Category: Persons – Surname beginning with C

Information about persons whose surnames begin with the letter C.

Joyce Coward Was Everyone’s Friend

Saturday 23rd June 2001

Danny Howell writes:

Many people, particularly those living in or connected with Bapton and the surrounding area, will recall Bapton Stores (and its bakery), run by Roy Bryant and his wife Gladys (nee Weare). Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were ably assisted for many years by Joyce Coward whose warmth, genteel manner, steady presence and demeanour, made her an almost permanent fixture in an ever changing world. As well as undertaking shop and bakery duties, Joyce also helped, when necessary, with the bringing up of the Bryant children Christine and Peter. Joyce, who was a very likeable person, passed peacefully away on Saturday 23rd June 2001, while staying with Peter Bryant in Weston Super Mare. She was 79 years old.

The funeral service for Joyce Coward was held at St. John the Baptist Church, Stockton, on Wednesday 4th July. The Rev. Bryan Thomas conducted the service and Mrs. Carol Thomas played the organ. The service included Handel’s Largo, the hymns The King Of Love My Shepherd Is; Love Divine, All Loves Excelling; and All Things Bright And Beautiful; and the Reading was 1 Corinthians 13. An address was read by Peter Bryant, before prayers were said. After the service, Joyce’s body was interred in the churchyard at Stockton, and the family invited the mourners to refreshments at the Carriers Arms, Stockton. Donations in memory of Joyce, were given to CLIC (Cancer and Leukaemia in Childhood).

Danny Howell has a copy of the address read out by Peter Bryant at Joyce’s funeral. We are happy to publish it here:

JOYCE

Miriam Joyce Coward or just Joyce as she was so fondly known, to her sister she was Sissy, to her nephews just Aunt and to a few others, affectionately, Polly – a reference to her wonderful brew of tea.

Joyce was not an academic, she will not be remembered in history for great and wondrous deeds, but what she did possess is something that very few others ever aspire to: A loving and caring nature, a shoulder for others to cry on, a confidant, a listener, a person who would always find something nice to say about everyone she ever met and would only ever give advice if asked and not then until she had time to reflect on all the issues at stake.

Joyce was born at Longbridge Deverill on 18th February 1922, the eldest of three children born to Jim and Dorothy May Coward. The family moved from Longbridge Deverill to the quaintly named place of Smoky Bottom on what was Colonel Jeans’ estate at Fisherton Delamere, where Joyce’s father took up the position of shepherd. Joyce, her brother and sister, George and Virgie, attended the village school at Wylye which meant a three to four mile walk twice a day including the mile-long muddy track from the A36 to Smoky Bottom.

She left school at fourteen and looked for work. At this time my parents, Roy and Gladys Bryant, at the Stores, Bapton, were looking for a young girl to live in and assist in the shop and bakery and generally help out where necessary. Timid and very shy, Joyce came to live at Bapton. The year was 1936, the year my sister, Christine, was born. I was born a few years later. Christine and I have very happy memories of Joyce helping to look after us; she was, indeed, a second mum. Later she became a second mother to Bob Norris and his brothers and sisters when they tragically lost their mother, Winnie, who had been a close friend of Joyce’s for many years.

As kind and caring as she was, Joyce was in no way a push-over. When I was about five years of age my mother was in bed for a number of weeks very ill and Joyce was in charge. Plainly I had been naughty once again and Joyce in complete and utter exasperation held my head under the kitchen tap and when I squealed “blue murder’ she rammed a bar of soap in my mouth to shut me up. At this point there was a knock and there, framed in the back door, was the doctor who had come to see my mother. He thought the prognosis was good, that I should live and he couldn’t possibly prescribe better medicine.

Joyce’s hobbies included gardening, knitting, sewing, and embroidery, and in later years, crocheting. In all of these pastimes she excelled. Her flower garden was always a sight to behold and she was always swapping or giving cuttings and bulbs to others. In the lean years after the Second World War Joyce knitted pullovers and jumpers for her family and for us at Bapton. Her workmanship was particularly intricate as she mastered the complexities of Fair Isle knitting.

Over the years I have heard many people remark that it was such a shame that Joyce never married as she would have made the ideal mum, a fact that I completely and utterly endorse. One thing for sure she had no intention of being swept off her feet by American G.I.’s who swamped the Wylye Valley in the early forties. Joyce helped out at the NAAFI which operated out of the old Woolstores at Codford, and, of course, like NAAFI girls everywhere she became a target for the Americans who were over-paid, over-sexed and over here. Amorous suitors were soon put in their place as Joyce informed them that she was engaged to be married to Captain such and such or Major so and so. The G.I.’s were so overwhelmed by the rank that Joyce was considered most definitely off-limits.

