Milton Mills Engineering and Rex Spiller.

by David Hosford, retired dairy farmer of Bramblecombe, Cheselbourne.

When in early September, 1952 I came to stay with John Burch, Bramblecombe’s owner whom we bought the farm from, I was taken to Milton Mills. Milton Mills was the local garage cum Agricultural machinery business at Milton Abbas. It was run by the second son of a local farmer, who was fresh from his wartime service as a bomber pilot with the RAF. Rex Spiller welcomed me politely as the new farmer at Bramblecombe. He was to feature hugely in our early days in farming.

Rex Spiller and his older brother Jack were the sons of Thomas Spiller who farmed Luccombe Farm Milton Abbas, a farmer of some repute. He was a notable farmer having married the daughter of the agent of his landlord Baron Hambro. Spiller had a prize-winning flock of Dorset Down sheep and had been a significant force in improving the breed, founded in the mid 1800s by Thomas Homan Saunders of Watercombe nr. Dorchester. Jack had taken on the family farm and younger Rex had, pre-war, started an agricultural engineering business based in the old water mill buildings in the valley below Milton Abbas village. This enterprise had only been going for a short while when war broke out. Rex joined the RAF and trained as a bomber pilot while his older brother Jack remained at home farming. A trusted employee of Rex, one Tom Hatcher kept the business going with difficulty during the war years until Rex returned safely from his war service.

When we arrived at Bramblecombe, Rex had gathered a band of six employees and was building up a small but significant agricultural engineering business along with an Aliss-Chalmers agency. (Allis-Chalmers is an American firm manufacturing tractors and other machinery). He sold machines but stocked very little in the way of new equipment. In the old mill he had a reasonable store of the bibs and bobs that farmers needed. There were water pipe fittings, ironmongery of many shapes and sizes, such things as cartridges and papers for starting Field Marshall tractors, mower sections, rivets, nails, nuts and bolts of all descriptions, fencing materials – in fact all the things that one needed but never had.

Pop down to Milton Mills and Joe Kinsman the storeman would greet you as an old friend and attend diligently to your needs. You might ask “Joe, do you keep ball valves for water troughs?” “We don’t keep them, sir,” he would always reply. “We sell them and hope that you will buy”. Joe was a great character. He had been an auxiliary fireman in London during the Blitz. What he did before that was never revealed. As time went on and Joe neared retiring age, he would tell me how he was accumulating his needs for his retirement. He had stockpiled a dozen pairs of shoes, a couple of suits, some shirts and socks – all the things he said he would not be able to afford once he stopped work.

Tom Hatcher, who had kept the business going during the war years, was allegedly the foreman. More realistically Rex was the owner, foreman and general runner of all aspects of his firm. Tom had a great knowledge of things mechanical, agricultural and motor. It was he who told me how to see how if a second-hand car had had much use or not. “Take a look at the wear on the pedals, probably more accurate than the milometer,” he would advise. Tom was also a good welder. In fact, in those early days he was the only welder one could call on locally.

George Lillington, known to Rex as ‘Lill’, was outgoing and always fit for a joke. He had been in the army during the war and had seen service in the desert campaigns in North Africa. He lived in the council houses at the top of Milton Abbas and gradually produced a large family. He always seemed to be treated in those early days as a bit of a dogsbody, a bit unskilled. He would arrive early each day and sweep out the workshop and generally tidy up, for which I imagine he received a bit extra to keep his ever-expanding family. Gradually George became skilled as a welder and much more. He was resourceful and fit for the offbeat jobs. When we had a young fellow at Bramblecombe who drove a tractor almost into the dryer pit, it was dear old ‘Lill’ who came and with the aid of jacks and blocks of wood got it out. How green we must have been, not to be up to doing the job ourselves. When the very worn-out engine in our ancient trailer combine wouldn’t go, it was George who got it going because he could turn the starting handle (the wink) faster than any of us could. George, I remember, did a rather clever job of welding on a bit of machinery, I forget what. He had downed tools on a job he was doing as I needed my job done urgently. After thanking him profusely I said jokingly that I would do the same for him one day. He replied in the same vein, “a brace of pheasants would be nice, sir!”. Ever after, for years to come, George would whisper, “Just put them behind the door sir,” referring of course to the pheasants that I never brought him.

Dick Thomas was a tall and lanky young fellow in those early days, son of a local small farmer in Ansty. He was quite a skilled chap and very likeable. He would sort out the knotter on a baler in a moment. I remember Joe Kinsman the storeman very disparagingly telling me that Dick had been on holiday to a Butlin’s Holiday Camp. He had picked up a girl there and was going to marry her. Dick had made a good choice in spite of Joe’s reservations. Prematurely Dick had bad and permanent trouble with his back, which eventually prevented him working. He became very disabled, requiring constant nursing which was provided lovingly for many years by his wife, the girl from the Butlins Holiday Camp.

Mention must be made of Frank Witt. He was the pump and water part of Spiller’s firm. He almost invariably worked away from the premises. When our hydraulic ram that pumped our water in the early days caused trouble, it was Frank who attended. He would fit new leathers on the pump that my father looked after in the Dry Meadow that supplied most of the water for Cheselbourne village including the farms there. When the pump failed, Rex would send up Frank who painstakingly and exceedingly slowly would repair what was needed. He was skilled but worked at his own speed and best kept his own company.

However, as Frank got older Rex decided that Frank should have a young apprentice and teach him about electrical matters, about which Frank was quite knowledgeable. A young fellow was employed, Roger I think his name was. Rex found him an excellent boy, full of promise. Gradually however, trade for water and pumps got less and Rex had reluctantly, to sack poor young man. This caused Rex great regret he told me because he had shown great promise. Not long after that Frank himself retired.

Many years later that same young apprentice arrived to Bramblecombe one day, as our electrician, having advanced to running his own small business with a number of employees. We used his services until my retirement and often he and I would reminisce about those long-ago days with the meticulous Frank Witt.

