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Jack Hill continues with his memories of his father, who was in the army during the First World War.
He was invalided out of the army and returned to civvy street where the adulation of heroes helped for a reconciliation with his father. At some stage grandpa James bought The Gables Farm at Desford and dad was installed as manager.
This position continued until l928 when grandpa died suddenly in the Square in Leicester whilst sitting on a bench waiting for the bank to open at 10.am. He died intestate and so the affairs of the family were thrown into confusion. The two brothers Syd and Percy took on the job of sorting things out and one of the first tasks was to secure the tenancy of the Gables Farm by selling it to my mother.
A bank loan was raised and the title transferred. I presume that a fair price was agreed and that the other members of the family, the females, had no strong objection. I do recall that much acrimony was experienced since the 'girls', particularly aunt Dorothy, were convinced that the properties were worth a great deal and that the two lads were dragging their heels over settlement.
In some respects the 'girls' reaction was unfair since the two lads were trying to run farms at a time when farming was a very poor source of a living. The girls at least were either married with spouses who were employed outside the farming fraternity: Dorothy to Cyril an insurance agent, Lillian to Joseph a wheelwright; or like aunt Mabel had been adopted by the Cuthbert family who lived in Barnet so she was well cared for.
Dad was a very dutiful son towards his mother and visited her every evening to sit and talk about farm matters and finance. The house called Manor Farm was huge with some 22 rooms and a section of it was divided off and let to Arthur Richardson and his family. Even so, grandma and cousin Esther must have rattled around like peas in a pod.
As a child at Desford primary school it was my job to carry a pint of milk every morning in a metal carrying can to granny's door. I recall the distress on one occasion when I fell over and the milk spilled out.
I also recall the sofa on which I was required to sit, this had a very shiny covering but was stuffed with horsehair and so the spiky bits projected through and dug into my bare legs.
Bathing facilities must have been the tin bath on the kitchen hearth but this is surmise.
He continued in the farming industry until in 1940, when he came into conflict with other members of the farming community regarding the number of fields that had to be compulsorily ploughed for cereal crops. One such field was parcel 215, a four acre enclosure with a steepish slope, which could not have been ploughed by horses. The man given authority, a next door neighbour, instructed that tractors and ploughs be brought on to the land and the work carried out.
The drivers were only willing to use the tractors down the slope and so the furrows ran directly downhill contrary to common sense as this encouraged water run off . The first crop was something of a failure but authority could not allow itself to be thwarted.
The mental anguish incurred by this incident induced dad to sell the farm by auction in the autumn and move into Leicester.
The sale and the subsequent sale of farm stock and equipment were very traumatic and it was a great relief to move away. Life in a city street with a tiny back yard and another busier street behind it made for a very different existence. Fortunately the Western Park was only four roads away and there Dad found companionship and a new way of passing his time by learning to play bowls. He became quite adept and in fact won several minor prizes.
At the end of the road was the Co-operative dairy, which used to purchase his milk, and so he was often able to greet the men he knew from earlier years.
As a means of spreading his small capital after the bank overdraft had been cleared, he began to buy small terraced houses in the town and so for one or two days would be involved in visiting the tenants and collecting rents which in the main amounted to a few shillings per week.
This was absorbing and for the most part interesting except when the City produced a road improvement plan which cut a swathe through streets in the Evington Road area and several of dad's houses were included. The
valuation system at the time for compulsory purchases allowed for prices to be set to the advantage of the local authority. Thus, almost at a stroke, a means of livelihood was wiped out for him and many other owners as well.
His sister Mabel moved to Leicester and so Dad took to visiting her and keeping the garden in good order.
In the meantime, however the life at Gimson Road was very unsettling to my mother, and so it was agreed that a move had to be made. A house backing on to the golf course was purchased in Letchworth Road. The road was a cul de sac at the time and was very quiet, so the birds were more plentiful and life was acceptable.
The nearest place of worship in the non-conformist tradition was a Methodist Church at the corner of the Fosse Road and so dad and mother became regular members.
A disturbing turn of events came when the council decided that a school for mentally handicapped children should be established at the entrance to the golf course, and so very quickly the area became saturated with families who had disabled children. So it was impossible to take a walk into the park without encountering several distressing cases, and this affected my mother's well-being and willingness to go into the road.
This continued until about 1958 when my sister Madge was diagnosed as having cancer. The decision was made to leave Leicester and move to St Albans to be near to her and her family. Thus the house was sold and a not so good one bought in Hamilton Road. Dad and mother joined the church to which Madge belonged but the cancer took its toll and she died. Fortunately for dad, the house is very close to Clarence Park and its bowling green, so he quickly became absorbed into the club.
The challenge and the banter with fellow bowlers was a very good tonic and kept him going but eventually arthritis made bowling difficult and life consisted of sitting in the front room watching the world pass by and, when the blinds were drawn, watching the world on their television set.
Eventually old age caught up with them both and they moved on to the next stage. Dad died in 1978 at St Albans.
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