PIG, PUBS, and PEOPLE : CHAPTER 5
THE WAR YEARS
The Second World War had a number of direct effects on life in East Haddon. Most notably, the Hall was occupied by a maternity hospital, transferred from Plaistow in East London. Many village residents joined up, and others contributed to the war effort in different ways. Farming was of course essential in this regard, to provide food to feed the nation.
Joining Up
Jock Cooper didn’t finish his last term at Uppingham School because he joined the Territorial Army. With war imminent, Col. Scott-Robson, Margaret Wrathall’s father, who commanded the local TA regiment, requested that Jock join him with an immediate commission. It is thought that he was then the youngest officer in the British Army. He served with the Northamptonshire Regiment throughout the war, and was in Ack-Ack command during the Battle of Britain. He helped defend aerodromes before becoming an Air Liaison Officer, flying with air crews on D-Day. He was later assigned to become an Auster pilot in the Far East, but before he could get there peace was declared in Japan, and he disembarked instead in Egypt to take command of a repatriation camp near Alexandria. Fred Moore was in the Home Guard when he met some of the troops billeted at Althorp, who told him that if he wanted to get into the Royal Army Service Corps he would have to volunteer, so that is what he did.
When I joined the army I was sent to Carlisle for14 weeks, then I did six weeks with the Border Regiment and then I was sent to drive lorries in Carlisle and to maintain them. I loved doing that. I was sent to France, Belgium, Holland and Germany and I have three medals, but there were thousands and thousands issued. We had to take the ammunition, food and clothing to the front.
Norah Greaves’s husband Maurice was wounded fighting in Belgium in the early part of the war. He lay in a field with a fractured thigh for three days before he was discovered by three men from his own unit in an area that was still under enemy fire. Maurice believed that the Germans thought there were far more British soldiers in the vicinity than there actually were, and that was why they continued the bombardment. He told his rescuers to count four shells before moving him, because then there would be a lull in the firing. Unfortunately, this time there was a fifth shell, and one of the men was killed. Maurice came back to England from Dunkirk in the last hospital boat that managed to sail home, and then spent a year in the hospital in Wakefield. Norah only managed to visit him once in this time. Later, he took part in retraining exercises, but collapsed during them and was invalided out of the army.
Elsa Talbot moved to East Haddon with her husband Paul at the time of the Battle of Britain in 1940.
I was soon left on my own expecting my first child when my husband went off to join the Royal Navy. He was on The Prince of Wales when it was torpedoed off the coast of Malaya on 10 December 1941. He was one of the lucky survivors who got safely home just before the fall of Singapore, but had lost many friends.
Dick Craddock was in a reserved occupation, engineering, during the war, but was eventually called up in February 1945.
I did a training course first, then an amphibian course. I remember that on VE Day we were in Derby and on VJ Day we were ready for embarkation, all kitted out for the Far East, and we still had to go. I went to India for a while, and then to Singapore.
Neville Craddock operated the first tank in the Grenadier Guards:
I was sent to Chelsea Barracks, then we moved down to Caterham Barracks during the Battle of Britain. I then went to Wellington Barracks. From there I was the first ‘horrible, dirty, greasy tank man’ – that’s how the staff sergeant shouted out to us. I had the first tank in the Guards.
Neville was in France after the D-Day landings and in Holland when it was liberated. Peter Wilkinson, who moved to East Haddon in the 1960s, was awarded the military cross when fighting in Italy.
Jean Holt has reason to look back at wartime with some sadness. She had been asked out one evening by Ron Gardner, who was due to go back off leave later that night, but she had turned him down because she had had to go to work. Nevertheless, she was able to accompany him into Northampton on the bus, and said goodbye to him at the railway station. She was the last person from East Haddon to talk to him before he left for the war, during which he died. Paul Capell remembers that a groom at Priestwell House, Bill Sims, was in the Royal Navy during the war and was lost at sea when the battleship The Hood was sunk.
The Home Front
According to Jock and Ann Cooper, during the war there was a genuine fear that in the event of a bomb attack, so many people could be killed that there would be no time to bury them all. A piece of land near Vicarage Lane was allocated as a place to put the bodies until there was time to dig proper graves in the cemetery. Fortunately, such a tragedy never occurred, but bombs were dropped near the village, as Jean Holt recalls. They were jettisoned from German bombers after one of their raids on Coventry, and one landed near what is now Covert Farm and the fire was clearly seen in the village proper. Another came down at nearby Harlestone when Jean was returning from work at the Co-op– “nearly turned me round that did”.