In the summer of 1950 Joyce’s mother died unexpectedly and Joyce went home to Rockbourne, near Fordingbridge, to look after her father and Virgie who was still living at home. Joyce stayed at Rockbourne and looked after her father until his death in 1962. She then returned to her second family, the Bryants, at Bapton. My father had finished baking in 1958, so on her return there was the shop and house to run at Bapton, while my mother looked after the shop and post office at Stockton. Joyce was very highly thought of by all of her customers, she had a ready smile and a welcome for everyone, and, very importantly, she never repeated anything that was told to her in confidence.

Those of you who called at Bapton will remember the friendly banter that existed between my father and Joyce. I recall an amusing incident one lunch time when Dad made a remark about the quantity of food that Joyce was about to eat, to which she replied, “You make me work like a horse, so I’ll eat like one.”

A few years ago a family friend of the Cowards was driving Virgie, her husband Basil, and Joyce, to visit relatives in Surrey. When they neared London they were stopped by a very aggressive traffic policeman for some minor infringement. The policeman put his head through the driver’s side window to give the driver a stern telling off. Joyce, sitting in the back, leaned forward, with her hand out-stretched, and said, “Would you like a sweetie?” If all people acted like Joyce the expression “Road Rage’ would never have been invented.

Joyce particularly liked children and imagine her joy when Virgie gave birth to first Alan, followed by Ian, and then years later two great nephews Philip and Matthew. Joyce loved her family and on visits and holidays home to Virgie’s she would encourage her to organise family parties, but to the amusement of them all, Joyce would not enter into conversation with any of them but was content to just sit, be in their company, and smile sweetly.

It was not just people that warmed to Joyce but animals as well. Animals sought her out. Even in a stranger’s house the cat would always end up curled upon her lap and the dog fast asleep at her feet. I remember, it must be thirty years ago at least, my father’s dog fell sick and was obviously dying. Joyce would not leave the animal’s side as it lay in the garden shed. She nursed it day and night, for over a week, tending to its every need.

My mother died in 1985 and my father, who was nursed by Joyce, died in 1990. Five years ago Christine sold the family home and she and Joyce went to live in Warminster. What a change in their lives? They could walk but a few hundred yards to the shops, the railway station, and a host of other amenities that most of us take for granted. Even so, Joyce missed her life-long friends from Bapton and Stockton, and looked forward to visits or visiting them.

Joyce throughout her life was everyone’s friend. Never once have I heard one word of criticism towards her . She will be sadly missed by all who have known her. I am sure though that we can all draw comfort from the fact that today she is back in the midst of all she held so dear, especially in this lovely old church.

Family mourners:

Mr. & Mrs. Alan Carter (nephew and his wife). Mr. Basil Carter (brother-in-law) and Mrs. Virgie Carter (sister). Matthew Carter and Philip Carter (great nephews). Mr. George Coward (brother). Mr. & Mrs. Maurice Coward (cousin and wife).Mr. & Mrs. Peter Coward (cousin and wife). Miss Margaret Hudd (second cousin). Christine Bryant (close friend). Peter Bryant (close friend).

Also present:

Jan Aldhous. Mr. & Mrs. Anslow, rep. Roger and Andrew. Brian Ashley. Mr. Atterton. Mrs. J. Atterton, rep. Nicholas and Gavin and families. Mr. & Mrs. K. Axtell.

Mrs. D. Bartlett. Miss Bennett. Mrs. Bennett. Eileen Berry. David Bryant. Mrs. Elaine Bryant. Heather Bryant. Martin Bull.

Elizabeth Clark. Mr. & Mrs. John Elliott. Mrs. A. Garrett, rep. family. Mrs. D. Gilbert. Dorothy Goater, rep. Ron, Steve and Lee.

Mrs. Hargreaves, rep. family. Mr. B. Henry, rep. Val. Stephen Henry, rep. Jane Henry. Andy Hill. Kelly Hill. Danny Howell. Mr. Michael Hyde, rep. Mrs. Hyde.

Mr. & Mrs. Jackson. Mrs. Judd. Mrs. A. King. Miss Davina King. Patricia Lovelock. Tricia Lucas. John Lyall. Mrs. Mary Main. James Menzies. Edwin Mills. Jean Moxham.

