Weekend Visitors
At weekends
visitors swelled the numbers—usually husbands and other family members and
friends and all
modes of transport were employed to get there including, according to family
folklore,
walking all the way by my uncle Owen Shaw!
Yarrantons
ran a coach service from Kidderminster but the main mode of transport was by
train
Newnham
Bridge station was just three miles from the Barracks and the walk was usually
made
more
tolerable by a “watering” stop at the Nags Head Pub
Pictured in 2005
Saturday
night was a big night and most kids were left to their own devices—there was
always
Granny
to look out for us—and most of the Parents made their way to the Paul Pry or
New Inns
Pubs
on Frith Common
There
was also the Cross Keys and the Bird--in–Hand, in Menith Wood, so no
shortage
of “Hostelries”
Either
way, it meant walking back in the dark through fields at the top of Dumbleton
Lane,
skirting
Dumbleton Farm itself
Walking back, I’m told
was a lot trickier! and we kids always gave the farm a wide berth
because of the
reported ferocity of the Dumbleton bull
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Party Time
Towards the end of the
season, a Saturday night concert was organised and a remarkable array of
talent was on show,
including a couple of songs from my dad—see “A Black Country Tenor”
and a very professional tap
dancing routine by my cousins Beryl and Joyce.
A red haired young woman
with a delightful voice sang a couple of songs including, I recall,
“Amapola”—top of the pops
at that time.
Her name was Gertrude
Turner and she lived close to us in the cul-de-sac in Sutherland Road in
Cradley Heath. She now
resides in South Africa
And as always, suitably
“lubricated”, recitations from my uncle Billy Shaw including—by
popular
demand--a very passionate
rendering of “The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God”
Another fond memory of
uncle Billy Shaw who, on a Sunday morning irrespective of the amount
of ale consumed the night
before, would be out before dawn and bring back flat field mushrooms the
size of dinner plates
Fried over the open fire in
the top Shanty, and sandwiched between two slices of Lamberts crusty
bread(dipped and slightly warmed
in the black mushroom “liquor”) and consumed on a bright, crisp
Sunday morning was a
breakfast to be remembered
Down at the Teme
A
short walk down the lane and past the Moor Farm, the Teme had a pleasant sandy
beach area and
it
was a magnet for us kids
Reg Homer at the tiller, then Jean Bloomer, then me
Behind
Jean, Frank Jeavons and on his left George Hill
The tall lad
is unknown
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A group of kids
in their Sunday best. On the very left is Patrick, son of my cousin Edith Walker
(nee Shaw)
A few yards up from
the beach area was a salmon weir and eel traps
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There was another part
of the Teme that we visited occasionally;
Opposite the
Whitehouse Farm was a very narrow lane; it provided access to the Wallaces’s
house
We were never very
sure whether the lane was private or not but, just in case, we always
sneaked down it
It opened out into a
very large field with some magnificent Walnut trees—and we helped
ourselves, getting our
hands badly stained with the juice from the pulpy, protective outer case
The Teme was at the
bottom of the field