How long have you actually lived in Craster?

I came to work on the farm at Dunstan Square in 1943, and I came to live in the village after I got married in 1950. When I first came to Dunstan Square there was a prisoner of war camp up on the hills there, the Italians were there first, then the Germans came. Before that, before they had them there at the prisoner of war camp, it used to be a Radar station and there was a big mast there which they took down later on. In fact the concrete block house where they had the big engines that drove it, which was Rolls Royce, is still there. A big concrete block house on the top, have you ever noticed it? They took so much of the hill away and they had 4 nissen huts set back into the hill, stretched right down. I remember once the POW's thought they would put POW right along the hills in whitewash stone. After they got them finished we had to bury them all cos you see them for miles away. The quarry you know, my father in law told me that when he worked in that quarry up there, when they used to have the wire systems down to load the boats at the harbour, sometimes they would come at night and say we'll start at 7 in the morning, and if the boat was loaded by half past 10 they were finished. Things were really bad then. Things have changed quite a lot in that time, when we were youths, nearly everybody went to chapel or church then, and the chapel used to be packed. They used to hold these things called squarries, they had a supper and everybody was invited sort of thing. The place used to be packed, but it's all changed now. My father in law told me once, there was a fellow called Nightingale came here to preach, and he was one of these hell and damnation sort of preachers, and he got them all to throw away their pipes and baccy. They were leaving them on the rocks on th^ir way to chapel, and he says they were all going back with a candle and a jam jar looking for them at 12 o'clock at night.

We had a boys group, and you know that little house outside the pub there, there's a little cottage there on the right hand side, well the council let us have that. It was a condemned property then, but a fellow called Joe Young used to be the boys club leader, and he was a master at the Dukes school, and he was also on the council at Ainwick and he let us have it for a boys club. There was also a girls club, which was run up at the Towers , and Lady Craster was in that. We had scouts, a scout troop and we used to go away for camping weekends and a for week and all, down to Leybum in Yorkshire. There seemed to be quite a lot going on, but of course mind, there is a youth club I don't know how often they meet, and Alan Punton is in charge of that now. There is not the same for young people as there used to be now I don't think. There's always been a football team. When the war finished that was the best team they ever had. When all the lads came back from the war you know. They must have had a good team when Adam Dawson played as well, 'cos he went to play for Chesterfield. That was before the war. They were kicked out the league you know. What for? For fighting. They were hoyed out the league like, in fact one of them was suspended sin die. They rescinded that later on. They used to play up at the Castle fields, at the top of there. Well you know it sloped towards the sea. A lot of the teams that came here reckoned it was a 2 goal start for the Craster team. They've still got their football team and they gan out the village for the lads. The lads come out of Alnwick. They enjoy it and they've got a grand pitch up there. Ally Grey let them have that. They got a grant, a government grant to build that club house, and Lord
Howick gave that bit of land it stands on. They've been very fortunate in that respect like.

When I first came here, I used to come down to the village from the farm, well I came every night really. The fishing boats if you were down here in the afternoon when they came back, I've seen them, there was very little free boat left, they were full of fish, haddock, cod and whatever you know. The war was on you see and there was any amount offish and stuff then.

So there was plenty to eat during the war then?

Any amount. On the farms you were allowed to keep 2 pigs, but you had to give in your bacon coupons, and you were allowed to keep 2. Well we always had 2, we used to kill them and salt them down. How long did you keep the pigs before you killed them? Normally they would be about 16 stones weight, you went by the weight of them. The sheds there, some people used to take them there to be salted, and they salted them in a sort of a barrel, put them in the brine. Whereas we didn't do that. My grandfather used to cure ours, and the sides of the bacon, he used to rub them with salt until they sweated. Then you laid them on straw, on about a foot of straw, so they could drain away. They lay there for about a fortnight. The hams and suchlike, well they used to have to get into the joint and put saltpetre and sugar. That used to cure them, By, it was lovely stuff man. When you had it, it was about a quarter of an inch thick. There was none of this white froth floating around the pan then, like you get now. I don't know what they do with it.

