I

It is Friday and we are looking forward to a whole week at Parslows Hillocks, a name and dwelling we would remember in our later years.

The long, busy day at the village school and the long-awaited evening prayers over, we couldn't contain our excitement at the thought of rushing home and preparing for the walk through the Village past the bakery with Sidney Janes and his father Hezzy standing at the door covered in flour, hoping they would be bringing down the sacks of flour from the ladder above, the aroma of baking bread and the cart awaiting the horses for transporting the delivery of bread around the villages of Lacey Green and Loosley Row.

Sydney James with Horse and Cart

Loading a Timber Bob

It was during the summer holidays we first remembered visiting Granddad in the woods. He was working some five miles from the cottage at an area known as 'Jack Ass Bottom', a name that reflected the humour of the Hampden countryside. 'Solinger', 'The Hangings' and many others defined areas associated with the bodgers' workings, as they were called.

Having previously visited the workings, it was decided that we would be allowed to venture forth in the morning to take the milk from Lily Bottom Farm to be handed to the respective workings.

Lily Bottom farm

Sitting around the fire in the snug, warm living room Sis and I had discussed the day's excitement to follow. Our Aunt, who worked at the large house nearby, would not be escorting us - it was to be our first unaccompanied venture into the woodlands.

One particular day I remember very well. We were to visit Granddad, who was working some four miles in the wood. He had moved his hut to the new workings.

As timber was felled, it was brought by the chair factories, and the bodgers were then employed by an agent responsible to the factory for producing the turned chair legs, so that as the timber sales were completed, the area of new felling would necessitate the movement of the bodgers' huts.

As this was a new working, my sister and I were instructed on how to find it. Footsteps familiar to us now led on to a new area, and we would hear the workings and the sharp reports of the axe. They were shaping today and there would be much noise and conversation between the bodgers. Shaping was the time spent splitting the beech, trimming to the desired widths and then turning on the lathe.

As so it was that we set forth with the milk jug to the farm. Lily Bottom Farm was some half a mile below the cottage and we were soon laden with the milk and on our way to the workings. It was our first time making our way from the farm to the footpath that we knew, and it was soon pretty obvious that we were becoming lost. This realisation soon became a fact and Sis began to cry. I knew that we were going to have great difficulty finding our way. We both stood very still and listened, the usual voices of the bodgers and the ringing of axes could not be heard. The forest was silent. We sat down on a felled tree trunk. I remember reassuring my sister that we would find our way when we were rested, but in my heart I knew that we would probably walk many miles, and the thought that we may not find our way to the cottage was in my mind.

It was then that we saw her and fear rose in my heart. I told Sis to be quick and we both hid behind the trunk of a very large beech. The recluse Betsy Kitson was slowly walking in our direction. It was lucky she had not noticed us. She was crouching low and shuffling along, her sinuous arms brushing the dark earth and parting the rotted beech leaves. She was singing a mournful song, each step breaking the note, at her waist she had a drinking mug tied on with sack string. She was so intent on her WORK that she passed quite close and we noticed the pungent smell of her earthy being. Quite suddenly she stopped and commenced digging furiously with her hand. Parting the brown leaf mould with her other hand, she produced a small fork and dug deep down into the soil. Her face broke into a wide grin as she retrieved a small, round object very much like a hazelnut. She wiped it clean with the sacking and placed it in the drinking mug. Later we were to learn from Granddad how to find 'pig nuts', as the bodgers called them.

The realisation that we were lost gradually became a fact, but our curiosity overcame our fear and we decided to follow the recluse who we knew lived in the direction of our cottage.

The bodgers would not receive milk today. Two very tired and weary children eventually arrived home and, although frightened, were relieved that the recluse had unknowingly brought them home. It was evening and our Aunt was worried at our late arrival. The warm cosiness of the cottage and the wonderful aroma of the evening meal was being prepared.

Sometimes we would creep into the special shed where the barrels of wine were kept. Dandelion wine was the staple diet of the working class people and of course the bodgers. We would sit and watch the fomentation as it gurgled and thumped. The barrels were very large, and when matured and ready for drinking would be opened at a bung and a slender bottle would be lowered down and the gurgling would announce that a jug of wine was being prepared.

