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Jack Hill was born on Christmas Eve 1926 at The Gables Farm in Desford. Here he recalls fond childhood memories.
Having a birthday on the day before Christmas meant that I never ever had a birthday party. However I did have a birthday cake specially baked without any filling but with icing and a few stick-on figures. This system lasted for many years until one day I discovered that currants and raisins were tasty and thereafter a normal farmhouse cake was the order of the day.
I recall the Christmas day I was induced to try a small portion of Christmas pudding with some custard and found to my amazement that it was delicious and asked for a second helping.
This last incident happened in the kitchen at Gables Farm whilst sitting in my allotted place to the right of the support post and I remember my embarrassment when everyone burst into laughter.
Let me explain about the support post. In the early days at the farm [before I was conceived] corn was stored in various places, and since the first floor construction over the kitchen and other rooms consisted of un-reinforced concrete laid over a formwork of rushes laid across the oak joists, a ready made smooth floor was available for spreading the grain to dry out. So it seems that the wheat or oats was shot on to the floor in all innocence or ignorance.
All must have gone well at the start, but I find it difficult to imagine how the sacks weighing a hundred weight {50kilos) were manhandled up the brick stairs, which were at the far side of the room. The stairs were steepish and in my time had a door at the bottom just to add to difficulties.
It seems that the build up of grain continued until suddenly a loud crack rang out and the central beam began to split open and sag. Panic must have ensued and a suitable prop was eventually discovered in the form of a gatepost.
This was hoisted into position without delay, the haste being obvious because no one stopped to think about appearances and so the post was installed upside down with the rough hewn base at ceiling level where it remained until we left the property in 1940. Just think of a gatepost with its rough section fully exposed and painted with gloss paint.
Being more or less in the middle of the floor the post dictated where the table could be sited. This was expandable with a loose leaf which was inserted whenever a large gathering was expected. Sandwiched between the post and the upright piano there was just enough room for chairs. The piano stool was always used by someone. This had side handles and a lift-up seat to allow access to sheet music stored in the box.
The kitchen was located in the corner of the L-shaped house plan and originally had a bread oven under the stairs but this was bricked up before my time. The fireplace alongside had a cast iron cooking oven to the left side and a water boiler on the right. The oven was seldom used for cooking except perhaps chestnuts and baked potatoes.
A gas cooker tucked into a corner was more versatile. The boiler, other than kettles, was the main source of hot water, and every afternoon it would be emptied when the milking equipment had to be washed. A wooden handled heavy ladle was used for transfer from boiler to bucket or tin bath.
The fire being open was allowed to die down every night and then relit by Dad in the mornings when he would sit in his armchair drinking a cup and saucer of cocoa. Cup and saucer meant that the overflow was just that bit cooler and could be sipped whilst the main body remained hot until the last.
The circle around the fire was a cosy affair but everyone else apart from Dad sat on hard chairs or the floor. His chair stood to the left of the fireplace where once a clothes-boiling copper had stood. A shelf at eye level [to me as a child] supported the wireless set and its array of wet batteries, which had to be replaced at frequent intervals by the Archer family.
The Archers had a new house and electricity, so could operate a charging service throughout the neighbouring villages. The charging room was an access corridor to the living room and so one passed by all the sizzling pots, which also gave off a strong acrid smell. Newspaper put down to absorb acid spill soon disintegrated into crisp crystalline strips.
If wood from willow trees was placed on the fire the sparks would really fly when the air pockets exploded, and recipients of hot missiles would leap from their seats. Mother was especially vulnerable as she always wore low cut dresses, which then had a modesty vest to hide the cleavage, and this device was a wonderful place for catching the embers. Just imagine the antics of trying to scoop out the offending sliver.
All wood for the fire was chopped by John Richardson {our man] but most was hauled to the coalhouse by me when old enough to pull trolleys. The timber was stored in the stackyard to dry out over the years and so was chopped in situ or in the stables which had a back door access.
The kitchen sink was a primitive affair cut from a shallow sandstone block and originally designed for clothes washing, and was supported on four rough brick pillars with space between for buckets and the like. These were hidden from view by a curtain carried on a spring rail attached to two nails. This space was an ideal play spot for me on winter evenings and could provide me with a tiny cockpit or a train platform.
On the left of the sink stood a large hand pump, which was never used as the water came from a storage cistern under the yard caught from the roofs and so considered unsuitable for use. Why didn't the cistern ever overflow?
Fresh water for all inside uses came from the water pump in the yard and this was carried in a bucket which stood on the sink or alongside and was ladled out as necessary. The washing up bowl was always white enamel with a few chipped edges.
Apart from the table chairs and the piano the only other item of furniture was a huge dresser with drawers at either side and cupboards in the middle for crockery and condiments, jams etc. One cupboard always housed a large pot of cod liver oil and malt and was available for anyone to dip into with a large spoon. In those days it tasted good but I can't get used to it now.
The wall behind the entrance door had an array of hooks and nails on which all outside clothing was hung and this area was concealed by a curtain hung from the ceiling. Memories of the size of the room are hazy but sometimes after chapel on Sunday evenings there would be up to a dozen people scattered around. Some, like Len Plant and Jim Durham, would sit on the edge of the table.
On one occasion Jim set his hair alight by putting his head too near to the gas mantle. Jim always had his hair well greased and this helped the f
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