When I was on the farm then, all the men used to work in the quarry and then came to help us on the farm at night. I diwent na how they did it, cos it was heavy work then.
There was very little machinery in the quarries that particular time. They used to come to do seasonal work, at night. They used to help us at harvest time. I've seen them sit down to have their tea, and fall asleep, they were that tired. We used to get extra rations on the farm for the harvest, which only amounted to, be maybe, well me and my father worked up there and you maybe got 4 ounces of margarine or another half a pound of sugar or something like that. Oh yes, cheese was the thing, you could get so many ounces of cheese. That was a week like you na, when the war was on.

Was there any girls? Oh yes, land army, but we didn't have any at Dunstan Square, the land army. We used to get-the prisoners you see. The Italians or the Germans. When they closed this one here, the German prisoners were at Embleton. That's when I learned to drive a car. The boss was away with his brother and Mrs Rowell says to me, you have to take the prisoners home. There was 4 of them and it was just a little Ford car like. Well I drove a tractor from when I was a kid, but when it came to getting the car out of the garage, I kept bumping it. I got them in and got them to Embleton and one of them could speak relatively good English, he says thank you very much, but tomorrow night we will walk. We ended up pushing it out of the garage. So they mixed in then, these prisoners? Aye, one. I never knew his surname, but we called him Franz, he only had half a heel on his right foot, and I asked him one day how it happened. He had been in Russia and he had climbed out of this ditch and there was a machine gun dead in front of him, and it fired. He threw himself back and as he went up it took his heel off. He was dead lucky like. He said if they'd been there another month they would never had gotten back, they got a real hammering like. They were good workers, different to the Italians. If it rained the Italians used to pack it in. I lent this lad Franz an old bike, and because we were all out at weekends, of course they couldn't go to dances like, they went around the countryside, He arrived back one night and said they were moving to Wooler, and then back home. The war was finished by then and he brought the bike back and it was like'brand new. I said to him you'll have to go and see the boss mind, when you come back, cos he'd worked for us for about 3 years, and I took him up to the farmhouse like and the boss said he would run him home in the car. I didn't see him after that. By he made a rare job of bike mind. We got on all right with them, they were good workers ye na, the Germans.

Back to the pigs, I remember when I was little, when there was a pig killed in the village, people used to knock on the door with potted meat and things. We used to live like lords. There were about 6 houses up in the square, and for about a fortnight, we had spare ribs, and pigs cheek. We used everything. The only thing we didn't use was its squeal. My granny used to make the black pudding and whatnot. She bled the pig, you had to keep stirring it like to stop it clotting, and she used to put these little squares of fat in it, and mint or sometimes a little bit of sage. She made white pudding with the lungs. Everything was used, nothing was wasted. We used to come in for our dinner at 12 o'clock and of course we had the sheer legs set up ready to hoist it up on. Everybody had the boilers going in the wash houses, so you got any amount of water. The butcher used to come from Embleton, and the pig was killed, scalded, hung up and finished and we were back at work at 1 o'clock. Aye, everybody lived well on the pig, sausage and everything. Mind something I couldn't stick was pigs trotters. I could never fancy them. I like pigs cheek mind, cos we used to salt it the same way as we used to salt the bacon, but it was only in a few days.

There would be plenty of fish in the village from people just catching it and bringing it in, rather than having to buy it. Any amount of fish in the wartime. Did you used to barter it or just give it away? This fellas father. Luke Robson, Alan's father, he ran it then. He also had 2 wagons then, tipper wagons he used at the quarry, of course,. I suppose there would be a lot of work for them When they made all these runways and suchlike along the tuggle and there was another one at Boulmer that they made. They were only for aircraft that were more or less in distress, somewhere for them to land if they were badly shot up. There would only be about 3 men to a boat then. They were all corbies then, there was none of the bigger boats like Douggie has now. Like Eddie Grey's. They told me, well I didn't know cos I've never gone to sea, but they used to pull them up with the capstan. There were 2 capstans down there and they used to put the long bar through and they would all walk round and round, and that's how they used to haul them out of the harbour. Adam Archbold's son -in-law came up from Liverpool and he brought a little winch and a Bedford engine, and that was the first winch they ever had. (1947). They reckon, I don't know if it's true mind, but they tell me all he got for his bother was 2 boxes offish He was an engineer, and he thought it was terrible that men had to walk round and round just to haul boats up. I think it was dark Chapman gave them a winch that one that's there now. They got a Ford engine onto it, then they built the winch house. When you come to think having half a dozen corbels to have to pull up with this capstan thing, after you'd done a day's work at the sea.

