by Julia Farwell

I had a very special place in the life of my grandfather. I was the first grandchild, born on his birthday in 1940 and, as it later turned out, I was the only girl. We had a very special bond. Many years we celebrated our birthdays together, sometimes in very special places.

I loved coming to The Croft to stay with my grandparents because their house seemed so big, the garden so huge and there were lots of things to do and places to hide in. Later, when my brother was old enough, we used to ride our bikes or go into the office and annoy “Mr Andrews” who was our grandfather’s accountant. We also had lots of fun getting in the way of the kitchen maids who always had time for us. It was in there that we watched cook making butter, cream, sausages, pies and cakes for tea. The kitchen was always lovely and warm and welcoming, even though we were not really allowed in there. The smells emanating from it were enough to make anyone hungry, and so break the rules. I realise now that my grandparents lived a very privileged life style.

As for the house itself, it was lovely. You entered the front door into a beautiful large wooden panelled hallway filled with lots of big shiny brass jugs, planters, horse brasses, lamps and such like, with a grandfather clock which ticked away the hours, chiming hourly. My grandfather used to wind this up every Sunday morning when he came downstairs and would check the time against his pocket watch which he wore on a chain hung across his vast expanse of tummy. Opposite the front door was the dining room where we all enjoyed our family meals. One thing I shall always remember is seeing my grandfather sharpening the carving knife on a stone and then carving the joints at a separate carving table while the assembled throng awaited their lunch. Many a happy meal was spent in this room.

To the right of the dining room there was a nice sitting room with views over the rose garden, rockery, and the fields beyond which often had cows called Lincolnshire Reds in them (his pride and joy) and from the other window could be seen the tennis court and the gardens beyond. Between these two rooms were French doors leading out to a veranda where we could sit in the shade on a hot summer’s day. I can remember doing this often, drinking orange juice or having tea and cakes brought out to us. To the left side of the hallway were the stairs then a room which we all called the smoke room. This was where the grown-ups went to smoke and a foul smelling room it was too.

Beyond that room were the kitchens, comprising a butler’s pantry, the main kitchen, the scullery, and a huge walk in larder. I can remember seeing several large enamel jugs standing on a slab all filled with lovely Jersey milk which used to come up from the farm every day ready for breakfast. When it had rested, a thick head of cream came to the top. This was then skimmed off and either made into butter, cream cheese, or used as double cream on our cereal or fruit. Mmmm!

I remember as you went upstairs, on the half landing was another grandfather clock and at the top my grandparents had a couple of rooms to themselves on the right, one was their bedroom and then my grandfather had a large dressing room with a basin in. My parents had a large double room opposite the staircase then going to the left along the corridor there was my room looking out over the front and down the drive, then the nursery and next to that our nanny’s room or a maids room and a beautiful mosaic bathroom and lavatory. I remember we always had lighted fires in our bedrooms in the winter which made a lovely glow by which to go to sleep. I can also remember maids coming up regularly to make up the fires, carrying buckets of coal. On reflection today, it seems a bit like a scene from the TV series Downton Abbey.

I loved to go with my grandfather to the farm at Dyke some days. I was allowed to see “Mr Charlie” milk the cows and sometimes I tried myself but was never very good at getting any milk. “Mr Charlie” used to have masses of chickens too, all running around the farmyard. Then we’d go and see the piggery where often there were little piglets. Nelson and Captain, the two cart horses, were also stabled in this farmyard and I loved to stroke them and watch them at work in the fields. Those were the days before my grandfather had tractors.

This was a time of austerity after the Second World War and it was a great place to be down on the farm as there did not seem to be any shortages of food to us. As we grew up, we enjoyed helping in the fields at harvest time or walking with our grandparents from the house in Bourne across the fields to Dyke then back down Mill Lane and home. A long walk for a small child but we did not seem to mind as it was always made so interesting and there were always different things to see along the way.

As the garden at The Croft was so big, we played hide and seek around the place or watched the lovely cows which were in the field at the bottom of the garden or in the field along the side of the drive. We also used to go mushrooming in these fields too, picking huge field mushrooms which we would have for breakfast the next day. They were so full of flavour, not like the kind you buy today.

