07. Growing up in Whittle

Bay Horse Fields - Whittle-le-Woods

(George on left)

Our school playing field was situated in what is now Watkin Road, named after the farmer who farmed the fields. He lived at Kem Mill Fold, which was the farm at the bottom of Chapel Lane, previously mentioned. In those days the buildings consisted of three houses but now have been made into one large house. Later on, after I had left school a year or two, Dr. Charles Peddie, the local G.P. (who had brought me into the world) and church warden presented the field in Kem Mill Lane adjoining the River Lostock as a playing field. It was named officially “St. John’s Park” under the trusteeship of the two church wardens and a member of the local Methodist chapel. On completing our games (Friday afternoon) we used to race down to Cow Well Spring, down the steps and see who could be first to get a drink at the spring. That spring in the early part of the century and also the previous century had been one of the main sources of supply of water for many in the village, especially on Chorley Old Road. Hence the steps being so well worn. As a young boy, I spent many happy hours paddling in the River Lostock, which in those days was reasonably clean. I also in 1929 joined the St. John’s Scout troop and had many happy hours till I was around eighteen. We went on camp several times to High Wray in the Lake District. We travelled by any means possible, mostly on the back of a lorry or in the Scout Master’s van. One Good Friday we caught the bus to Scorton and then proceeded to hike round the Trough of Bowland, arriving back at Longridge, very tired after so many miles, from where we took the bus back to Whittle. We all had new pants on as the uniform had been changed from khaki to blue and the newness made our legs very sore. But on the Easter Monday following some of the troop went round Rivington. It was all quite enjoyable. Another time, some of us walked to Tarleton. We thought we had reached our destination, only to find we had gone in a circle and arrived back in Leyland; however, we eventually arrived and were made welcome at a relative of one of the lads who lived at a farm there and we all had a huge pint of fresh milk, followed by a paddle in the canal before walking back home. Happy days.

On Easter Sundays, during my early teens, Mary, my sister, and I would go to Holy Communion at six a.m., there being three H.C. services at six, seven and eight. Each service was very well attended as on coming out at six, the next congregation would be waiting to go in. It was deemed essential to attend Easter Communion, being a member of the Church of England and as a member one was expected to attend H.C. at least three times during the year. After the six o’clock service Mary and I often would take a walk on what was known as the twelve acre. One went towards the old printworks, which was in ruins through the fire of September 1914, but instead of going through what is now Cuerden Valley we turned left and went round what is now the estate of the Brothers of Charity, Lisieux Hall. We then made our way into Dawson Lane, coming back past the old farm, known as “Old Crooke”, now demolished, and then into Lovers’ Lane and so to the River Lostock and home. During our walk we would often see and hear skylarks singing away overhead and sometimes if Easter was late, one would come across a lark’s nest, as they were often on the floor near the footpaths. Sadly one doesn’t see any larks around now as, according to reports, they are a declining species. The collections of the Easter Day services were for the vicar to supplement his income for the year, as vicars were not very well paid. A different system of paying the clergy operates now.

During the spring and early summer, we always heard the corncrake in the adjoining fields, one of which is now the cricket field and another the school field donated by Dr. Peddie. Corncrakes have long since gone from England and I think are only heard in the north of Scotland. I was determined to see one as they were very elusive and good ventriloquists and their crake never seemed to come from where they were. So I went into the field one day and threw stones as far as I could and then ran towards the sound and behold the corncrake flew up, much to my pleasure. Cuckoos were also frequent visitors in the spring, especially on Shaw Hill Park, which is now the golf club. We could easily see the park from our cottage and standing on a mound, which is now, I believe, part of the first green, was a monument, erected, I believe, in memory of a horse. For some unknown reason, when I was a very small boy, I used to think that was the cuckoo. What childish things one imagines when one is very, very young. Even now, after eighty years, I recall thinking that monument was the cuckoo.

Adjoining our cottage was quite a large wood with many trees of different varieties (except horse chestnut). (The wood was thinned out quite a lot during WWII.) After a very windy night it was always a delight to go and find many branches and boughs which had been blown off during the gales. My mother was always exceedingly pleased when I threw the boughs down into the garden and she would be watching me through the back kitchen window. They were used for heating the oven in which mum used to bake bread amongst other goodies, as well as cooking the Sunday roast.

At one end of Kem Mill, there were two doors, one large one through which the lorry, which was used for transporting finished cloth and also bringing cotton to be winded and woven in the factory. The other door, a lesser one, was used for entrance. My friend Edith and I used to play quite a lot around that area and on one occasion Edith’s brother Alfred, who worked in the mill and lived in the attached house to the mill (the fire beater’s house), began to hurl snowballs at us. I made a dash for the small door but unfortunately dashed into the wall, causing a very large bump to come on my forehead, which was so big I could see it. I went home to my mother who did what was a common remedy in those days, smeared it with butter, and I laid on the sofa to rest.

Continue to 08. Mother