Before getting in the complicated procedures of the Woodcutts Spring Census, I feel that as an agriculturalist, who has been responsible for many thousands of acres of harvesting, I must say how amazed I was to see the harvest over so quickly. Despite a couple of wet spells, weather conditions weren’t that bad. What was bad was the uneven ripening of the crops. Those of you who have been blackberrying or picking elderberries will know what I mean. I am sure that a lot of the blackberries simply will not ripen at all this year. That is enough of trivialities, now into the minefield of the census taking, something far more complicated than harvest, and of course more important. So it is a case of from agriculture to demography. (I think.) The first action taken was the extensive fresh data collection. You would be surprised how long it takes to calculate each person’s age. It is very easy for the oldest and the youngest, but for everybody in between it has to be pure inspiration. This is particularly the case of the bodies who make no local contact and simply commute. Yes we have them here too. It really is a great shame.
Despite them the figures for this year are as below:-
| 1999 | 2000 | 2001 | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005 | |
| Total Residents | 17 | 23 | 28 | -- | -- | 27 | 30 |
| Adults | 15 | 16 | 16 | -- | -- | 17 | 20 |
| School Children | -- | 2 | 8 | -- | -- | 9 | 10 |
| Pre-School Children | 2 | 5 | 4 | -- | -- | 1 | 2 |
| Total Average Age | 41.84 | 30.56 | 26.40 | -- | -- | 31.30 | 30.00 |
The above figures were the result of considerable hard work and guesstemating. Now what can be deduced from these figures? The most important and somewhat alarming figure is that of the ‘total average age’. In the last year this has been reduced by 1.30 years. Taking this to a logical conclusion, if this trend continues for another 23+ years, the whole population of Woodcutts will consist of one year old babies. This is an alarming statistic, who will carry out the census in 2028? I don’t know of any one year olds who can write, use a computer yes, write no. What we must ask now, is this anything to do with global warming and that man across the water, Mr. Geo. Bush. I have a thirty-two foot greenhouse already; I certainly don’t want a bigger one, even if it does affect the American economy. If you can’t follow the reasoning, please sit down and think about it, when you have rationalised it please let me know……………………….
Sorry I went for a cup of tea, I hope you haven’t been waiting. Please note tea, it is Sunday afternoon you know. (A top journalist is never finished you understand.) Whatever happens here in Woodcutts I just hope it is for the benefit of the locals and the world at large. While thinking globally, I must wish our latest arrivals bon voyage, as they prepare to leave Woodcutts to start a new life in New Zealand. We wish them all the best for their future happiness, and pray that God goes with them.
Now back to the harvest. The Wheretheheckarewe Tribe are very embarrassed now. In fact they don’t come out when anybody is about. Apparently they can’t get used to not jumping into the air after every third stride, and they really look foolish when there is nothing to look over. They may even have to be repatriated, if that isn’t too painful. Anyway we aren’t sure if it can be done on the national health.
Perhaps they could be employed cutting high hedges. If you have a suggestion please send it to Mr. Geo. Bush, c/o the parliament buildings, Woodcutts. I am having computer trouble now; red wavy lines keep appearing under my writing. To be honest that is not entirely true, some of the lines are green. However it does give the article some depth. (Of colour.) While in a mood for confession, I must say how wrong I was about the long straw of the oil seed rape (o.s.r.) that the Wheretheheckarewe Tribe were was pleased with. After being chopped by the combines and then moved during stubble cultivations, it has practically disappeared. This of course refers to the o.s.r. straw not the W. Tribe. The only possible result will be the need to add extra nitrogen fertiliser for the succeeding wheat crop. I put in the last sentence to prove I am an agriculturalist, or if you like an ex-farm manager.
So far I have done the 2005 census, summed up the harvest, had the Wheretheheckarewe Tribe repatriated and found a new job for Mr. Bush. I expect you're saying, “Is there no end to his talents?” To be honest there is but unfortunately I haven’t got that much room even to start telling you.
Instead we will mention the straw left after the linseed has been combined. The original reason for growing the linseed plant was to produce fibre by retting, which involves cutting the linseed or flax, they are one and the same, and then immersing the straw in water until all but the fibre in the stalks remained. This fibre is cleaned then spun into a thread, which is then woven into Linen. In Ireland today, flax (linseed) is still grown for the manufacture of linen. The varieties of flax have of course been changed. They are chosen today for the oil content of the seed and the shortness of the straw, whereas if it is grown for linen fibre production, then it is chosen for the length of the straw primarily, with seed oil content a secondary issue.