Mr. & Mrs. Reg Nash. Bridget Norris, rep. Mr. & Mrs. Reeves and family. Lionel Norris. Robert Norris. Sally Norris, rep. Mr. & Mrs. Smith and family.

Mrs. Derek O’Reilly, rep. Capt. O’Reilly and Miss R. O’Reilly. Mr. Graham Palmer. Wing Commander and Mrs. Piele. Ann Russell.

Mrs. Michael Stratton. Karen Strong. Miss S. Sturmey. Mrs. D. Sturmey. Edward and Lila Tanner. Mrs. Taylor. Betty Viel.

Mr. & Mrs. Went. Mr. White. Mr. C. Woollard. Mr. & Mrs. N. Yeatman Biggs, rep. Harry and Annabelle Huyshe.

In Search Of Ceawlin

Tuesday 12th October 1993

Danny Howell writes:

The efforts of Ceawlin, a long forgotten king, to unite the aristocratic forces in Southern England during the latter part of the Sixth Century, was the subject of the October 1993 lecture to the Warminster History Society.

Sounds dull and long winded? Definitely not when the speaker is Somerset born Martyn Whittock, head of humanities at Kingdown School and successful author of school textbooks (The Origins of England AD 410 – 600 and The Roman Empire) and historical novels (including The Dice In Flight and The Moon In The Morning).

Martyn’s fast and audible delivery (as he bounced up and down like a dervish on hot coals) probing the annals of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and interpreting the evidence on the ground in the countryside both sides of the West Wansdyke, made for a most intriguing glimpse into Wessex nearly 1,500 years ago.

Amusing too, even when it comes to basics (“slaughtering people with swords is a naughty business” said Martyn), but his analogy comparing today’s Renault car drivers with the Saxons who commandeered the barrow mounds for burying great men was spot on.

“Here,” he said, “was a minority signifying their dominance but not being in any great control.”

The ancient burial mounds, including King Barrow on the outskirts of Warminster at Boreham, were venerated with folklore in the local landscape; they had native sanctity and came with an already existing culture. Martyn was quick, however, to point out that there is no evidence to tell us what Iron Age or Saxon man (or woman) thought.

And who was Ceawlin? According to Martyn’s researches, he was an overlord of the Southern English. Although he was never described as a king in any of the varying manuscripts of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, he was known as a king locally, albeit a member of a powerful ruling family.

The first reference to him was in 556 AD, when, with the help of Cynric, he fought against the Britons at Beranburgh (Barbury Castle on the Ridgway now south of modern Swindon), and so began a turbulent period after 50 years of inactivity in Wessex.

After his triumph at Barbury, Ceawlin went from strength to strength, taking the kingdom of Wessex and making an excursion into Kent (an up and coming kingdom on account of its links with a European trading network).

Then he came back west to kill three other “kings’, namely Coinmail, Condidan and Farinmail at Dyrham, eight miles north of Bath. The battle site is unknown, but could be associated with the promontory hill fort of Hinton Camp.

In 577, Ceawlin (plus Cuthwine) captured Gloucester, Cirencester and Bath, but they were not the places we immediately think of.

Around Bath were people proud of tradition and clinging to an imperial past, while at Cirencester (Corinium) was an old Roman amphitheatre occupied by somebody with pretensions (he had time and ability to organise labour to construct fortifications).

In the year 584,Ceawlin captured many villages, with a small band of followers who offered their services in return for a share of the spoils but he was suddenly angered.

Perhaps the cause of his wrath was Ceol, the new “king’ in Wessex in 591. A year later Ceawlin attempted to regain the initiative at Adam’s Grave, the so-called burial mound of Woden, in the Vale of Pewsey; but the tide had turned, for the Chronicle says “there was great slaughter this year”.

Ceawlin perished in 592, and the end of the Sixth Century saw Wessex as a south coast power. Ceawlin had achieved much, uniting the scattered English population centres by successful military campaigns.

Martyn Whittock’s handling of the evidence, bearing in mind that the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is a biased report (it ignores, for instance, the Jutes who resided on the Isle of Wight and in the New Forest), was a worthy example of scholarly detective work.

Warminster History Society members were much impressed, and asked many questions after the lecture.

A vote of thanks for a unique foray into the area’s Dark Ages past was given by Society Chairman Mike Ednay.

Dennis Collins (1925-1992)

Monday 1st June 1992

Dennis Collins
Dennis Collins was born at Larkhill on 20th February 1925. He attended school at Shrewton and later the Avenue School, Warminster. He enlisted in the Royal Air Force when he was 17 and a half, undergoing air crew training, and qualified as an air signaller. He then completed four years service with 203 Squadron.