The Home Guard in East Haddon was commanded by Sidney Allen, who, according to Paul Capell, had been in the Black Watch during the First World War and had won the Military Medal for knocking out a machine-gun nest single-handedly. He used to conduct drill at11am on Sunday mornings exactly the same time as the church morning service. During quiet parts of the service, the sound of Sidney’s voice bellowing out commands could be clearly heard. According to Ann Cooper, her father, who was Home Guard commander for the area, had more trouble keeping the peace between Sidney Allen and the vicar, Canon Keysell, than with anything else! Fortunately, an amicable agreement was reached through the intervention of Jock Cooper’s father, who managed to persuade Sidney to change the time of the drill to 10.30.
George Page was in the Home Guard from the beginning of the war, and was initially exempt from call-up because he worked for his uncle, Mr Beckett, the wheelwright, whose business was linked to agriculture. He was eventually called up in 1943 when he was 20 years old. Ken Craddock was also in a reserved occupation, and joined the Home Guard:
I can recall on one occasion when we were required to walk into Kingsthorpe on one Sunday morning. We weren’t marching so much as supposed to be crawling along through the undergrowth, so ready to surprise an attack! When we got to Kingsthorpe we were all very hot and dry and our sergeant, Sid Allen, bought us all a pint at the Cock Hotel. It was my first taste of beer and I thought it was awful, and even though I was really thirsty I poured it down the drain! I can remember one or two more excursions, spending the night in ditches etc. in Ravensthorpe. I thought it was like playing at soldiers!
Dick Craddock remembers Armistice Day parades behind the Hall: “Mr Scott-Robson, who inspected us, told us we all needed a haircut!” Fred Moore has memories of the Home Guard before he was called up to the regular army.
I was on fire watch and I used to walk round the village to make sure there were no fires. I remember Vic Allibone coming home on leave one day when we doing an exercise at Althorp Station and somebody said: “Halt! Who goes there?” and Vic was walking home from Northampton and he said: “Hang on, I’ll come down and see who you are.”
The Observer Corps
Joe Cadd was in the Observer Corps throughout the war and was granted the Royal Observer Corps medal with bar, and received a letter from the Home Secretary. His eyesight was perfect, so he was ideal for the job, and his descriptions of aircraft were always accurate. The village post for the Observer Corps (Picture) was established near Tire Hill under the command of Jock Cooper’s father. They were in direct communication with Observer Headquarters in Bedford, and through them with the Air Ministry. It was important to identify both German and Allied aircraft and they had to plot all air movements. Ken Craddock’s father was in the Observer Corps, and one day when Ken took him his dinner on a Sunday night he caught sight of what he thought was a German aeroplane through a break in the clouds. His father confirmed that it was indeed German. It was later also spotted by Duston Observer Corps, and tracked all the way to the coast before being shot down. Ken found out that the sighting over East Haddon had been the first of this particular aircraft: “This was my only claim to war action.” His brother Dick recalls enemy aircraft flying over East Haddon on their way to bomb Coventry, and Allied aircraft returning from raids to the aerodrome at Harrington “sometimes struggling to get there”.
Feeding the Nation
The Spencers moved to East Haddon in 1940 to farm 250 acres, and immediately became aware of the problems of farming during wartime. As Nancy Spencer recalls, “Everything was rationed. Petrol was allowed for work only... We shot rabbits and laid them out on the roadside so that people could come and get them. These helped supplement the meagre meat ration.” They employed two cowmen, one waggoner and a tractor driver, and they also had help from two land girls, based at a camp in Church Brampton, two Italian prisoners-of-war, and some schoolboys, who could set up stacks of corn, pick up potatoes, and other minor tasks. Mrs Spencer remembered that one of the land girls, from London, was sent one day to pick blackcurrants in the garden. She was gone a very long time, and later found asleep under a bush. It was apparent that she had been picking each berry individually, and was consequently replaced! It was later reported that she had been murdered at the camp in Church Brampton. Mrs Spencer remembered life during the war as “very restricted and parochial”.
