A Chiddingly history by William Chives

At which I wished him goodnight, wondering where the school might be situated which he attended, if attend one he ever had. Another incident which still lives in my mind is remarkable of true Sussex dialogue. Here it is as told me when I was a youngster, which however is supposed to have happened in Chiddingly some years ago. The story goes thiswise. A carter while ploughing within easy reach of the village was having some trouble with keeping the furrows straight, when to make things more troublesome, a man entered the field leaving the gate open behind him. No sooner had the said carter seen this than he yelled out to the offender at top note, "Hi dere, shet dat ere gait. No mortal man breathin cant plow wid dem rowks all up de voure (furrow). Wey dere, cant ye hoot when eny body tells ye. Now den wey dere. Now den bewy. Pull dat colt back in de voure."

Another word, voller, was often heard in time past. Again, other terms and names of tools etc. were hard to understand by newcomers. They themselves were called Ferriners (foreigners). Wheelbarrows were called wheelbars; thick sticks bats. Handbill as an-bull; broccoli as broc-ler; potatoes taiters. Rape - rraipe; traces - traices; poles -poales; horses - hosses. Shuts, young pigs, were known as shets; heifers as ha-fers; ewes as yoes; pork as poark, while the common sparrow was often called spars. The toad however was one of a few things which had its name rightly pronounced and to the full, to d. The willow as willer, or withy; the furze of gorse was called fuzz; oats were wuts; ditches were dicks; a funeral was finrel; good morning was mornin, while goodnight was right.

Another little bit of true Sussex in the form of a complaint used by a nearby neighbour, which the good-hearted old Sussex dame would perpetually deliver whenever people chanced to call at her house. Also in the event of my mother going out to open the drive gate (at the North Lodge at Hilders Court) each morning, as sure as the sun rises in the east, one could rely on hearing the following greeting between the two mentioned personalities. My mother: Good morning, Mrs ... how are you this morning? Mrs ...: O I ant ad a wink a sleep all night. My hamstrings aiches dat ere raite I've a trouble to putt up wid um. I tell my man I purty offen wish I wus ded out an it.

My mother would often offer to rub the poor old lady but she being a constant victim to rheumatics seemed to have passed all hope, or belief in rubbing, whereupon she would reply thus: O, I ant no faith in all dese new fangled things. Nuthink wunt ever do me any good. Another day I heard the following exclamation from her while wondering what ever she was calling to my mother so loud for. The head of a well-known spirit merchant and brewery firm was driving his horse and van down the road. Pointing toward him, the old lady very excitedly shouted, "Say, Miss Whatsnaime, I putt he-es fust shurt on. Yus, dat I did massy me. I wunder what brings im round today."

An Amusing but Effective Incident
My parents being anxious that I should always bear in mind whenever conversing with a stranger no matter what his or her stage in life, taught me also I found to detect unseemly, or ungentlemanly acts or statements, which however I might have passed unnoticed. Also, it became rather a fascination with me in so much that I find it very hard to let such acts or statements pass without drawing their attention to their error. I had quite recently an encounter (while proceeding home to dinner) with a gentleman and lady in a motor car. They brought their car to a halt opposite me. This is what followed after.

Calling me over to them, the gentleman asked, "Do you know where East Dean is?" I said, "Yes, thank you, sir, I know it well." A short silence followed, when he said, "Do you?" I assured him that I did know it well. I saw too that he was getting restless, when quite suddenly he said, raising his voice, also his gaze to me, "Perhaps you will tell me the shortest route to it?" I said, "Yes, sir, I shall be pleased to." Our eyes met and I hesitated a split second, whereupon the lady at his side said, "You have forgotten something, Darling." "Oh, I am so sorry - please." I then directed them. Dropping the clutch of his engine in, they both leaned forward, thanking me very much indeed for the explicit information, they sped on their way.

That incident brought to my mind yet another which happened to me when going home from school one afternoon, one and forty years ago. In the course of the three days following, I compiled the incident in verse, while working alone gardening, dotting them down before retiring each night.