A jug being lowered into a barrel of home-made dandelion wine

Many joyful evenings were spent as the wine took its hold. This usually happened after evening service on a Sunday. The Lord was truly merciful in his provisions!

We would return home on Sunday evening with my parents along the Pink Road, Mother and Father tripping the Light Fantastic. It was always worrying to me because it was known that a ghostly apparition had been known to appear in the form of a horse and carriage along the road by the 'Black Firs' and disappear in the copse opposite the 'Pink & Lily' hostelry. Granddad was absolutely convinced that the hearse had been seen by many people.

I have memories of Granddad during the August Bank Holidays being employed in his spare time cutting corn with his scythe. It was wonderful to see men working their way round the field. The scythe's almost perpetual motion was a joy to behold with its rasping cut and the performance of the sharpening stone when the blade hit a stone. It was often told by my mother of the hours spent 'gleaning' in the fields after the corn had been cut and cleared away, as this was when the villagers were allowed to pick up the remaining corn heads.

Nipper was in his element during the corn cutting, chasing rabbits and any creature that was disturbed or anyone who ventured near Granddad's jacket would receive a white-teeth warning.

The windmill was then a focal point for grinding and what a wonderful sound this must have been in those hard and difficult days, but the mill was often out of control in the windy heights of the Chiltern Hills.

It is Monday and we are going picking dandelions for the yearly production of wine. Aunt Jess instructed us to just nip the heads of the dandelions and place them in the basket. It is a beautiful, warm summer's day and we are looking forward to an exciting day in the fields overlooking the Vale
of Princes Risborough, nestling quietly in the folds of the Escarpment, the church steeple showing its slender form in the morning's rays. We can see two counties from here, the Vale of Aylesbury and the edge of Oxfordshire, with Brill on the horizon. What a privilege for our young eyes to behold!

It is mid-morning and we are two very busy children nipping the heads of the dandelions. Sis has called my attention to a dark cloud approaching from the corner of the field. We called Aunt Jess and pointed to the swirling cloud approaching. lt was then we could hear the amazing sound of thousands of wings vibrating in a clipping sound. We were terrified and ran back to be told to put our heads under our coats and lay down. The cloud thankfully passed to our left and quickly disappeared.

It was shortly afterwards we found the body of a hornet. It was quite large and had a very long spike at the rear from which we were sure a nasty sting would be delivered. It was a most unusual sight and one that we hoped we would never see again. Aunt Jess said she had never seen hornets before.

We arrived back at the cottage fully laden and the tin bath was soon brimming with dandelions, the aroma filling the wood shed and we were amazed to see all the insects crawling over them. The dandelions would be put in to soak for the wine-making - what an exciting day! Nipper and Grunt were pleased to see us - Grunt especially, because we were allowed to prepare his food. It was always a wonderful smell, the copper situated outside the shed, a brick arrangement with the copper inserted in the middle and a hole at the base where the fire was set to boil the potatoes. It was then taken to the sty and poured down the shoot to the feeding trough. Grunt's excited squeals and snorts concluded a wonderful day.

II

The sun was shining through the cottage window and Nipper had already given us his usual morning's greeting, jumping on the bed and licking us all over. Today is a sad day because yesterday a fox had invaded the chicken run and we were sorry to see six chickens lying in the pen. We had been instructed to collect the eggs. The pen was some way from the cottage and it was always with great excitement we collected the eggs, the broody hens always objecting to our intrusion. But we were adept at placing our hands underneath and retrieving the warm eggs, always avoiding the nasty pecks the brooder would inflict.

We hurried back to the cottage to tell Granddad the awful news. He was very annoyed and declared that today we would find the fox's den and kill the culprit. He was sure that he knew the area the fox worked, and so it was that we prepared to travel the woods in the direction of Kop Hill, a part of the area that was wooded, but also overgrown on the hillside with bushes and small trees. It was in the area called Redland End where the keepers hut was situated. We had our bag of provisions for the day and were going to the hut to stay there keeping watch. Granddad had informed us that we were to stay quietly watching for the fox and he was taking Nipper with him, a terrier bred of course
for the purpose of fox hunting. We were feeling sorry for the fox although we knew that nature was fulfilling its purpose for the existence of these wonderful creatures. Many wild creatures were dependent upon each other for survival, and two rather apprehensive children were deposited in the gamekeepers hut.