Marjorie, when was it those 3 fisherman were lost from here? February 1928. Jimmy
Sanderson was one, William Stevenson was another, Mary Bowlen's brother was the other, but that wasn't her real name if you know what I mean, it was like a bye name.
I think her real name was Archbold, it was her brother. These bye names, they all had them. Because they were all called after their grandparents and their great grandparents and they all had the same name. My grandfather was called Hemp, now that's something to do with rope isn't it? They hadn't even anchors on the boats. They had stones tied to a rope which they used to drop over the sides.

Marjorie now talking. Before I go away, I don't know if you want this information or not. I've just thought about it. This shawl was brought from Kashmir to the Tyne in 1810, and they used them to carry their babies, they didn't have prams, like the Indians. Jane Smailes who was married to the Dawson man this is what she carried all her children in - she had 7 sons. She had 7 sons, and a grandson, cos my fathers mother died in childbirth, and he was 2.1/2, so she inherited him, so that was like 8 sons she had. My father was granny's fourth. His ears used to stick out and I said to him, how does your ears stick out like that Bob, and he says it was the way my granny used to put my bonnet on. So most of the bye names came up like descriptions or marriage or something. Somebody was telling me about some woman called Midge. Jenny Midge. Well she was little like, Joyce Shaw's granny. She was horrible actually. Well you know what children are like, when they get a chase of somebody, they go back for another one won't they. Well we used to do that, it was dreadful really. She lived next door to the chapel in Chapel Row, and of course we used to play up and down the steps, jumping up and down them or sliding down the banister thing, and she used to chase us. Well of course we went back for more, and we used to put our tongues out. Kind of delinquents in those days. Kids used to get into all sorts in those days, things that they'd get put into court these days.

So we were just talking about the war time really and fishing. What about gardening in those days and garden produce? Well I don't know about that, but you know where I've got my allotment, what they used to call the tattie grounds. I just heard what they told me, that every house along the front had a strip of land which was eight drills wide, which was approximately 16 feet. It used to be marked with stones, and they used to whitewash them Sometimes there used to be hell on, because some people used to shift the stones. They used to have deeds for that, I've got them, but they are at the solicitors, I've got my rocks in a copy of the deeds as a north side owner, now. I'm sure he would let you have them to photocopy them. Well he's got them, 'cos they are just a copy of the deeds. The squire at one time used to send the horses down to plough it for them, because they lived off that. They used to have potatoes and whatever they had. At that time there was no dole, and they lived on salt fish. They salted a lot offish away, the herring and things like that, because if they couldn't get to the sea, well that was what they lived on. There was nothing easy. It must have been difficult living in those days. They used to have the Craster feast once a year. They reckon they painted everything, if you stood still long enough, they would paint ye an all. I suppose they would come from Boulmer and Seahouses and all over, their friends like. Of course if you hadn't a bike you didn't get out of the village. They used to use the tattie runs, because that helped them to get through the winter. That's they way I've always thought of it. There was no dole and if they weren't at sea, they weren't making any money. In the war some people had them as gardens, but they're never planted right up, like the way they used to be. I'm about the only one left with an allotment along there David Clarke he set a piece last year, he had a bit land with that house he bought, but nowt like it used to be from the tales that these old chaps that told me. A lot of them used to hand dig it, if they weren't at the sea, they would dig it and sometimes they used to get the horses. They had a thing called the north side owners, which now I think is defunked, because all the records have been lost. If you had the land, you had half a vote, these north side owners. If you had a strip of land with your house, it was worth half a vote. I think all that has gone by the board now. The showing of vegetables and leeks clubs, when was that started? Paddy Rayboume was the first secretary of the leek club, then George Butters took it over and he had it for donkey's years. From when it first started, I've always been attached to the leek club. How long? I can't remember now, it's been that long. I can remember the first leek show. Graffy Dixon had come to live here from Blyth. When was that then? I'm just trying to think, middle fifties, fifty four. I can get it for you cos Alan Dixon will have the book. Every village had a leek club. There was about 40 members here, in fact there was a waiting list, to get in, but now it's down to about 20. It was a great thing at one time like.