Another more successful venture took place a few years later. Rex had always tinkered cars in a small way. He even had a pump and sold petrol. He decided to expand this side of his business and delegated Dick Thomas to team up with Ken Battrick, who had worked for Tilleys in Dorchester as a motor mechanic. Ken was experienced in that trade. Ken B had come to live in Milton Abbas having married a local girl, Mary, daughter of a thatcher. He raised a few eyebrows amongst the old stagers, Joe and Tom. This young fellow from town allegedly, “Swore something terrible, the language!” and it did not go down too well with the other employees. However, Dick and Ken gradually had a thriving car trade, mending and servicing and it was a valuable adjunct to Milton Mills Engineering. In retirement, Ken and his wife became a pillar of the church and the community in Milton Abbas.

Rex Spiller took on the agency of Allis-Chalmers and sold their agricultural machines. I don’t recall ever seeing an Allis tractor there but he sold a number of their revolutionary round balers. These of course were the forerunners of the much bigger round balers of today. What attracted farmers to the original Allis baler was, that although producing bales of similar size to the conventional baler, the round bales were largely weatherproof. They could be left in the field and deteriorated little when rained upon.

To visit Milton Mills for whatever reason was to me a pleasure. We were completely accepted although we were newcomers. Rex would often appear from his ‘office’ which really was a very oversized cupboard. “Mr Hosford, could I have a word,” he would say. I would squeeze in there with the not insubstantial Rex into the very small space and he would quiz me as to what I thought about some new machine or technique that was being talked about.

Rex did little actual engineering himself, but for instance if one had a puncture in the rear wheel of a tractor at the weekend, he would appear with his ex-War Dept. truck with a crane, take off the offending wheel, hitch is on the back of the truck, perhaps on the Saturday afternoon. It was not attended to until Monday morning by one of his chaps, but one felt something was at least being done. Good business psychology on Rex’s part!

I believe Milton Mills Engineering was a successful business and it thrived as an integral part of the local community. Rex Spiller had much charm and business acumen. Rex had three sons, one of whom was training as an agricultural engineer with Allis Chalmers. Perhaps the sons were reluctant to take on the Milton Mills business. In the 1970’s Rex decided to sell and retire. It was sold to a Mr Gordon. He left his wife and she, Francis, carried the business on for a number of years. Taking on the John Deere agency must have been her saviour, as it coincided with a big push by John Deere into the UK market.

Milton Mills was never the same again as the seemingly prosperous ‘delightful to visit’ place it had been in the first twenty years of our time at Bramblecombe. I never got onto Christian name terms with Rex. He was always Mr Spiller to me and I Mr Hosford to him. That is until I visited him and his wife Naomi (nee Squires) in his old age at his retirement bungalow in Portesham many years later. I made a tape of our conversations. It was only then that we got on Christian name terms.

Milton Mills Engineering has long gone but lasted for over 50 years. It is a sad loss, but the day of the small agricultural engineer as of blacksmiths and wheelwrights has mostly past.

Frank Witt, 1976

My grandfather came to Milton Abbas from Devonshire to take the post of Brewer to Mr. Ham who held the lease on the Brewery at that time, later to be taken over by the Fookes family. My grandfather’s signature can be seen to this day on a document on view in the Brewery Museum. (The signature reads Johnathan Bussell.)

I was born in 1888 at No. 60 Milton Abbas, later moving to No. 51, and then to what is now The Stores and Post Office. My father was a man of many trades: he was shoemender and local carrier, taking people and goods to either Dorchestra or Blandford by horse and cart. He was also the local pigkiller; nearly all the inhabitants kept a pig in those days. One unique task he performed was to break in new Meerschaum pipes for one of the Hambro family. The pipe had to be smoked until the bowl became the beautiful golden colour these pipes attain after long use; he was given all the tobacco he needed so that the pipe would have the right flavour to suit its eventual user.

When I reached the age of thirteen years I left school and obtained a job as office boy at the Abbey Estate office (now the school Sick Bay). I worked under the estate Steward, who was responsible to Sir Everard Hambro for the smooth running of the estate. My duties were many and varied: I would cycle several times a day to the village Post Office to collect and deliver mail or telegrams; another job was to collect the daily newspapers. I would use Church Walk as the most easy route and on occasions I would meet Sir Everard out walking. He would call out “Here, boy”. He would then take The Times, scan through the financial pages, then hand back the paper with the remark “Shares are up, boy”, or down, whichever was the case. Of course I had no idea what this meant in those days. Another job was to drive the children out, accompanied by their governess, in what was known as a governess cart. I felt very important performing this task.

On Fridays it was my job to draw the wages from the bank in Blandford. On  these occasions I would first be ushered into Sir Everard’s study, and with a gruff “Good morning, boy” he would take a scrap of writing paper and write: Please hand bearer so much in gold, so much in silver and copper, and then he would sign it. On some occasions he would say “Let me see, boy, I think I had better have some pocket money”. He would then add a P.S.: so many half sovereigns. I would then cycle to Blandford and draw this money (some £300) from the bank and then return with all that weight upon my back in a leather pouch. I rode what was known as a safety cycle, which was fitted with solid rubber tyres; this was before pneumatic tyres were invented. Rough gravel roads and solid tyres: you can well imagine what the ride was like.

When a game shoot was held my job was to look after the Welsh pony Sir Everard rode from stand to stand. On one occasion the last stand of the day was at Hedge End, and Sir Everard decided he would return to the Abbey in a friend’s motor car (one of the first to be seen in the district). So when the shoot finished he said to me, “Take the pony back, and don’t ride him hard”. Of course, boy like, I rode him up through Dunbury at a stretch gallop, and by the time I arrived back at the Abbey stables he was covered in sweat, and before I could rub him down Sir Everard decided he would look in to make sure the pony was all right. You can imagine the dressing down I got; I was lucky not to be dismissed on the spot. After a time I became fed up with being a general dogsbody at everyone’s beck and call, so I asked if I could work with the estate carpenters. I was put to work with the house carpenter who was a man distinct from the other men; his duties were repair work in the house only. There was a strict no smoking rule in force in those days. Now this carpenter was a heavy smoker, so whenever the opportunity arose he would kneel in the hearth in whichever room we were working and, with his head up the chimney, smoked away contentedly while I kept watch at the door, especially for the Housekeeper. She was a woman of some standing in the household, and a person to be reckoned with.

