OUR FAMILY X1
In July 1937 the Sharples family who lived in the Lancashire village of Summerseat claimed to be the champion family cricket team. The challenge was taken up by my Grandfather’s seven sons, the eldest’s three sons and the eleventh man who was a cousin. . From villages and towns in the area people came by trains and charabancs and a crowd of more than 2000 gathered to see the clash of the clans.
‘It has been a great game – this 24- over innings business encourages bright cricket and a field day for the valley. The spectators cheering and counter cheering echoed far up into the surrounding moors.
The hero of the day was 57 year old Horrocks Sharples who scored 30 in the gayest manner. There was laughter when he went in to bat with 15yr old George – tiny beside him. But George’s bat was not straight and it went the way of all willows.’
Horrocks once played for Ramsbottom in the Lancashire League and I regret to say that he and his family won the day by one wicket and 36 runs. However I learnt a little more about my more distant granddad. He admitted that he was not very keen on cricket,
‘I don’t know where the lads picked it up. I think it was the Unitarian Sunday School they went to.’
And we were told by the Free Press special correspondent that my grandfather’s secret pride was that he used to play football under the name of Benny Holt for Bury and Rossendale and Middleton in the Lancashire League.
Why would he change his name?
The St John Ambulance will benefit by £25 from the gate. (Remember it was 1937)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
GIRLISH LAUGHTER
GIRLISH LAUGHTER
April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter,
Then the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears.
Sir William Watson 1858-1935
July 2006 I rang Ginny last night – I wondered how much she remembered of our time in the Lakes. For years she and I completely lost touch with each other. Then I got a phone call from an advertising agency I used to work for. They had re-issued an ad I had done years ago and some old friend had seen it and wanted my address. They - quite rightly refused, but promised to pass her details on to me. In the event it turned out to be a girl I used to play with when I visited Gran. She still lived in the north so we arranged the next time we visited our cottage in Yorkshire, we would meet. Incidentally she was one of Gran’s babies and shared my Christian name – much to Gran’s disgust.
We had a pleasant dinner together and I told her of my quest to find my old friend Ginny.
“Oh!” she said “They used to live in the next street.” I nearly choked on my dessert and begged her to tell me where they lived now. She didn’t know but knew a friend whose friend would surely know. Before we had finished coffee I was talking to Ginny’s boyfriend – now her husband of many years – and then Ginny herself. That was a night to remember and we had some happy reunions.
Sadly Ginny is now widowed and I have lost my foothold in the north so we see each other rarely but talk often. She told me she remembered clearly Alec teaching us to scree run down Great Gable – digging our heels in the sliding scree and zigzagging from side to side. I laughed when she said.
“I still do it Pat. Down our lane.”
Examining the past can be an uncomfortable experience, Ginny was a straight talker and I needed her take on it.
“Ginny you know I was involved with Andrew before the holiday. Did I behave badly?”
Ginny was adamant.
“Not at all Pat! You behaved perfectly naturally. Jamie was always the one. It was meant to be.”
Thank you Ginny.
July 1949
We were excited about meeting these famous friends of Alec. Both of us had pretty dresses, were burnished by the sun and were bubbling with laughter and anticipation. Even the boys had made an effort and looked unusually spruce. We ambled along the lane in the evening sun and saw in the distance a gaggle of boy scouts. One – a little fat boy in baggy shorts – was intent on scratching his bum. This amused us all but Ginny and I started that awful helpless giggling which persists the more you try to control it. I could hear my mother’s voice in my ear.
“There’ll be tears before bed-time!”
As we neared the inn a man recognised Jamie and said there was a telegram for him in the pub. All laughter gone we entered the pub to be greeted by people with very serious faces. Silently Alec’s friend handed over the telegram to Jamie, and I propelled him to a bench to sit down. As he opened it and read it he sat very still – the proprietor got him a brandy and we waited for him to tell us what was wrong.
April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter,
Then the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears.
Sir William Watson 1858-1935
July 2006 I rang Ginny last night – I wondered how much she remembered of our time in the Lakes. For years she and I completely lost touch with each other. Then I got a phone call from an advertising agency I used to work for. They had re-issued an ad I had done years ago and some old friend had seen it and wanted my address. They - quite rightly refused, but promised to pass her details on to me. In the event it turned out to be a girl I used to play with when I visited Gran. She still lived in the north so we arranged the next time we visited our cottage in Yorkshire, we would meet. Incidentally she was one of Gran’s babies and shared my Christian name – much to Gran’s disgust.
We had a pleasant dinner together and I told her of my quest to find my old friend Ginny.
“Oh!” she said “They used to live in the next street.” I nearly choked on my dessert and begged her to tell me where they lived now. She didn’t know but knew a friend whose friend would surely know. Before we had finished coffee I was talking to Ginny’s boyfriend – now her husband of many years – and then Ginny herself. That was a night to remember and we had some happy reunions.
Sadly Ginny is now widowed and I have lost my foothold in the north so we see each other rarely but talk often. She told me she remembered clearly Alec teaching us to scree run down Great Gable – digging our heels in the sliding scree and zigzagging from side to side. I laughed when she said.
“I still do it Pat. Down our lane.”
Examining the past can be an uncomfortable experience, Ginny was a straight talker and I needed her take on it.
“Ginny you know I was involved with Andrew before the holiday. Did I behave badly?”
Ginny was adamant.