How did the farmers and the fishermen get on? All right. They were covered by the
Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries, they all came under the same thing. Locally it didn't make any difference. I went to 9 different schools, whereas the fishermen stayed put, but farm people went from farm to farm, till we came here, and I said to my father, that's the finish, I've had enough of this. So you'd had that since you were a little boy you'd moved about? Aye. Aye. It used to bother me when I was a little lad. I used to think that if my father fell out with the farmer, then they would put us out of the house and then where would we go. You get these things into your head when you're a kid. That's why I thought, one day I would have my own house and nobody would be able to put me out. It was my mother that got all the work because some of the houses you went to were filthy. She had them all to clean out and paper, and before you knew where you were, my father was off to another farm. If somebody offered a pair of young horses or another shilling a week, he was away. Mind we had a good father and mother, we never could complain about that. When we came to Rennington, the windows had all been knocked out of the house. Old Jack Dunn, he was the joiner up there, and he had to go and get some board and board them up. The place was filthy. I said to my father, then, that's the finish. Then we came to Dunstan Square and we just stopped there and that's how we are here. My sister lives along there and my brother lives along the top there. I worked at Dunstan Square for 14 years. Are they the houses where Eleanor Venus lives now? Yes that's them. We'd been there a year when Eleanor Venus came, and Angus Lowerson came the following year, he's still there. He's 80 odd now. He went to work in the pipeworks. He says I worked there 35 years and I hated every minute of it. I wouldn't have liked to have spent my working life some place where I didn't want to be. Canny lad is Ken, he's not well now mind. He used to work at Longbenton, the ministry, before he came up here. So did you always work on the farm? No. I more or less sold myself to the highest bidder. I worked on the farm until I was 26, then I had 6 pound a week, which was a pound more than the minimum wage. I couldn't complain about the job. Of course you got overtime at the harvest. If you were married you got a house, but the house went with the job. Marjorie's mother died and there wasn't much point in waiting any longer, cos she didn't want to leave her father, so we just went to live with her father. I used to walk up to the farm every day, that was nothing then. At that time the myxomatosis was on with the rabbits, and there was one morning I went up there and I found 30 odd rabbits. They were just sitting there, poor things, with the blood running out of them. I couldn't eat rabbit after that. It was a terrible thing to see. Then Bill Robson asked me if I would like a job driving a wagon. There was a difference between 6 pound a week and 15, but I was working 60 hours a week or more, cos sometimes you filled the log sheet. You shouldn't do that mind. I worked for him for about 14 years. Then I went to Alnwick and got a job on the post, as a postman. My wage then was 16 pound a week for 37 hours. I used to work part time on the farm. Some shifts I was finished at 2 o'clock, cos I started early in the morning. I did that for a while, then I got on to the telephones. At that time they ran together the post office and the telephones. I spent the rest of my time on the telephones, that was 25 years. I had a brain haemorrhage when I was 56 and that was it. For about 3 years I wasn't worth very much like, so I just left the post office and that was it. If I had my time to begin again mind, I would never leave the farm like. I still help my son in law one day a week, when Ally's clipping up there I give him a hand with the clipping, and putting the silage in. It's grand to get back in. I know I'm getting a bit lang in the tooth. When I working in Alnwick, I used to say to the lads in the Springtime, I could smell that soil as I was coming in here. They used to tap their heads and say he's nuts. Sometimes they used to say what's the sea like this morning, because some of them were anglers. I used to say I don't know cos I didn't look at it. They used to say well you've nearly been in it. I wasn't interested.