We helped raise money for charities such as the Spitfire Fund by holding whist drives, fetes etc. Wives made rolled up suet crust puddings with potatoes, onions and lots of meat and chutney in one end and jam in the other, all wrapped in cloth and placed near the threshing machine fire to get warm for midday. I used to send a bucketful of cocoa made with milk – there were no Thermos flasks in those days so they drank cold tea from the bottle.
Hilda Craddock was very active in the Women’s Institute, and during the war the organisation was much in demand for its traditional jam-making and other forms of fruit preserving, which were necessary for the war effort.
As elsewhere, there were fears in East Haddon during the war about food shortages. Reserves consisting of bully beef, dry biscuits, sugar and tea were stored in stables at Brook Hill and checked every Sunday morning to make sure everything was in order. Mr Ackroyd and the Post Office shop used to take an inventory once a month to ensure that nothing had been stolen. Rationing meant that luxuries had to be foregone, but it was not all doom and gloom. Daphne Walding (née Snow):
I can remember my Mum giving me the page out of the ration book for sweets. You got a pound and a quarter a month or something like that. You could have a quarter a week and then at the end of the month you could have half a pound! I remember sherbet lemons and sugar bonbons in jars along the top shelf.
Elsa Talbot remembers “treats” during the war, such as fresh eggs from the farms and tomatoes and strawberries from The Hall garden grown by Lavender Scott-Robson and David Muddiman’s father.
Evacuees (Picture)
Children were not as affected by the wartime restrictions and hardships as the adults. Anne Leatherland has few memories of the war:
I do not really remember the Second World War except sometimes we went into the cupboard under the stairs when we heard the planes going to bomb Coventry. We had a family of evacuees staying with us for a while. I was too young to remember the full horror of it all.
Evacuees from the East End of London were brought up to East Haddon and taken to the Village Institute, where people from the village came to “select” the ones they wanted to take in. The new arrivals inevitably found some things about village life difficult. Some would not drink the milk they were given, because it came direct from the cow in a can and they were used to it being in bottles. Some had no idea how milk originated before they came to the country. Fred Moore remembers that the first two evacuees his family received initially refused to eat anything for dinner except fish and chips.
Maurice Fletcher remembers evacuees coming to stay with his family during the war. One arrived later in the war from London and was used to the horrors of the bombing.
One Sunday night he leapt out of bed and shouted that there was a Doodlebug overhead. This Doodlebug landed at Creaton but he knew what it was before it even got there. There were a lot of planes flying over to Coventry but the Doodlebugs made a totally different noise and he recognised it.
Paul Capell’s family also had evacuees:
We had two boys for a start. They each came with a tin of condensed milk and a tin of corned beef. We had Len Rivers from Hackney Wick and Sam Lawrence... One was a Jewish lad and, of course, we had a visit from Canon Keysell to lecture us on different faiths. Then we had Gerald Wheatley. His parents had split up and his father, Alan Wheatley, was an actor... Len’s brother was a sergeant pilot stationed at Anstey. He would often circle around in his Tiger Moth. He would often come up at weekends. Len’s parents would arrive and his mother would load them up with goodies, bacon and eggs to take home with them. Anyway, we three boys slept in one bed. It was really cramped... We all ate the same food because, of course, we kept pigs, so Sam Lawrence [the Jewish lad] ate bacon... Gerald Wheatley couldn’t read when he came to us and mother taught him to read... He worked for Mr Burr in the Hall Gardens when he left school and then his mother came one day and said: “Oh, he’s earning money – I want him back”... He was about ten when he arrived and was here until after he left school. Then he went to Palestine during the troubles there in 1947 and he was killed there.
Daphne Walding remembers that the evacuees attended the village school and that a teacher called Mr Dorline was sent from London to help teach them all. She says her sister still corresponds with some of the evacuees, and one from Enfield occasionally visits them. According to Elsa Talbot, there were so many children at the village school that there had to be morning and afternoon shifts for them.
Michael French was living in Northampton during the war, but he actually came to East Haddon for a holiday. Towards the end of the war, people were encouraged to have holidays “at home”, and so he spent a week or two with Mrs Snow (Daphne Walding’s mother) in her bungalow.
There was a home for handicapped children in the now-demolished Priestwell House. In the First World War it had been a convalescent home for Canadian soldiers. East Haddon Hall was also used as a hospital during WW1 - Picture.
