A Shropshire Whist Drive

As told by D.M. Davies in the Autumn 1963 edition of ‘The Countryman’

Having been invited to join a whist drive at a village hall in Welsh border country, DMD groped along dark and wet roads to get to this country happening. He was settled at a table among steaming limbs, and served a cup of tea by the local angels of the tea urn. There was some delay as the M.C. hadn’t turned up…it transpired that he had forgotten and gone to bed but he was dragged forcibly from the arms of Morpheus to do his duty with the handbell.

The games began and DMD was faced with the task of translating the not so discreet signs that were given off by the other players. But he was given a reprieve when the fire siren went off. Half of the men jumped up to attend a small blaze that had flared up in Mrs Jones’ oven. Those remaining were treated to not just more tea, but community singing too. Once the fire was extinguished, the whist drive continued. DMD was informed that he had in fact won a prize – what a bit of luck! He was handed a live cockerel, its head sticking out from the sack which had been tied firmly round its neck.

DMD was forced to walk home again along deserted and dark lanes, the cockerel under his arm. Wondering what on earth to do with it, he lit upon the idea of placing it in a neighbour’s hen shed. What a bit of luck for the cockerel!

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Woods Ware China at the Serving Hatch - The Book!

I have now put together a book to accompany this blog, featuring all the best bits and much more besides, about the development and use of village halls over the past century. It costs £1.29 for a Kindle download and £3.99 for a printed version. Here's the blurb: "Enter any village hall and look at the noticeboard. The range of activities taking place these days is enough to keep anyone entertained. Cinema evenings, keep fit classes, scouts, Women’s Institute, St John’s Ambulance, lunch clubs, support groups - all keeping the physical and spiritual on the straight and narrow. Where would we be without the village hall? What a marvellous innovation, and one that seems to grow in importance as we realise that we have lost sight of community somewhat, and need to nurse it back to life. You might, if you were in a particularly philosophical mood while hanging around the vestibule, wonder where and how it all began." English village halls have been a fixture of our lands...

The Ode to the Village Hall

I hope that some of my own poems that I have published on this blog have raised a smile of recognition. But I’m not the first to write poetry inspired by village halls. Back in 1936, the Warwick Advertiser published an article about a Mr Smith, who had written a poem about the village hall at Hatton. This was so well received by friends and family, that he had 401 copies printed, and he sold them for a pound apiece. The profits were divided between the church fund and the working men’s club fund. Hatton Village Hall - the charming inspiration Happily for us, the Warwick Advertiser saw fit to publish Mr Smith’s acrostic: T his grand village hall which can scare be surpassed H as been built by one to remember those passed E ver thoughtful of others, kind friend of us all V ery ready to help and obey duty’s call I n summer or winter, in sunshine or rain L ending a hand without seeking to gain L ooking after the sick and helping the weak A nd a kind cheery s...

Dixon of Fingers Green

In what could be the script from a gentle BBC comedy of the 60s or 70s, the village policeman triumphed at the horticultural show in a small Kent village. The local bobby walked away from the Village Hall with 11 out of 14 prizes. A cub reporter from the local rag dared to ask the green fingered P.C. if he talked to his blooms, to which the answer came: "No." He was encouraged to elaborate: "Talking to them, singing to them, music, that's all a lot of tripe. There's no substitute for hard work. You have to treat them like children, water them and care for them." I suppose he's right. There are similarities. Both flowers and children are prone to infestations of little creatures. And they never quite turn out how you expect, but sometimes you're lucky. Have a look at my novella for more vintage gardening fun

Woods Ware China at the Serving Hatch

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