PERSHORE LIFE

    Cyril Smith. Curator of Pershore Cemetery.

  Excerpts from Cyril Smith’s Reminiscences, completed in December 1991.

He was born at Pershore Cemetery in September 1905; was Curator and Grave Digger there from 1937 to 1970; married Gertrude Allard in September 1928; and he died in November 1992.

 “I left school in 1917. I went to work at Partridges Flour Mills as ‘boots and odd jobs boy’, feeding the poultry and pigs, cleaning boots and doing odd
 jobs in the Mill, sack mending, and I used to help Mrs Partridge to weigh self-raising flour and pack it into baskets. I remember white-washing the Mill
 from top to bottom. I used to drive the sows and pigs to Mr  Pitcher’s at Little Comberton – some job that! I started work at 7 a.m. and left work at
 5.30 p.m. I had to go on Saturdays and Sundays; 5s. 0d per week (25p). On Sundays I had to clean about 10 pairs of shoes, feed the poultry and pigs,
 then home and Church at night.
 I left the Mill in 1923 to help my father in the Cemetery. My father went to a sale; he came back with a mowing machine with 2ft cutting blades. It was
 too big to push. Pershore Fair was the next week, so he went to the Fair and came back with a donkey – we called her Ginnie – and she pulled the
 mower. I used to lead her and Dad had hold of the handles. We did a good job. We had her for a few years, then one day she stepped on a jam jar and
 cut her foot badly. Well, she got better, but Dad wouldn’t use her again, so he sold her to a man in Eckington for his children to ride on.. So the next
 year he went to the Fair again. Back he came with a pony and her foal. She was a lovely pony; you could do anything with her. Dad sold the foal to Mr
 Milward. Dad only paid £3.10.0. for the two at the Fair. We had Dolly for a number of years and worked her for about two hours a day. We used to let
 her loose; she would eat the grass from around the grave stones. One day Dolly was looking down the Defford Road with my dog, Sandy, sat on her
 back. Sandy could not look over the hedge, so he got on the pony’s back so he could see. They did it many times as they were good pals.
 A few characters I knew as a boy were Napper Turvey and Bob Mann, osier cutters. The osiers grew in beds by the side of the river and brooks. There
 was Busie Coldicote with his horse and cab taking fares from Pershore to the (Railway) Station. There was Harry Langford, pig killer. He used to come
 to your house to kill your pig. There was old William Charnwood (known as Blind William), organ blower and bell-ringer, who died in 1921. William
 Need, verger at the Abbey for 46 years. There was John Knight from the White Horse. He used to brew his own beer. There was Marcia Green, and her
 little cottage at the top of the town. There was old Jimmy Ford and Peter Hanson (Mayor). Gummie Mason played the organ at the Abbey. Monkey
 Miller – used to get shirts and clothes from him. Napper Heeks in Newlands – sweets on Sundays, home-made ones. Barney Welsh with his donkey and
 cart, rags and bones. There was Mrs Brookes’ little shop in Newlands where we used to spend our pennies on the way to school.
  Mr Hemming used to keep a farm at the back of the Cemetery before I left school. I used to help Mrs Hemming on her milk round on Sundays with her
 milk float. Our last call was at the ‘Millers Arms’. Her mother kept it. In the winter she always had a glass of hot beer ready for me and a bag of
 Sweets.
 There was a lovely race course in Defford Road – thousands of people used to come to the two days racing. In the summer there used to be steamer
  rips to Tewkesbury, on the ‘River Queen’ from the Weir Meadow. I used to fish the brook a lot when I was young. I used to cut a long nut stick out of
 the wood. The line and hook and float I used to buy from Greenhouses shop, where the Co-op is now (No.8). I used to play with the Witt’s and Longs up
 at the Woodman’s Cottage a lot and we used to play football in the field near by. They called it the ‘dead sales’ because they used to sell the trees that
 were felled from the wood by auction. There used to be a cattle market in Head Street. Also there were sheep dips, one on Defford Road where the
 farmers brought thousands of sheep to be dipped.
 One day, my pal, Ralph Perks, the undertaker from Eckington, came up to me in the Cemetery. When I saw him coming, I thought ‘here’s another job’
 but it wasn’t. He said, ‘I have a burial at Wolverhampton on Saturday. Would you like to come? You can give me a hand at the burial.’  So on the
 Saturday, they picked me up. My old pal, Bill Woods drove the hearse, and away we went. When the burial was over, we had lunch somewhere between
 Wolverhampton and Birmingham. I thought we were coming home, but they said there was a football match on the West Bromich Albion Ground, so
 that is where we went. We pulled up outside the ground in the hearse. You should have seen the crowd’s faces.
 I have many happy memories of Tyddesley Wood. I used to help Mrs Witts pick the crab apples and perry pears. Old Daddy Witts used to have a long
 prop to shake the fruit. We used to put them in bags, then he would bring the horse and muck cart and take them to the cider mill. He used to make a
 lot of cider – good stuff, too! I used to help Mrs Witts pick primroses. She used to send them to market.”

More excepts from Cyril Smith’s Reminiscences – particularly his opinions on
fishing and fox hunting.