Sis had brought books and pencils. We were going to be busy drawing and keeping watch. I said that we could not both be drawing at the same time. I then had an idea. Looking round, I discovered straw protruding from the wooden knot-holes in the timbers.

"We will draw straws to see who takes first watch," I said. This we did and l drew the shortest, that being the conditions.

The hut was rather small and we noticed many hooks round the top perimeter. These we soon realised were for hanging the pheasants after the shoot. Many feathers were lying on the floor and we were pleased to have the advantage of a specially constructed table for the keepers' use. I seated myself on the wooden box and commenced my watch, which we decided to call our 'Fox Watch'.

After an hour, we were soon becoming very bored and wondered how long Granddad would be. We could see Kop Hill from our position and the whole area was very thickly wooded.

"Perhaps he will lose his way", Sis said.

I said: "Don't be silly! Granddad lives and works in this area, I bet he knows every tree."

"How could he," Sis said, "anyway, he couldn't possibly know every tree."

"I know," I said "but he is a very clever man."

It was then that we heard a rather heavy scratching noise accompanied by bumping, and the sound of an animal moaning. I placed my finger to my lips to tell Sis to be quiet, and we both lowered ourselves to the floor hoping whatever it was would not see us. It was with terror in our hearts that we saw the latch on the cabin door slowly rise and the figure of Betsy Kitson appeared leering round the door.

"Well now," she said, "what be your two doing here then?" Her face was creased into a contorted leer, her teeth were yellow. I noticed the long, thin fingers round the edge of the door, her nails like the talons of an eagle, the earthy scent of her body pervading through the now partly open door.

"This be my house!" she shrieked in her high-pitched voice. l could tell she was not very pleased to find us there. Sis was holding my hand very tightly and we were frightened. It was at this moment a scream came from the direction of the scrub wood in front of the hut. We froze, and Betsy hissed to us:

"You be quiet. Don't you make a sound." She crept silently into the hut, her fingers placed on her lips and, pointing to the window, the screaming came again. It was an agonising cry, rising and falling in a desperate crescendo. It was then that the witch crept towards the window. She was swaying in
harmony with the momentum of the terrible screams. We were petrified, but pleased that she was with us. She beckoned to us to come to the window and pointed to a small bush. It was then that we saw a terrible sight. A rabbit was transfixed to a very small creature.

"That be a weasel," she whispered. its shiny back was perfectly erect, and it was swaying from side to side in front of the rabbit. We were just about to shout...

"You be quiet!" she hissed, "That be nature. He be going to kill it". We couldn't watch any more. Quite suddenly the screaming stopped and the witch tore out of the hut. We slowly crept towards the window, the figure of the witch disappearing in the wood, her waistband supporting a very dead rabbit. It was a moment in a beautiful morning when we were to witness nature in it's awesomeness a witch and a lesson in survival that in some way we were privileged to observe. Sis was very sad and was crying. l said that it was nature and things survived, but she wasn't convinced.

We were pleased to see Nipper appear from the bushes and Granddad with his gun, and no dead fox. And so it was that we journeyed back to the cottage, our story being excitedly told to Granddad, who explained that our beautiful countryside had rules of its own, and if we wanted to see wild creatures living freely, then some had to die to this end. It was truly an experience that taught us how fragile we all are in this wonderful countryside. The cottage was a welcome sight as we arrived, the story being told to Aunt Jess who had a meal ready and waiting for two very hungry children. We wondered what tomorrow would hold for us.

III

It is Wednesday and we are really looking forward to a day in the company of the bodgers. Granddad has agreed that we accompany him to the workings, and it is going to be special because it is Cricket Day, when the bodgers meet on the common in the afternoon to play cricket. We are going with Aunt Jess to see her friends on the common and then meet the bodgers who are arriving from Bradenham and Downley, two villages with many bodgers who each form a side to challenge each other. We are going to the workings and then through the woods to the common.