Sir Everard used to smoke cigarettes made especially for him. They were twice the length of an ordinary cigarette but he only smoked half, throwing away what was to us boys a whole one. So we followed him at a discreet distance when he was out walking and waited for him to throw away the half smoked cigarette. Then it was every man for himself to get there first.

The first time I saw a steam railway locomotive was on an organiser outing to Weymouth. We left Milton Abbas in what was known as a wagonette drawn by two horses. Upon arrival at Dorchester G.W.R. station we went on to the platform to await the train. As it pulled in and came to a halt, one young man in the party was heard to say to his brother “Come on, Bob. I baint ridin behind this hissen Devil. I’m goin on hwome.””

(In the preceding paragraphs I have endeavoured to relate, as well as memory

will permit, a few of the vast store of reminiscences as told to me by my late father-

in-law, Mr. H. Bussell, who lived and worked all of his 85 years in this village.)

The Romani Language

When we were CHAVIES = children in the early fifties, the DIDIKAIS = gypsies turned off the DROM = tarmac road to pull into our drove. They had regular ATCHINTAN = stopping places where they’d park their VARDOS = wagons or living vans and dig the earth out so that they could get the VARDO = wagon level.  The JUKELS = dogs they’d tie up to the hedge near the vardo for LUE = shelter and let the KANIS = chickens out of their box from where they were put up under the vardo when travelling.  To stop them straying too far they’d train them, the KANIS = chicken by tying, with string (to) a leg to a spoke of one of the wheels of the vardo.

Next one of the men would take the swetty harness from the GRAI = horse, put on it’s head collar with tether chain attached, so that farther down the lane he’d peg his favoured GRASNI = mare so that she could graze the wide grassy verge.

My father had a suspicion that at night they’d put a couple of ponies into a farmer’s field.  The Didikais called it TO POUVA THE GRASNIS = to graze horses in a farmer’s field without permission.  They would get them out before daybreak.  

The next day the JUVELS = women, May and Rosie, would JAL = go BIKININ = hawking with their big, wide hawking KIPSIS = baskets to the KENNERS = big houses or where the well to do lived, even up to the manor where the Colonel, a real RAT = gentleman.  He always was generous, it was KUSHTI = good.  It was no good to JAL = go, to the poor KENNERS = cottages, because they didn’t have any SOUGAR = money or anything else. 

May and Rosie would JAL = go, to the local HOBBENKER = shop. With a BITI = a little BOK = luck

having sold enough lace and ribbon to buy MORO = bread, MESKIE = tea and perhaps BITI = a little MASS = meat, by that I mean scraps and trimmings the butcher had cut off a large joint destined for the manor.  Also they’d buy their staple, very fat bacon.

Old Eli the grandfather of the family, was a BITI = small Rai = gentleman with a greasy waistcoat and DICKLO = neckachief.  He kept his SOUGAR = money in a BITI = little knitted sock pinned to the lining of his waist coat.  He gave sougar to the Juvels to buy his shag, TOVER = tobacco to smoke in his old SWINGLER = pipe by the YOG = camp fire and PUCKER = talk of the old days to his grandchildren;  Freddy, Giley and Morris.  They were our age, we used (to) muck about together up in the woods. The men, Danny and George would go TATTING = collecting rags for salvage by TREADER = bicycle from the villagers round about and sell it, after they had sorted it, to the dealer in Dorchester.  The sorting of the TATTINGS (= rags) was the one job they could give to the DINILO RACKLO = idiot boy.  DORDI = oh dear, it was a task to keep him occupied and quiet.  Often he behaved as if he was MOTTO = drunk and yell out and yet sometimes he was so quiet laid MONG = bed of blankets, they thought he was MOLLO = dead, so they sent him to DIK = look for KANIS = chickens, YORO = eggs where upon he’d yell his head off until he found one in the long grass, that made him laugh.

The young men Freddy or Giley were sent to get PANI = water in a tall 5 gallon can from the farmer’s water trough.  It was to boil a BORI = pile of POOVERS = potatoes, probably LELLED = taken from a farmer’s field.  At tea time sometimes the ENGRO = doctor would call in to have a cup of MESKIE = tea and DIK = see the family but mainly to check the baby or babies progress and health.  I understand he never charged for his services even for the bottles of FUNKEM = tonic he gave to the old and in particular old Eli, bless him.  He would walk our hill with his milk can, when we were milking our CUSHNIS = cows and ask father for some milk.  He’d get his milk can filled for nothing, although he always offered to pay.  He always remarked how warm with the lovely smell of chewing cows = CUSHNIS in our cowshed.  Eli always blessed the cow that provided his milk by touching the FONI = ring on his finger then touch the CUSHNI = cow.

The next morning when we went down the drove they were all gone leaving just a whirl of blue smoke from the ashes of the YOG = fire.  A few years later we learnt from Giley that Freddy drowned in the river Stour by Dorchester Bridge when the three boys were messing about amongst the reeds and water.  Freddy got into trouble and Giley and Morris being frighted, ran away and left him!  Tragically because of Morris’s very poor eyesight, a few days later he stepped in front of a lorry and was instantly killed.  I used to see Giley on occasions despite all the DIDIKAIS = gypsies no longer travelled in their little barrel topped VERDOS and gave up their cent(ur)ries old way of life during the late seventies to early eighties to go into houses.  Giley lived with a lady who’d bring him out, he’d never learnt to drive, so he could remember earlier times when they’d draw in the drove at Long Ash and keep me talking for half an hour about the old days.

