Now on Facebook, too...

There is now a page on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/shapwick/ for folks to share memories of old Shapwick...

Discussion Forum

I have decided to try a discussion forum for this website to allow for a more flexible way for folks to discuss and chat about Shapwick in the 1950s and 1960s.

It can be found at http://shapwick.freeforums.net/  Registration and membership is free, although applications to join will need moderation before getting the OK to continue.

The discussions should relate to Shapwick in Dorset, and its immediate surroundings or related topics (eg schooling). The usual good manners is expected. Moderation will be applied to members who advertise, flame, bad-mouth, swear or post unsuitable material.

There is also a link to the forum at the end of the "Pages" panel on the right hand side of this website page.

Steve Edge

Pictures of old Shapwick

Over the years several people have come forward offering pictures. I am extremely grateful for those offers and pictures. If anyone else has any pictures, especially from the post WW2 years it would be great to hear from you.

Steve

Sue

Some readers of this website will remember my sister Sue.

I'm sorry to write that Sue died on 6 October 2011 aged 53.

The picture shows Sue in 2006 about to climb Croagh Patrick (seen in the background) in County Mayo or "Magical Mayo" as Sue would say.

Sue Hemsley 1958 -2011

(written by Steve Edge)

Nearly there...

I have now transferred all the pictures and stories from the old website. Now I need to put a re-direct onto the old website so it automatically loads the new one shapwickdorset.blogspot.com

Hope some Shapwick folk will browse the new website and leave a comment or two or perhaps send me some new material.

Steve

Kath Singleton (nee Clarke) writes:

The day Dawn and I walked to Charlten Marshall to play football against some lads we met at a 'real' game in Shapwick. They promised to get a side together as did we!!! We never managed to talk anyone else to joining us but that didn't stop us. Eventually we arrived, albeit very tired. No the lads did not turn up, just as well really with our knowledge of the game and we didn't even have a football. I wonder if they were watching us from afar?

I was stood near our Charley when he was knocked out of his welly boots. He landed a couple of feet away but the boots remained upright. He had the "How did I get here " look on his face. It still gets brought up at family get-togethers. Like the time he was knocked off of his bike by a car and ended up in hospital. Aged about 5years, he rode out of Picadilly without looking and went straight into the path of a car. Luckily he was only bruised but unfortunately the car driver had no insurance. Scandal in the village for a few weeks no doubt.

Going into the Bottle & Jug down the Anchor to get a packet of smith's crisps (the original sort that had the little blue bag inside) or a packet of nuts and raisins, hoping Dad was at the bar and would see me. He always paid for them if he knew I was there. I think we probably drove the landlord mad.

The paper man coming on Saturday mornings in his car to collect money owed for papers. He always sold sweets from his boot. Dad would buy us some. I'm surprised we have any teeth left.

Being told that the pond in Philip's field (behind our house) was so deep that a horse drowned there many years before, so we had to stay away. True about the horse, I don't know.

Walking up to the Point-to-Point races at Badbury Rings. No I wasn't interested in horses or racing but it was probably something to do with the Brandy snaps Dad would buy us. The following day Hazel Crabb, Betty Creech and I would go up to Badbury Rings and look for treasures that any one may have dropped. We never found anything except litter.

The Bakers van that came round two or three times a week. I remember the bread was always really crusty. It was a cowdrey's van and I think it was a Mr. Ricketts that drove it. Of course the village shop never sold bread.

The hardware van that used to come round every now and then. Just how many bowls and brushes did people get through then? I don't suppose many had Hoovers then.

Ringing Mrs. Richards's doorbell and running away (I'm ashamed to admit that one) Why did all the village kids do that? Probably was the only door that had a bell.

The annual floods. I remember most years they came up to the Anchor Inn. But occasionally the high street would get flooded. One year they even reached passed the shop the shop. It must have been awful to live down over the pound. I use to believe that the skeletons from the graves in the churchyard would find themselves coming up the street. Dad said that once some did get washed into the river.

One year our Michael and another (I thought it was Dave Kerley but Maureen thinks it was ??????) setting fire to one of the trees down the Conker Field. Accidentally I sure, but they were smoking, so I'm told.

We used to go down the Conker tree field when it was very cold and icy. The water used to freeze over and we would 'skate' on it. The snow and ice used to last for weeks then. The icicles that were on our roofs were huge. We used to slide up and down the road on the ice. Our shoes never had any tread on them.

At 13 or 14 years old being paid to pick the wild oats or charlotte (the yellow wild flower) out of the crops by Bobby Cave. Hazel and I made quite a bit during the summer months.

Julia Cave and I were caught scrumping pears from her grandfather's garden. We climbed over that high wall. For an old man he couldn't half run.

A load of us going down to the river to swim in the summer months. We used paddle across the stream and walk to the river t other sheep dip. It was really deep there. You would not catch me doing that now. I remember having to climb up the bank to get out and always getting covered with mud.

Bonfire night I think we came down your place a few times. Dad would buy a box of fireworks. When we were little, dad would put a Catherine wheel on the gatepost and lit it - it always flew off. Or a Rocket in a milk bottle that always fell over.

Margaret Jewell and I used to catch minnows in the ditches in Piccadilly lane. I remember her breaking her arm while playing leapfrog.

We used to play French cricket in the road. Dad used to play but I can't remember him hitting the ball! "

Beverly Gallagher, nee Waterman writes:

My mother, Milly Ingarfield, was sent from London to Shapwick with two of her sisters by the Children's Country Holiday fund in the thirties.She stayed with Mrs Cuff and her sisters stayed with Mrs Harding. During the war she and some of her sisters stayed in Shapwick for a while but I don't know much about it.

My parents took me to Shapwick when I was a girl and we stayed with Jim and Margaret Taylor, nee Harding. Brenda used to write to me and I think young Jim came up to London to stay with us once. I remember old Mrs Harding and Iris very well, especially because their cottage did not have electricity or running water, which was very interesting to a London child.

Mrs Harding lived in a cottage on its own along a road to the left as you go towards the cross. She was Margaret Taylor's mother and she had another daughter Iris who had a physical disability. They are both buried just over the wall in the cemetery. Margaret lived in the cottage facing the church, in Church Street in fact. I think her husband Jim was a thatcher but he had a lot of other country skills.

I was friends with two lads called Alan Kerley and Gordon Marsh, who took me and my friend Carol on the river in a punt with another boy nicknamed Plum. When we were all grown up and married, my husband and I visited Alan and his wife in a tiny cottage when they had a little baby in a pram in the garden. It was a hot day and we all bathed in the river.

Those beautiful days in Shapwick were the start of a lifelong love affair with Dorset and I now live in Sherborne, having left London far behind me.

I have some photos and cine film of the village if anyone would like to see them, and I would be very glad to hear from anyone who remembers me.