Nipper is well ahead of us as we enter the woods. It is in many ways fascinating to me because my Father had told me of the work they carried out for Marconi, an up-and-coming inventor who had discovered the rudiments of the wonderful wireless, and they had been employed setting a concrete form in the ground for his experiments. It was positioned on the Escarpment just inside the entry near the 'Pink and Lily'. My father was very interested in the wireless, a new and very exciting means of communication and the crystal set was soon discarded for a one-valve set, the first to be used in the village. We were always very keen to put earphones on and listen to its magical sounds.

It was on one such occasion that we listened to the news of the crash of the R101 airship, a grand sight to see in those exciting days. We remembered it floating over the village in the early morning's mist.

We were looking forward to an exciting day because the morning was to be spent bagging the shavings. Many people were glad the bodgers were in the area because the bagged shavings would be used for the chicken houses and pig sties, good clean litter, and it was always a happy occasion to see the villagers arrive with trucks loading the shavings as indeed they did on Mondays. Some ten trucks would be journeying from Lacey Green and Loosley Row, all trudging along the Pink Road collecting wood for the cottages. Cheerful voices could be heard as the women arrived in the woods. They were allowed to collect timber from the shaped beech trees. A permit was obtained from the Estate Office and it was wonderful to see how hard these people worked.

it is always peaceful to awaken to the sounds of the birds, the 'morning glory' as we called it. It was so cheerful, blackbirds, thrushes and all the small birds were greeting the morn with calls and sometimes screams, as vixen and badger searched for food. Nipper had already licked our faces and was eager for us to get dressed and prepare for the new adventure in the woods.

And so it was that we escorted Granddad to the workings. We could hear the voices of the bodgers calling from the huts and proclaiming "Breakfast is ready". We couldn't believe our eyes as we approached the area. Blue smoke wafted through the canopy of the majestic beeches. Granddad told us to go to the fire and await him. It wasn't long before he arrived with a rather large tin plate and his special shovel. It was then that we noticed all the bodgers had shovels, and a gorgeous aroma was wafting through the trees. We were soon to understand the reason - a side of bacon was carefully being cut into rashers and our eyes popped out of their sockets, especially Sis's, when the rashers were placed on the respective shovels that had been carefully polished and placed over the fire.

lt was an old tradition that breakfast was taken this way. Nipper had experienced this many times and had taken up his position between the bodgers for his share of the sizzling bacon. We were soon offered a rasher and a thick slice of bread, a most wonderful experience we would never forget.

Granddad said if we were good he would show us something really special, but we must be especially quiet as we approached his hut. All the shavings from the past week had been placed around the entrance to the hut, helping to keep out the cold winds that were a continuous problem, and most bodgers were sure that the majority of their pains were caused through this problem.

Granddad was approaching his lathe with his fingers to his lips, and it was then that we saw it. A small nest was immediately in front of the lathe, and four little beaks were pointing upwards. lt was Granddad's special year. He had never experienced anything quite like it. The robin had built the nest and produced four beautiful little birds whilst he was working the lathe, all through the early
Spring. lt was wonderful to see the robin whilst we were there, feeding four hungry mouths. We were told to be very quiet filling the sacks with shavings and not to go near the lathe. Granddad was sure the robin knew him and accepted his movement at the lathe. It will be a story to tell our friends at School.

It was always interesting to walk round the workings. The week's work was stacked all round the huts - four legs square and the build-up alternated to allow the sap to be drawn in the fresh air and sunlight. We were amazed at the height the legs were built. Our favourite fun was to sit by the traps where the legs were deposited from the lathe and try to catch them before they landed. It was wonderful to think they would be transported to the factory in High Wycombe making the Windsor chair, which was so popular at that time.

It was at this moment we heard the voices and down the track from the workings we could see a wonderful sight. Timber bobs, as they were called, were approaching and the Hatt brothers from Speen Farm were about to move and load a special felling for transport back to High Wycombe. This was a sight that two small children were privileged to see.

Timber bob

There were six bodgers at this working and the arrival of the timber bobs was greeted with handshakes and lots of woodland talk. We were excited because we had never been near six Shire horses before, and the respect the men had for these beautiful creatures was wonderful to see. The brasses on the harnesses reflected in the morning sunlight and the strength and calmness of

the horses. We would smell the horse aroma. Soon we were being introduced to Captain, the lead horse, a magnificent stallion who had been with the group for twelve years. The cricket match was far from our thoughts as we admired and inspected the timber bobs, great wheeled attachments that could be adjusted on the central pole according to the length of the trees. Little did we realise the sad memories we would have of these horses later on, but we were to witness a sight we would always remember.

