Childhood memories of Shropshire and time with grandmother Ann

So much so that, before his death in 2006, she encouraged him to write down some of his memories.

He did just that and Fran has kindly shared some of his thoughts of visiting Shropshire with us, particularly his time with his grandmother Ann Hodgkiss, which was 'very precious to him'.   

"Dad was living with my mum, Stella, and sister Carolyn and I used to go over to look after him," said Fran. 

"We would sit and chat and he told me a lot about his time with his grandmother Ann. He would chat about all he could remember of her and how good she was to him and how kind she was. 

"His grandmother was so good. He was a boy when he first went to stay with her who wouldn't say boo to a goose. He was sheltered and was of a retiring nature. 

"But Ann would encourage him and show him that he could accomplish something. That he could do things on his own and she made him feel he was somebody who could achieve something on his own. 

"Dad would talk about his family a lot and I encouraged him to write it down. He got help with my sister to type it up and his memories of Shropshire and agricultural life there came back to him. 

"I like writing myself and he knew I wrote poetry so he encouraged me and I encouraged him. He was always a good writer and could express himself really well. He loved Shropshire and the Clee Hills."

Arthur wrote: 

After the First World War, my family moved to a valley in South Wales. When I was four years old, my dear Mother sent me to live with my Grandmother, in a rather primitive, old house in Knowbury, a hamlet in Shropshire, just outside Ludlow.

As I grew up, I was led to believe that, because I’d been frequently ill, my health would improve more quickly in the Shropshire countryside than in a mining valley. 

Now I’m older, I believe there is a different explanation for this drastic separation.

I think my Mother was having great difficulty in bringing up a large family of six on the ‘pittance’ my Father was able to earn. I do know, from Mother’s own lips, that he simply couldn’t face his original intention of ‘going down the mines’. He’d only recently recovered from four long years in the mud of the Somme trenches. He’d been wounded on five occasions, although only two were serious. 

However, my own health did, indeed, improve. At the time my story begins, I was nine years old, going to school in Knowbury, and I was a reasonably fit, if timid, young lad.

Apart from ‘Granny’, the other people in the old house were my Grandfather, my Aunt Nellie – a rather stern, old lady – and Harold, my cousin. Harold was a fine man. He had two artificial legs, the result of a terrible accident while employed by the Granite Company. I admired him very much. He taught himself to be a shoemaker, capable of making riding boots for the gentry, as well as repairing shoes. Eventually, I was given the job of helping him with his ‘legs’, and getting him into bed. I was somewhat afraid of him; he was strict and expected very good behaviour from me.

One splendid Saturday in Spring (no school!), Granny announced she wished to speak with me after breakfast. Being, as I’ve said, rather timid, I was very apprehensive and waited nervously for my ‘interview’. Granny came in and sat in her usual chair by the fire. Granny was illiterate and I sometimes had to help her write the notes that were delivered to her family and friends. This time, I wasn’t required to be a ‘secretary’; it was something quite different.

  On this Spring day, Granny announced she wanted me to do something special for her – go and look for some primroses and violets and bring her as many as I could find (today they are ‘protected’ flowers). She had always, and especially, loved violets, she said, and that this was the time when they usually appeared. She was sure I would find some if I looked carefully. I asked Granny where I could find them. She smiled gently and said,

‘I shall only tell you this. Take the road from the brickyard, on from Bennets End Inn, stay on that road and eventually you will come to your Uncle Will’s cottage at Hope Bagot.’

 I knew roughly where the cottage was, having been taken there a year back, but I didn’t know how this would help me find the violets.

Granny said she was sorry she couldn’t let me take the dog, because the other two people were out that day and the dog was all she had to warn her there was anybody about. Normally, she never let me go anywhere by myself. It was all rather strange to me, but I would have done anything for Granny. She put some sandwiches and a small bottle of water in my school-bag, hung on a strap round my neck. Very soon, I was waving to her, as she stood at the door, and was on my way to the brickyard.

Soon, I’d passed the brickyard, joined the main road and had reached Bennets End Inn. There, the main road bore left, round a slight curve, and became extremely narrow. I wondered what I’d do if I met something large coming towards me. I’d already made up my mind to jump into the hedge if necessary!

 As I walked, I felt more confident. I still wondered why Granny couldn’t tell me a good place to look for my flowery ‘treasures’. 

