Woods Ware China at the Serving Hatch

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...

Village halls played a part in the early careers of many actors – some of them becoming world renowned. Who knows just how many household names first got a taste for the luvvie life at the local amateur dramatic society. Dirk Bogarde was certainly one of them, because he wrote about his experiences at Newick Village Hall, near Lewes. Dirk’s mother made the acquaintance of a Mrs Cox, whose husband was said to own the village hall. Dirk became good friends with the Coxs’ daughter and the family took to him, allowing him to indulge his teenage ambition of becoming a playwright. He wrote, and starred in “The Man on the Bench”, supported by Nerine Cox.   It was performed around the time that Nazi Germany had marched into Austria – but a sparse audience with a lot on their minds nevertheless received it well. Mr Cox offered Dirk his first leading role shortly afterwards with the Newick Amateur Drama Society – Raleigh in R.C. Sherriff’s “Journey’s End”. “It was a tremendous ...

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

In June 1951, B. Seebohm Rowntree and G. R. Lavers brought out a book called "English Life and Leisure". Subtitled a social study, it was the result of several years of research. It arose from Rowntree's assertion that British people had inadequate means of recreation. He wanted to carry out a survey as the starting point for improvement. The section on Village Halls and Women's Institutes reads as follows: There can be no doubt about the value of a village hall to a village, for in most villages a community spirit still endures even though cheap public transport and the attractions of town life may have weakened it. A village hall is needed for social activities, such as whist drives, dances, housing the travelling cinema, for games and perhaps for amateur dramatics; it is needed for meetings of the many committees in a village, such as those of the cricket club, darts club, thrift club, pig club, and perhaps that responsible for the playing field, if a properly ...

Village Hall room hire payments have often been a contentious issue, and rows have been recorded throughout the 20th Century. In February 1923, one such row erupted at Liphook Village Hall and the West Sussex Gazette recorded the subsequent Petersfield Petty Sessions trial.  Mr W, a hairdresser by trade and also Secretary of Liphook Village Hall, was in the dock. He was accused of assaulting a Mr P, who ran a variety company. It all began when Mr W charged Mr P 16s 6d for use of the hall, when Mr P thought that he should have been charged 12s 6d. Quite a difference. Mr P marched on the Village Hall Committee in "an excited and offensive manner" and complained bitterly about the way he had been treated. Mr W defended himself by saying that Mr P had neglected to pay anything at all on a previous occasion.  Personal insults were exchanged, and then Mr W finally fulfilled a promise to land Mr P one on the jaw. The Village Hall Chairman defended his Secretary's action by s...

This article is copied from The Illustrated Police News, 14 February 1935: Judge Thanked "Thank you very much, sir, I've got off very light." Remarked John Moore, 76, when sentenced by Mr Justice Hawke at Gloucester Assizes to six months imprisonment on charges of breaking into Whitminster Village Hall and stealing articles valued at 4 shillings and 6 pence. There was a term of 344 days remaining of a previous sentence, and Moore was told that he would have to serve that time.  P.S. (Police Sergeant) Howkins revealed that since 1904 Moore had been continually in and out of prison. Since that time he had been sentenced seven times to penal servitude, involving in all 23 years.  In addition, he was in 1927 sentenced to four years imprisonment and had served further sentences most of them in respect of house breaking. Moore's last sentence was three year's penal servitude.  Moore handed in a statement to the judge, beginning "I most respectfully wish t...

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

Extract from “The Countryman” journal, Spring 1946 At the end of the casual workers’ season last year we had as usual our harvest tea. The “boughten” cakes must have been fairly good; and the bread and butter was helped down by some home-made preserves and potted meat.   Although it was a poor spread, things being as they are in the food line, our guests seemed to understand and enjoyed it…for decorations there were flags, and the words on a rather faded portrait flag stood out, “God bless Queen Victoria.” After the tea Harriet recited “The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck” and “Dare to be a Daniel”, and sang “The Bells of Aberdovey” and “Don’t Hang My Harry; You’ll Break His Poor Mother’s Heart.”   During the applause the board placed on apple boxes for a seat collapsed. There was a bit of a mix-up and it was agreed that Polly, who weighs 15 stone, should have a box to herself. Up to this time young Tommy had had 10 cups of tea and 15 cakes, and Jim had dropped...