Maternity Hospital Recollections
During the war, Plaistow maternity hospital in East London was evacuated and transferred to East Haddon Hall. The Hall was requisitioned on 1st June 1940 and Margaret Wrathall’s family moved out into The Gables, between the Old Bakery and Well Cottage, but her mother, Mrs Scott-Robson, took care of the administration at the hospital. The nursing staff (Picture) at the hospital all came from London as a unit, and the domestic staff were provided by St John’s Ambulance, the majority being unpaid volunteers. There was no doctor on the staff, although a doctor from Northampton conducted a weekly antenatal clinic there; a doctor from Long Buckby was sometimes called in if necessary, for example to apply stitches after a birth. On the ground floor there were eight wards and two nurses for the newborn babies, with a further three wards including the two labour wards upstairs. There were on average 30 women patients in the hospital at any one time, from surrounding villages as well as from the East London catchment area. The latter were evacuated four to six weeks before their babies were due, and they remained in the hospital for about 10-14 days after giving birth.
The domestic staff at the hospital were all local women – around five paid staff plus volunteers (farmer’s wives and others) from neighbouring villages. They did all the cleaning and cooking for the patients and the staff, and would cover nights as well as days. Their duties included keeping the coal fires going in the two nurseries. One of the babies born in the Hall hospital during the war was David Muddiman, whose father was gardener for the Scott-Robsons. The family were then living in a flat above the stables. Ernest Poole was also born in the hospital, in 1942, as was Marjorie Wightman’s second child, Roger.
Jean Holt: Ward Maid
Mrs Scott-Robson asked Jean Holt to go to work at the Hall as a ward maid. She worked from 8am until noon, and as able to keep her job at the Co-op. Mrs Scott-Robson said that she would guarantee Jean a full-time job when the call-up came, and she worked there until the hospital closed. She loved working with the cook, Mrs Gardner. Once or twice she had to interrupt her meals to answer the telephone and tell someone how their wife or girlfriend was progressing. Often the man had an American accent! Her food was sometimes cold when she got back to it, because she kept having to go upstairs from the telephone to speak to the nurse on duty to find out how the patient was. Jean remembers a driver from the hospital arriving at the door one night with a woman in labour when the nurses were all having dinner. He said: “Here you are – better get her upstairs fast [to the labour ward]”, but then he disappeared leaving her to get the rather large woman upstairs by herself. At one point, she leaned so heavily on Jean that they both nearly fell down the stairs. They made it to the ward just in time – the staff nurse arrived and the baby was born five minutes later.
According to Jean, the hospital could “at a pinch” take 50 patients at a time, using the top floor as well when absolutely necessary. Among the many births in the hospital during the war, she remembers a number of stillbirths, and on one occasion a mother and baby both died in childbirth. Jean says it was a very sad occasion, that affected all the staff. Unless the babies that died had lived for a certain amount of time they were not regarded as having had a separate existence and their bodies were not allowed to be buried in consecrated ground.
I was upstairs one night and Mr Brown [the undertaker] was along the back corridor and he said: “Hello Jean, I’ve come for the damage,” so I got a nurse to see him. It was very upsetting for me because they used to put the little bodies all wrapped up in my broom cupboard. The babies used to be put in a little coffin which was draped in a black sheet and Mr Brown took them away in the middle of the night and buried them under the hedge behind the Bier House up at the cemetery. They were in unmarked graves.
Another baby born at the hospital, named Victor Haddon Mead, died after he had been in London for a few months, and was brought back to be buried in the cemetery. One mother who had been at the hospital and lived the rest of her life in London died a few years ago, and her family brought some of her ashes to be scattered in the churchyard because she had always said how happy her time at East Haddon had been.
The cooking at the hospital was all done on a huge coal-fired Aga. One Sunday, one of the staff, Mrs Hickman, was cooking lunch when Jean heard her screaming: “The oven’s on fire – and it was, because the dripping from the roast was burning. Jean shouted to her to close the oven door, but she was too frightened to, and so Jean slammed the door herself. The fire was out within a few moments, but Mrs Hickman was still shaking like a leaf. The food was generally much better than anything the general population was able to eat, although the menu was rather repetitive. Jean hated Monday’s fare: cold meat from the previous day’s roast with jacket potatoes, beetroot and cheese sauce! Canadian dried milk powder was provided for the women in the hospital, and Jean maintains that it made the most wonderful milk puddings she has ever tasted. Although Jean was well fed at the hospital itself, this did not help her family eke out the rations. “I always used to eat again when I came home – I could really eat in those days! The work at the hospital was quite strenuous, so it made you hungry.”
