I was born at Whitfield in 1918, where my father, Harry Gulliver, was farm bailiff on a large farm owned by Corbett Bartlett. I often heard Dad talking of how he had to pay forty men their wages on a Friday night.

When I was eighteen months old Dad moved to the Grange at Helmdon, a farm he rented first from Magdalen College, Oxford, but which he was later able to buy. The Grange was a lone farmhouse, cut off from the village by the high embankment of the Great Central Railway. To get to the village we had to walk or cycle the length of a field, under quite a long railway arch and then a fairly long lane. It was a long walk four times a day to school, and no one stayed to lunch at school in those days.

It was a large rambling farmhouse, no electricity, only candles and oil lamps, and lanterns outside to see to milk the cows, feed the stock, etc., in winter. My father used to carry a lantern to light us back from chapel after evening service or from the village, but apart from Sundays we rarely went down to the village at night in winter.

In the kitchen there was a big coal range for cooking that had to be black-leaded frequently and in the scullery there was a huge open fireplace with a big straight chimney, which fascinated me as a child because at night you could see the stars up the chimney. There was no hot water laid on. Drinking water came from a pump in the courtyard from a spring in the field, lovely cold, clear water. There was a soft water pump in the scullery fed from a huge underground tank in the courtyard. There was no bathroom but baths were fun in a hipbath in front of the kitchen fire.

I have very few memories of my pre-school days but one stands out. I'm told I was nearly three years old at the time. It was "pig killing" time and on the red brick floor in the scullery there were several buckets of scalding water for all the necessary cleaning. I suppose I shouldn't have been there, but I can clearly remember making my way between them till I fell over, badly scalding my thigh, the scar is still there. Most vividly of all I remember sitting on the kitchen table screaming every time the district nurse came to do the dressings.

I suppose some could consider I had a lonely childhood but I don't remember feeling particularly lonely. Because we were so far from the village I had no friends or playmates out of school hours, and there was only my sister Mabel, who was five years older than I. We had lots of visitors to stay in the summer and I looked forward to my cousin's visits. For the rest of the time I had a constant companion in our sheepdog, Don. He was my special pal and I roamed the fields wherever I liked with him. I spent every moment I possibly could out of doors, and particularly at night time I always took Don with me to the toilet, an earth closet in the shed thirty yards or so up the garden.

We had a very large garden, mainly vegetables, but there was a path right round it with a willow tree at the top where I enjoyed playing. On one side there was a high wall with a flat top and in the summer I enjoyed climbing on it or just sitting with a book or game. Adjoining it was an orchard of about two acres, with apple and pear trees, three big walnut trees and damson and plum trees. This was the place I liked best, wood was stored in one corner and I made "homes" among the logs and faggots, or played hide-and-seek with the dog.

When school days began I was lucky to have a big sister to take me there and back. The infant teacher, Miss Page, was a very short lady who kept discipline by rapping knuckles with a pencil or if the crime were really serious she would use a ruler. My sister, in the senior class, came out half an hour later than the infants. In the afternoon I had to wait for her, sometimes in the classroom, but more often than not I spent my time playing in the playground with Sidney Butler, whose parents kept the shop near the school.

I can't recall much about the lessons and the routine of the days in the infant class, but some special things stand out. At Christmas Mrs Lees of Falcutt House always gave us a treat, usually a party in the Reading Room and it was here I saw the first moving pictures, mainly of Felix the cat. "Felix Keeps on Walking" was a favourite song of the infants. In summer we were sometimes taken up to Mrs Lees's house to a garden party where we dressed up and sang songs to entertain the guests. I remember being dressed as a daffodil in yellow and green crêpe paper. On one occasion we performed the Mad Hatter's tea party from Alice in Wonderland. We were coached by Miss Mary Barrett at Fountain House. There really was a little fountain there in those days. I was Alice, and Jim Templeman made a good Mad Hatter and Dick Batchelor an excellent Dormouse.

When the hounds met at Helmdon we were taken up to the memorial to see the meet. We enjoyed seeing all the horsemen in their red coats but didn't like the dogs to come too close. I remember one day several of the older boys played truant and followed the hounds instead of returning to school. At prayers the next morning they were lined up in front of the whole school to receive a caning.

There was always excitement when a rag-and-bone man came by and waited outside the school playground, offering a goldfish or some similar "treasure" to any of the children who would bring a bundle of old clothes back to school in the afternoon. We'd all rush home at dinner time and beg for some old clothes, and sure enough when we arrived back at school he'd be there waiting for us.