Manners make the Gentleman
As I was trudging home from school, in eighteen ninety-nine,
I met a man on horseback, who wished to know the time;
I saw he was a gentleman, or at least I thought he was,
For he was dressed in hunting clothes, and rode a swanky hoss.
My thoughts of him soon altered though, as unto me he yelled,
"Do you know what the time is boy," my doubts were soon dispelled;
"Yes, thank you, Sir, I'm straight from school, so I can easily tell;
But my parents taught me how to speak, perhaps yours did you as well."
I saw he was quite angry, to me 'twas plain to see,
He'd like to tell me where to go, or what he'd do to me;
He said, "You talk to me like that, I have both land and cattle,"
Then in his pocket dived his hand, and made his money rattle.
I turned as though to walk away, he said, "Here, just a minute,"
And whilst he held his hand to me, I saw shining in it;
He'd forgotten all about the time, but tossed me two new tanners,
For as he rode away I heard him say, "Thanks, I have bought my manners."

William Chives 1941
This incident occurred at Honeywick Lane, 1899. The previous one occurred in l942 at the Golden Cross.

Old-time Popular Personalities of Chiddingly
Round about the years 1900-10, one would often see coming along the bye roads various personalities which would cause fresh comers to wonder who they were, quite naturally. Secondly the problem would be to place them rightly in their occupation, if possessing any, but those of who I am about to quote, were those of whom most of the old folks alive today (1942) will recall with a smile on their face or even a chuckle might be heard from them.

My first person to view is often brought to my mind by that tune one hears on the radio - you know the one? "The Umbrella Man". Now you will wonder who was my umbrella man. Well, that little queer member of that old family of dealers from way over Harebeating near Hailsham. His favourite greeting was, "Umbeller, Lady? Here's a good one for your own use", the price of which would range from half up to a whole Crown (5/-) [25p]. "Best steel ribs and good quality cover, Lady, fit for a queen." And again there were always umbrellas for all classes of purses, "See here, lady, here's one that has got a good class cover, but a bit faded. Just right for the youngsters going to school. Only a bob, Lady. Any old ones to mend then, Lady? No, I aint took a copper yet this morning, trade is quiet to be sure - good morning, Lady."

The Old Pedlar
Ah, here comes the old pedlar. My word, what a huge pack he has on his back. Yes, and it holds no end of interesting things, from a box of pins 1d, up to a pair of good quality coloured blankets. See, he has turned in to the cowstalls at Holdens. Yes, he usually finds a good sale for his wares there among the youngest of the farmworkers. Let us go to see what he has to offer. "Look here, young feller, here's a jolly good watch, only half a crown to you. Here's a good razor, fit to shave a king. You can have it for eighteen pence - a bob then, thanks. Any socks, did you say? Good lor, yes. Here is a lot an um from sixpence ha'penny up to a bob. Taking that ninepenny pair? Had a rise in wages, young man? Good luck to you. Scarfs, yes, plenty an um. Red hankchefs, yes, twopence ha'penny, threpence and fo-pence. Shirts, yes, half a crown, others four and five bob a piece."

Collar studs, washable collars, safety pins, needles, thread black and drab, cotton all sizes, waxends, gaiter buttons, boot buttons, and all sorts of other buttons, brushes and combs, hairpins, yes, hatpins too in variety. Day and Martins skin blacking, dubbing, Rishion Taller (Russian Tallow) used to rub into the thick leather boots (water-tights) to keep the wet from penetrating them. Leather boot laces 1d per pair, 2d and 3d mohair laces, 2½d a dozen pairs. "Eh, whatsay baccy? Yes only keep it quiet, 3d and 4d a ounce. Snuff too." The pedlar's name? Granfer Ripley, father of our own Umbrella Man.

Who is this?
Now for another type of popular figure often seen about Chiddingly in the nineties (1890-1900). Trudging along, always muttering to herself, dressed in very loosely hung clothes, often bedraggled with the mud in which she had spent the night before. Then occasionally she would have a good clean up. One would have scarcely known her, with face and hands clean, the tangled, grizzly hair of the night before combed and brushed out. See, she is mending her old hat as she sits on her bundle.

Should you venture to rise a conversation, you might get a great surprise, for she comes from a family of genteel bearing. She too has a very charming background to her life. Her childhood was one of which one might do well to ponder over. Aye, and she will keep one spellbound, while relating the scenery of her home surroundings, so explicit would the whole start of her life be revealed. How very plain it was to see how vividly she lived it all over again. And so you see my friends, this roaming, lonely old lady has seen better days, and there is little doubt that there are others amongst the number of folks who are misunderstood, which have seen better days.

You are wondering who our old lady was. Well, you may remember that she often could be seen puffing at her pipe o' baccy. I remember her better for her honesty. To those who feel to point the finger of scorn at her through her downfall, I would say, "Think twice."