One day, Jean and another woman on the domestic staff were sent to get a box of apples from the Cooper’s orchard. The quickest way to the Coopers was through “the jungle” – a patch of land deliberately left wild, stretching from behind the Hall towards the Ravensthorpe Road. They successfully negotiated the path and picked up the apples, but on their way back they were pursued by the coopers’ pure-bred Rhode Island Red cockerels. They were very aggressive, so the women had to run for it. They just made it over the fence back to the Hall, but refused to go by that route ever again!
Another incident that Jean recalls was when she was asked by Mrs Gardner, the cook, to carry the vegetables to the dining room for the staff lunch. She had a plate in each hand, one with green vegetables and the other with mashed potatoes, beautifully shaped on the plate with a palette knife. Nobody told her that the dining room floor had just been polished, and she slipped and dropped both plates. Fortunately, Mrs Gardner had enough extra vegetables in the kitchen, but the big brass bell used for calling the staff to lunch was rung a little late that day!
Jean recalls that the Hall’s “ghost” was seen on a number of occasions by hospital staff:
The three night nurses came on at 8.30pm. The patients had had late drinks and a nurse was in the kitchen preparing them when she saw someone pass the kitchen. She ran to see who it was, but there was no-one there. Another nurse said she saw a lady in grey go out of one of the windows. She was said to come out of the churchyard and down the well at the back of the church where there is reputed to be an ancient passage underground to the Hall.
Some of the mothers who came to have babies at the hospital already had children, and they were sometimes looked after by the villagers. Paul Capell’s family looked after three little girls, one at a time for ten days each. The mothers themselves were also found accommodation before they went into labour and were taken into the hospital: there were two hostels, at the Manor and at Watford Court in Watford, but others stayed at private houses in the village. Norah Greaves had two expectant mothers staying at the same time, so that if one had needed to be taken to the hospital in an emergency or in the middle of the night, another adult was present in the house to look after Norah’s children.
Elsa Talbot remembers seeing “little groups of very plump ladies dotted about the village comparing notes, and sometimes we heard footsteps in the middle of the night and we knew that another baby was about to arrive”. Daphne Walding’s mother was a billeting officer during the war, placing evacuees, pregnant mothers and soldiers. According to Daphne, husbands coming to see their wives often did not realise how small a village East Haddon was. Her mother often had servicemen staying the night when they came to visit.
A midwife at the hospital, Mrs Farey, relates how she and her colleagues checked whether any of the expectant mothers were nearly due to give birth or in the early stages of labour before going out in off-duty hours: “We needed to know whether we would be likely to be called and so give up our off-duty period.” She says that the Hall was efficiently run by Miss Luck, the matron, assisted by Mr Ryder and Sister Sutor.
Miss Mary Hickman and Mrs Gardner were in charge of meals and cooking (my word, didn’t we miss the food on our return to London!)... Mrs Cooper, Jean Holt and several more helped with meals and cleaning. Mrs Cooper kindly offered her lovely bedroom overlooking the orchard to night nurses, away from the hustle and bustle of the hospital... We started our midwifery training in Plaistow, London. As the mothers were to be evacuated, so we had to be transferred too, mainly to get our 20 cases of delivery before we went back to London to sit our finals.
A Nurse’s Story
Maisie McComish, a nurse at the hospital, has “treasured” memories of her time there:
I, along with other nurses, had been evacuated from war-torn London to complete training in the oldest profession in the world – well, maybe not the oldest! We travelled with a number of mothers-to-be (of about 36 week’s pregnancy) in order that they, at least for the latter part of their pregnancy, would be able to live and sleep in peaceful surroundings until the birth of their babies. They were to be housed in the Manor House at East Haddon whilst we as staff would be housed across the road in East Haddon Hall. This had been converted for use as a maternity hospital for the duration of the war. Many large houses had been requisitioned by the government for whatever purpose necessary to minimise the risks to over-populated cities from air attack.