I recall being a bit scared of going under the railway arch and I would never go under while a train was going over. On one occasion I was so terrified my sister and her friend Kath Bayliss (who lived at the bungalow on the Welsh Lane and often came across our farm, as it was the quickest way home for her) couldn't even drag me through. Sometimes in dry weather a spark from the engine would set fire to the railway bank and on this occasion the fire was burning fiercely round the entrance to the railway arch. I refused to go through, so when there was a lull in the smoke they tried to drag me through but when we were about halfway a cloud of red smoke and flames filled the way out and I can still see it even today. I ran back screaming and we all had to walk back down the lane and up the Brackley road, past the station and across the fields, a really long walk to reach home.

There were things I liked about the railway. It was fun to sit on the fence and wave to the engine drivers and often the passengers would wave. The signal box was on the edge of one of our fields and I often used to go and sit on the fence below and the signalman would call down and chat to me. There were three who took turns in the signal box, two were friendly and one was grumpy, so I didn't stay when I saw him in the window. Sometimes they would let my sister and me go up into the signal box and I loved to watch them pulling the huge levers when the warning bell came that the train had left Brackley, or Culworth. It was a bit scary when express trains raced by making the box shake slightly. As it was such a long way round by road the signalmen would let us use a short cut to the station which meant crossing over the railway lines, but they were always very careful to tell us when it was safe to cross.

Another thing I loved was being allowed to ride in the cart early in the morning, when one of the men took the milk to the station. I'd watch the churns being loaded on to the milk vans and see the empty churns collected to take back for the next day. We had a very lively cob called Nelson and he was used in the cart for all the necessary road works. Sometimes I would ride in the cart with sacks of grain, which were taken to Astwell Mill to be ground. I loved to see the great mill wheels at work.

On nice evenings when Dad wasn't working late he would harness Nelson to the "tub", a sort of governess cart with high sides and a door at the back. It was comfortable to ride in and Nelson loved a good fast trot. Our usual route was to Radstone, through the fields past Cold Harbour Farm, then past the Fox Cover and down a lane to the main road and on to Whitfield. I loved the ride through the fields especially when the beans were in flower. The smell was lovely. The lane to the main road was beautiful with masses of wild flowers, especially Canterbury bells.

When we reached Whitfield, Dad tied up the horse, usually at Jim Baldwin's, the blacksmiths, and we visited a number of my parents' friends where I was treated to cakes and sweets. I was particularly impressed by the post office, where we visited Mrs Reeve. It was just a room in a cottage up a narrow little alley, and all the post business was kept in one large bureau. After leaving Whitfield we used to go past the mill and past Dropshort Farm, where my grandfather had farmed and then we took a very pretty road past Biddlesden House. I loved that bit for the road went over a bridge by the lake. We'd go through Biddlesden village and back on to the main road by Syresham then home along the Welsh Lane past Crowfield and Whistley Wood. It was a lovely ride and I looked forward to summer evenings.

Of course, many summer and autumn evenings were busy ones on the farm during haymaking and harvest time. Then I'd hurry home from school so that I was in time to help take tea to the hayfield. My mother used to prepare sandwiches and cakes for everyone and tea was taken out in a large can. Nothing ever tasted so good as tea out in the field, even if we did have to fish out tiny insects in our cups with stalks of hay. If we were lucky we'd get a lift in one of the empty wagons going back to the field, for the hay and corn was always put into ricks in the rickyard near the house. I loved the wagon rides, especially when I was allowed to hold the big leather reins in the rickyard near the house and shout "gee up!" to the two big cart horses. I often used to stay on the wagon when it was being loaded but I wasn't so keen on getting off the top of the ladder to climb down.

My uncle, Dad's brother, farmed at Hill Farm, and at haymaking and harvest they used to work together, pooling machinery, etc. Uncle Bert was the chief rick builder, and he used to encourage me to go on the rick and to jump and stamp about as much as possible to pack the hay down solidly. I loved the smell of the newly made hay, but I wasn't keen on going on the corn ricks, the stalks pricked my legs.

When the men were getting towards the end of the haymaking in the evening, my sister and I were always sent across the fields to fetch the cows up ready for milking. From an early age we both decided we would never learn to milk because we knew we'd be in too much demand in busy seasons, but we took care of the cooler. The milk was brought along to the courtyard by the house where a large hopper was fixed to the wall. Fixed below it was a steel cooler with corrugated sides, over which the milk trickled while cold water ran through the centre of it. Of course I couldn't lift the buckets and cans but I could make sure the milk flowed evenly and turn it off so the cans weren't over full. All this was out in the yard but no one seemed to worry about possible dust or contamination in those days, and a glass of freshly cooled milk was delicious.