 “My best sports were hunting, fishing and billiards. I have been a member of the Working Men’s Club at Pershore since I was 16 years old. I used to
 Like my billiards. I could hold my own against anyone in Pershore in my younger days. I formed the fishing club there. We used to have trips to the
 River Wye at Ross. Many happy days did we have on the river banks.
 When I retired, Laddie Ballinger, Harry Perry and I used to go for walks in Tyddesley Wood. One day we went as far as the brook. I said, ‘Just right for
 a bit of fishing now.’ So we fixed it for the next day. I said, ‘Bring some grub – we have all day. I’ll bring a drop of cider.’ So off we went to the brook
 found a place to fish for Laddie. He only had a rod, so I put a nice piece of bread on his hook. I said, ‘You’ll be alright. Give us a shout if you want
 me.’ Before I got fixed up, he shouted ‘Come here, Cyl. He ain’t half a big ‘un.’ Down I went with the net. Just before I reached him, his rod broke. I
 said, ‘Two and a half pounds. Get hold of the line. Let him have his head.’ I took the line off him and said, ‘Put the net under him and lift him out.’
 We had some good fishing down at the rifle range.
 Another day we went fishing down by the brook. I caught a big chub, which I kept in the net. I said, ‘I’m going to take this one home.’ So off we went
 with the chub in the net. When we got home, we weighed it – it was 3lb. so I put it in a tin bath in the back kitchen, still alive. The next morning,
 when I got up the fish was not in the bath. I thought ‘That’s funny.’ Anyway, I looked around and found the fish under the dresser – still alive. When
 my son came home from school he said he would take it back and put it in the brook. I told him where I had caught it – he put it back onto the brook
 and away it went.
 When my dear Mother died and my Dad, old Laddie gave me a hand to dig their graves. Yes, old Laddie was one of the best. He used to have many,
 many friends – not only in Pershore, but everywhere he went. One was Mr John Bomford of Allesborough Hill Farm, who had a racehorse named after
 him – ‘Laddie Ballinger.’ All the members of the Croome Hunt knew Laddie.
 used to like hunting in the wood. I can only remember the hounds killing two foxes all my life. It was nice to see all the ladies in their top hats and
 veils. They used to ride side-saddle in those days. I can remember when Tyddesley Wood was much bigger than it is today – 365 acres – it used to come
 down right to the woodman’s house. Mr Blyth took a lot of it. I used to pick his black currents for him.
 My old pal, Laddie Ballinger used to go hunting a lot together. He would come along and say, ‘What about it, Cyl? Coming today? They’ll be in the ‘udd’
 today – they meet at Bakers Hill.’ We used to cut a hunk of bread and cheese, and we knew where to get into the wood to see the fun.
 Once, I picked up a lovely dead fox outside the Cemetery, so I took it in. I thought that it must have a nice burial, so when Laddie came to see me, I
 said, ‘I have a fox to b ury. Will you be the mourner?’ So I dug a grave next to my dear dogs’ graves (Sandy and Judy). Up the Cem. We went, with
 Laddie carrying the fox. He said, ‘Let’s weigh it first.’ ‘All right’  I said. So we had the burial service. Laddie said, ‘He was a good ‘un, wasn’t he?’ He
 was 16lbs – he was a big fox. I said, ‘The next time we go hunting, we will ask what the weight of a good fox would be.’ He replied, ‘If he was over
 15lbs he’d be a good ‘un.’ You know we hunting people don’t go out to kill – we go out to see how the hounds work and the horses jump, and a good
 natter to the farmers and others, like doctors, parsons, judges, solicitors, Lords and Ladies.’ Yes, they all go out with the hounds: they all rode horses.
 The days long ago were best, when we went on our bikes. A glass of punch at the Meets, and you were warm all day. I have known some long runs from
 Upton to Tyddesley Wood. Hunting is not like it used to be. Too many cars, now. They turn the fox too much. There are more killed now by cars in one
 night, than all the hunts in England kill in a year, and they don’t stop to see if they are killed or not. I’ve seen a lot of foxes, after they have been
 shot, with gangrene. I’ve killed more than one fox with it – not very nice, poor things. Hunting is the proper way to thin them down. A police sergeant
 told me he was going to work the other day – he saw four dead foxes and a badger on the road in about six miles.
 When I retire from the Cemetery (in 1970), I got a job at the Police Station. One morning, when the inspector came to work, he said, ‘Cyril, when you
 have time, wash my car down.’ ‘Alright, sir’ I said. When I was washing the car, I could see there was a hubcap missing and there was a spot of blood
 on the wheel. I thought, now’s the time to get my own back – they were all ‘antis’ (against fox hunting). So when I went to get their cup of tea at tea
 break, they were sat there supping their tea, when the inspector said to me, ‘Have you done the car?’ I said, ‘Yes,sir, but there’s something I want to
 ask you. I see you’ve a hubcap missing.’ At that, he jumped up and said, ‘One of your b… foxes.’ I said, ‘Where is it?’ He said, ‘By Defford Brook
 bridge.’ I said, ‘Poor old Charlie.’ At that he jumped up and said to the others, ‘Hark at old Cyril. He’s giving the foxes names now.’ I said, ‘I can tell
 you where he was going. He was on the way home to Rough Hill, and I can tell you where he has been. He has been to see his lady friend at Porters Ash
 beds.’ He said, ‘Come back to work. I think we have had enough of old Cyril’s tales.’

 These two extracts are offered with the permission of Sheila and Barbara Smith.