A Chiddingly history by William Chives

To get back to the dinnertime spoken of, my luck had been right in at playtime. I had had ever so many wins at different forms of marbles (which I will explain later). Well, of course, going home would mean the loss of time at marbles, so I turned in and joined the various games. "Any luck?", you ask. Why, I never owned so many before, nor since. It seemed that scarce anyone had any but me. What did I do with them? That is to come; we went into school at 1.30. I had just settled down on an empty stomach which had a gnawing sensation in it (by the way that word gnaw often puzzled me when a boy, why g-naw). When who should knock at the door, but my father wanting to know why I had not been home to dinner; he and my mother thought I might be ill.

The Head asked me to explain. I then said that he asked me to help clean that cupboard out. "Yes quite right", but that did not take the whole of the dinner time. I then owned up, some strong discussion passed between the Head and my father, at the end of which my father said, "Well, he is going home to have some dinner whether you like it or not." Now I could see trouble ahead. I passed my father in the passage, snatched my hat and coat, also my marbles, which I had to fetch out from the hollow trunk of the old ash tree by the Churchyard gate. My father nearly caught me up there. He said, "You had better get yourself down through they fields, my boy, as quick as you know how" - did I? I ran as fast as I had never ran before. I reached home, one of the pair of cottages beside Mrs Hickman's shop (now being carried on by Mr. Frank Westgate). By the way, the same bell is over that shop door, as it was 40 years ago.

I scooped out a hole in the garden and there I buried my marbles, in all two 2lb treacle tins full, and a large pocket out of a pair of my father's old trousers with a drawstring in it, a quart which my mother put in for me. My father came in, showed me his belt, and said, "Now, my boy, I'll warm your jacket for you," but my mother made me acknowledge my error and also made me promise not ever to do it again. I have never played at marbles since. Let us see what I had gained, before I tell you what I did with the marbles. First, I had all the marbles, true; secondly, I had lost my mark through absence (the first that year I remember); thirdly, I had lost esteem of the Head for he picked on me ever after; fourth, I had lost entirely the true joy of a good game of marbles.

As for them, well the very next morning I hid them in the top corner of the churchyard close to where my poor old father lays now, and later when we came out to play, I collected all the boys up from the infants and gave them a jolly good scramble for my marbles, by scattering them hither and thither in their playground. But I have never forgotten how to play marbles, and maybe at some near future date on a holiday I will show the children of today how we used to play at the various forms of marble games, if I can collect two or three of the old boys to join in. I quite think they still remember the games we used to have together. I have my men in mind, yes, I will hunt round and see if I can buy some more marbles, boss-eyes and all.

Peg tops (Peg tops had a topknot which we always said caused the whole top to wobble, so it always had to be cut off) too are never seen now. I must make one, and a marble block, Auntie-Hole, too, then we will have some fun. "Peg in the ring" was played this wise. Each boy would place a specified number of marbles in a ring about 1 foot in diameter, there being sometimes a much larger ring round it. Should a boy succeed dividing the group of marbles (which was laid almost touching each other) with his peg top, he may be fortunate enough to get one or more right outside the larger ring in which case he would claim the same, but that being one rule of the game i.e. that all marbles must be got outside of the larger ring, it would take some time to do so. It certainly needed a bit of skill as well as judgement. I seem to see those marbles now, flying in all directions when a boy should plant the peg of his top right in the centre of the cluster in the middle which would sometimes be as many as 50 in number.

Block marble
This form of game was played by putting a certain number down in a small ring (as for big ring). Toss up to find the first one to start, then he would spin a block, square in shape, roughly 2 inches each way, into the air, and whichever letter on the block came up top, so he would act accordingly, namely, T stood for take (he would then take whatever number he had placed in the ring); P stood for put (in which case he would be called upon to put his number down again, i.e. back into the ring, making 2 lots). I often have had to put as many as 4 lots down, when some player would turn up A (which stood for all), then he claimed the lot. Should H turn up top, half of the number in the ring would be claimed. On the other hand, if N came up to top (none) the game remained the same. But when O turned up, that meant that player who tossed was out of the game entirely.

