Personal History

Castle Combe

A Personal History of Castle Combe by David Eyers

The history of Castle Combe has been dealt with in various publications. My task is to present yet another version, based on my own experiences dating back to the 1930s, plus snippets of information gleaned from others, including my own relatives. To put the matter into perspective, one should be wary of events which took place hundreds of years ago, with no one around today to vouch for their authenticity. One example concerns the oft-repeated story of Sir John Fastolfs association with the village, and the assumption that Shakespeare based his character, Falstaff, on this particular knight. I personally have no quarrel with his connection to the village through marriage, however, the Cambridge Biographical Encyclopaedia suggests the character was more likely to have been based on Sir John Oldcastle, who incidentally was born the same year as Fastolf, 1378, however he was hanged in 1417, whereas Fastolf lived to be 81.

My grandfather, Frederick Eyers on my mother's side and his wife Constance lived in Castle Combe from about 1900. He was the village policeman. They lived in the cottage between the White Hart public house and Court Cottage. I understand a cell exists at the rear of the cottage, the door of which is now in the local museum. Constance gave birth to a daughter, Mabel, in 1903. Sadly her mother died in 1906. Confirmation of this is recorded in the church register. I have not been able to find any record of a second marriage, but in 1908 my mother Freda was born to my grandfather and Louise Eyers. They had two more daughters, Myrtle and Marjorie.

I have no idea where my grandparents and daughters lived in later years before I was born. I understand they may have lived in Gidea Hall at one stage. I was born in 1929 in Bristol where my mother Freda was in service. Because other circumstances I was placed in a children's home, possibly in South Meads. My grandparents adopted me in 1931. At that time they lived in the main street in the village in a cottage which many years later becmne known as The Unicorn Gallery. Some two years later we moved two doors up to the cottage that became known eventually as Corbett's Cottage. Corbett was my aunt Myrtle's married name when she wed William Corbett from Marshfield.

He had been employed in Hurley's bakery, just across the road from us. My grand- father at this time had what was known as a small holding which he possibly rented. It was situated opposite the chapel at Upper Combe. My grand1nother died in 1935. From this point on I was looked after by my aunts Myrtle and Marjorie until the latter married and left the village at the beginning of the Second World War. During the 1930s many villagers had fought in the First World War, or had relatives who had taken part. The tragedies off this conflict were still fresh in their memories. The war memorial was also a stark reminder, if such was needed. Few people in those days lived to a ripe old age, however one old lady I recall in the Beazer family, could possibly have remembered the Crimean War, which took place in the 1850s.

I first went to school at the top of the hill in August 1933. The head teacher then was Miss Brockway, who lived in Chippenham. The junior teacher was Miss Gittis, who lived in the house near the museum. I understand they succeeded the Sully family, mother and daughter, who taught for many years between them during the 1800-1900s. September the 3rd. 1939 was a Sunday. As a ten year old I was helping the local dairy man, John Eels of Upper Combe, deliver milk in Chippenham. Between 11 and 12 noon people came out into the street and informed us we were at war with Germany. Because of warnings given previously concerning the terrors of modern warfare at that time, we were not sure whether or not we would suffer an air raid at any time. I believe evacuees from London had already started arriving in our area before war was declared. Most came from the Portobello Road area in West London. It was an extraordinary experience for street wise Londoners to be mixing with country yokels. They soon taught us games we had never heard of. Perhaps I should mention at this stage, having drawn attention to yokels, to the best of my memory, we did not have a regular village idiot. To make up for the shortfall, sufficient to say, we took it in turns. The evacuees brought their own teachers with them, giving us the opportunity provisionally to have the benefit of teachers well versed in particular subjects such as Geography, Maths and Art etc. The effects of the war were not felt immediately. It was some time before Bath and Bristol were heavily bombed. Then for many of us we learnt the real horrors of war.

Inhabitants from both these cities would come out into the country districts hoping to find accommodation for the night, or sleep in their vehicles, or in fields. They would return the following morning not knowing if their homes were still standing. Bristol suffered in the Bedminster district and at one stage during the night raids, Wine Street and Castle Street were almost obliterated. My recollection is of people from the cities speaking with hoarse voices, occasioned either from lack of sleep or shock. Perhaps I can clear up one story concerning our villagers' personal involvement during one of these raids. During the early hours one morning a bomb fell on the outskirts of the village. It landed near what I believe was called Shrub House, where the owner of the village lived. Many of us went to see the hole in the ground on the opposite side of the road adjacent to the entrance to a wood bordering the estate. A bomb squad from Chippenl1am assured everyone the bomb had exploded. This was not so. It detonated some few nights later. Fortunately no one was around. The devastation had to be seen to be believed, however a tree standing a few feet from the bomb was hardly affected, such was the unpredictability of bomb blast.

To the best of my memory only one member of the forces was killed during the war . Most remarkable, he was the son of the local vicar, The Reverend Appleford, who lived next door to my family. His name was Robin, but was known to everyone as Bubbles. Perhaps because he died in an air crash on active service, and not in action, he received no mention on the war memorial.

The Reverend Appleford was followed by The Reverend Charles Hooper who encouraged us lads to sing in the church choir, locals and evacuees. Shortly afterwards we received a visit from the Director of English Church Music, Sir Sidney Nicholson. He awarded me the medal as head choirboy, much to the chagrin of my friends. Such is life. Later in 1942 the vicar enlisted in the Royal Airforce as a padre. According to his obituary many years later, he was mentioned in dispatches, reason not given. From 1942 the so-called Vicar in Charge was The Reverend Arthur Wynne. For some reason the Londoners thought his name was Wind, as a result of which he was given the sobriquet, Gusto.

During our walk to and from school there was a reminder of the possibility of an invasion. A form of pillbox was installed almost opposite the museum at the bottom of a lane leading to some allotments. We often wondered at the time how the Home Guard was meant to stop the German hordes should the need arise. A piece of advice was given by the appropriate ministry regarding precautions to be taken during an air raid as follows: Should an incendiary bomb fall, do not lose your head, put it in a bucket and cover it with sand. True or not? I have no idea. Very often stories such as this were invented to use humour as a relief from some of our possible perils. A dance was held every Saturday evening in those far off days, this took place in what was termed the village hall, a 1914-18 barrack hut to the rear of the house to the left of the war memorial.

I left the village in 1946 to live in London with my mother until joining the army for a six year engagement, serving in Germany and Egypt. I have kept in touch with the village, particularly through the 'Honeycomb.' When paying visits, I usually stroll round the churchyard, a poignant exercise when I read the names on stones of people who all those years ago were the very fabric of village life. This dissertation would not be complete without mention of the Pullen family who lived in those days in the Malt House. The family can trace its history, at least I believe, for two or three hundred years in its association with the village. One member of the family was a stonemason who helped rebuild the local church in 1850 when it was in danger of collapse. Another member's name appears on the war memorial. Many descendants are represented by the Halliday family. Should I have ened in my recollections of the village's history, perhaps someone would be good enough to make his or her conection to the museum's committee. Incidentally my grandfather was born in the village of Heywood near Trowbridge in 1876.