Wartime memoir of Milton Abbas

I came to Milton Abbas in January 1939. I was fortunate to be one of the first of the 10,000 children who came to Britain as refugees to escape persecution by the National Socialist regime (Nazis) of Germany. On the night of 9th November 1938, Jews all over Germany were violently attacked. As a result, the Refugee Committee in Holland and others begged Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain to allow at least some Jewish children to escape to Britain but he refused. However, several Quakers and others finally persuaded the Government to allow some Jewish children to come here temporarily. A fifty pound fee, a lot of money then, was payable for every child, who had to be no more than 16. The first “Kindertransport” (Children’s transport) left Berlin for Hook of Holland by train, then ferry to Harwich and from there by train to Liverpool Street Station in London.

The Refugee Committee decided to send me to the family of the then village doctor in Milton Abbas. Basil Gaster aged 27 and his wife Helen, aged 26, were expecting their first baby at the time and they thought that a fourteen year old girl, which I was then, might be a useful mother’s help. However, when they heard that my father was a doctor, they very kindly decided instead to send me to school at the Dorchester County School for Girls. It was wonderful that I could continue my education and learn English properly and make English friends.

The Gaster’s lived in what was, as I remember it, the only brick house, at the top of the village on the left, which was in fact the last house in the village before you reached the woods. These magical woods were carpeted with blue bells in the spring and I, being a city girl from Berlin, had never seen anything like it. I also remember the tea shop, which was near the lake in what is Dale Cottage. We had delicious scones with strawberries and cream, which were completely new to me. Another novelty was the village shop and Post Office run by Mr. Steptoe, whose daughter Enid was in my form at school.

The Postmistress was a kind soul who used to exchange the International Reply Coupons, which were meant purely for postage stamps, which my parents sent from Berlin, for cash, which I saved for when my parents would join me.

Another thing I remember very vividly is that the priest in charge of the Abbey, Father Maylard, ran a refuge for people with mental health problems. One day when I was coming back with Dr. Gasterin his car, having been on one of his rounds (he was responsible for medical care in seven other villages) we found a woman in the middle of the road. “Oh,” said Dr. Gaster, “just ignore her. This is Mad Edna from Father Maylard’s establishment”.

When my parents arrived from Germany in August 1939 they had a room and full board with Col. and Mrs Smith in one of the thatched cottages; they were astonished to find that the only lavatory was a privy at the end of the garden – a novel experience.

In order to get to school Enid Steptoe and I and another younger girl cycled to Milbourne St. Andrew, where we left our bikes with the miller. We then took the bus to Dorchester. I was very proud of my school uniform, a green gymslip, cardigan, a blouse and tie, horrid green knickers with elastic and a green felt hat in the winter, a panama in the summer. I was quite a sensation at school as no one there had ever seen a foreigner. I now live in Hampstead, North London, and many, many years later I discovered that a near neighbour was my friend at the school, who had looked after me when I arrived. What a small world!

Sometime in the Autumn Term of 1939 my parents found a flat in the High Street of Dorchester and we moved there, which was more convenient for my schooling and more suitable for all of us as we could be together. I left Milton Abbas with great regret as I loved living there and people had been very friendly and helpful and most welcoming.

The Early Years of Milton Abbey School

Martin Lockwood was one of the first pupils of Milton Abbey School when it first opened in 1954. He has written a biography one of the founders: the Reverend Dr Charles Kenneth Francis Brown, and sent it to us (#2817). For more information or to share your memories contact us.

The outbreak of Myxomatosis in the spring of 1955, when we boys on our outings to Blandford by bicycle used to see many poor rabbits along the road sides, very distressing time.

During the autumn of 1954 when the school had some men ploughing up the farmers field of what is now the rugby pitch on the north of the main building, and us finding quite a gathering of meteorites in the soil, I still have one as a memento of that time.

I often wondered about the Abbey building not having the long western nave as per normal church / abbey style, it seemed as if the builders and financiers at the time ran out of funds, but may be it was built and then demolished or collapsed, not sure if any foundations have ever been found. Any thoughts on this?

I still have many happy memories of my time in those early years of the school and of Francis Brown a very inspiring man.

Retreat

When we came to Long Ash Farm in Feb 1949, Mr Ford and his family lived at Beech Clump, later known as Retreat and now known as The Retreat. It was called Beech Clump because of the enormous mature trees that grew to the right of the entrance. They might have been planted by Capability Brown. Mr Ford had the 2 acres that went with the property . He kept and milked a few cows. When the grazing was short, he and his wife allowed their cows to graze the grass verge beside the road down Long Ash Hill. Something you cannot do now. Mr ford drove a gig black upright car. One day father was driving his new 1949 Land Rover (OMX 291) following Mr Ford’s car down The Street and around Pond Head. Suddenly, a back wheel came of his car and rolled down the slope to Dale Cottage. It stopped when it hit one of the stables at the bottom, Ernie Dennett, the landlord of the Hambro Arms, milked his half dozen cows there.

In 1951 Mr Reginald Hurley, a marine engineer from Bere, South Devon, came to live at Beech Clump. It was he who called the cottage Retreat. During this time a Miss Richeldis Wansbrough and her son Richard, came to live in the primitive cottage in the garden. She did not stay long and went to live in the village. She wrote a couple of books on the history of Milton Abbas. Reg Hurley stayed until he retired from his job at Bovington Camp in 1981. Retreat was put up for sale. Mr Dominic and Mrs Sissi Gill bought it. Retreat and the land was bounded on three sides by the woods his mother Joyce Gill bought in 1947.

Before Mr Ford came to Beech Clump, a tiny chapel stood behind the house. I know this because the village worthies of Hilton, namely the Felsteads and the Churchills, who kept the Crown Inn down Duck Street, told us that some of the villagers used to walk up through the woods to attend a service there. Sometime before the Fords came, the corrugated iron chapel was taken down and moved to Milborne Stileham by the builder brothers the Elliotts. The used it as a store. It was there for years.

Wanda Hambro

I first visited Milton Abbas in 1908 – it was early summer and the chestnut trees were in full bloom and I thought it was the most beautiful village I had ever seen. I little thought then that I should spend a great part of my life here.

