Abberley: A Recollection

BEGINNING;

Chapter 1 All Change

What could be wrong I wondered, as I stood waiting for the kettle to boil. Well, I would soon know. I made the tea and carried the tray out to the lawn. Putting it on the rug, I sat down and smiled at Jim.

He still looked harassed. Didn’t you get my letter?

I shook my head. What’s wrong?

He looked even more worried, then explained. I thought you would have had my letter telling you about the place I have found. It’s rather different to what we had specified. I wanted you to know and have time to think about it before I arrived.

Well, you tell me about it. That’s better than a letter. I started to move to sit beside him.

No, you stay put,’’ he said. I want to be able to see your face."

This sounded ominous, my face is always a dead give-away, so this must be something I’m not going to like. I tried to compose my face into a look of unbiased interest Well, fire away, I said, encouragingly.

You remember how we worked out the specification for the house. Well, I’ve looked at some that size and they were grotty and outside our price range. As I was leaving the office for lunch the other day I looked into the Estate agents and saw the particulars of this place. They had just came in. I arranged to go out to see it straight after work. When I got there, a woman was already looking over the house so I went and looked at the garden. As she left she said to me, ‘I’m having this place.’ I went in to see over the house, or I should say cottage. I fell for it, its nothing like we envisaged, but its got immense potential and I think you and the boys will love it.

I wondered how my face was holding up! I tried to smile as I said, Tell me more. My mind was racing over the list we had drawn up when discussing the house we would need in Worcestershire. At least three bedrooms, separate bathroom and loo and a downstairs loo too, if possible, a sitting room, a dining room, plus a big kitchen. Hopefully there would be a garden shed, garage and a good-sized garden.

I tuned in again, So I left early the next morning and waited for the agents to open. As soon as I got though the door I told the receptionist, ‘I want to buy 147, The Hill, Abberley.’ As I said it the phone rang. When she answered it, a caller was saying she wanted the cottage. The receptionist told her it had just been sold. The woman was most indignant. ‘It couldn’t possibly be sold.’ ‘The office has only just opened. I’ve been ringing for the last ten minutes.’ I could hear her voice rising higher and higher and increasing in volume as the receptionist held the phone away from her ear and grimaced. The caller was told pleasantly that there was a young man in the office who had been waiting outside until opening time and who had made a firm offer. The woman continued to berate the receptionist until she, with a crisp, ‘Good-bye,’ replaced the receiver. So you see darling, as these places go so quickly I put a deposit on it. When can you come and see it?

You’ve taken my breath away. Now describe the cottage again. Slowly this time, I said. The look of relief on Jim’s face was a picture. Can I come and sit next to you now? I added laughingly.

Once comfortably settled with more tea, Jim started to describe the cottage that was to be our home for the next ten years.

It’s out in the country at the end of a small row of four cottages. It’ s semi-detached, on the side of a hill looking out over the bowl of Worcestershire. It has about V an acre of ground rising steeply behind the cottage. There are apple and plum trees around the cottage and a damson orchard at the top of the garden. There has been some attempt to use the ground and the owner would be willing to sell the ‘Merry Tiller’ cultivator he has been using on it. The boundary between the cottage and the adjacent field is made up of blackthorn hedge in need of layering and some lovely large ash trees near the damsons. Around the cottage the hedge is mostly of box with some elderbushes. Below the cottage, on the other side of the lane, is a large old apple orchard. On one side of the cottage door is a white climbing rose and opposite the sitting room window is a beautiful red fuchsia bush

Jim stopped, finished his tea, took a deep breath and continued. "I’ve painted a picture of the garden, now we come to the cottage. It’s two storey, recently painted with white Snowcem with little windows set in a steeply pitched slated roof. It’s old, built around the time of the battle of Trafalgar. They say that one of the bonfires to celebrate that victory was lit on the top of the hill above the cottage. The front door leads straight into the sitting/dining room which has very thick walls, a low ceiling with an enormously thick black beam across the centre of it, a smallish window and a fairly modern red brick fireplace. A glass sliding door leads into the kitchen. It has a large window over the sink looking out across the side garden and the field next door. There is a cold water tap and a small electric immersion heater over the sink. Electricity was installed quite recently. There are not many power points but there is a cooker point. Cupboard space is sparse, but that is easily remedied. A short steep flight of stairs is boxed in at the side but is open underneath so providing extra storage space.

