Rosemary Staples on Levin Down
August 2006
GIVING LEVIN DOWN A REST
First
of all, did you spot the deliberate mistake last month? Golden Washed
Fritillary? Did you all rush to find it in your butterfly book? It
wasn't there, was it? Sorry about that - it would seem that it exists
only in my head, well, there is plenty of room for it in there by the
look of it!
I am going to diversify this time. Levin Down is still there, and
looking good, but I thought I would do a bit of reminiscing. I bought
some new seasons apples today and that reminded me of Miss Bess Foster
who lived in ‘Sunnyside’ in Grove Road, now known as ‘Crouchers’. Her
father managed Charlton Sawmill in the old days. They had lots of apple
trees in the cottage garden and Miss Foster sold them at sixpence a bag.
Lovely apples from the very first of the season, like ‘Beauty of Bath’,
varieties you don't see any more. The apples were stored in a lean-to on
the end of the cottage and the walls were impregnated with this gorgeous
apply smell. Years later David did some work in the cottage, long after
Miss Foster was no more, and he said you could still smell it. Perhaps
you still can!
Goodwood Week is another memory jogger. We loved it. Lots of people took
a lodger for the week, some even let their house and lived in the garden
shed - it's true! And others with relations who lived away found
themselves invaded! Like our nextdoor neighbours - it was a case of
tents in the back garden and everything. My brother and the other boys
used to go up to the course in the evening to collect empty bottles, as
they were worth money in those days. Must not forget ‘Prince Monolulu’.
He was a tipster who wore a feather headdress and very colourful long
robes, and went around shouting ‘I GOT A HORSE’! I don't know what
nationality he was, but he was part of the whole carnival atmosphere
that was Goodwood Week then. Not any more. There were race horses
stabled in the village. ‘Pearman's Yard’ and ‘Little Drove House’. My
Dad had a week off work and he cooked for the grooms and stable lads.
Well, he was an army cook - officers mess of course! Those were the
days, as far as we were concerned.
Hearing of the death of Dennis Stay of ‘Littlewood Farm’ reminded me of
the cricket pitch in the Leys Meadow, before the houses were built. We
had a good ladies team and it was the village pitch. Dennis played - not
for the ladies, I hasten to say, and he had a cricketing sweater that
his Mum must have made and every time it was washed it got longer and
longer - it ended up round his knees! - a bit like some of my knitting!
And if you were fielding in the outfield, you very often had to pick the
ball out of a fresh cowpat as the cows shared the pitch. Oh, dear, now I
have come over all sentimental. Happy days. See you soon.