On his return to civilian life he worked at Wilson & Kennard’s, the grocers in the Market Place, Warminster, where he met his wife-to-be, Doreen Jago, and they married at Christ Church, Warminster, in 1948. They were blessed with two daughters, Veronica and Jacqueline. Dennis re-enlisted in the RAF in 1952 and did 18 years as a radar operator, reaching the rank of sergeant. He then became a postman at Warminster until his retirement in 1990.

In retirement he became an active member of the Warminster Branch of the RAFA, which he had served for 15 years as its secretary. Dennis Collins, who lived at 30 The Dene, Warminster, died on Monday 25th May 1992, aged 67. His funeral was held at St. John’s Church, Boreham Road, Warminster, and was followed by cremation at Bath.

Obituary: Reg Cundick 1922 – 1989

Danny Howell, writing in Warminster & District Archive No.2, Spring 1989:

The sudden death of Reg Cundick on the evening of Wednesday 22 February 1989 came as a great shock to his family, friends, and colleagues in the Warminster History Society.

Reg, who was unmarried and lived at West Parade, Warminster, had been associated with the Warminster History Society for about ten years, serving on the Executive Committee.

In November 1987 the Society published The Inns & Taverns Of Warminster, which was researched and written by Reg. The book, which has just been issued again, this time in hardback, was his first and only venture into print.

Born in 1922 at Crockerton, near Warminster, Reg was educated at the Common Close School and the Avenue Senior School. He worked at the Brocklehurst/Whiston Silk Factory, Warminster, and the Wessex Electric Company, Frome, before joining the R.A.F. in 1941. He served in the R.A.F. as an electrical instrument fitter until 1977, during which time he travelled all around the world, leaving as a Senior N.C.O.

On his return to Warminster he joined the Warminster History Society, which became his abiding passion. One of his favourite subjects for local historical study were the watercourses and drainage systems of the Warminster area. His other hobby was gardening. One of the “old-school” breed of gardeners he maintained a large vegetable garden at his home and two allotments.

Most mornings he could be seen walking in the woods and around the lakeside at Shearwater, the ornamental lake on the Longleat Estate, near his birth place. He had taken a great interest in the recent draining of the lake and only a couple of days before his death he had offered to write and submit an article on Shearwater for possible publication in Archive. Sadly, this will not now be forthcoming.

A member of the Wiltshire Local History Forum, Reg was a conscientious worker for the Warminster History Society and a supportive and important “cog in the wheels” of the Dewey Museum. A practical man, he acted with some considerable fervour as Conservation Officer at the Museum, where he will be missed greatly. His sad and untimely passing will be long lamented by those, like myself, who knew and worked with him.

Tommy On The Wall At The Union Workhouse, Sambourne, Warminster

From Yesterday’s Warminster by Danny Howell. 1987:

“Tommy on the wall” was the nickname of a well-known local character called Curtis, who in 1901 had resided at the Warminster Union Workhouse at Sambourne for nearly two years. A pensioner, he had suffered sunstroke while serving as a soldier abroad, and on pension days he indulged in potations which disturbed his mental equilibrium and amused the younger inmates at the institution.

Mr And Mrs Roland Curtis And Family At Marsh Street, Warminster

From Yesterday’s Warminster by Danny Howell, 1987:

Mr and Mrs Roland Curtis and family,
at Marsh Street, Warminster, circa 1910.

Mr and Mrs Roland Curtis, living at 9 Marsh Street, Warminster, in 1908, had 22 children, three of whom died. Two daughters were married and living close by, but the remaining 17 children lived with their parents in two cottages. All 19 sat down together for their daily meals, the ingredients of which were the result of astonishing domestic economy by Mrs Curtis. Breakfast consisted of a one gallon loaf, half a pound of margarine and tea; dinner was a one gallon loaf, sixpenny bits of beef in a stew and three-pence worth of potatoes; and tea included a one gallon loaf, half a pound of margarine, vegetables or pieces cooked up, and tea. Supper was an unknown luxury in the Curtis household.