Up the stairs leads you into a landing bedroom over the kitchen, with a small window overlooking the field. A door opposite the head of the stairs leads you into the other bedroom that is over the sitting/dining room. This has a small window that looks out over the back garden." I waited. Silence.

What about the bathroom? I enquired.

There isn’t one.

What about a loo?

No loo, was the terse reply.

What! If there’s no loo, what is there? I asked incredulously.

A thunderbox.

A what! I gasped.

Well, it’s a chemical loo called an Elsan, you put so much water in the bottom and some Elsan fluid, use it and when it starts to fill up you empty it into a pit up the garden.

And where is this delightful prospect situated? I enquired.

Outside, across the lane.

That finished me, I burst out laughing. The look of relief, incredulity, ending up with an enormous grin on Jim’s face was a sight to behold.

What did you think I would say, I asked as soon as I had my breath back.

He admitted he didn’t know but had hoped I would at least agree to see it. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent in sorting out the when, where and how, of my visit to Worcestershire. Where we would leave the boys was the main concern..

Jim’s sister, Kate, and her husband Brian kindly offered to help by having the boys for the weekend. So after leaving the boys with Kate I set off for Worcestershire on the following Friday morning. I spent most of the journey wondering just what I would find at the Cottage. It was a perfect July day, fine for viewing country cottages but not for travelling on British Rail.

Jim met me and off we went for a bite to eat. Then a drive through narrow country lanes, while Jim told me of the twice weekly bus from the village square to Kidder, the local Market Town 9 miles away. There was also a daily bus service into Worcester 14 miles in the other direction. We turned into a very narrow lane.

This is Shavers End, said Jim, not far now. After passing a couple of turnings to the right we looked to be coming into a small village. Suddenly Jim turned sharp left and we were facing a one in five climb up a winding narrow lane with high hedges and no visibility whatsoever! With his hand pressed to the horn, up we charged. Cresting a side of the hill we passed a turn to our right that went straight up to the top of the hill. We carried straight on, the lane gently dipping, then rising again, passing a large farmhouse on our left with a vicious looking sheep dog barking its head off.

A break in the hedge to our right showed an orchard with ripening apples on laden trees. At the end of the orchard we turned up a steep, stony lane, passed two cottages set back with flower filled old-world gardens fronting the lane. The lane ended at a very long narrow cottage, with one small window facing down the lane, the remainder of the wall being taken up with a long lean-to, very dilapidated at the farthest end. Oh yes, the cottage was semi-detached, I’d forgotten that!

We stopped, parked the car and got out. I looked more closely at the lean-to as we passed it. The wall had crumbled away in more than one place and the door into it was wedged shut with a brick. There were no visible hinges holding it in position. I was relieved to remember that Jim was a D. I. Y. type!

We turned the corner and there was the most beautiful mock orange [Philadelphus] bush in full bloom, the scent on the early evening air was overpowering. It stood on the corner of the steps leading up to a path that wound away out of sight behind the hedge.

The garden was just as Jim had described it, the mock orange, the white roses and the red fuchsia. It looked idyllic in the evening sunshine.

Come and meet the Whitehouses. Jim’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

As he spoke a woman in her mid thirties and a large red faced man came out of the open front door. They were very welcoming and ushered us inside.

The front door led straight into the sitting/dining room. We all squeezed in and sat down. I felt overwhelmed. It was hideous, jammed with over large furniture, cluttered with ornaments on every available surface, including the curtain pelmet. The walls were covered with a mauve paper embossed with large ovals of trellis enclosing pictures of castles. There were heavy, garishly patterned curtains covering most of the small window and the final touch was the vivid red brick fireplace.

I glanced at Jim. He was looking a little anxious. Oh dear, was my face giving me away? I smiled reassuringly and tuned into the conversation.

Mrs Whitehouse was speaking, ... so as you can see we have really improved the old place. Turning to me she added, Would you like to see the upstairs?

