Old Boys

Those who travel regularly "by Stargoose and Hanglands" will be aware that the term "old boys" when used in these quarters can mean male persons of any age from little boys at their fathers' heels to ancient worthies leaning on their sticks; it's a local oddity aimed at confusing "folks from foreign parts". But today I'm thinking about the aged men who, their working lives at an end and unsuited to an indoor existence, spent their days wandering around the village or propped against their garden gate offering advice, observations and scandalous fibs to anyone foolish or patient enough to listen.

What started this daydream was the above photo sent to me by my cousin Julie, who is our family historian. On the left is my grandmother who was born in 1894. I only remember her as an old lady even though she could only have been in her sixties when I first became aware of her existence. In later life she complained "if I get any more wrinkles they'll have to iron me to see who it is!" so it's nice to see her fresh-faced and youthful. With her are her mother and, on the right of the photo, Aunt Pozzy, as my Dad called her, though her name was Posthuma, a name which means "born after the death of her father" - which she wasn't! I guess someone just liked the sound of the name.

But seated grandly in the centre of the picture, wearing his white whiskers in what was known as a Chiswick beard, is my great-great-grandfather, John Barnes. I remember Granny telling me about him once. Apparently on Sundays he would go to his front gate and there he would attempt to balance his walking stick in an upright position. Of course he never succeeded in this task but the direction in which his stick fell would determine whether he walked to chapel or to church. Sometimes he carried this novel means of navigation to its logical if lunatic extreme and took long random walks by consulting gravity's effect on his stick at every junction. He would often be gone all day, causing the family endless consternation.

In my childhood I remember old Mr Lander who lived at the Post Office and who must have been the oldest telegram delivery boy in the country. I remember him chiefly for the strong smell of tobacco which hung about him, the extreme hairiness of his ears and for his very elderly dog. This dog, the owner convinced us, could talk; for Mr Lander's party trick was ventriloquism.

Brod's corner

When we moved house to Grantchester the first person I noticed on getting off the bus for the first time was Brod Watts, who was always stationed at the corner in the photo above, for he carried a chair from his house each day so that he might sit and watch the world going about its business.

Bill's gate

A little further along the road stood Old Bill at his garden gate, on constant watch lest Brod should glean a priceless piece of news and become sole owner of this little nugget of truth (or exaggeration!). There were others too in the succeeding years, Perce, One-Legged Roy,
Apple, Mr Muggleton, all willing to talk endlessly on any subject.

And it came to pass that the council decided to put in a new sewer. Sage old heads shook wisely in the street and in the pub. "They'll 'ave trouble there," they confidently and cheerfully predicted, "There's an underground stream 'long there somewheres 'n' if they hits it there'll be water everywhere, you mark my words". It seemed pretty unlikely; the geology was all wrong for it,  it was midsummer and the surveyor from the council seemed to know his business.

After the pumps had been running day and night for a week trying to empty the trench, the prophets of doom enlightened us further, "The water runs through the gravel, it does, 'long the Coton Road then be'ind Charter'ouse Terrace. Used ter be wells at the back a them houses an' the womenfolk used ter take in washin' from the colleges in Cambridge, dry it on long old lines in the Meadows."

Back a Charter'ouse Terrace

Since  then I've always tried to heed the words of the "old boys" and hope that quite soon I'll be able to join their illustrious ranks. My Uncle Basil has made me a stick so I'm all set to venture on my first walk....

Take care.