Ante Hole (which some would insist on writing as Auntie Hole) was played in this manner. Each player would call out Ante 5, or Ante 4, whatever he could spare. Then he would take the two lots in his hand, usually the right hand, he would place his toes at a line marked a good 4 feet away from a wall, or fence, or post, in front of which the Ante Hole had been cut out in he ground at the base of the wall, about 4 inches across, like a pocket. Then into the Ante Hole he would toss the marbles all at once. Even numbers outside the hole, he was the winner; odds out, he was the loser.

There was also another kind of marble game, "Chaser", or "Chivy Chase", which has been the means of many a couple of boys being late for school. They would work their way to school, by shooting at each other's marble, usually a bosseye.

Different kinds of marbles
Bosseyes, or bossies, were large coloured glass ones about 1 inch in diameter, with the colours intertwined inside, which made them easy to discern in the grass. Allys, or allies, were slightly smaller glass ones, marked as big ones, very pretty to look at when new, but were far from that when having been used in a battle for victory, often having large pieces broken or splintered off of them. There were also blood allies, which were made of marble with the blood-like veins in them, about 1/2 inch in diameter. Then lastly there was the small marbles, all colours, about 1/2 inch in diameter.

Oh, there was also a certain kind of white glass ally which was never reckoned as a genuine marble nor ally. Those were named bottle stoppers as they were used at factories in the neck of lemonade bottles (which by the way were pinched in on two sides to nearly meet). This glass marble was placed in the space above the kink, at the factory where blown, there being a rubber ring just below the top of the bottle mouth, the marble forming a kind of vacuum when in contact with rubber ring kept the contents in securely until forced in to open the bottle. Ah, many a good lemonade bottle has been sacrificed for the bottle-stopper inside. Prices: bosseyes were 1d each. Blood allies 1/2d each. Smaller glass coloured allys 1/2d each and the smallest, baked and painted marbles, were 15 for 1/2d, 30 for 1d. Peg tops, all colours, large ones 1d each, small 1/2d each. Whip tops, same price, whipcord genuine 2 yds 1d.

Hoop time
Small iron hoops made from three-eighths inch iron, about 18 inches in diameter cost 9d or 10d [4p]. Larger and thicker ones locally made, by Mr W Baker of the Forge (now a dwelling house) at Muddles Green, would cost 1/6d [8p] plain. If made with loose rings (small) to run round the hoops when trundled to form music, were charged at the rate of 1/2d a ring, and should a boy be fortunate enough to own one with rings on, it would be the envy of all the school. We lived with the said blacksmith some years when I was at school, and always turned the grindstone for him when grinding the millbills which the local millers used for dressing the millstones with for grinding grain. Aye, many and many a time I have turned that grindstone for hours on end.

The smith made me a champion iron hoop, thick, with a dozen of rings on it. I kept it till long after I had left school. He gave it to me for Christmas, for turning the grindstone. There was a very large grindstone too, which stood in the corner of a gateway opposite the forge entrance. The ground on which it stood was owned by the late Rev'd Seale, and he charged Mr Baker 1/- [5p] annually for the hire of the ground to stand it on so that he could not own it.

At that time, there were two blacksmith forges at Muddles Green. Mr Baker's, also one at bend of the road leadng to the Golden Cross (opposite Rose Cottage), where stood as well in front of it the old wheelwright's shop, owned by Mr Heasman who is buried in this Churchyard. But that forge is now owned, I think, by Mr Wood of the old Green Farm (now his private residence). The forge went out of use some years ago, and the old wheelwright's shop has vanished, the site now being used as a vegetable garden.