Virginia Graham is one of my favourite poets, though sadly she seems to be almost forgotten. I treasure my first edition of her only collection “Consider the Years”. Virginia was a contributor to publications such as Punch; she was a good friend of Joyce Grenfell and Celia Johnson among other well known names of the 1940s and her poetry collection is dedicated to Celia and her husband, Peter Fleming. “Consider the Years” is a series of poems inspired by Virginia’s experiences on the Home Front in World War Two. As a member of the WVS, it is inevitable that the collection will include a mention of the kind of the things that we associate with village and parish halls.  Here’s a lovely one about a tea urn, that gives a real flavour of her work: Ode on a Thermot Urn (With apologies to Keats) Thou still impure slave of thirstiness, Thou foster child of mutton broth and tea, How can a dictionary of words express The inspissated gloom you raise in me! What pu...

Wethersfield Village Hall in Essex is pleasant old building, an old brewery maltings that was converted for use of the parish in the 1920s. Villagers themselves had helped to pay for the conversion by purchasing shares. Money was raised to board over the concrete floor so that it would be suitable for dancing upon and it was well used. More information can be found on the parish council website here:   http://wethersfield.org.uk/wethersfield-village-hall-2/ The regular dances, and the sense of ownership by local residents, led to a little bit of trouble in 1937, however. Towards the end of that year, a hunt dance was held which could be attended by ticketed invitation only. A 25 year old girl called Evelyn from Cambridge turned up with a ticket that she said she had obtained from a friend. This appearance of an uninvited guest seemingly rubbed up the organiser, a Mrs B, the wrong way. She was forced to deny that she had been rude to the girl or had deliberately cras...

The art of fundraising is closely associated with the village hall. Not only will the village hall committee need to bump up their income on occasions, the hall is often the host to the fundraising activities of others. The charity fete, whist drive or auction will all find a home here. Perhaps the hall kitchen needs refurbishing so that a dinner club can use it – all kinds of markets and minor gambling will take place to try and secure it. Or perhaps a grant application will be put into the Lottery or a charitable trust – a way that rich people can sooth their consciences and avoid taxes is to distribute grants to good causes from these trusts, often modestly named after themselves. There are some obscure ones with fun names that will only cover a small geographical area, and there are some well known ones with recognisable names that anyone can go for. I have spent much of my career applying to these grant making trusts and know the names and criteria of many of them practi...

Extract from an article in the Summer 1951 issue of “The Countryman” on an Essex village: “Miss A runs the village boy’s club. It is about 50 strong at the moment, though that figure is perhaps misleading. Its real membership runs into many hundreds, and it is on this shadow strength that the lady’s reputation rests. The club is held on two or three nights a week in the village hall, the usual pitch-pine-and-varnish building which elsewhere seems to produce an atmosphere of genteel apathy. We went to see it. During the day it was deserted, but hardly empty; for round the walls, with scarcely a break, hung the framed photographs which recorded the club’s annual beanfeasts. Instead of showing the year’s crop of thirteen and fourteen year olds, each picture was crammed full with young men and women, and older ones as well, ranged at the supper tables, row on row, until beyond the reach of the flashlight glare the faces faded into the background. The photographs went back year by yea...

There has been a growth in recent times of travelling cinemas – at least I have become more aware of them. It’s tempting to think of this as a new idea, because until the 1960s, there were cinemas all over the place and not much need for the mobile variety. Every decent sized town or even village had one. However, we turned them into bingo halls and Presto or Gateway supermarkets as people turned away from big screens in favour of the small ones in the corner of their living rooms. These days, we seem to be falling back in love with going to a public place to be part of a bigger audience than the one that we can fit round our tellies. A happy consequence of this is that village halls are now being used as temporary picture palaces. I can confirm that this concept is not new though, after reading the Winter 1951 edition of “The Countryman” journal.   I was very pleased to read the opening line of the first article within the green paper covers: “Our cinema is the village h...