“Not at all Pat! You behaved perfectly naturally. Jamie was always the one. It was meant to be.”
Thank you Ginny.
July 1949
We were excited about meeting these famous friends of Alec. Both of us had pretty dresses, were burnished by the sun and were bubbling with laughter and anticipation. Even the boys had made an effort and looked unusually spruce. We ambled along the lane in the evening sun and saw in the distance a gaggle of boy scouts. One – a little fat boy in baggy shorts – was intent on scratching his bum. This amused us all but Ginny and I started that awful helpless giggling which persists the more you try to control it. I could hear my mother’s voice in my ear.
“There’ll be tears before bed-time!”
As we neared the inn a man recognised Jamie and said there was a telegram for him in the pub. All laughter gone we entered the pub to be greeted by people with very serious faces. Silently Alec’s friend handed over the telegram to Jamie, and I propelled him to a bench to sit down. As he opened it and read it he sat very still – the proprietor got him a brandy and we waited for him to tell us what was wrong.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
For Jack Ben Ernest
For Jack, Ben, Ernest, Joe and Frank
As it is the 90th anniversary of the Battle of the Somme I am blogging a scrap I wrote in memory of my uncles who fought in France in WW1
Leighton Manor
Leighton
Lancashire June 30th 1915
Dearest Ned,
Papa showed me the letter you left for him this morning. It has taken me all day to compose myself sufficiently to write to you so please forgive me if these pages are a little tear-stained.
Papa explained to me that when the other lads in the village joined up, you felt constrained to do the same in spite of the fact that you are not yet eighteen. You asked him to keep the date of your birth a secret and I assure you he will do so. You have always been big and strong even when we first met when we were twelve. Do you remember?
I am sure the authorities won’t doubt your age and Papa and I agree that it is a very noble thing you are doing: to join the Accrington Friends fighting for King and Country in the war to end all wars. I just wish we could have said goodbye but I understand that would have been too painful for both of us.
For the last five years we have seen each other every day and although I realise we come from different stations in life; you an under gardener and I the daughter of the lord of the manor, I believe that whatever happens, one day we will be together for ever.
Since dear Mama passed away Papa has come to realise how important it is to be near one’s loved ones. That is why I was allowed to be educated at home. I know he thinks well of you and I feel sure by the time this war is over the class system will not be so divisive and people will be judged on their character and not their bank balance.
I am sending you a flower – not one of your beloved roses but a simple bluebell which I picked from Ramsden Wood today. When you see the gaudy poppies of Flanders (not to mention the Mademoiselles from Armentieres) I hope it will remind you of home. You should smell the white garden this evening – it is intoxicating and the moonlight gives it an other- worldly feeling. I look up at it and imagine you doing the same. Are you thinking of us at home?
Now Ned I want you to put the Kibosh on the Kaiser and come home safely. Do you remember our song ‘My true love has my heart.
And I have his. I am singing it now my dearest one.
I pray we meet again before the leaves drop from the giant oaks.
All my love,
Felicity
PS Don’t worry about your mother I shall visit her regularly.
ITALY
SWALK
HOLLAND
l
As it is the 90th anniversary of the Battle of the Somme I am blogging a scrap I wrote in memory of my uncles who fought in France in WW1
Leighton Manor
Leighton
Lancashire June 30th 1915
Dearest Ned,
Papa showed me the letter you left for him this morning. It has taken me all day to compose myself sufficiently to write to you so please forgive me if these pages are a little tear-stained.
Papa explained to me that when the other lads in the village joined up, you felt constrained to do the same in spite of the fact that you are not yet eighteen. You asked him to keep the date of your birth a secret and I assure you he will do so. You have always been big and strong even when we first met when we were twelve. Do you remember?
I am sure the authorities won’t doubt your age and Papa and I agree that it is a very noble thing you are doing: to join the Accrington Friends fighting for King and Country in the war to end all wars. I just wish we could have said goodbye but I understand that would have been too painful for both of us.
For the last five years we have seen each other every day and although I realise we come from different stations in life; you an under gardener and I the daughter of the lord of the manor, I believe that whatever happens, one day we will be together for ever.
Since dear Mama passed away Papa has come to realise how important it is to be near one’s loved ones. That is why I was allowed to be educated at home. I know he thinks well of you and I feel sure by the time this war is over the class system will not be so divisive and people will be judged on their character and not their bank balance.
I am sending you a flower – not one of your beloved roses but a simple bluebell which I picked from Ramsden Wood today. When you see the gaudy poppies of Flanders (not to mention the Mademoiselles from Armentieres) I hope it will remind you of home. You should smell the white garden this evening – it is intoxicating and the moonlight gives it an other- worldly feeling. I look up at it and imagine you doing the same. Are you thinking of us at home?
Now Ned I want you to put the Kibosh on the Kaiser and come home safely. Do you remember our song ‘My true love has my heart.
And I have his. I am singing it now my dearest one.
I pray we meet again before the leaves drop from the giant oaks.
All my love,
Felicity
PS Don’t worry about your mother I shall visit her regularly.
ITALY
SWALK
HOLLAND
l
WOOLACOMBE BREAK
WOOLACOMBE BREAK
Woolacombe is situated on the North Devon coast, above Barnstaple, and is a great place for family holidays.
Woolacombe is situated on the North Devon coast, above Barnstaple, and is a great place for family holidays.
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