There was also another forge at Whitesmith owned by the last smith, a Mr Russell, but that now is used as a private school, Miss F Bradshaw being the Mistress of the school, and the property owned by Colonel Allen Richardson, son of the late village squire. The old forge is used still for that purpose at Swansbrook on the east end of the parish. Also, the wheelwright's shop there is still in use owned by the two Mr Jenners, one of which died a few years ago. He was also undertaker. Now those two brothers were a pattern to all. One would never transact any business without the other's approval. Should anyone wish to do so, the answer would be this, "Ah, yes, I see, but just wait a minute please. I will see what my brother says about it."

I still have a two tyned hoe for potatoes which Mr Jenner made for me when I was seventeen years of age. That was nearly forty years ago. I still use it and it looks good for twenty years more. The price with handle "Ash" was one shilling and nine pence [9p]. Today one has to pay anything up to 8 or 9 shillings [45p] to get one made by a blacksmith. I also have still in constant use a three tyned Canterbury hoe (spud hoe, Sussex) made for me by the blacksmith at Ripe twenty odd years ago, which cost eight shillings and six pence with ash handle. Also a very nice spade which I bought in Hailsham at Mr A Smith's, the ironmongers, nearly twenty years ago which was two shillings and six pence [13p]. Today one has to pay eight or even nine shillings for one the same. (For one the same 15/- & 16/- now - 1950 -[80p]).

I learn to smite
In my early days it used to be a very pleasant sound to hear the anvil ringing at the smithy at Muddles Green and elsewhere, especially when smiting was being done. I learned to smite under Mr W Baker of the Muddles Green forge when at the age of fifteen or thereabout. Now to smite with him was very difficult, he being left-handed and very stooping. He also had a hooked nose I remember. The course of the 7lb sledgehammer when smiting with him had a very decided twist in it when descending on to the anvil. Indeed his apprentices (3 to my knowledge) which he had could rarely do it, and so he was very pleased when he found that I managed to do it.

The tune of the smiting I seem to hear even now: Ting a ling, ting, ting, a, ling, ting. The first slight ting was caused by the smith with his small hammer, as also was the last, but the ling was much more pronounced and louder. My word, how it echoed on a frosty night. It was also a sight worth seeing, to see the sparks fly when smiting was in full swing. Now the one thing I missed directly I came back to the old home was the spreading chestnut tree which hung over the front of the smithy. At Mr Heasman's also there used to be one, but that was smaller which leads one to think that that forge was built at a later date than Mr Baker's.

He also made all the iron work for the Church bell fittings, if one was needed, also any other fitting. He was considered to be a good old hand in his day at all types of smithy work. He also had all the mill-bills to make and grind for the various mills in the district: Mr Wickens of the Golden Cross Mills, wind and steam; Mr Hide at the Dicker Windmill; Stream Water Mill (Mr J Guy's), also lots from the neighbouring parishes. The Holden's millstones, too, on the Hilders Court estate. Also it done one good to see the rows and rows of new horse shoes hung on the ceiling beams of the smithy. But all that is gone now for motor cars need no shoes, neither do they supply hoof trimmings for the gardens, or manure as did the many horses.

Now talking of manure, I have another memory in my mind of how we boys would go out after tea and go a-dunging along the roads. This was the cry usually, "coming dunging?" "Yes" "Go and get your mother's fire shovel then," and then we would go sometimes for a distance of 2 miles with our carts, a box on pramwheels, and come home loaded up and what a difference that manure and road grit made to the crops (no tarred roads then). Now don't laugh, but there you will I know.

I well remember coming home from the Gun way one night with my father, helping him pull his carpenter's handcart loaded with tools, two or three old gateposts, and sometimes as many as four sacks of chips (chucks, the Sussex folk called them). On the way home I noticed a lovely lot of horsedung so I sets off the next night by myself, and silly like I started lumping it up by the roadside as I went along with the idea of picking it up on my return, but alas, on getting to Thunders Hill on my return trip, I found all my lumps had been pinched, from there to the Green. I could have wept but it taught me a lesson, not to be selfish. I never did it again. Of course, no-one had taken it.