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As an impressionable youngster in the 1930's Jack Hill vividly recalls a number of incidents from The Gables Farm where he lived:-
A notable one occurred to John Richardson, the farm labourer, when Dad was using a pick and John was holding a stake or something. The pick passed through the fleshy part of John's hand but seemingly never caused him much harm. No one ever said if he was rushed to Leicester hospital but John was able to display the scar for me to see.
After Arthur Hollick had an accident that broke his kneecap he was officially not supposed to do manual labour, but sometimes he came to help on the farm. He was on the cart helping to unload potatoes in sacks when he slipped and 'cartwheeled' over the edge of the cart and struck his head on the edging bricks of the steps leading to the granary. The action sheared a large flap of skin from his skull and this hung down over his ear but no blood appeared. He was able to push it back into position and it very quickly healed. He was almost bald so there was no complication from ingrowth of hair.
Once when climbing a tall tree near to the Dell I lost my grip and fell backwards into a holly bush. Getting out was the problem as I had bare legs and arms.
As a small boy I jumped off the wagon and landed with my legs bent but my chin hit the knee and as I had my tongue slightly out it was almost severed. I was taken to the doctor who prescribed a tincture that was applied twice a day. The stuff stung so much that I had to be bribed with sixpences.
Once, when the area was empty, I threw a rope over the curved angle stay of the Dutch barn, to try and learn how to swing without being sick. The rope slipped and I ended hanging down and my forehead hit the steel stanchion with a resounding bump. The result was a large lump of face hanging down over the eye and almost blinding me for a couple of days until it subsided.
On another occasion, when using the pointed tool that is used for getting stones out of horses hooves, to try and open a tiny pot of black paint, the point slipped, the lid flew off, the point became covered with paint, and the point entered the joint at top of left thumb and the spot is still to be seen.
A small gang of children including me was playing with an old four-wheel perambulator, two of which were large rear wheels. We were running down the slope past the Roebuck Inn . I was steering the pram when the occupants moved their weight and the pram tipped up causing my clenched fingers to be dragged along the gravel of the road. Skin and flesh was scraped away down to the bone but I was treated with a salve called Indian Cerate and I healed in no time. The scars are still visible.
One summer's day when half the village kids were at the mill dam near the railway station, splashing around in the muddy water, I was standing on the vertical railway sleepers which retained the water and the earth when I was pushed in by Michael Kenny from the Red Lion. My right foot was close to a knot and the force tore a slash across the soft part of the foot up to the ankle. When I climbed out and inspected the damage I could see the muscle was bulging so I wrapped my foot tightly with my towel and was helped to the station where a passing motorcar was hailed to take me to the doctors.
Unfortunately this chap was out so I hobbled home and called for Hollick through the front door. Mother immediately knew something was wrong. She cleaned the wound and coated it with the Indian Cerate but it took a whole month to heal. I was confined to an easy chair brought out into the courtyard. I recall Michael was coerced into calling to express his regrets.
The scar is still visible.
The shafting for the barn equipment used to have an extension projecting through the wall for the attachment of a pulley for a circular saw. It was just a nice height for me to spring up and then hang horizontally doing gestures. On one occasion I lost concentration, fell flat on my back, was winded and daren't move for many minutes until I was able to sit up and inspect myself for damage.
For several years we had a pond in the yard next to the wagon shed and then Dad decided to allow the council to deposit household refuse there and fill it up. This fill spontaneously ignited and burned with a horrible acrid smell. I used to try jumping from tussock to tussock. Many times I have missed my footing and landed in a hot spot, sunk down and got my Wellington boot filled with hot embers. Such a situation always promoted speedy reaction. The burning only stopped when all combustible material had been consumed.
Len Plant had an aunt who married Arthur Lines who worked at the colliery. One afternoon, whilst cycling home from work, Arthur passed by the chemists shop at Pickering's corner just as a lorry was proceeding towards Station Road. There was a collision and Arthur came off worst with his head crushed under the front wheel.
Everyone rushed round to see the result and after measurements had been taken someone went into the chemists and came out with a cardboard box into which he shovelled Arthur's brains. The rest of him was OK. Well sort of....
Joe Insley was my Aunt Lillian's husband {one of the Hill sisters, the others being Mabel, Dorothy and Constance} and he worked at the family wheelwrights workshop in Shackerstone. One afternoon when he was cutting some timber at the circular saw, he heard the door clang shut on
being activated by the lump of iron on a chain, turned to see who had come in and in so doing moved his hand and lost parts of all four fingers starting with most of the little one and graduating to the tip of his first finger.
Whenever I saw those stumps, I used to get the shivers and only three years ago could I bring myself to buy an electric circular saw. I still have to perform a small ritual before switching on the blade.
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