The village was very different then, most of the houses were inhabited by employees of the Milton Abbey Estate. There was no electricity or drainage. The water was provided by pumps at intervals down the Street and people had to fetch their water in buckets. On washing day the dirty water ran down each side of the Street in the gutters. Each cottage hid its own earth closet, and these were cleared at dead of night by a cart provided by the estate. Most of the gardens were well maintained, the villagers growing their own vegetables, especially potatoes. Although wages were very low the rents for these houses were about two shillings and sixpence a week.

The village was very self-supporting in those days. We had our own bakery, butcher, forge, shoemaker) a hospital and a brewery all to serve local residents. People used to bring their mid-day Sunday meal to be cooked in the Bakery bread oven which was presided over by Mr Parsons who wore a white apron and a chef s hat. The forge was run by Walter Evans, the father of Winnie Sweetapple. He was a famous wrought iron worker as well as being a Farrier and mending all agricultural  machinery. Many people in the parish still have some of his work. Walter Evans
was Churchwarden for many years and kept the Church Registers (now in the Museum) meticulously.

The village shop, owned by Mrs Marlow, and later by Mrs Parsons, was a great centre. The Post Office also sold sweets etc., and was run by two sisters, Louie and Jessie Vacher, who were pillars of the Wesleyan Chapel. Miss Louie was tall and thin,
Miss Jessie short and fx. Next door was the boot-maker, Mr Stayner.

At the top of the village was the Hospital where the village Nurse lived. It was not much used as people preferred to be ill in their own homes, but Nurse Mather was very much loved. She is reputed to have delivered a baby in a tent on Bulbaffow. Mr and Mrs Bussell lived at No. 51 where they carried on a butchery business. Mr Fookes’ brewery was at the bottom of the village. This was a very flourishing concern and produced some of the best beer in Dorset. The business was sold in 1951.

The only transport was a horse-drawn village carrier which went to Blandford once or twice a week. Later this was superceded by a motor bus driven by Douglas hall. Where the Post Office now is lived an old woman called Nan Lane. She was reputed to be a witch and could cast an evil eye on people and many were frightened of her. For years after she died no-one would live in her house.

There was very little entertainment in the village and no village hall. What there was, was provided by the Abbey. The school children had atreat every year and at Christmas bullocks were slaughtered in the Abbey yard and Sir Everard  Hambro) gave all employees a joint. Every November 5ft there were fireworks and a bonfire on the top of the hill. Because there was so little amusement, a large number of people came to these things. In the 1920′ s the Women’s Institute was started and held in the Reading Room until the village hall was built also about that time. in spite
of many hardships and low wages it was a very happy village when I knew it then – long may it remain so.

Rose Evans

Regarding Houses 29 – 44 Catherine’s Well

These 16 houses were built specifically for employees of Flight Refuelling who were living on site at Tarrant Rushton airfield.  The land had to be returned to the farmer who owned it, so all tenants had to be rehoused.  The converted Nissen huts had originally been used by the forces stationed on the airfield during World War Two, where gliders took troops over enemy lines dropping them by parachutes.

The eight houses on the road to Winterborne Stickland numbers 37 – 44 were built and occupied in 1957.  The ones on the surgery road were finished in 1958.  Owing to a delay in getting electricity to these houses which also delayed the building of the road, tenants destined for some of these houses were offered to move in without electricity or road at half rent i.e. fifteen shillings a week (old money).

My husband and I were the only tenants who took advantage of the offer and we moved into no. 33 on April 1st 1958.  

It was an interesting time spent watching 29 and 30 (the last two built) and electric cables being laid and finally the road tarmaced.  Once more we were a community again.

I am the only person left, some moved back to Essex, some moved away to new jobs, one family emigrated to Australia.  After Flight Refuelling re-located to Wimborne some, like my husband, were made redundant and therefore moved to obtain work.  We stayed because we loved being here and I am still contented in my 1950s house.

Carol Sastradipradja

Greetings from Melbourne, Australia.

Milton Abbas is a long way from Melbourne, but it’s always remained close to my family’s heart since we left England in 1951.Before then, and on trips back since, we’ve made a point of visiting whenever possible, if only for a couple of hours.My first visit as a child to our ‘ancestral home’ left an unforgettable impression – and the attached piece tries to convey something of that.

Another bunch of memories of Milton Abbas in the 1940s, and beyond…

Bristol was in the throes of the blitz, my mother was expecting another baby, and her Aunty Tilly in Dorset adjusting to life as a widow. The family thought it good that I should go to Milton Abbas for a while, so off I went, escorted by an aunt with Teddy safely in my suitcase. My mother suggested that I remember my manners, as Aunty Tilly had been a lady’s maid and was disposed at times to be a little ‘particular’, but she thought that the custom of bobbing a curtsey if and when ‘the gentry’s’ carriage passed by (usual in the village in her own childhood) was no longer practised. After wartime Bristol the sunny serenity of Milton Abbas was another country… and they did things differently there. You took a walk with a big jug to collect the milk, and another with a bucket to get the water from a pump up the street. I used to collect as much water in my socks and shoes as in my small size bucket, but the ladies who chatted at the pump were usually helpful and friendly. In the little bedroom under the thatch I felt tall for the first time ever but, like Alice, immediately reduced by the huge chestnut tree alongside the cottage. It kept the passage between the cottages in constant shade, grown green with moss, and smelling damp. Aunty Tilly lived at No 57, and had been the wife of John Kennington, the carpenter mentioned in Mary Battrick’s memoir. As Matilda Ridout she had been born in the village in the 1860s, and she told me that since then the family had lived in several other cottages there. She said that as houses in the street were repaired one by one, families had had to move out and along, or over the street. My grandfather’s hymn book is inscribed ‘1899. Harry Ridout, 15 Milton Abbas’ After Aunty Tilly’s death in 1956 the family was offered her cottage at 57 for £60, but regretfully had to reject it. How my generation gnashes its teeth! From Aunty Tilly I heard several stories about Milton Abbas and the past; one concerned a custom on, I think, the night of the first of May when local unmarried girls went to St Catherine’s Chapel to promote their marriage prospects. Their prayer ran, as I remember: St Catherine, St Catherine, give me your aid, And grant that I never will be an old maid. Arn a one, St Catherine, Not narn a one, St Catherine. (I can’t recall hearing anything about the success rate of this strategy.) She also had a yarn about a wicked Lord of the Abbey who turned villagers out of their houses and ripped up the cemetery to make a nice lawn for himself, and a famous writer who used to visit the village had apparently written a story about these awful doings. Many years later I found that she must have been speaking of Thomas Hardy and his short story “The Doctor’s Legend”, and that the events she described so vividly had taken place in her great grandfather’s day. The villagers, it seems, had long memories. On a visit to Milton Abbas in 1991 with aunts and uncle we found a damaged gravestone of James Ridout 8 August 1776 propped against an external wall of the Abbey, and concluded that this must be a relic of the wretched Lord’s activities. When I look at the photographs of it now, I wonder if it’s still there. After several hundred years in Milton Abbas, the other Ridouts have gone.