Because of the very high fibre content of the straw, unlike the o.s.r. straw mentioned earlier, it can’t be chopped and left to break down physically. It takes years to decompose (rot down), and would in fact be counter productive on ensuing crops.
This leaves us with the question, what is going to happen to those heaps that have been created by pushing it together, presumably it will be burnt. This way the ash is fairly readily available as nutrient for the next crop. If you want to try your hand at linen production, get to these heaps quickly before they disappear.
..............My apologies, I don’t suppose you even realised I was gone then for a short coffee break, but if you did I have already apologised. Now I must go back in time to October 2003, when I wrote about the art of lace making here in Woodcutts. I am sorry to have to tell you that this year’s lace is well below standard. In fact the cabbage leaves are so badly lacerated by the attacks of this years large white caterpillars, that instead of a lace texture there is a resemblance to a worn out mop. If the 2003 ancestors could see it they would be ashamed, and possibly disown their descendent of 2005.
Now some diary notes:
Sat 3rd Sept. While sitting in the garden at 7.35pm. watching the sky turning greyer as the sun went down, Meg and I noticed the bats beginning to start to fly on their foraging expeditions. Suddenly we heard a horrible two toned rattle and in amongst the bats, a bird smaller than a kestrel but very similar in shape swooped past us in amongst the bats. I am by no means used to seeing nightjars, especially as we have no pine woods near by, but what else could it be. My money is on the nightjar; presumably one which was in the process of migration, at least that is what I would like to believe it was. My last definite sighting was in the west of Ireland some fourteen years ago.
I know of no other bird of this size with pointed, curved, swept back wings and a long straight tail in flight. So please leave me with my dream, that is of course unless you know better. Although if I wanted to go to tropical Africa for the winter, I am not sure I’d start from Woodcutts.
Sun 4th Sept. Over the past few days of wonderful warm sunny weather, we have grown used to the clear skies, so as the clouds move in from the south east, with a wind gusting at some ten miles an hour, the time almost four in the afternoon it seems inevitable that rain is close by. At twenty past five the rain starts, thunder drops, the size of the individual drops bigger than I have seen for some time. The temperature has dropped to below 60oF, some 15oF lower than the same time over the past few days. There is nothing like a thunderstorm, to clear the air.
Weds 14th Sept. We are now down to the odd red admiral on the buddleia bushes. There are again no swallows collecting to start on their migration to warmer climes. What have we done to deserve this? For the past three years we have only seen a handful swallows each summer. Up to then they were here in considerable numbers, collecting at the end of the summer on the telephone wires, before moving to south for the winter. Perhaps they have simply discovered that they can’t travel by telephone and take off from elsewhere. Now it is past bedtime and it is time to shut up shop, so I bid you all goodnight. Thank you once again for reading to the end and God Bless you all.
Summer Camp 2005
Here is our diary of our week in Wales………….
Saturday
The time had finally arrived and we were off on our way to Summer Camp 2005. This year the venue for camp was Llangattock, a small village north of Abergavenny at the foothills of the Brecon Beacon National Park. The mini bus was packed on Friday night so that we could hit the road early and get to the camp site.
The journey seemed to go really quickly and in no time at all we were passing over the Severn Crossing and into Wales – and no, it wasn’t raining like everyone said it would when you visit Cymru! Our little convoy of vehicles turned right at Newport, passed Monmouth and we were nearly there. Once at the farm it was straight to the field and on with putting our tents up. Rob told us that these would be our home for the week and that they had to be put up just right, otherwise it would get a bit soggy inside when it rained or even blow away in the wind. We had been practising putting the tents up at the Scout Hut before we went away on camp, so it was easy and we got it right first time. Still, no time for resting. The marquee, gazeboes, store tents and the kitchen had to be erected before we could even think about taking a break.
By now it was time for Tea and Jack and Ben took charge of the kitchen and cooked us all sausages, beans and mash. After all the travelling and setting up of camp it was an early night to get some rest, ready for a week packed full of adventurous activities.
Sunday
Today’s main activity was going to be mountain boarding. After practise we all piled in the minibus and made our way to the Green Man Mountain Board Centre near Brecon. It is at this centre that they hold the Welsh round of the National Mountain Board Championships and today we were going to learn how to ride a mountain board and also get a go on the championship course.
