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Friday, 6 July 2012

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.

17 comments:

  1. loved your "flowers in the rain" post!

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  2. Hi John, I've just signed up as your 90th follower because I love your photographs, particularly the flowers in the rain :) Elizabeth

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  3. And then came television and the old men disappeared from the corners, the country stores, the liars' benches, and the whittle 'n spit groups.

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  4. I love photos of those that went before ...and the story of the direction he took governed by the fall of a cane is classic.
    Thanks for the good wishes for GS Jake ... he is out of the op ...waiting to know what the result is ...he has to stay in for 3 days ....his mum is feeling guilty that they went forward with the op in the first place as she felt it was best and pushed the decision.

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  5. Old photos hold a fascination with me John, they hold the past in a time capsule. So great when you know the people that are in them, a true slice of social history.
    J
    Follow me at HEDGELAND TALES

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  6. A talking dog... I'd love to have seen that!

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  7. Well, John, I have reached the age at which I probably qualify as an old boy, but I'm not admitting anything. On the inside I am still 19. But, going in whatever direction the stick drops does sound appealing . . .

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  8. I like the idea of allowing your walking stick to determine your destination. I don't use a walking stick (yet) but could put my monopod into service for that function - minus camera of course. Great post John.

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  9. Local History with a vengeance! At it reminds me of how small the world is - much of it could have happened here.

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  10. Lovely post, how fantastic to have a photo of your gt-gt-grandfather! So you're all set to become one of those 'good ol' boys' :) Are you going to grow your beard nice and long to go with your stick and your fund of stories?

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  11. GG Grandfather is going back a bit .... He sounds like a real character.

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  12. interesting history to recall. It makes me smile to recall also "I only remember her as an old lady..." (when she was probably in her sixties). I'm in that category too, but I don't see myself quite looking so much like those I also remember in my neighbourhood in childhood years.

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  13. I like your aunt's rueful remark about her wrinkles, and the way your g-g-grandfather added an unpredictable aspect to his walks. I can just imagine the goggle-eyed kids listening to Mr. Lander's dog talk. Those young whippersnappers on council will do well to heed the advice of the "old boys" in the future. Enjoy your new walking stick.

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  14. What a charming post John. I think every village had its old boys - they don''t seem to have them any more. Either they never get old but stay eternally young enough to do the garden etc. or they are always in watching the telly. My father-in-law lived to a ripe old age and used to get all dressed up in his best with polished boots to go to the Auction Mart each Friday. I always offered him a lift, but he always insisted on walking although he found it a gigantic effort. He died while sitting at the lunch table when in his early 90's.

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  15. Well John, I don't think you are going to make it this far on your walk, but we have one of those old boys here who is full of advice and old tales...

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  16. Fantastic post John. I can imagine the "old boys" coming alive in your pictures. I hope you do take-up the tradition, you would be perfect for it. Fascinating that you have an old photo of your family to spark your memories. Much of the interest in genealogy seems to be fading with each generation, at least here in the sates.

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  17. A great story-teller like you will make a good 'old boy' - though not quite yet, I think, 60 being the new 40 and all that.... Laughed at the wrinkles comment. Thankfully I don't seem to need the iron yet.

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