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The following childhood memories were recalled by Roy Scutt.
Life was not all work. On some days, either because it was raining or the farmer and son had disappeared, we were left to our own devices. As we were always hungry we used this opportunity to hunt rabbits. This was a combined effort.
Due to our familiarity with the farm we knew where the warrens were and how to catch them. We would collect dry grass or straw and stuff it in one of the entrances to the warren and then block off all the exits bar one.
Then someone would light the grass and either blow or fan the smoke into the hole. All available boys would then gather around the only exit. When a rabbit bolted someone would grab it. It wasn't always successful but we usually managed to catch a couple.
Under the circumstances that prevailed at the time, no one had second thoughts about killing anything you could eat. I don't know how, but the bigger boys always had matches. I think they got them from the girls who worked in the kitchen.
Anyway, the rabbits would be skinned, a fire built and they would be thrown on. Two or three of the boys were a bit squeamish but Albert and I would have eaten anything that looked like food, cooked or not. Mostly it was almost raw anyway. During the season we pigged out on turnips, swedes or carrots. Raw potatoes are not very appetising.
It was a day in mid winter that I made the biggest mistake of my incarceration on the farm. It was evening and we were in the house for tea. Joey (the son) was standing on the long bench that was positioned in front of the window.
As I walked past him he slapped me on the back of the head. He had done this many times before, both to me and any other boy that was smaller than he was. This time, without thinking I turned and hit him back. He lost his balance and crashed through the window.
Mrs Hooper rushed at me pulling me over the table. While she held me in this position Mr Hooper set about me with a horsewhip. The pain was excruciating.
I was screaming and as she pulled me upright I remember the blood running down my legs. I was then thrown outside. I don't remember the rest of that day but I still bear the scars. After that things got back to normal with the exception that I was no longer allowed in the house.
Many times Albert (who by now was known as 'Titch') and I talked of running away. We would look out over the fields, which seemed to go on forever. Where would we run to? The greatest fear for me was what would happen if we got caught. I would be certain to get another whipping.
One day, when we were left to occupy ourselves, we discovered an old bike that someone had dumped. This was a great find and promised lots of fun, which for us was in very short supply.
The bike had no tyres, no saddle, no chain or pedals, but we figured that if we took it to the top of one of the hills we could stand on it and race down the hill. This brilliant idea had one major flaw. Not until I was halfway down the hill at a staggering speed did I realise that there was no way to stop.
Across the bottom of the field was a hedge constructed of crossed wooden stakes and all sorts of vegetation growing through. The purpose of this was to keep the cattle in the field. Assuming that I would be speared to death on impact I threw myself off.
After that, whoever wanted a ride knew the consequences of failing to jump. We had the bike for some time, making use of it at every opportunity until one of the bigger boys from the village discovered our game.
He got on the bike to show us how clever he was but he never knew what the hedge was made of. He thought that when he hit the hedge it would cushion his fall...... it didn't. We ran back to the farmhouse and told Mrs Hooper who only showed interest because he wasn't one of hers.
As we started back down the hill we could see the boy still in the hedge. She shouted for us to run and find the farmer. Titch was sent in one direction and me in the other but we had no idea where he was.
I assume that he was eventually found, but not by me. Being truthful, I couldn't have cared less. No one ever worried about me. The kid shouldn't have taken our bike anyway. We never saw the bike again.
Continued in part 4. Roy Scutt, 2001
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