I nodded and we squeezed out of the sitting room, through a glass sliding door and into the kitchen. The window was directly opposite the door. Wide and low, it gave a superb view of the side garden and beyond to sloping fields and woodland. The kitchen itself was small with few cupboards but an electric cooker point. This had distinct possibilities!

A door by the side of the window opened to reveal a precipitate flight of seven stairs, leading to the landing room. It was the same size as the kitchen. The window was smaller but the view was even better due to the height. Eyeing the room I could see where the boys’ bunk beds would go.

Then we were led through a door opposite the stairs, into the main bedroom. It was a good size and looking at it I realised that the sitting room must be a similar size, it just looked so small because of the clutter and the florid decorative style. There was a very low small window, impossible to look through standing up but on stooping down I was rewarded with a view of a large vegetable patch and beyond, a long grassy slope with trees, and a smouldering bonfire. The ceiling was very low; I could touch it with my fingertips. It would be cosy in the winter but the heat in there on this hot July evening was stifling.

When we arrived back downstairs Mr. Whitehouse asked, Would you like to view the ground?

Jim and I said, Yes, please at the same time, turned, smiled at each other, then edged our way out into the open air.

Off you go, said Mr. Whitehouse, the wife will have brewed the tea by the time you get down again. We thanked him and set off to view the ground.

My immediate impression was of a long, narrow, very steep in part, piece of ground. Jutting out into the field from the side of the cottage was a triangle of lawn with a narrow edging of flower beds all around. Behind it an elderberry hedge ran along one side, pig netting along another and the path under the kitchen window made the third.

We passed the mock orange, nearly overwhelmed by its heady fragrance. Up four wide stone steps with a rockery, much in need of weeding, on our right, joining the side lawn to the base of the boundary blackthorn hedge that stretched away into the distance up the hill. A narrow path led between the blackthorn hedge on our right and a box hedge on our left. Over the box hedge we could see two apple trees, laden with fruit, set in a vegetable patch. One was a fairly young Codling the other was a very old Crimson Bramley. There was also a plum tree with its lower branches well propped. It had been a good plum year by the look of it.

The box hedge ended abruptly on our left. The ground flattened a little here and the veg patch showed the heavy Worcester marl. There was also the most enormous area devoted to a bonfire that I had ever seen. There it stood smouldering away, with a solid base of ash four or five feet across and two to three feet deep in part. It must have been burning for months if not years!

Jim’s eyes sparkled. That will do the ground good. I must get it dug in this winter.

As he spoke, the penny finally dropped. We were not viewing this place to see if we would buy it. It was ours; we had bought it. We would be picking and eating those apples. As we discovered cobnuts forming and a small orchard of damson trees heavy with ripening fruit up at the top, I just kept thinking, we will be eating these. They are ours!

Jim was getting really enthusiastic about the ground. We found that higher up; the boundary hedge contained some magnificent ash trees and some willow coppice.

We won’t go short of logs and kindling wood with these. The willow will also come in useful for stakes when we plant up the garden. By the sound of it, Jim was revelling in the thoughts of ownership too.

Wandering down the other side, we found an old overgrown gooseberry bush and three mature blackcurrant bushes, all in need of pruning. One thing was for sure, we might be short of living space but we would have jams and bottled fruit in abundance. Given good harvests, of course!

Jim stopped, looked at me and said, Well! What do you think of it? Will it be all right? Do you think the lads will like it? He was wearing that anxious look again.

I just grinned, gave him a hug and replied, When can we get started on decorating that sitting room? Those castles! I don’t know how I kept a straight face. Arm in arm we went back to the cottage for the promised cup of tea.

We talked late into the night on the Saturday, curled up on the floor of Jim’s sitting room in the house he was sharing with Pat and Angie. With Beethoven’s 3rd playing in the background and masses of paper spread out around us, we sought to crystallise our thoughts and plan the blitzkrieg that would be needed if we were to take up occupation of the cottage as a family, in four weeks time! It was very late when I settled down in the comfort of Angie’s spare room, my mind still buzzing with ideas. I didn’t sleep much that night.