David Dymond

I now live in Lincolnshire but I was born in Milton Abbas in November 1940 and spent my first six years living in the village followed by numerous summer and winter holidays up to the age of 15 visiting my grandparents. What follows represents my memories of those years and some of the people living in Milton Abbas at that time Grandad hailed from Milborne St Andrew and Gran from the Keepers Cottage situated in Milton Park Wood. Her father (Charles Mills) was the head gamekeeper for the then owners of the Abbey house, the Hambro family of bankers. Grandad (Austin Charles Derrick 1882-1962) was also employed by the Hambro’s at the time he met Gran (Mary Derrick née Mills) and worked as an indoor servant. Family tradition has it that he was eventually Sir Everard’s valet. He courted and married Gran, the ceremony being held at the Abbey Church on Sept 26th 1907 and conducted by the Rev. Herbert Pentin, vicar of Milton Abbey. They both lived in the Abbey grounds, again, with family tradition stating that they occupied what is now Green Walk Cottage.

During their time at the “big house” they produced seven children, six girls and a boy. When Sir Everard died and the Hambro family sold up, they were re-housed at No.5 in the village. They later moved to No. 44 where I was born and then raised by my Gran from age 18 months while my mother worked in London in order to pay my hospital bills from Cornelia and East Dorset Hospital in Poole. This came about as follows: my mother (Ivy Mary Derrick) and father (Corporal William Dymond) met when he was billeted at my Gran’s house during the so-called ‘phoney’ war. He was a regular soldier from Whitechapel in London and they married in April 1940. I was born the following November. By this time, my father had been sent abroad with his regiment – the Rifle Brigade – and been captured in the defence of Dunkirk at Calais, spending the next five years as a POW in Polish and German camps.

In the 50’s/60’s there came two further moves for Gran and Grandad: from No. 44 to No. 1 Almshouses, and then to No. 27 Catherines Well.

My Gran died in 1970 and was cremated and her ashes were interred by me in the Churchyard where her memorial stone is in the shape of a book. Granddad died of bowel cancer in Dorchester hospital and his remains were buried in the Cemetery at the top of the village.

NB:  other members of the family and myself had searched for his grave and never found it, so we were pleased to discover that it had been found and that it had a headstone – although badly weathered.

When I was 18 months old I ran out into the road and was knocked down by a cyclist. The only injury apparent at this time was a grazed and bruised right elbow. However, after a short time my arm began to swell and discharge pus. Doctor Hensel was called from his house just above the school yard and I was sent to hospital. After a short stay, I was diagnosed as having osteomyelitis – a disease of the marrow of the bone – at that time untreatable (and potentially fatal)  except by repeated operations and draining and cleaning the area as much as possible.

I therefore spent the next five years being taken to and from Poole Hospital until penicillin was again available at the end of the war (having been restricted for use by the armed forces only) and my illness was eventually cured in 1946. In the November of that year my parents moved to Dagenham in East London and I was taken with them.

Remembrance of the times I spent at Gran’s between operations, from ’42-’46 and the summer/winter holidays subsequently spent in Milton until I was 15 – the happiest times of my life during that period – make up the remainder of this narrative.

There were two shops in Milton Abbas (as there are now). The one at the top of the village just below the Wesleyan Chapel was called Steptoe’s (now the Post Office) and as far as I remember sold hardware and household goods.  The other shop (now The Studio but formerly a tea shop) was called Parson’s and was run by two widows named Parsons and Lovell who sold groceries, greengroceries and  bottles of pop secured by a metal lever with a glass marble for a stopper. It was not unusual to find foreign objects in the drinks and I remember one with a spider in and another containing a beetle.

Both shops, like most shops of that time I expect, were small and crammed tight with goods.  The biscuits came from large square tins and were weighed out into paper bags; the cheese came from a whole round with a thick rind (which I ate with relish!) and was cut with a cheese wire; sugar came from sacks and was weighed out into blue paper bags; butter came from the dairy at the bottom of the village (opposite Walter Evans’ blacksmith business), and was scooped up from a large container behind the counter, roughly shaped, and then wrapped in greaseproof paper.

Walt Evans was a kindly man who didn’t mind the children of the village watching him work – so long as they were a safe distance from the forge and anvil (Health & Safety was alive even then!).  The most exciting times for us was when he was re-tyring a wagon/cart wheel and placed the hot iron band around the wooden wheel in the circular trough outside in front of the forge when the water hissed and bubbled away into steam as the iron rim cooled and shrank around the wheel.

The milk came from the dairy, and villagers used to collect it in white enamel cans each day.  I believe that the dairy was owned by the Spiller family – but I may be wrong, it is a long time ago.

In so far as I remember, there was no electricity or piped water supply to the village until the 50’s, but again, I may be wrong.  However, I know that there was no street lighting: oil lamps and stoves (mainly Valor) were used to provide lighting and cooking -supplemented by candles and battery torches- and Gran’s radio was powered by a huge glass accumulator/ battery which needed regular re-charging at the garage in Mill Lane.