So here I was a resident of lovely East Haddon Hall. Likewise, many a baby from the East End of London breathed their first gasp and yelled a lusty cry in a country house. The Hall was a dignified and beautiful building whose architecture was probably that of the eighteenth century. It was a much-welcomed haven for us after the turbulent days and nights in London. How heavenly it was to go to bed and to sleep knowing that it was unlikely to suffer air-raid attacks. The full moon once more became a thing of beauty and not something to dread when it became a bomber’s moon. There in London it had seemed to invade every nook and cranny and nothing could block it out, except for a thick sulphurous fog – real pea-soupers! Then, and only then, did we really feel safe. So nights in East Haddon were wonderfully peaceful, apart from those nights when babies decided to enter the world. Somehow, babies always decide to arrive at dead of night.
Living as we did, we scarcely knew that there was a war on, apart from news bulletins, rationing and Winston Churchill’s rallying speeches. But I still, from force of habit, often peeped from the blacked-out window at night and think that the weather was not so good, or good, for air raids to take place. How wonderful it was though to be able to live amidst such beautiful surroundings, in a country house even though it had been adapted for use as a hospital. There was nevertheless a feeling of guilt that others were less fortunate, particularly the armed forces who were enduring great hardships and often under terrible conditions, deprived of home life and loved ones.
The rooms at the Hall were so spacious and became four-bedded wards for newly-delivered mothers. Our bedrooms were mainly two- to three-bedded rooms, but still more comfortable. On the ground floor, beyond the grand staircase one came to the domestic area, where the former schoolroom was adapted for use as a dining room. Opposite was the kitchen area where Mrs Hickman reigned supreme along with her staff and voluntary workers. Onwards still, one came to the laundry and cottage of “darling Dunkley” who was the jack of all trades and a Godsend to us. His long-suffering wife, I think her name was Nellie, must surely have worked herself to death! Such was the conscientiousness of the staff of that period.
The whole establishment was like one happy family, yet just like any family, differences of opinion and quarrels abounded. Yet, each and everyone cared for the other and it was a happy place in the main. I think though we must have been a tough bunch to cope with it all and it was a wonderful experience. The public rooms and large reception-cum-hallway was our sitting room, all very gracious with panelled walls lined with portraits of previous families who had lived there. I am sure that they looked down on us as “squatters” and their eyes seemed to follow our every move no matter where we went. This seemed to be particularly so in the library, which was used as an office by the matron. It also housed the mini-telephone exchange which we, as night staff, had to operate. I found this room quite awesome! Surely this must be the reputedly haunted room!
It didn’t take long to become part of the village, for the folk were so friendly and of course inquisitive about newcomers. It was not really a large village as I recall and it had all the amenities of a cared-for and well-organised community. There was the stalwart Church, central in the village – a symbol of faith as if to tell the people to hang on and that soon the evils of the war would be overcome. There was also the school, the Post Office-cum-general shop, the bakery and three pubs – the Plough, the Red Lion and the Why-Not down by the Folly – can’t think why it was known as the Folly! No doubt each in their turn would be frequented whenever beer was available. Very often a sign would appear outside a pub saying: “Closed – out of beer” or possibly “No cigarettes”. Nonetheless the pubs provided a gathering place for the village men, those that were left, to meet and discuss the state of things and how the war was progressing, and in particular the added excitement when it occurred of Hitler’s new secret weapon, the V1s or V2s – the pilotless planes sent to destroy a war-weary public. One thing for sure, the spirit in the pub would never be dampened even if they thought the beer was “watered”. We would win at all costs!! But they were frightening times! I believe that one “Doodlebug” – V1 – actually landed at Creaton, but I am unclear about this.
The Co-operative store seemed to supply all available rations by the rationing system of the period and their motto was “waste not, want not, join today”. On entering, the shop looked fairly well stocked until one realised that the packets and tins were dummies... On the opposite side of the road was the village shop and Post Office. In here were all manner of posters to remind us that there was a war on – eg “Be like Dad and keep Mum” – reminding us that careless talk costs lives and reminders that “left on lights and running taps make Happy Huns and Jolly Japs” and a picture of a mum asking “How would you like your egg done this month?”. Not much to buy other than, say, Carter’s Little Liver Pills if one felt liverish, corn plasters for aching toes, gripe water for babies, Glauber Salts to keep you fit and Epsoms to keep you “regular”, castor oil for the innards and so on and so on! All home cures to keep the villagers fit and healthy. Being the Post Office of course one could buy stamps or postal orders, send a telegram – nine words for sixpence – and make a telephone call at the risk of being overheard. I always bought my monthly sweet ration there mainly to catch up on the local gossip. I can tell you that it was a veritable den of gossip and goings on. The postmaster, bless his heart, (no names, no pack drill) was a bit like God who knew one’s innermost thoughts and sins even before you had committed them.