Roland Curtis was a farm worker, employed at Crockerton, and when his wife Sarah Ann was asked in 1908 how she managed, she said: “There isn’t a great deal on Saturday because the money’s gone but sometimes on a Saturday night I can buy two shillings worth of beef and maybe a bit of bacon and cheese, which makes a good dinner on Sunday. I don’t plan the money out, there isn’t enough coming in for that. We’ve just got to make it do. The rent is 3s 6d a week but that’s for the two cottages, we couldn’t get into one; two rooms in this and three in the other but we’ve hardly got a bit of garden. When my husband is in full time work he gets 14s a week but it’s been a slack time most of the winter, indeed he’s on slack time now. One week my husband only brought in 6s and another week 8s and that’s for keeping twelve. My eldest boy at home, Charlie, is now in the flour mill and now the next, Frank, is working there too; he only began work about a fortnight ago but now they give me 6s a week each. Mabel and Lily are at the factory, shirt ironing, but the work’s been so slack there and sometimes they bring home as little as 4s a week, and Lily sometimes only 2s 6d. It’s been a terrible winter.”

“One of my girls, Rose, she’s twenty and I keep her home to help. It’s an extra expense but I’m so often laid up and I can’t do the heavy work I used to do. We’ve ten at home that can’t yet earn anything and it really does seem as if the bread alone takes up all the money coming in. Three gallon loaves every day! We use up to 18 shillings of flour every week; and that’s 12s worth for the week and 6s worth more on the Saturday for the next week. We make the dough ourselves in a tin bath but we send it to the bakehouse to be baked and that costs 2s 6d a week. Then there’s a quarter of a pound of tea every day, or should be, and that’s not enough; and one pound of sugar and 15d a week for the baby’s milk. Five o’clock in the morning the kitchen fire is always lighted and most of the tea and sugar is used before six in the morning. A pound of sugar goes quickly with a matter of twenty cups of tea. Coal is so dear, 1s 5d a hundredweight and I can’t afford to have much. The wood is a bit cheaper and makes a good fire, especially with a bit of coal underneath but when I buy the wood, there is nothing left for the coal. Then there’s boots and stockings. It seems as if it would take 10s to do them properly but of course we can’t do it. Father cobbles them and keeps them going. As for clothes, it seems as if I’m sewing and patching from morning ’til night, and Rose does all the washing. It’s pretty hard work, like two families but my children are very good children.”

Elsie Chant

The funeral of Elsie Agnus Chant was held at The Parish Church of St. Denys, The Minster, Warminster, on 26th October 1981. She was 71.

The Warminster & District Church magazine, December 1981, noted:

The death of Elsie Chant, only a few months after that of her husband Roy, brought much sadness to many of us. Elsie Chant had been identified with the Minster for very many years and at one stage was on the Parochial Church Council. Recently she had become a useful member of our choir and her cheerfulness was appreciated by all of us. We extend our sympathy to her children and grandchildren.

Jim Carpenter ~ The Miller Of Wylye

Jim Carpenter’s memories were first published in a little book called Wiltshire Lives. This was produced in 1981 by the St. Edmunds Arts Centre (later Salisbury Arts Centre – in the old St. Edmunds Church, at Bedwin Street, Salisbury). Mr. Carpenter’s memories were reprinted in the Wylye Valley Life magazine, issue No.8, dated Friday 24 August 1984:

Jim Carpenter ~ The Miller Of Wylye

“I suppose I’m pretty well the oldest man in Wylye village. Born at Bapton, christened at Fisherton, and we come back to Wylye eighty-six years ago.”

“I spent all my school days in Wylye School. At that time we had to have about one day a week and that was religious instruction given to us then by the parson – no names, no pack drill – and that parson used to bark at us kids and put the fear of the Lord into us. One day he barked out at poor old Randolph, ‘Randolph, what did Sampson slay the Philistines with?’ Randolph hadn’t a clue. ‘The job end of a donkey’s ass, sir,’ he said.”

“We used to get two pence a week pocket money and we’d get a tuppeny whopper made by Flint, the baker. And a tuppeny whopper was a lardy cake. Lovely. I’d love one now!”

“Well now, I left school when I was fourteen and went to work in the old mill at Fisherton Delamere the day I were fourteen, so I’ve seen a few changes. We rented the old mill for nearly forty years and then we were at Wylye Mill about sixteen year and a half. And I and my brother were the last to do any actual grinding with the waters, as far as I know, on the river Wylye, which during my time had nearly seventeen mills on it. They’re all gone now.”

“The old mill at Fisherton, there were only me father there, and then me father and me for a number of years. Of course, we had the old horses, of which we grew very fond. We’d take the stuff out on a horse and cart, before the motors, before the tractors.”