The village bus was garaged next door to Gran’s at No. 42 and was run by Mr Doug Hall.  So far as I remember, it used to go to Blandford via Whitechurch and Stickland three times a week – on market days and on Saturday evening for the pictures – and to Dorchester on Saturday mornings. I clearly remember worrying that it was going to go backwards as it groaned its way up the hill out of the village when going to Blandford.  It went so slow that it was sometimes overtaken by pedestrians. Mr Hall had a fuel pump on the premises situated near the front of the house, while at the rear was a very large garage with a loft containing old seats etc., which I, and other village children, used to love playing in. Mrs Hall kept a large number of chickens and sold excess eggs to Gran and other villagers.

Next door to Mr Hall was Mr Harris, the village policeman, his son Bobby and I were good friends and often roved about the plantation at the top of ‘Lovely Steps’ making camps and generally playing amongst the trees or farther out in the fields or on Luccombe Down.  The stream at the foot of Luccombe was a great place for catching minnows and sticklebacks using jam jars placed with their open ends facing upstream towards the lake.

Further up the village the Hambro Arms was run by my Uncle (William Oliver Old) through marriage to my Auntie Vi, (Violet Rose Derrick) Gran’s second eldest daughter.  This was his second marriage, his first wife having eventually died of cancer after being nursed for a very long time by my Aunt, whose full-time job was as the Hambro Arms’ cook.

Granddad was a regular customer at the pub and was occasionally made to sleep outside if he came back drunk or too late, Gran would lock the door on him!.

Uncle Billy gave up the pub shortly after the War and then ran his own private car hire business from both No. 48 and later No. 18, until he became too old to drive safely.  By then, the Abbey house was a private school, and they had moved to No. 32 Catherines Well  He and my Aunt worked there in the kitchens for the princely sum of 2/6 (twelve-and-a- half pence) an hour, in order to eke out their pensions.  They eventually moved from the village to Dorchester, where one of his daughters (Winifred) lived, after she had married Leslie Frisby, who owned an electrical retailer’s in South Street, and was also a professional photographer.

Finally, the cottage round the corner to the left at the bottom of the village – Dale Cottage – which nestles in the dip to the left of Mill Lane was, for most of my time in Milton Abbas, the only place where cream teas and other light refreshments were available for visitors. I often went there when very young and was fascinated by the stream at the bottom of the garden – the run-off from the lake – which was crossed by a small hump-back bridge.

Joan Brockington

In 1996 whilst working at Milton Abbey two elderly ladies who had visited the Abbey Church were coming back when I heard one say to the other – “This isn’t how it used to be”. I just asked if she had been here before, she said “I used to live in the village many years ago”. She asked me my name and when I replied “Terry Hawker, not Bill Hawker’s son”. The lady’s name was Joan Brockington, and her mother was Mrs Lovell who used run the shop with her sister Mrs Parsons. She kindly posted me the following on who lived where in the village in the year 1939 with added knowledge of children born well after that year.….

The Abbey was bought by the Church Commissioners in 1939. I can remember the Rev. Maillard was living at the Abbey, running a Faith Healing home.

Major Fane lived at Hill House, as Capt. Hambro lived at Merley House. Hill House was not big enough for his family.

Major Hewlett lived at The Retreat

Major Norris lived at Milton House

Major Turner lived at Crincombe

Mr Watson lived at Delcombe

Local Farms and farmers

T R Spiller at Luccombe had two sons, Jack and Rex. Jack married a Miss Lovelace and had a daughter Susan. Rex married Naomi Squires and had three sons. Farm workers at Luccombe were Bill Hawker, Mr Steel, Bert Butt, Percy Moores, Jack Riman.

At Milton Mills garage Rex Spiller, Hatcher, Saunders.

Barnes Hill Farm: Bussell

Hewish Farm: Cox

Long Ash Farm: Chilcott

Delcombe Farm: Joyce

Bagber Farm: Kellaway

Long Close Farm: Warren

Hambro had one daughter by his first wife, Peggy, who died. Four more daughters with his second wife, and a son who was killed in the war. (check this with The Hambros)

Ms Stout lived at Dale cottage, had a son Billy. Mr Stout’s sister Mrs Squires had a daughter, naomi, who married Rex Spiller.

Others

The vicar was Rev Collis.

Doctor Gaster was killed in a car accident on Stickland Hill.

Brewer Fookes had two sons Robert and Arthur. Robert worked at Milton Abbey. Arthur was brewer. There were also two daughters. Kathleen lived with her mother, and Betty married Mr Lys of Bere Regis.

The landlord at The Hambro Arms was Mr Old.

Mr Marsh the builder lived in the house on Barnes Hill.

The Street in 1939

1. Evans: blacksmith
2. Evans: father
3. Vacher: 2 sons Donald, George
4. Hillier: thatcher, 2 daughters Mary, Anne
5. Miller
6. Bill Butt: worked for Parson the baker
7. Mitchell: 2 sons Jack, George, daughters Cissy, Marjorie
8. Frank Churchill
9. Curtis: sons Frank, Geoffrey
10. Vacher: son Bill
11. Rolls: son Arthur, daughter Mrs Laws
12. Abbot: son Charlie
13. Miss Guy, Sunday school teacher
14. Scott: son Bill
15. Legg: daughters Doreen, Joan
16. Lane
17. Young: daughters Dorothy, Audrey, Jean, Valerie
18. Fripp: Jess worked at Luccombe Farm
19. Stayner: shoemaker, Jessie, Jen, colin
20. Sturney
21. Bolt, Philip, son also Philip. Vacher: once had a shop, Guy: clerk to the PC, daughter Dorothy
26. Lovell, Harry: postman, daughters Nora, Betty
27. Gillet
28. Fiander
29. Miss Penny: music teacher
30. Godfrey
31. Rolls: one time postman
32. Guy: dairyman, had land in front of Hill House, son and granddaughter
33. Steptoe: shop
34. Mrs House
35. White
36. Stayner
37. Vacher
38. Adams: brewer for Fookes, daughter Netta
39. Best
40. Hall, douglas: bus driver for Sprackling, son killed in the war, daughter Valni
41. Guy
42. bolt, Jack: Post Office
43. Stayner
44. Vacher: son Ronnie, daughter Norah
45. Churchill: sexton for the church, sons Harold, Frank, daughters Mary, Hattie, Daisy
46. Parson; shop
47. Kiddle
48. Miss Rolls
49. Kennington: carpenter
50. North, Jim: baker for Parsons, daughter Peggy
51. Robinson
52. Barter: granddaughter Maisie
53. North