Before we were allowed anywhere near the boards we all had to put on elbow, knee and wrists guards and a crash helmet – we were all going to test this safety gear very soon! Chris, the instructor, then showed us the basic moves that we needed to know to get down the slope. First we all learnt how to turn the board left and then right. Then we learnt how to stop (and yes it does mean sliding on your bottom!) and then how to stop the board when you are going really fast.
After the lesson we were allowed loose on the slope. We all started slowly at first, then gradually made our way further up the slope. Those that were feeling more adventurous tried jumping off ramps and turning the boards 180 degrees whilst in the air. Some of us had shown to Chris that we were good enough to ride the Championship Slope. To get to the top we had to climb into a trailer with our boards and we were then towed to the top of the hill. The course was nearly 800 meters long, and just after the start there was a small jump then onto the steepest and fastest part of the course, then into the longer grass, under the tree and hopefully over the finish line in one piece.
After all the mountain boarding everyone was completely shattered. It was back to the campsite and time to chill out, practise some juggling and get some rest ready for tomorrow’s activities.
Monday
Today’s activity was mountain biking. To get a really good ride we had to travel 1 hour to Builth Wells. We picked the bikes up from the hire shop and drove to the mountains. Stuart and John, the leaders for the ride, split us into two groups, those who wanted to get wet and muddy and those who wanted to get really wet and really muddy!
Once we set the bikes up properly we started the gentle climb into the mountains. We had been cycling for about 30 minutes before we made it to the first stop, a large lake half way up the mountain. Just a short break to have a drink of water and for the two groups to split. The rest of the ride was fantastic, the group that wanted to get really muddy made it right up to the top of the mountain and the view was just amazing. Then came the fun part of descending the mountain, sometimes the slope was so steep the brakes could hardly stop you. The track then changed from grass to a partially dried streambed and then to a path so narrow that the brambles and branches touched your arms and legs on both sides. Sometimes it looked too narrow to get through. Both groups met at the bottom of the mountain, some Scouts still had some energy left so they climbed the mountain again on their bike (a slope of 1 in 4 in places) and did the ride all over again!
It was then back to the minibus and back to the campsite. Just about everyone was asleep by the time we made it back to camp.
Tuesday
After two days of activities on the mountains, today we were going inside the mountains to explore the cave system above LLangattock. Many of us thought that it was going to be a nice walk through some caves, but we quickly realised that it was going to be a lot more serious than that. We had to change into overalls, and into wellies because we were warned that we would be getting wet. Then we were all given a caving helmet and head torch, this was definitely not going to be like Wookey Hole.
To get to the entrance of the cave we had to hike about 1 mile. Then the instructor, Ian, stopped us
and said that we were there. Nobody could see how we were going to get into the caves as there
did not appear to be any entrances in the side of the mountain. Then Ian pointed to a hole that was
about 70 centimetres high and wide, this was what we had to squeeze through to get into the
caves.
Once we squeezed through the tiny hole the cave opened up and was at least ten meters
high and twenty meters long. Ian showed all of us how to work the torch on our helmet. Then he
demonstrated how to crawl on our stomachs because we were going to go into some really tight
spaces. The first ‘squeeze’ as Ian called it, meant lying down and because it was so tight the only
way you could move was by crabbing sideways and pushing with your toes to move you along. The
squeeze was about 8 meters long. Once at the end you had to twist your body head first through
a tiny hole, about shoulder width, and then the cave opened up again. Once we had all made it
through the squeeze, Ian asked us to sit down around the edge of the cave, he then asked
everyone to turn their head torch off. You could not see anything. Ian explained that this was what
it was like for people that use to work in mines, particularly the small children that had to open and
close the doors in the mine shaft. Ian then lit one candle, it was amazing how much light the candle
gave off after we had become used to the complete darkness. Ian then explained that this is how
the first people that explored the caves a hundred years ago would have found their way in the
darkness. We spent about 3 hours in the caves exploring lots of different squeezes but the best bit
was saved for last. To get out of the caves we had to crawl on our bellies down a very narrow hole,
then through a puddle of water and then back up, through a small waterfall and finally out into the
open air.
A lot of us said that we had been scared at some point during the expedition, but were really proud that we had got all the way through the caves and helped one another when we got stuck! Again back to camp to dry off, warm up and share stories of our heroic day in the mountains.
