Woods Ware China at the Serving Hatch

In 1965 – the Golden Jubilee of the Women's Institute movement – the Federation of WIs organised a village scrapbook competition. The aim was to collate a picture of British village life at this point in time. Over 2,600 villages responded with pictures, descriptions, poems and commentary from several members of the community. Paul Jennings collated the results into a book called “The Living Village”, published by Hodder & Stoughton in 1968. I have a Country Book Club edition and it certainly has made for fascinating reading. It is a snapshot of a time when the last of the old rural traditions were just hanging on by a thread. Of course there are several mentions of village halls. One section talks about memorial halls and here is a quote from the scrapbook collated for the village of Bramcote, a village on the A52 just west of Nottingham. I haven’t visited it, but now I fear it is merely a suburb of the city rather than a rural village. “ The Memorial Halls which wer

I recently read an excellent book called “Square Haunting” by Francesca Wade. If you’re interested in London between the wars and women who flaunted society rules to live the life that they wanted, this is the book for you. The book focusses on five different women, all of whom lived in Mecklenburgh Square at some point. The most famous of those residents was Virginia Woolf, and it covers both her time in the square and in the village of Rodmell, where she was to take her own life in 1941. The book reveals that when she was living in Rodmell, Virginia was a frequent visitor to her local village hall. This was because, quite surprisingly, she became a member of the Women’s Institute. It would be easy to imagine that she would see herself as being above such things, and perhaps occasionally she did get frustrated. “ We’re acting village plays; written by the gardener’s wife, and the chauffeur’s wife; and acted by other villagers.” Wade makes reference to Virginia’s diary en

“I promise that I will do my best” The community centre mass drone Voiced boredom at Brown Owl’s behest A pack in brown berets and yellow ties Dress pockets bulging with string and ten pences Ready for non-existent emergencies The most exciting Brownie moment Was camp (not even tents) at Sleaford And packed-in dormitory torment Though I yearned to be a pack sixer I did my best not to be noticed Too introvert to be a mixer Other girls did their best to be nasty Even though they had promised to be good Their slights were underhand and crafty Lines of brown and yellow suppressed howls Shuffling around the dusty parquet floor Nurtured by not the wisest of owls. Sarah Miller Walters Visit my collection of poems inspired by 1940s problem pages