Capt. Hambro  came back to Milton just after the war started

Mr Mason was Hambro’s butler and lived in the bungalow next to the Cox family from London

Wilf Fripp was the gamekeeper in Milton Wood, children Herbie, Betty, Sylvia

Brockway family live at Top Lodge

Lee family one time lived at Middle Lodge then moved to Deer Park

Rev. Tyndale-Bisco lived at Bottom Lodge

Albert Leslie Bolt lived by the lake

Mr Gill (an American) lived at Park Farm House

George Durey gardener for Hambro lived in the (Old Chapel) Hill Cottage

Capt Hambro never owned the estate. It belonged to his brother Sir Eric. When it was sold, Sir Eric’s son Sir Charles lived at Hedge End which was not sold. Sir Charles lived in the USA during the war

Mary Battrick

Dale Cottage, now a private dwelling, was a tea-room. Nearby was the sheep dip. I remember seeing the sheep being driven down through the village by the shepherd. Also, close by, at Pond Head, one of the sheds was used by Mr Kennington (carpenter) who lived with his wife at No. 57. As children we would watch him making coffins etc.

There have only ever been two adult swans on the pond (as the lake was called). Always driving away their young when they were old enough to go on their own. We picked primroses and blackberries in this field (Lake Field), owned by Bob and Arthur Fookes. They also owned the farm opposite, which is now ‘The Maltings’. I remember fetching our daily milk in our milk can and seeing the milk go through the cooler.

We also picked primroses in the vicarage garden, where our vicar lived (until early 1950), to take to the Mothering Sunday service. The bungalow next to the vicarage was the vicar’s gardener, Mr Ted Day. A wonderful garden with flowers, vegetables and apple and pear trees. He always won lots of prizes at the village produce show.

No. 1 was the blacksmiths. I can remember watching them making horseshoes, besides many other metal articles. The shoes were hung on hooks waiting for the horses. The horses were taken up through the alley between the forge and the house to the shed where the shoes were nailed on (Phew! What a smell). Then there were the cart wheels to be bonded. That was done on the grass outside the forge on a large metal ring with a hole in the centre.

I lived at No. 49 where I was born, for two years before moving to No. 4. My father was the local thatcher working on the village houses and hay and straw ricks. I watched dad making spars for thatching. I counted 250 for each bundle. Thatching has been in my family for many generations.

No. 6 was the bakery owned by Mr and Mrs Parsons, who also owned the village store (now the Tea Clipper) where they sold everything from paraffin to butter and sewing needs etc. I can remember Mr Parsons walking across the road from the bakery to his shop with bread and buns to sell, wearing his white clothes and tall white hat. The baking assistant, Mr Bill Butt, helped with baking and deliveries. I would go in to collect our bread and buns from the bakery. They worked on a long table which was in the front, with the ovens on the back wall. The stairs from this room led to the flour store.

Outside of No. 7, where I now live, was one of three water taps. So, it was buckets to be taken there and filled full of water, or as much as you could carry, for use indoors. There were wells between some houses, including No. 4 where I lived before being married. I can remember dad and his neighbour, Mr Harry Vacher, drawing water from the well, to be used for washing clothes and taking baths. Baths were had in front of the fire in a tin bath.

At the back of the cottages there were sheds, one was for coal and logs and the other had a copper for doing your washing. This was built of brick and had a hole in the bottom where a fire was lit to heat the water.

The garage now at No. 21/22 was our cobbler’s shop, Mr Stainer, who mended our shoes. Opposite this was our Post Office, a wooden construction adjoining the house, with the letter box on the outside.

Next door, above the Post Office, was the bus station, which had its own petrol pump. The buses went to Blandford and Dorchester.

Where our Post Office is now located was another grocery shop, owned by Mr and Mrs Steptoe., who, I remember, didn’t seem too keen on serving children.

Sunday School was at the Chapel, which is now a private residence. I attended the Village School. We had individual desks, which were wooden with brass inkwells. The cane was always kept on the Head Teacher’s desk, used sometimes, but more often it was the ruler across the knuckles. Hot dinners were brought from Whitechurch where they were cooked. After dinner scraps were collected and my friend and I would take them to Mr and Mrs White in St Aldhelm, next to the Chapel, because they kept chickens. Occasionally we were given one egg.

There were approximately sixty children in all, with two classrooms, Standard 1 for the eldest, with, next door, Standard 2 and Infant class.

The playground was very rough, not nice to fall on, which I once did. In the corner of the playground was a large cedar tree. Drawing lessons were always to draw this tree. We were all very pleased when it was cut down. The School garden had many fruit trees which were a benefit when we had to go gardening.

Between each cottage there were chestnut trees. So on the way to school we collected the conkers and had good contests at school (now not permitted).

We were taken from school on Mr Fookes’ truck to the top of Fishmore hill to pick up potatoes in the war.

Opposite the School House gate there was a long wooden house with about twelve steps up to a verandah and a good sized garden. Beside the steps was a rambling rose, it still flowers today although the house has long gone.

Above the school was the doctor’s house and surgery, where I went to live as an assistant nanny when I left school.

Opposite the cemetery was our village hall where we had parties etc and, later, dances.

Hill House, which is now called Milton Manor, was the home of Capt and Mrs Angus Hambro. There was a path through their grounds from the Coach House to Hill Cottage where their chauffeur and gardener lived. We had many village fêtes and other activities in Hill House gardens.

Finally, I remember that there lived in one of the cottages an old lady who always dressed in black, even covering her head. As children we thought she was a witch. She always seemed to know all about us and when our birthdays were, but we never received any cards from her