Wednesday
After the hectic previous three days of mountain boarding, mountain biking and caving we decided that we should have a quiet day to recharge our batteries. It was not all restful; we did go for a swim in Abergavenny and a quick walk around the town. Then back at camp plenty of games of frisbee and practising our juggling again in the unexpected sun of the afternoon.
Then in the evening we had a barbecue and some of Claire’s family and friends visited the campsite to celebrate her birthday.
Thursday
After the peace and quiet of Wednesday we were ready for the most strenuous day on camp, a canoe expedition down the River Wye. We launched our canoes and kayaks into the river at Holly Bush Farm. We practised ‘rafting up’. This is when all the canoes line up together and you hold onto the boat next to you. We then practised turning and paddling backwards and once the instructors were happy that everyone could control their canoe, we headed down the river.
The instructor showed how different parts of the river flowed at different speeds and how you controlled the canoe if the water was flowing fast. It was then time for the first rapid. We all got over it easily and were raring to try the next. After canoeing for about two hours we came to a large beach in the river and a small island. This is where we stopped and had our lunch. Before carrying on the expedition we had some time to play some games in the river. The first was called ‘gunnel bobbing’ and meant standing up in the canoe and bouncing it up and down to move it along the river. The instructor then challenged us to see how many people we could get into one canoe, we managed 10 and a half (it capsized as the 11th tried to get in!!!). We then carried on with the expedition down the river. The final rapids were definitely the fastest and the hardest to negotiate, we all made it through. Well, nearly – Chris managed to get his canoe well and truly stuck on a rock and needed to be helped off.
We finished the expedition by landing the canoes just outside Hay on Wye, completely shattered again but feeling great for yet another day of adventure.
Friday
Today was our last full day on the campsite and meant that we had to start getting ready to pack up. The weather was really good so we decided to pack up most of the tents in the morning whilst they were dry.
After packing the tents away we headed into Abergavenny for one last afternoon of shopping and the last chance to buy some presents for family at home.
In the evening it was the traditional fish and chips that we always have on the last night of camp and a chance to think about the favourite things that we did on camp. We all voted for the Scout that was the most helpful during the week and it was decided that Martin was the most helpful. The Leaders then decided on the Scout that had been the best behaved and most helpful during the camp and they decided that Nick was the one who had impressed them most.
It was then off to bed and our last night of sleeping under canvas.
Saturday
The week had gone quickly and now it was time to pack the camp that had been home for seven
days. We managed to squeeze all the equipment and belongings back into the minibus and start
the journey back to Handley.
We had a brilliant time on Summer Camp and now we are back at the Scout Hut. Time to start planning our night hike in October and then for our Summer Camp 2006, Guernsey hopefully!!!!
Endorse It in Dorset – what was that all about?
You may have seen the posters around the village, or read the reviews on the BBC website and in the Salisbury Journal, or even made it to ‘Endorse It In Dorset’ yourself, but what exactly was it?
‘Endorse It In Dorset’ was a festival organised by a private company. The land and Scout Hut were used to host the festival and the Scout Group benefited through the selling of discounted tickets to the local community. In total, the Scout Groups involvement with ‘Endorse It In Dorset’ meant that nearly £2000 was raised for group funds and a donation will also be made to the Village Hall. This fundraising helped pay towards taking the Scouts to Wales for their Summer Camp and means that the Group are able to continue providing to the young people in Sixpenny Handley and the surrounding areas.
1st Battalion, Dorsetshire Regiment
Life, in the summer of 1916, for the British soldiers facing their German counterparts from the dubious protection of their trenches on the Western Front was ever thwart with danger. Even during the comparatively quiet periods your average infantry battalion could expect to suffer in the region of thirty men killed or wounded every four weeks that they were in the line, while a similar number would be lost to sickness for living conditions along the entire front were not conducive to good health. Barely tolerable in summer, or when the weather was fine, the trenches in winter and at all times during prolonged periods of rain were indescribably awful. Where clay soil predominated the entire system, front line, support and reserve, all linked by communication trenches, became one huge area of slippery glutinous mud which during times of attack became a death warrant for many a wounded soldier desperately trying to seek aid in the rear casualty clearing sections.