Other well-known personalities whose memories still live
On mounting the old spiral stone stairway to the bell chamber of our old parish Church, one might see certain initials cut in the large blocks upon which the bells themselves are hung (called stocks). There are numerous initials to be seen on some, but those which appear most prominent are T.B. Around the same somewhere very near are the dates upon which those stocks were fixed or made. Now just in case the reader does not happen to have known T.B., his name shall be told. No, it is not Tom Bowling, or any but Tom Brinkhurst (Thomas Brinkhurst, to be correct).

Now look to see how many stocks the old gentleman have made. ... I think you will find with T.B. thereon. Several other things in our church bear witness of his handiwork. Some of the present carpenters working in this parish were once his pupils or apprentices too. The flight of time is ever bearing our old acquaintances to the beyond unknown, and things old give place to new but sweet memories still live on. The one which is so often before me is our beloved Welsh Rector, the late Reverend Scales. I often see him (in my mind) going on his rounds, visiting his parishioners, or delivering his sermon on Sundays. Also his merry old face was like a tonic on the annual summer Sunday school treat which was held at the Rectory.

Local spot where good views are seen
Charming views of the church may be obtained from the top of Old Mill Lane by Stonehill. In fact a lovely view of the valley round The Stream at the foot of the hill upon which we are standing. It is summer in the evening, the sun is dipping westward. Look below here, how the lovely tints glow on the tips of the trees in Mill Wood, and again, cast your glance over to Hale Green. The tints are much more marked there on those old giant elms. While farther still in that direction one sees as it were a glowing mirror at The Pekes.

Now run your eyes along the distant Sussex Downs. One has a magnificent view, extending from Bourne (Eastbourne). Follow them along with me. Yes, that is Beachy Head, Friston next, followed by Jevington. Let us look at the sunset's rays on the wooded slope in the Downs above Folkington. How lovely the rays seem even to the naked eye, but raise your glasses and take a sweeping view of the whole Downland. Ah, I felt sure you would enjoy that magnificent effect on the hill tops, with the shades of evening falling gradually upon each village in turn. Look, it is slowly stealing over the whole valley, wrapping it in a blanket.

Now take a last look at our lovely old church spire standing like a sentinel keeping guard over the whole valley. See there is very last beam of golden crimson, slowly climbing the steeple. Now it is gone, and all around the birds are singing their lullabies to their happy broods and partners. Hark, what is that, listen. The nightingale singing in the bottom of the Eastknowle Wood on our right. There is her mate answering her, farther round to the right, towards the wooded brookland below. Easterfields, facing Foxhunt estate, which is on the hill brow there, in the joining parish of Waldron. Our return ramble shall be down by the old millpond. See, here is the waterwheel working. Take care in descending the bank, you will need to raise your voice as there is such a mighty rumbling and splashing.

Having enjoyed that sight, we will take a glance at the old arch with the water trickling down to the pool, or basin. Yes, the water is leaking through the side of that lock, or floodgate, there. You would like to see the same arch during winter when those flood gates are open. The rushing, bounding waters are terrific, and may be heard a long way off. Yes, that is a flight of wild ducks wheeling round to settle on to the millpond, but they can see us. Hark, the moorhens have seen them too, and are warning their comrades of their approach. Look there is the old barn owl, two of them. They lodge in the roof of the barn along at the Stream Farm.

We must needs turn our steps over the footbridge over the brook. Just look at the rabbits, as they see us coming they scamper off to the wood. Look there is a little black fellow sitting bolt upright, with his front paws hanging down. There, off he goes. We stroll down Honeywick Lane and turn to the left, here, through this gate. What is that beautiful smell which tickles the nostril? Why, that is the smoke from the clamps of burning bricks. See, here is one of the little furnaces all aglow. There are three of them you will find, but this fourth one is not alight. No, that one is not needed, the wind would blow all the flames away from the clamp, which would be useless.

Now we proceed to the village. Look at the lights twinkling in the windows. Ah, here we are back again. There is the Six Bells Inn. Hope you agree with me, that we have had one happy ramble. Meet me here one hour before daybreak and we will see the sunrise from another angle. The best time will be in two weeks' time when the harvest moon is in. Bring your spyglass and camera. We are almost sure to see something of interest. Also put your thick boots on or goloshes as there may be a bit of dew on the grass. Yes, by all means bring your two friends along. They will like to see the country at dawn. Good night, don't forget a fortnight's time. I will see you to choose the proper sunset overnight.