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Ian Martin b. 1930s
I used to help Mr Smith drive his cows to other fields in the village.
I’d get them out of the field behind The Tips and onto The Common and when the cows got to
the War Memorial I had to make sure that they all went left to the Blind Lane field or right
to the Sheepridge field. Then once they were walking in the right direction the cows did the rest –
they knew which way we wanted them to go after that.
We used to play football in the field next door, that's the recreation ground. We pushed the football
referee into Clear Pond once when we didn’t like his attitude.
Malcolm Ludlow b. 1930s
When I left school I used to do farm work, a bit here and bit there. We went round on an old motorbike and sidecar to get work. We used to go down Winchbottom and
help Sid Smith with his cows, who was Stan Smith’s brother, and help him with the cows.
Will Hayes was Stan Smith’s cowman. He died in Stan’s house and old Stan didn’t want him in the house and me and Alan Springall lifted him outside and sat him in a chair
by the woodshed and we called the doctor and Dr Wright said ‘he’s dead’ but I could have told him that!
Barbara Murfin nee Sarney born 1940s
Stan Smith (Dixie) had a handful and a half of cows. These cows would sometimes pasture on Peter Jennings field by The Green Man (now Sainsbury’s). Stan would amble leisurely twice a day between the field and cow shed. He had umpteen cats and kittens. There was electricity in his cow shed, one light bulb, and in his milk cooling unit, but none in his house. He also had a dozen or so old very tall cherry trees, the last orchard in the village.
He lived the life of a single man. I think his house is called Dairy Cottage now.
Ann Clark b 1940s
Martha’s granddaughter
Bringing the Cows Home!
The Prima Donnas of this tale:
Lady Hamilton — A brown and white Guernsey Cow named after that notorious lady. She is
particularly renowned for the rich flavour of her milk, as well as her hardiness and docile disposition.
Ginny — a black and white Friesian Cow, an independent character.
Dempsey — a gentle brown Jersey Cow named after that famous boxer Jack Dempsey.
Doris — a black cow of the Aberdeen Angus breed. Obstinate when the fancy takes her.
And from time to time an offspring or two would join them.
Stan Smith — of the Dairy, Common Road, in Flackwell Heath. Great Uncle to Ann and Christopher.
Stan's late sister Henrietta Martha — the mother of Winnie, the children's mother.
(Granddad was Winnie's father John Johnson who lived at Deanhome, a semi-detached three storey house on the corner of Common Road.
He lived there with his second wife Alice nee Barnes. Alice's older brother Frederick is remembered on the Flackwell Heath War Memorial.)
The children — Ann Cornwell aged ten and her brother Christopher aged six and Ann's best friend Lilian Smith aged ten all from Oakland Way.
Bringing the Cows Home!
The cows waited at the orchard gate, hoof deep in the soft mud. Uncle Stan moved among them slapping Ginny's rear to ease her over out of his way. The children opened the gate into the recreation ground and the cows filed through to spend the morning in fresh pasture. Uncle Stan waved them on, closed the gate and went back to the dairy. He could leave the children to mind the cows while they played on the swings.
Ann swayed backwards and forwards on her swing dangling her legs and dragging her sandals through the dirt. Her best friend, Lil, was standing on another swing, her skinny legs tipping the wooden seat sideways up and down. In her washed out frock and grubby plimsoles, Lil's socks were down below her heels and her hands were stained a ruddy brown from gripping at the rusty chains of the swing. Christopher, sat between them on his swing, absorbed in scraping an outline of a train in the grey dust with a bit of a lolly stick. He was a sturdy little chap of six years old in short trousers and a zipper cardigan. He tagged along happily wherever Ann went, the overseer of her brother's needs.
Christopher was only half listening to the girls' chatter. Ann was wishing that she hadn't spent all of her threepenny bit the day before, and Lil was wishing that she still had some sweets left and was trying to think up a way of getting some more. Then she remembered that Ann's granddad always gave them some sweets when they called in to see him. Why not go and see him now, he only lived just round the corner?
A little persuasion from his big sister, and her friend, brought a promise from little Christopher to keep an eye on the cows. They assured him there was nothing to it, that he only had to sit and watch them for a few minutes while they were gone. The cows were grazing a short distance away snatching at the grass that was growing deep around the Cricket Pavilion, and Christopher thought of the sweets that he was sure his granddad would give them.
The two girls were gone a long time. Meanwhile, Christopher held on to the idea of some of Grandad's toffees in his pocket. The lining of his right-hand pocket had let him down badly when his granny had given him threepence for a ice-cream
A little girl came and sat next to him on the same swing that Lil had been stamping on. He was hesitant at first to speak to strange little girls but Christopher was soon to discover that this little girl lived nearby, she jabbed a finger in the direction of a house behind them, and, was already seven years old, much older than he was. He was wondering what it was like to be as old as that when he heard his sister yelling at him and waving her arms to catch his attention.
Christopher looked up and realised with alarm that there were no cows grazing by the pavilion. There were no cows to be seen but at the far end of the playing field Lady Hamilton squeezing her ungainly rump through a gap in the hedge. Ginny, Doris and Dempsey were ahead of her and on the footpath, leading to the Straight Bit.
Ann scolded her brother, took hold of his hand and dragged him off in pursuit of the herd. Ann was horrified at the thought of someone coming face to face with the cows, playing follow my leader, on that narrow foot path at the back of the field.