The bob men were enquiring where the trees were. Granddad escorted them to the felling. We had always wondered how the trees were loaded onto the timber bobs, and were very eager to follow and perhaps watch this process.

Captain led the team through the trees, Granddad walking in front. It wasn't long before we could see the felling, some ten large beeches were trimmed and ready for loading.

Captain was released from the lead and four other horses were positioned by the fallen trees. Very large chains were then produced and set out for the lift, the bob then positioned by the first tree and four very large blocks, some twelve feet in length with steel inserts, were set down by the side of the bob. Two chains were then looped under the first tree and fixed to the horses to the other side of the bob and the command "Pull!" was given.

The tree slowly slid up the rods to the tie beams, one each end of the bob. A steel clamp was then inserted in the holes on the beam to stop them from falling and so this was carried on until some ten trees were loaded securely, fastened ready for the long haul to the factory. It was a wonderful sight to see and the horses were magnificent.

It was some two hours later that we arrived on the common for the cricket match. Aunt Jess had brought tea and cakes and we had a great day watching the play. it was all very friendly, ending with Granddad's team losing by ten runs, it was typical of the bodgers when they toasted each other with a pot of ale, and we walked back to the cottage feeling very tired and elated.

IV

Today we are very happy because we are going to walk in the woods to try and find pig nuts. We have been told to look very carefully in the areas where the trees are not too dense. Sis has obtained two very old kitchen knives and forks given us for our expedition. Expedition it is because we are hoping to find wild life in a very remote part of the wood where deer and badger have been seen.

Our thoughts of Betsy Kitson now quite happy, knowing that her life is part of nature and very much in the natural concern she has for animals. We have entered the area quite near Solinger where stood a disused cottage, now very old and decayed. We have obtained our pig nuts after a great deal of searching, the very fine green sprays of fern just visible above the ground. It is wonderful to think that we are following the actions and life of the bodgers and our tin mugs are almost full. We will wash and eat them when we return to the cottage.

Granddad has promised to meet us at an area some two miles from his hut where four paths meet, and the area that we have grown familiar with on our journeys to the workings. Sis said: "Can you hear it?" l had already heard a strange whimpering coming from a dense copse to our right and was sure that it was an animal in agony and distress. We left the footpath in the direction of the sound, parting the dense undergrowth and bushes and saw a terrible sight. A small terrier dog was cringing in the undergrowth, its back leg covered in blood and it was then we saw the reason for the terrible pain the animal was suffering. A gin trap had snapped onto its leg and had crushed the bone, the leg almost severed. We were so worried and upset we were hoping Granddad would hear our calls and the squeals of the dog. It was a great relief when he approached down the path and could see us through the bushes. He was very angry that someone could be so cruel, especially when he recognised the dog. It was a small cross-bred terrier very much like Nipper from the farm at Brimmers. Nipper was very distressed at the agonising whimpers. It was lucky that we had decided to be in the area. A gin trap is a terrible way of catching animals, the strong spring holding back some terrifying teeth which, when trodden on, are released to snap onto the unfortunate creature. Granddad said that some animals eat and chew their legs to be released from the traps.

It was a difficult task to release the trap and we were wondering how we were going to help the terrified dog. It was then decided to return to the workings and obtain a trestle for holding equipment and tools used in the bodgings. We were instructed to stay with the dog and keep him calm. He couldn't walk so we were able to cover him with my jacket and comfort him. It wasn't long before Granddad arrived with his friend Jack and we transported our injured friend back to the cottage. It was months later that we saw him again very fit and well - his leg had to be lost, but he was racing around on his other three. We were so pleased to have been able to help in the rescue of the terrier and, from that moment, assist in the destruction of those terrible gin traps.

Wednesday is the day we are always looking forward to during the summer because it is the day the timber bobs rumble through the village from the Hampden Woods taking the beech trees to the factories in High Wycombe. Today has proved a sad day in many ways.