As I got older I learned to feed the calves from buckets of milk; it was fun but messy letting them lick my hands in the milk till they learned to suck it up. I used to mix up the pig food but the men had to take it into the sty. We kept sheep too and I loved feeding the pet lambs from bottles.

Of course there were some setbacks occasionally in hay time. One summer it had been very unsettled and hay had to be "snatched" whenever there was a short fine spell. Sometimes this meant the hay wasn't "made" properly, it was put into ricks too damp or too green. I well remember Dad coming in once at teatime, looking very worried, one of the ricks was over heating badly. They used to force long metal rods into the ricks to test them and the rod had come out so hot no one could touch it, so he decided to cut the rick in half by taking a slice out of the middle. This meant an awful lot of hard work, but I can still see the result in my mind's eye. It was completely black inside, and the smell was awful, it hung over the yard and got into the house. We all vowed the food tasted of it. However it saved the rick from getting on fire which would have been a disaster for all the ricks around it. I remember coming home from school one day to find a straw rick blazing close to the house. The engine was there dealing with it, but that happened because an old casual worker named Iley had had his lunch there and enjoyed a quiet pipe afterwards and had accidentally set the straw alight.

We had a large barn and that was another favourite place of mine. Sacks of grain or meal were stored there and I enjoyed climbing on them, or shovelling up loose grain. When I was big enough I often turned the handle of the mangold grinder which cut the mangolds, swedes or turnips into lovely strips when were then mixed in with cattle cake or meal. I used to turn the cake breaker. Cattle cake came in large flat slabs about two feet by ten inches and these were slotted into a machine which crushed them into small pieces. I loved all the smells of cattle cake and meal and the mixing all together in tin baths. I'm not sure how much I helped or hindered but the men, especially Sid Humphrey, who was with us for years, were very patient with me. I used to like going into the cowsheds at milking time and watching the milk squirting into the pail. It was quite musical. I learned which cows were quiet and steady and which I had to avoid and when certain cows were being milked I had to watch quietly and not move about and chatter.

As we lived out of the village we were not able to join in many village activities. My mother, who had a good contralto voice, was a keen member of the Helmdon Choral Society, run by the Rev. Canon Bartlett. When she was at choir practice I was often taken to stay with an elderly lady, Mrs Seckington, who lived opposite the schoolhouse. I used to enjoy those evenings for she had a bead mosaic and I loved to make patterns. She and her stepson Will, a be-whiskered gentleman who seemed pretty old to me, were very kind to me. Will was a great brass band enthusiast. He cycled miles on an ordinary cycle to hear brass band concerts. He even cycled as far as Luton to hear the band. What amused us as children was the fact that he would pedal up quite steep hills but when he came to a steep down hill he would get off and walk.

Sundays revolved entirely round the chapel although, of course, the milking and feeding had to be done. My sister and I went to Sunday school in the morning, back home for dinner, then Sunday school in the afternoon at 2 pm. This was followed by an afternoon service at 2.30, back home for tea and then back to chapel for evening worship at 6 pm. As the chapel was over three quarters of a mile away that was quite a lot of walking for a little one and I often pleaded with Dad to carry me on the last part. Our teacher was Miss Nellie Gibbons, usually known as Aunt Nell, and we loved her Bible stories. The Christmas Sunday school party was a real highlight. As there was no schoolroom then, it had to be held in the chapel, so the Sunday school scholars sang, or recited, to entertain the parents, and there was tea, but the real interest lay in a display of toys and games laid out on a table. All those who had been regular attendees were given books, which we had previously chosen from a catalogue, but the toys were free gifts, and how we hung round that table. "I wonder if I shall get that doll". "I'd love that teddy bear", "I hope I get that toy engine". I don't think children today can ever know the joy and anticipation we experienced then, but to be fair there were moments of disappointment when a coveted doll went to somebody else!

Another great occasion was the long looked for Sunday school outing, usually to Wicksteed Park. That was a wonderful day, especially as in those days everything was free, with the exception of the trains and boats. The bus trip alone was exciting because we didn't have many of those. I remember going to Banbury on Sam Walter's first bus. It was twelve or fourteen-seater, wooden slatted seats down the side, and it looked rather like a Black Maria. Otherwise we went on rare occasions to Banbury by train. My first trip on the Great Central was in 1924, when I was six, to the Great Exhibition at Wembley. I don't remember much about it but there was one exhibit which impressed me very much. As we had relatives in New Zealand, we made a point of visiting New Zealand House. On a stand inside was a huge model of a cow made entirely in butter. I never forgot that, and I went home with a special ball from the exhibition. I was very proud of it, for it could bounce quite a bit higher than the farmhouse roof.