To emphasise more fully the dreadful conditions that so often prevailed, a cavalryman* who found himself on the Somme in the summer of 1916, was moved to write in his diary that the mud varied in depth from six inches to six feet and the clinging slush of mud and water that gathered on the roads and tracks immediately behind the forward trenches, frequently pitted by a myriad of unseen shells holes, was usually eighteen inches deep, thus seriously impeding both horse and man in any progress. Furthermore, for those unfortunate enough to be in the line at times of inclement weather their time was spent living in an almost perpetual state of damp clothing and bone numbing cold. Thus, in such conditions, the entire process of getting troops from the rear areas to the front line, an exercise repeated with monotonous certainty ever four to eight days, was a hazardous undertaking.
These were the conditions that would be the norm for what remained of Private Card’s life. A bricklayer by profession, married and at 35 years of age much older than the majority of his contemporaries, Fred had completed his initial training with the home based 3rd Battalion and though I am not able to say precisely when he arrived in France it is almost certain that he was just one of the many from the 3rd Battalion drafted out to maintain the fighting strength of the 1st Battalion which had been on the Western Front since the earliest days of the war.
Since the turn of the year the 1st Battalion had been assigned to the 14th Brigade of the 32nd Division and by May was helping to hold the line near the village of Authuille. For the men of the 1st the countryside around them was not dissimilar to that left behind in their native west country, and particularly so for those who hailed from Wiltshire and Dorset for this sector of the Somme was dominated by chalk down land which supported a profusion of small hamlets nestling in the wooded valleys through which meandered the gentle waters of the Ancre. In time of peace a more tranquil setting would be hard to imagine, but now the landscape was pitted with the scars of war though, as yet, not devastated beyond recognition. The most noticeable signs were the trench systems which in their construction threw up unsightly crusts of chalk and it was in one such area of spoil and barbed wire a mile or so north of Authille and close to Thiepval Wood that a snap bombardment fell on the Dorsets during the 8th of May. Then, as the shell fire lifted their trenches were rushed by an enemy raiding party and in the fierce hand-to-hand combat that followed 19 year old 2nd Lieutenant Vere Talbot Bayly and a dozen of his men died. Such violent encounters were commonplace and as the opening day of the Somme offensive drew ever closer both sides maintained these dangerous practices in order to gather intelligence. Thus, in the second half of June the Dorsets came under increasing pressure as they served their stint in the line. On the 16th, privates House and Lammie were killed, while three days later Lance-Corporal Willison and Private Jenkins fell and within 24-hours of their deaths the names of Fred Card, J. H. Hallett and C. H. Loader were added to the growing list of fatalities being sustained by the 1st Battalion.
In total, 23 of the 435 identified graves (a further 40 or so plots contain the remains of unknown soldiers) in Authuille Military Cemetery are the last resting places for men of the 1st Battalion Dorsetshire Regiment, all having made the supreme sacrifice ahead of the battle proper which commenced on the 1st of July, 1916.
* These paraphrased remarks have been taken from The Imperial War Museum Book of the Somme by Malcolm Brown which I thoroughly recommend to all who have an interest in the Great War.
Postscript
The text of this profile shows Fred Card to have been a builder, the 1901 Census recording him as residing at Milford Within, a parish on the north side of Salisbury. The same Census records his father’s profession as being that of a builder and his place of birth as Sixpenny Handley, though in 1901 he, too, was living at Milford Within. This tradition of building was passed down to Fred’s son and into the next generation where to this day Martin Card is a familiar figure about the village and a respected craftsman within the building fraternity.
Prior to the issue of the last Downsman, I was contacted by Mrs Eva Rogers (whose attention had been drawn to my profile of Private Edwin Hobbs by her sister Mrs Hilda Randall) and informed that the Reverend A. R. Turing Bruce retired to Verwood. However, his years spent away from the church that he served so loyally were brief and following his death on the 18th of February, 1952, his body was brought back to the village and interred to the left of the main entrance into St. Mary’s. The stone bordering his grave is inscribed with his date of birth, 19th of May, 1873 while on the opposite side to this inscription are details of his wife, Dorothy Elizabeth, who passed away on the 11th of June, 1952, nine days after her 73rd birthday and less than four months after the loss of her beloved husband. At the foot of the stone are the words, ‘Loving greatly they were dearly loved’.
It is also appropriate to record that Eva and Hilda’s father, Mr. Harry Rimen served with great distinction in the Great War, soldiering with the Dorsetshire Regiment and being very severely wounded.