The drive at the front of The Croft was another source of amusement too, either collecting conkers from the many beautiful chestnut trees which lined both sides or we would hide behind the big black wooden gates at the entrance and watch people who passed, sometimes jumping out to surprise them and even making them jump. Not everyone was amused though. Everyone seemed to look in when they walked past the driveway because it was a wonderful sight looking up to the house at the top end, beyond the large trees, a place which we so proudly called home. It was our home!

	Julia Heath, aged 3 (left), a frequent visitor to The Croft,  and again in the rock garden (right), aged 10.
Julia was also a bridesmaid at the wedding in 1946 of Joy Cooke to Guards' officer Captain Robert Feltham at the Abbey Church, Bourne. Joy's brother, Andrew, was later to become owner of The Croft which he bought in 1960.

Our grandparents were a very loving couple, giving us all the love that grandparents are supposed to do. I remember grandfather being a very large gentleman and grandmother rather small. It amused me seeing them together. They played games with us and encouraged us to learn the names of all the wild flowers, trees and birds that visited the garden, pointing out the names of them all in turn. We learned the names of the flowers in the garden, the fruit trees, and vegetables they grew.

They took us to church and encouraged us to go to Sunday school. I actually went to nursery school across the road, to Miss Tyler’s for a while. When I was ten, I remember for my birthday present my grandfather bought me my first grown-up bicycle but I was mad because my brother got one too. He had chosen a matching pair for us of blue and white and we loved them. We were encouraged to ride all over the place, to go exploring, which we did and fun it was too. Those were the days when you could allow your children to go off on their own.

My grandfather used to go to the farm most days. I remember seeing him drive off every morning in his car accompanied by his faithful friend, Susan, his cocker spaniel. He also used to go off to the Corn Exchange sometimes or he would go to Boston, or up to London. No doubt all this was to do with his dealings in the corn trade but I was too young to understand exactly what he did. It was years later that I discovered where he went to in London as my office was over the road from the Corn Exchange, a most strange coincidence.

He was a very proud man, much loved and respected and a firm disciplinarian. He took great pride in his farm and dearly wished that my father would leave the Royal Air Force and take over the business but that was not to be. My father’s first love was the RAF and not farming although he was very interested in it.

One of my other lasting memories of this lovely couple was the Sunday afternoon ritual in the summer months which was to go out for a drive. This meant driving around the local country side, inspecting, hedges, ditches, fields, stock etc. He always wanted to make sure that his was the best looking, and best kept farm and was therefore very critical.

Another thing I remember about The Croft was the summer tennis parties on the grass court. I learned to play tennis here too, albeit not to the standard that my parents would have liked, but it was fun, and something that as we grew older, my brother and I could also play in the holidays. My grandfather was very particular about his tennis court and we were paid one penny for every plantain weed we could find and then dig up with a special tool. It was not an easy task and we did not get rich.

Another fond memory is how my grandfather loved his food. We always had butter balls on the table and he used to put several onto his plate every meal, not for his bread as most people would do but into his potatoes and vegetables. He also had a great love of cream and that would lavishly coat every pudding course. There was always a whole Stilton at Christmas time, suitably fed with port which was also one of his favourite things.

We ate four meals a day in those days, breakfast (nearly always cooked as well as cereal), lunch was the main meal of the day and was three courses and that was followed by tea with sandwiches, cakes and biscuits then a light snack in the evening. We children had gone to bed then, so I don’t know what the grown-ups ate but we had porridge, or bread and milk or something in our bedrooms before we got into bed.

The house was a happy one, a home filled with warmth, love, and loads of atmosphere. In the earlier days of my childhood they employed several house staff who I got on well with, plus a gardener, and “the man in the office”. It broke my heart when I heard many years later that the house was going to be pulled down and have masses of new houses built on the land. I know this trend had started years ago when the surrounding fields were sold off for building but I always hoped that the house itself would find someone to love and cherish it. However I guess it was too big for people today and certainly the garden was, beautiful though it may have been. It is all now just a very happy memory of my wonderful privileged childhood, and of days gone by.

WRITTEN MAY 2012

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE Julia Farwell is the daughter of the late Sir Maurice Heath and his wife, Mary, who was daughter of Richard Boaler Gibson, owner of The Croft in North Road, Bourne. She now lives at Chichester in West Sussex.