It is always exciting to hear the sound of twenty-four hooves gracefully pulling the huge timber bobs. We are waiting at the crossroads by 'The Whip' inn, looking forward to our ride down the village perched on the poles at the rear of the timber bobs, Captain showing his wonderful mane as he leads, head swaying in his usual forceful manner. There are six of us waiting. Sis has refused to ride. We are looking forward to being part of this bodger fraternity, really understanding the privileges it provides, and the acceptance of the Hatt brothers, who know all is well with bodgers' children, and I believe enjoy the energy and happiness we all feel at this time.

It is evening. School is over and we ride down the village. We are very happy and singing in this wonderful movement of strength and the warm smell of the horses wafting back to the rhythm of these perfectly timed hooves. PC Harris has noted our actions and we are behaving in a perfected motion, knowing that he would clear us off the bob. We nod to him and wave, his silver watch chain
reflecting in the evening sun. It is great fun to pass the 'Black Horse' inn where people stand with brimming pint pots cheering us on, down the road past Grymsdyke Farm and so on round the Slad Lane, a very small lane leading to Speen, our rival village.

It is with some concern that we noticed the horses were not in rhythm and to our astonishment suddenly stopped. Three of the lads fell off the pole and we all scrambled down onto the road. Jack had jumped from the driving seat and was pushing past the rear horses. It was obvious something was terribly wrong.

It was then we saw a sight that we would never forget. Captain, our very special friend, was lying on the ground, his hooves scraping the ground, his breathing very heavy and the whole team were in a distraught state. We were just in time to see him shiver and produce his special whinny, and we knew he was dead.

We stood and watched as Jack unhooked the team and led them to the field on the corner - a very special friend had gone. lt was important that we touch him, Jack allowing us to kiss this wonderful face. PC Harris had arrived and we were led back to the village, and six very sad children were taken to their homes.

This is a part of our lives that we have taken along over many years, and a memory the bodgers' children would never forget.

"Have you told Jack?" The words were spoken in concern and the realisation that two small children had brought devastating news to the bodgers, who had returned to the workings to commence bodging for another week. The huts with pole and lathe were always left on Sundays, this being the day of rest as indeed it was for most of the country in those days. Many of the bodgers would walk from their villages, some on bicycles with their axes tied to the crossbar-a very important tool.

Granddad walked over to Fred, his work friend of many years who had set up his work hut very close by.

"l don't think he has arrived yet," said Fred, "maybe we should give him a shout." Jack had set up his work hut a half-mile from them to finish off small felling that was due for delivery to a new factory. There was much concern at this decision. Maybe we would give him a shout. Our news that his hut was burned to the ground was devastating, and we were to experience yet another moment of woodland life in communication.

Granddad cupped his hand to his mouth and called "Jack!" At almost half a mile's distance back came the reply "Owen! ". It was then we realised that conversations between the bodgers were usually held at great distances in the woods. lt was revealed that Fred had unfortunately left his hurricane lamp on low leaving for home on Saturday and it was thought an animal had disturbed it,
setting fire to shavings, etc. True to form, the bodgers rallied round and helped to build another hut for Jack. Much work and labour was given by the bodgers making new panels to form the hut. Nipper was in his element searching through the charred embers, many holes telling of the creatures living under the hut. lt was decided that the pole lathe could be used and it would be many days before Jack could carry on his work, another sad moment in the bodgers' lives we will remember.

Conditions were very hard during the winter months. Much of the bodging was carried out during the late evenings with hurricane lamps, and the danger of fire was always the great worry. Water was a major problem and it had to be handled to the workings with a wheeled bin. We were always amazed at the independence of the bodgers. The grinding stones were very important to maintain the tools in a sharpened state. We noticed that the bodgers were not very agile, and Granddad said that standing on one leg working the treadle lathe was responsible for the bodgers 'gammy leg' as it was called. The sciatic nerve was very-prominent with them, and the movement of the cut logs prior to splitting with wedge and hammer and the momentum of using cross cut saw was a major factor in the restrictive movements of the bodgers. But the silence and tranquillity for the movement of these men of woodland accord will always be remembered.

The changing scenes were woodland magic and Spring, Summer and Winter were moments of sheer delight. Country folk accept nature's demands and to stand in shadows and be bathed in the warmth of Spring sunshine through the beech-wood canopy 'at peace with nature', and we felt part of God's creation, time and motion await in modern perception. How lucky and fortunate we were.