The children followed them in haste but the cows reached the Straight Bit before them. Here they paused, a little confused, until Ginny took the lead and headed for the wide grass verge at the corner of Chapman Lane. The others followed straggling the road junction. Lady Hamilton was attracted by the colourful garden of the first home in the lane. She poked her nose over the low brick wall and tugged at the blooms on a border of marigolds. She raised her head with an air of quiet decorum chomping on the flower heads, shreds of bright petals and green foliage fell at random from her jaws.
The children clucked their tongues and clapped their hands in despair. Lil searched the hedge for a decent stick that she could wave in the air. Their efforts to herd the cows together only unnerved the animals into a steady trot on down the lane, their udders swinging clumsily under their bellies. The girls chased after them dragging little Christopher at arms length. He protested loudly, his plump little legs could hurry no more. His grubby face was streaked with tears, and he hadn't got a hankie.
A good way down, Chapman Lane dipped steeply off the Heath into Well End. Fortunately for the children, and the cows, Robert's Farm came before the incline. The cows slowed to a halt and gathered under a haze of warm sweat at the farm gate. Mr Robert's cows ambled across, mooing a greeting like long lost friends.
The happy union gave Ann and Lil time to get their breath back, and for little Christopher a much needed rest. They sat on the grass at the side of the road. Ann gave her little brother a reassuring hug, chiding him to use her hankie, but he shrugged off her attentions, sniffed loudly and wiped his wet face on his sleeve. Ann wanted to cheer him up,to tell him that it wasn't his fault that the cows had got out. Uncle Stan had let them mind the cows many times before, now he would think that they could never be trusted again. She should never have gone to their granddad's hankering after sweets. She felt bad enough about that for Grandad was aware that her and Lil hadn't arrived on his doorstep just to see him. And, he didn't give them any sweets from his tin, like he usually did, when they went there with their mother.
Some gentle nudging and clapping of hands the cows were talked into returning home. The girls found two good sticks and tapped the road surface behind the cows to keep them moving with an easy gait. They turned left back into the Straight Bit. The cows obeyed the unfamiliar directions and headed for home. Ann hoped to turn the cows back into the playing field and forget that the incident ever happened, then Uncle Stan need never find out that his herd had gone missing.
But, Dempsey and Doris ignored instructions and made for the village centre. They strayed at the corner of Common Road, where Doris hung back from the others, raised her tail and left a deposit on the pavement outside the chemist's shop. Ann steered Christopher around it evading Mr Stapley's wrath when he stepped from his door. The cows had abused these premises on other occasions, in fact several other occasions, when it was suggested that Uncle Stan should carry a shovel.
The children veered the cows right, after this unfortunate hold up, into Common Road and down towards the War Memorial. They hurried passed Granddad's gate at Deanhome, Ann could see him in his tweed cap working in his garden. They mustn't stop, the cows knew where they were now, just a few yards from home. The dairy was in sight - and so was Uncle Stan! He came striding to meet them brandishing a thick walking stick, just the kind of stick that they had searched for in the hedge.
Uncle Stan was most put out, his mouth was moving but they couldn't catch what he was saying. The cows faltered to a standstill as he came near but he disregarded his herd and strode on to reprimand the children. Christopher felt wobbly in his legs, he knew that they were in for a good telling off. He leaned close to his sister with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Uncle Stan said his piece, turned sharply and marched off with his cows. Lil was bursting, she clapped a hand firmly over her mouth, doubled up with laughter. Ann didn't find it very funny. Uncle Stan was cross, very cross! She held Christopher's hand and watched Uncle Stan lead his cows into the dairy, and supposed that this was the last time she would be allowed to mind the cows again.
This tale is true! It was a Sunday morning in 1956. In those days Flackall had an old village school, a Temperance Hall, The Green Man and The Magpie pubs, Dolly Walker's, Chettle's the newsagents and shoe menders, Simpson's later the Co-op, Lesters the butchers, Whiteman's the butchers and Jennings the butchers, grocery and post office, Wilks Stores. Brown's Stores in Northern Woods, Clark's shop on the Rugwood Road Estate.
There were two surgeries in the village with Dr Lowe and Dr Bailey. The District Nurses, Nurse Slater and Nurse Rands.
The local Cinema was The Royalty down in Bourne End.
The village had some fascinating local characters Rup Beasley, Sid Bowler, George Bryant, Stan & Harold Smith, Alf Clark, the Sarney's, the Wilks' and many more.
Sixty years have now passed and Flackall has changed considerably. The cherry orchards were felled for development. Robert's Farm was developed and became The Orchard, Cherry Rise, Cherry Close and Orchard Gardens. Uncle Stan's orchard was developed, but thankfully Dairy Cottage still stands.
Looking back I will always remember that image of Lady Hamilton's rump squeezing through the gap in that hedge, and the relief when the cows slowed to a halt at Robert's Farm gate. I dread to think of the outcome had they kept up that brisk pace on down the steep and narrow Chapman Lane into Well End. I also dread the thought now of leaving six-year-old Christopher on his own in the playing field for a while – it would be unthinkable nowadays.
In those days we children could roam wherever we liked. The eldest child of the group, probably no more than 12 years old, assuming responsibility for the rest. We thought nothing of walking down through Fennels Wood, crossing the branch railway line to Loudwater School every day, and back again at lunchtime. We would walk over the golf links or down Juniper Lane, and cross the same branch line into Boundary Road in Wooburn Green, where Granny Cornwell lived. We caught the branch line train at Loudwater into High Wycombe, and back again, then up Treadaway Hill once more for the long haul home to Oakland Way.
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