Eventually, I decided to concentrate on the banks under the hedges. My pace slowed, as I looked to the left and right banks. The road ran East and West – if I looked over the hedge to my left, I could just see the tops of the granite quarries on Clee Hill. If I looked to my right, I could just make out the tall tower of St.Laurence’s Church in Ludlow. I knew I was right in this, as I’d visited these landmarks.

As I looked over the hedge to my left, I heard a familiar noise. Coming towards me, in the near distance, was a large herd of cattle, a man and his dog. They completely filled the road. What should I do? In sheer desperation, I pushed through a slight hole in the left-hand hedge and waited until they had passed. The dog barked at me, but the man called him back. 

My trial wasn’t over yet! In the field where I’d taken refuge were three large horses I hadn’t seen. I always avoided horses, except for Uncle Bert’s old, grey mare that I’d often had to catch and halter, to lead back to the farm.

I noticed one of the horses trotting towards me down the slope, probably after a titbit of food. I dived back through the hedge, feeling very cowardly. The horse looked at me over the hedge. Very carefully, I reached up to stroke his neck and his handsome head.

 Then came a small miracle. As I stepped from the hedge down a steep bank, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of yellow. I went down on my knees and, glory be! there was a very small clump of primroses. It sounds silly, I know, but I could have wept with pleasure and relief. I moved up and down the road and, after half an hour, I had a respectable bunch of yellow flowers. I put them in my school-bag and sprinkled them with a little water from my bottle. Then, I walked on, looking to the left and right for the main ‘treasure’ – the violets. Nothing came of my careful search.

 Persevering, I looked everywhere, until I came to the dreaded Hope Bank, which I’d seen before. Here the road suddenly plunged downhill. It was very, very steep and even heavy horses were rarely brought that way. My Grandfather once told me that this road’s gradient was 1 in 3, though, at the time, I didn’t understand what he meant.     

I’d just begun to go downhill, when I was sure I’d seen a flash of blue. Yes! I’d found the violets. There weren’t many of them. I had to climb the left-hand bank to gather them. There were not as many violets as primroses, but I had found enough to make a respectable bunch. I put them carefully inside my bag, wrapping both lots of flowers in some soft paper Granny had optimistically given me. Feeling ‘light-headed’, I sat down to eat my lunch with a happy heart. 

 Sandwiches eaten, I started down that dreadful hill. It was very ‘dark’ half-way down, because the tree-branches intertwined to form a ‘roof’ over the road, cutting out the light. Taking care not to slip, I reached the bottom of the hill. 

You may laugh at me, but I never got used to walking up or down Hope Bank then, or later. I came out into the sunlight. 

I was surrounded by lovely, green hills. In one spot, clean water gushed from a stone pipe. I drank greedily from it. On one side of the road, I could see five, beautifully thatched cottages and a large apple tree. On the other side, there was a small bank covered with wild strawberries – very small and very sweet. I took my fill.

     Overlooking this area was small, grey stoned and hundreds of years old Hope Bagot Church. Some of its walls are known to be three feet thick. The church can only hold about sixty people. My Uncle was its Church Warden. He told me that Oliver Cromwell had stopped there one cold night, during the Civil War.

     I pushed on quickly, past the boundary of Hope Court, with its beautiful gardens and squawking peacocks. In no time at all, I found myself walking round a left-hand bend, with Uncle Will’s cottage in sight. 

I crossed the wooden bridge over a stream, opened the garden gate and, ever so gently, knocked on the old, oak front door. Aunt Alice opened it, astonished to see me all by myself. She took me in. We had a lovely chat about finding the primroses and violets. She gave me freshly-baked fruit cake for Granny’s tea, carefully wrapped and placed in my school-bag, and soaked a cloth in water to place around my flowers.

     After visiting Aunt Alice, Uncle Will kept me company on my way home. I even managed to get a lift in a pony and trap, driven by a man who told me he was a friend of Charles Hotchkiss, a relative, whom he could always beat at darts in Bennets End Inn. I arrived home safely. 

Granny was very excited when I handed her the school-bag with my ‘treasures’. She gave me a hug and a kiss and I felt so glad I’d managed to please her – especially when she took out the violets! Granny added that she had been very sure I would be able to find them.

     We had some of Aunt Alice’s fruit cake for tea. Aunt Nellie declared that I ought not to have been sent out on my own. Granny only smiled and declared,

     ‘I did hesitate a little, but it was such a glorious day and he is such a very sensible lad.’

      No-one had ever said anything like that about me before. I felt ‘big-headed’ for about three minutes. Then we all finished our delicious tea and shared the story of how I had found the treasured flowers.