“At the mill, it was all grinding then. There was no compound then, only barley meal from morning to night. We’d grind about three hundredweight an hour with the old mill stones, and during the summer months, if the water was really short we had to stop up all night and grind. And during the Depression we were taking foreign barley off the station at Wylye, dragging it to Fisherton Delamere by horses, grinding it, putting it into hessian bags, and hauling it to Warminster for five pence a hundredweight. The times were a bit hard then.”

“Then we had the first lorry, an old solid-tyre lorry. An oil lamp behind, acetylene lamp in front, and then me brother of ten striking a box of matches coming from Warminster home, trying to keep the blasted back light alight. And the legal speed were twenty miles per hour. You couldn’t go any faster. As for the brakes, you had to trust in the Lord to stop. And the name of this old lorry was Sir Garford, long since forgotten.”

“Village life was very different then to what it is now. Wages would be eleven shillings. Later they went up to thirteen shillings, the cowman and the carter were to get fifteen shillings. We’d have fresh meat on Sunday. During the week we’d have eggs, and all the villagers kept two pigs, one they’d kill in the spring before the weather got too hot, the other one they’d sell to help buy another one. Then they’d have two more and they’d kill one, and sell one when the weather got cold enough to salt it down. Then we’d have a stew. A breast of mutton would be four pence and a rabbit and all the vegetables of the garden, all in together, all stewed together. Oh, and I can taste them now – mother’s dumplings. If you couldn’t get a rabbit for nothing it would be a tanner (6d.)”

“The villagers used to band together to form a pig club. They used to pay in about 2d. a week. If one of the villagers lost a pig, which would be a great loss to them, then the club would make the value of the pig good to them if one of them had their pig dying during the winter or the summer. And I think I went to the last Pig Club Supper that was held in the village during the First World War. And we had a good supper and a few songs. We sung a few old songs that were so old that they are partly forgotten. One I vaguely remember, it went like this: ‘Oh, look at the country bumpkin, Scratching his cabbagy head.’

“At Michaelmas the farm men would get Michaelmas money which was then about £4. Some would get £6. And they’d buy themselves a pair of boots, or a suit of clothes, or something else that was really needed.”

“We used to go down to the pub on a Saturday night and have a pint of beer and I can remember the beer was two and a half pence a pint. Woodbine matches were four boxes for a penny. Woodbine cigarettes were a penny a packet and porter was three pence. Poor Mrs Widdow used to call it ‘squirt.’ I offered to give her a quart of squirt and that was her dinner, and she’d have another quart in the evening, that was her tea and her supper. And she lived on it and lived to be about ninety!”

“One of the characters in the village was a fellow who used to sleep rough. His name was Albert Dyer. He went under the name of ‘Old Taller’ and he’d done something wrong and he was supposed to go and apologise to the policeman whose name was Mr Cooke. Mrs Cooke comes to the door. Old Taller says ‘Is old Cooke in?’ She says ‘No, can I give him a message?’ He says ‘Yes, tell him he’s a damn fool and I’m glad on it!’

“One of the big events in village life then was the Odd Fellows’ Fete held on Trinity Monday. The Odd Fellows was a friendly society, before the days of Social Security. They’d parade the village with the band, and then have a dinner, games and sports, tug o’war, side shows and things like that. It was quite a day, it was a big event in village life.”

“The village band made a tremendous noise. Not all that musical but that didn’t matter. We enjoyed it. And the bandmaster was Mr Joe Wootten, the village school master.”

“And I can remember going with my father to what was nearly the last Castle Fair, up top of the Forest. The gypsies used to come and there were animals. Horses, colts, sheep and cattle. The Fair stopped because the War was on.”

“To finish up my story I have written a little song. I hope you like it:

I’m an old dusty miller,
I live in the Vale,
I swallowed too much dust
And not enough ale.
Now I’m trying to put things right,
I’ve got to sit up drinking
Ale all night . . . . . .”

Claims, The Estate Of Eli Curtis Of Warminster

From The London Gazette, 4th April 1972

Name of Deceased (Surname first)
CURTIS, Eli.

Address, description and date of death of Deceased
23 Brook Street, Warminster, Wilts, Retired Fish Fryer. 17th December 1971.

Names, addresses and descriptions of Persons to whom notices of claims are to be given and names, in parentheses, of Personal Representatives
Farnfield & Nicholls, 37 High Street, Warminster, Wilts, Solicitors. (Horace Glen George Curtis, Gladys Joyce Ledbury and Alwyn Claude Curtis.)

Date before which notices of claims to be given
5th June 1972.

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