a watch and jewellery repairer and also sold watches, clocks, necklaces, brooches and earrings. Father bought me a wrist watch. I bought my mother a ‘diamond’ brooch on my 21st birthday. Mother had a silver ring with a green stone in and a marcasite necklace and bracelet. I believe that Ted Page had worked on aircraft at one time and was very clever and inventive. The trouble was that if you took something to be repaired it was always going to be ready next week. But next week could be a long time coming and I imagine that some people gave up and just bought something new.
Between Page’s and the New Inn was the house of the village vet Mr. Noah Wright (NB Rosslyn House). Mr. Wright liked a drink. One late night he woke up Phil Morphey, the coal merchant, asking for a drink. I think he meant whisky but Phil put his head out of the window and directed him to the water butt in the garden.
The New Inn changed its name to the Blois Arms (NB now a private house, Angel House) during the 1950s. This was our ‘local’ and Father used to visit in the evenings after work for a half-pint of Adnams’ Mild Beer. Mother would go sometimes but she drank sherry and on one occasion mixed it with homemade parsnip wine and rum. This was not a good idea and supper was rather confused that night. The usual group of men would gather here to play dominoes and cards. One man always had the ‘Master card’ whatever that was. In the 1950s a group of boys got together to form a small band. They played in a back room I can’t remember how good, or bad they were but it all fell apart when they were called up for National Service.
The landlady had bright orange hair in the days before weird hair colourings were fashionable.
People leaving this and other pubs gave us a certain amount of entertainment. They would fall into our privet hedge, sing ‘Goodnight Irene’ at the tops of their voices, stand and swear at their bicycles when they would not stand up by themselves.
Between Wayside and Ivydene was a small driveway. This was where THE MINE was laid at the beginning of the War. There was just a piece of ground fenced off with barbed wire. As children we thought nothing of it and played our games around it. After the War I learned that it was a Canadian Pipe Mine and that these were notoriously unstable. If there had been a German invasion that mine would have been detonated and the road and surrounding houses blown sky high. My parents must have known this (Father was an air-raid warden after all) but I remained innocent.
As you can see Yoxford was virtually self-sufficient. The only service missing was that of a ladies’ hairdresser. For this one had to travel by bus or train to either Saxmundham or Halesworth. These two small market towns were no more than seven miles away but by the time one had walked to Darsham Station, taken the ten-minute train journey, endured the three or four hours taken to perm one’s hair and done a bit of shopping most of one day had passed.
During the War the village people were very friendly, everybody knew everybody and their comings and goings. People in trouble would be helped but any misdemeanours were also picked up and the village gossips worked overtime. When the evacuees from Ilford and Romford arrived things began to change. Tales of coal kept in baths (if you were lucky enough to have a bath) spread and it was sometime before the strangers in our midst were accepted but it was a long time before they were really trusted. After the war some returned to London but some stayed and their children and grandchildren are still there.
Like many villages Yoxford has changed since the 1950s. Houses are connected to the main sewerage and water supply. There are street lights and the kerb stones which had been broken by the heavy War tanks have been replaced. The houses have been repaired and redecorated and Ivydene has had a major refurbishment. New houses have been built in spaces between the older ones but the only largish collection of new houses has been built on land up Hogg Hill which has been given the grander name of Strickland Manor Hill.
Also like many villages, some shops and a public house have closed. Chapman’s store has been replaced by an antique shop (NB Suffolk House), the library has gone. The Post Office has moved two or three times (NB the village is now without a Post Office except on Monday and Wednesday mornings when there is a service brought from Saxmundham) and the Pye Factory and Co-op have been demolished and replaced with houses. The bakery has closed and Horner’s drapers’ is a restaurant (NB Mains Restaurant). Mr. Smith’s little shop now contains bric-a-brac and the wool, jewellers and Baillie’s sweet shop are now front rooms again. The three butchers’ shops have been forced out of business by supermarket competition but Horners’ grocery is still soldiering on. Unusually there is no supermarket in Yoxford as yet, probably because of the relatively low population and the nearest ones are at Saxmundham and Halesworth. Trains still stop at Darsham Station but the signal box and roses have gone.
Gillian Bryant (nee Starling) 2020