For the most part we made our own entertainment and I looked forward very much to the regular visitors we had. At Christmas an uncle and aunt always came from Northampton. I would meet them on the station on Christmas Eve, and as soon as they'd had a meal, out would come uncle's notebook with a number of words suitable for charades, and I would be sent searching the house for all kinds of "props". Everything would be worked out to the last detail ready for Christmas Day when we usually went to Hill Farm to join with uncle and aunt and the Gulliver family. Those charades were something special and we all had a hilarious time. One year I remember it snowed so heavily my sister and I stayed the night and in the morning we went down to see the men digging out the Wappenham road with banks of snow six feet or more on either side.

In August my uncle and aunt and two cousins from Luton always came to stay. An uncle worked in a gentlemen's outfitters and he used to look forward to helping with the hay or harvest. What I enjoyed was getting up really early in the morning to go across the fields looking for mushrooms that we then enjoyed for our breakfast. We all loved music and we loved to sing around the piano old songs and old hymns. I loved hearing my uncle's deep bass voice. We had one great advantage living at a lone place. We could make as much noise as we liked without disturbing neighbours, and on moonlight nights if there were recently built ricks available we would climb the ladder and enjoy a really rousing singsong in the moonlight.

My aunt and uncle from London frequently visited us. He owned a coach building works in a mews near Marylebone. His photos of cars damaged in accidents, before and after they'd been marvellously restored, always fascinated us. He drove down in a big old DFP, a French car I believe, but known to us children as the Dirty Frying Pan. That was the first car I ever rode in. Cars were very rare in Helmdon then.

Another cycling expedition we enjoyed every spring was to Plumpton Woods where the woods were all carpeted with primroses. I used to pack them up in a shoe box lined with damp moss and send them to my aunt in London.

I used to have piano lessons from Miss Wrighton at the farm by the Memorial. I didn't really enjoy these because her mother insisted on sitting there listening to us. She was a very tall thin aristocratic lady, always dressed in black, and I was completely overawed by her.

One other relative I haven't mentioned was my grandfather, John Gulliver. I learnt in later years that he was a bit of an old rogue, but I didn't know that when I was small. He lived in Helmdon and would come up to Grange Farm from time to time. Whenever he came he would take me into the orchard, find a few sticks and get me to knock down apples for him to fill his bag and every available pocket. In return he would give me one or two acid drops. It wasn't until some years later that I found out he used the apples as a "latch lifter" as it was called in those days. He would take them to the Chequers and give a few away in the hope that he would then be treated to drinks.

We didn't get many tradespeople calling at the Grange but a butcher from Syresham came twice a week on a motor bike, with the meat strapped in a basket on the back. A baker also from Syresham came up with bread once or twice a week. We were fairly self-supporting. We killed a pig and had our own milk and eggs. We made our own butter. I often had to do the churning, and we always had plenty of fruit and vegetables. We bought what groceries we needed from Butler's shop. I spent my weekly pocket money, usually two old pence, at the post office, kept by Miss Shrimplin and her father. I could buy four chocolate caramels for a penny and when I was rich I would buy a twopenny bar of Fry's Chocolate Cream. Poor Mr Shrimplin got very deaf and was quite a byword among the children. "Ay? Aporth of umbugs did yer say?" I was always awed if I was in the post office on Friday afternoons when the hunt had finished close by. The huntsmen would come in to phone for the grooms to tell them where they were to pick them up. I thought they were all posh lords and ladies in their smart red jackets.

On the whole I enjoyed school days, and I loved the bird and tree competition. Every spring we chose a bird and a tree and we were given notebooks to study our particular choice over a few months, make notes, do drawings, etc., and in the end we had to write quite a long essay on them. Book prizes were awarded for good entries. I loved doing this, especially as I could wander at will in the orchard and fields looking for my chosen bird and tree. Then the scholarship loomed large and life became serious. In the February of 1929, we had a prolonged period of extreme frost. Astwell ponds froze over and night after night we were all down there sliding or skating on the ice. I received a severe telling off from Miss Barnes, who assured me I should never pass the scholarship if I didn't stay in and do my homework. However, she was wrong, I did both. Perhaps the ice melted in time to save the day.

All in all, my childhood was a very happy one but I began to grow up quickly when I started going to the High School in Brackley, and when a year later my mother died life changed. Nevertheless we were very fortunate that my mother's sister came to take over, and looking back I can see we owe her a tremendous debt. She'd been a secretary in London, she'd enjoyed many of the city's advantages, and she broadened our horizons considerably and was a fount of information about a world we knew little about then.

Marjorie Watson (née Gulliver)

Taken from Aspects of Helmdon No 3