Sunday was spent exploring the countryside and talking, talking, talking from the moment we met over breakfast until Jim kissed me goodbye through the carriage window as the train pulled out of the station. I had much to think of and assimilate during the return train journey.

The Whitehouses were moving out in a week’s time and it had been arranged that Jim would move in and start on some preliminary work prior to my arrival to spend a working weekend helping to re-decorate the sitting room. He would have two friends up from Surrey for another weekend to help with various jobs and also for them to see and get the feel of the cottage. They were both architects and plans for a suitable extension was to be their wedding present to us.

Another knotty problem was sorting out our respective homes. Reducing Jim’s half houseful and the four bedroom, Victorian monstrosity that I was at present renting in Surrey, to fit a ‘two up, two down’ in the heart of rural Worcestershire would be a major achievement; especially as the two boys would not be easily parted from their possessions.

As it was they would be sharing a small room instead of a very large one, so some things would just have to go. Hopefully as they saw Mum eliminating excess baggage, they would be spurred on to do likewise! Hope springs eternal!

They had been so good and accepting when Jim and I had told them, that when we were married we would all be moving to Worcestershire. How they were going to react to a country cottage would remain to be seen. I decided that appealing to their spirit of adventure was the right line to take. I spent much time and thought on exactly the right way to go about it, knowing that would be the first thing they would want to know, once I was back home.

I need not have worried. The lads had had a good time with Kate’s family and were full of the things they had done. That topic lasted until we got home. It wasn’t until bedtime that they finally asked me what I had been up to!

As I started to describe the cottage, its situation and the different way of life in the country, I felt that I was catching their interest. Boy like, they thought the thunder box very funny. Thankfully their imagination stopped short of picturing the journey out there on a cold winter night!

Will we still be able to see Nana and Granddad? was the first question. I explained that as soon as we had an extension built there would be a nice room for them to come and stay in. Until then we would come back to see them. That seemed to satisfy them.

Chris’s only other question was, Can we take Kuba, Mum? This was a thorny problem. Chris, who was 9 years old, had had Kuba the Cat ever since he could remember. Kuba was nine yearsold and had been in poor health for nearly a year.

Chris, I think we must go and ask the Vet that question. You know how poorly Kuba has been; maybe the journey and new surroundings will be too much for him at his age. Will you agree to let the Vet decide what is best for Kuba? I tried to sound concerned and encouraging, without raising his hopes too much.

But Mum, he replied, what will happen to Kuba if we don’t take him with us?

Faint-heartedly I ducked that question. We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Come on, off to bed with you both. That closed the conversation.

The problem solved itself by Kuba rapidly going downhill over the next fortnight. Chris was a very tender-hearted boy and couldn’t bear to see Kuba suffering. He readily agreed to have Kuba put to sleep to save him any more pain, once the Vet had carefully explained the situation to him. Chris missed him very much. Thankfully, all the excitement and activity over the coming wedding and move helped to take his mind off his loss.

Jon at five years old seemed unconcerned about any of the changes about to take place. The only difference in his behaviour was his wanting to be with me all the time, as I scurried around sorting, tossing out or packing all the various items we had accumulated over the past eleven years. The boys seemed to enter into the spirit of the thing and were very good when it came to passing on things they had long since ceased to play with or use.

They were only too pleased to agree when I suggested that they might like to spend another weekend with Kate and her family, while I went to help Jim get the cottage ready.

Chapter 2 Bank Manager or Farmer?

Leaving Chris and Jon with Kate, I set off for a weekend’s decorating in Worcestershire. Armed with my old painting clothes, a couple of spare emulsion paint brushes and plenty of enthusiasm, I was looking forward to seeing what we could achieve with an all out effort over the weekend.

We had opted to use the same solicitor as the vendors and had come to a mutual agreement, at our own risks, to allow Jim to start work on the cottage before the official completion date of the purchase.

I knew that Jim was camping in the cottage and wondered what he had been able to do already. Jim collected me from the station, and off we went to the cottage. Again we were so blessed with the weather. The drive was delightful through the late summer afternoon. We arrived and parked the car on our lane next to our cottage, we could hardly believe it.

We walked all