Extract from “The Village” by Marghanita Laski (1952) She had never seen the hall decorated for a dance, and indeed, for none of the wartime dances had the shabby wooden hall been bedizened as it was tonight. Everyone had contributed what they could find from their old stocks of party and Christmas decorations and everything in splendid confusion was tacked to the walls, to the platform, to the beams in the ceiling. Ted Pickering, who, having been invalided out of the Army after Dunkirk, worked at his Dad’s electrical shop when he wasn’t conducting his Ragamuffins, had managed to fix up the coloured electric lights that Mr Waters had dug out for Victory night so that they dazzled and twinkled (except for two blue ones that wouldn’t work) right above the heads of the band. Then there were Japanese lanterns and odds-and-ends of paper concertinas and little glittering glass Christmas tree toys and lengths of tinsel and tacked-up laurel branches – everything, in fact, that Priory...

In the 1870s, William Wilkinson left the village of Islip in Oxfordshire and came to Sheffield for a better job. Without this minor contribution to the industrial revolution I may not exist – William Wilkinson was my Great Great Grandad and it was in Sheffield that he met my Great Great Grandmother, who had joined the throng from a village in Northamptonshire. They settled in the considerably less bucolic surroundings of Attercliffe among the steelworks. When I traced my family tree it brought me into contact with a wide range of tiny villages that I had never previously heard of – the Wilkinson story was repeated in every branch of my tree and was a fascinating history lesson on how our cities were built. I have since taken an interest in all of my ancestral villages from the viewpoint of a now post-industrial Sheffield, but Islip has become my favourite. So let’s have a look at their village hall. Islip was also the birthplace of Edward the Confessor (ooh, I wonder if my an...

My photograph of the Book Exchange Shelf at a Derbyshire Community Hall is somewhat obscured by a folded trestle table, which I was not about to move to get the perfect shot. I know trestle tables, they bite. Those fold out legs are the cause of many a finger blister. But you get the idea. Anyone is free to take a book from the shelf and do what they want with it. And you can leave your unwanted ones too. Ideal if you’ve just finished a novel that you weren’t that fussed about while you waited for the interminable length of time that it takes Brownies to finish. What a great scheme – everywhere should have one. A free book encourages you to broaden your horizons. Where you might not pay £1 or £2 for a book from a charity shop in case you don’t like it, a free shelf encourages you to give it a try and possibly open a whole new world. Maybe you never thought you’d like Catherine Cookson – but then you pick up a free copy of one of her books and love it – and bingo you’ve go...

I have recently been trawling the Australian newspaper archive (trove.nla.gov.au) in order to write my latest publication – “The Gossiper’s Association”. This is a fictional account of actors Cicely Courtneidge and Thorley Walters’ year in the Antipodes. Of course while I was having a rummage in there, I had to see if there were any references to British village halls. Perhaps there had been some fracas that our own newspapers had been shy to report. What I did find in the Canberra Times in 1963 was brief reference to Duffus Village Hall in Scotland, the village near where Gordonstoun School is situated. Famous for a certain Royal alumni, the school apparently used the hall for an annual handicrafts exhibition. In 1963, young Prince Charles was notable in his absence from this worthy exhibition in what was then a glorified Nissan hut. Where was the lad? The Canberra Times had the answer. He was in trouble. Apparently he had been on a visit to Stornoway on the school boat and (bra...

Needlepoint Gossip They wanted to call it the Stitch and Bitch session But the parish council wouldn’t let them So instead they called it Sew and Tell And they meet at the village hall extension To embroider bags and purses for the Women’s Institute to sell. In the hall next door, the toddlers run riot Cross stitches are produced between giggles at Joyce Grenfell cries From the Tiny Tots’ leader, who wrangles potties and fights and mangled words They always pause to listen, needles afloat Mingling “aahhh” with splutters at the overheards. In the attic room, a local charity meet To offer tea and tissues To those in need of propping up and leading The Sew and Tells talk quietly about these They all know someone, and where their own lives might be heading. Sarah Miller Walters Download one of my books today!