None of this would have made much difference to us at the Hall for we had neither the time nor opportunity for leisure. Apart from the monthly trip to Northampton by bike or the very erratic bus service, we led quiet lives. Cars were unknown to us, and besides petrol was rationed and very scarce. But it was quite a treat to attend a performance at the Repertory Theatre where one could see such productions as The Gondoliers, Blithe Spirit, The Quaker Girl and so on. Afterwards one could enjoy a high tea at the Co-op café. This could be scrambled egg on toast (dried egg that is), beans or mushrooms on toast and a pot of tea all for one and sixpence. There was always the occasional village “hop” somewhere, usually in Long Buckby, if one felt inclined or had the energy to “jitterbug” or “jive” the time away, but it wasn’t much fun because of the dearth of male partners. Some of the girls went with the lads from the village, Ken and Dick Craddock or “universal” (can’t remember his name!), but without transport there was always the long trek home by “shanks’s pony”. It did of course, make one so exhausted, that even a bed with nails would have been welcomed and, my goodness me, our mattresses were so hard, yet good for our backs. It was all harmless fun. However, I do recall one particular invitation was to a dance at Thornby Hall – Wow! – it was a “Must Go To” for the troops of a nearby military camp were also invited. So, great excitement, partners at last! It was held at the delightful home of the Mildmay family of racehorse renown (I hope I’ve got that right) and we were given an evening to remember. There was no philandering, though, for we had a long-mile cycle ride home at the end of the evening. But somehow that evening stands out in my memory.
Other entertainment mainly took the form of long walks. Occasionally we would encounter Italian Prisoners-of-war singing beautiful songs of their homeland such as Cara Mia, Barcarole and songs of Napoli. I found it difficult to think of them as our “enemy”. They were allowed complete freedom to roam along our country roads. Back at the Hall we sometimes produced our own concerts to which the folks of the village would be invited, but I shudder to think what they must have thought of it all for we were so amateurish. It was however, a great diversion from the boredom, tiredness and stress. On another occasion, a concert was to be held at nearby Holdenby House for the war effort. One of our nurses, a gifted cellist, was to give a recital, but without much needed transport how was she to get there plus cello? Someone came to the rescue with an old dilapidated pram, for in those days prams were in short supply. Maybe it was borrowed from The Manor. It resolved our problem and we put the cello in it and walked all the way to Holdenby. The concert raised a lot for the war effort.
Now we were at the end of the war. It had been a long wearisome time and we had all become accustomed to the restrictions and shortages... So many had not lived to see the “lights go on again”. We were the lucky ones. With the ending of the war, the emergency hospitals and requisitioned properties and suchlike all ended and soon any time at East Haddon had come to a close. Before I in particular, say goodbye to beloved Northamptonshire, I must just add another story. East Haddon Hall, like so many old houses, had a reputation for being haunted. The resident ghost was said to be that of an 18th-century beauty who had married a previous owner when he visited Savannah in the USA. Her portrait adorned the top of the winding stairway. One could not pass by without gazing at her beauty. It was said that she died in childbirth and that her spirit frequented one particular room from time to time. However, we were never told which room it was and it was not to be revealed until the final departure from the Hall to London. I had convinced myself that it was the panelled library, which was matron’s office and home to the mini-telephone exchange system. I had always felt uncomfortable on entering the room. There was a coldness which seemed to envelop the atmosphere in spite of its grandness. One could attribute this to the presence of the portraits gazing down from the panelled walls. Maybe it was just the product of a fertile imagination. Not everyone felt this sensation. It was very real to me though. However, on the appointed day of departure we were told that in fact the haunted room was one of the first-floor bedrooms used by newly delivered mothers, yet no one ever claimed to have seen the phantom ghost. I left for London still feeling unconvinced and to this day I am left wondering!
Maisie McComish