When we had the boys club, we used to sometimes go to Newcastle for weekends, to
Grainger Park boys school. You could take boxing, drama, orienteering or anything like that. It was really good. The lads were interested. We used to have concerts. We used to have them on 2 nights here and then the big night of all was when we went to Boulmer. I suppose there was no televisions. No. You could go to 3 or 4 dances a week, if you were so inclined. I've seen us go to the pictures in Alnwick and walk out to Rennington, go to the dance, then walk home. Or Embleton, there used to be good dances in the Creighton Hall. You never saw anybody the worse the wear with drink or anything like that. The dance was the main thing, not going to the pub. Now they've got to go to the pub first, before they go anywhere else. I think that thing standing in the comer, is to blame for a lot of that. So there would be a lot of people walking around the country lanes? Wye aye. I've seen up to 20 of us walking along that road from Rennington. My boss, Mr Rowell at the farm, he asked my father to first foot him, and my father never went. He says to me will you be my first foot, and I said to him, what about my mates? He says fetch them all. I took about 14. We'd been to Embleton dance, and we'd stayed there until Auld Lang Syne, and then we came home. I took them up there and we ended up around the piano, singing like. We went every year after that. They enjoyed it as much as us I think. He was the best boss I ever had, a gentleman. He's been a captain in the Army in his day. He came from Hexham, the Tyne valley to farm here. He was a grand man he was. There was none of this creeping along the stone walls to see if you were working or anything like that. He would say, I'll come out and see you this afternoon, and you knew when he came to see you, you could bet your bottom dollar that she had some old ladies there playing bridge. He used to say they drive me crackers. He was a grand fellow. Robert Rowell. He was the farmer at Dunstan Square then. Did his family stay in the area? He died there. You know Jim Hardy, of the House of Hardy, well he's married to Mr Rowell's daughter, Gwen. He only had one daughter. So there's a lot of links between the different villages, they've inter married. They've married lasses from Rennington or Embleton, through the dances. At one time ye didn't get far. There was no cars nor ought. After the war there was the odd motorbike. Johnny Grey had his father's car, it was a little Austin 10, we were at Rennington dance, and I said how about a lift home. He say aye, well there were about 10 of us. and we used to drive along on the mudguard and keep hanging on to the little side lights. We all piled on, he started her up but she wouldn't move, she kept cutting out. He said we'll just have to leave it and come back in the morning. So we walked home, and we walked back on the Sunday, and you know the stay on an electric pole, the big steel stays, somebody had lifted it over and put the bumper bar around. It's a wonder we didn't pull the ruddy pole down. So we walked back home. It was black dark, there were no street lights then. I once got fined for riding a bike without lights, coming from Rennington. I was coming along the top of Dunstan, it would be about half past 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning, and there was this car coming along with just little side lights on, and this voice said to me, look there's somebody lost, and I turned round and it was the police. He says where have you been, and I said I've been to Rennington dance. He said you've no lights on, and I said no. I haven't got any. He said what's your name, and I said well you know my name. He said I'm asking you your name. So that was it. We were working on the harvest at the time, when he came with the summons and gave it to my mother. I didn't see it. My mother says I've had a man here from Embleton, the police. You have to go to court for riding a bike without lights. He's been here and hour and a half, he's been reciting Robbie Bums. A typical old copper. He was a great bloke, he used to go to our football matches. Ned Dawson said to me it's your turn to sell the raffle tickets. He said start with the police. I went passed him, went round the fields, and come back and said that's it. He says have sold John any, I said no, and he says he'll be annoyed if you don't sell him any. The man had walked right up the field, so I walked up and says do you want any raffle tickets. He says what do you think I've come all this way up here for, to get out of your road. I could hear Ned Dawson laughing right from the bottom. Yeh, they were good days then.

It seems to have been a nice settled place doesn't it? Aye, I wouldn't like to live any where else. Look at mining villages at the same time, people coming in and out of them all the time. It was a good place to bring a family up. The school was alright was it? Did they go to Dunstan school your children? Aye. They started at Dunstan, then they built this one. This is a letter I got from my uncle in London in 1941. You can read it and it will tell you when the bins came down. He wrote that from Brighton. I think he said something about those horrible Germans. He left this village when he was 17 because he didn't want to go to sea. They expected him to, but he didn't want to cos he was always sick. He went to London at 17 to look for a job. He got a job in a gentleman's outfitters in Clapham Junction. Eventually he owned a gentleman's outfitters shop in Clapham Junction, I don't know if it was the same one. He retired to Brighton in 1939. He came back every year for a fortnights holiday. He was always very good to us, we all went to see him when he came back, he always had bags of sweets.

You were talking about nicknames, it's going to be an interesting part of the history.
Some people must have not liked their nicknames, and some people would have liked them. I think they just accepted them. His family doesn't like it very much, there's Clippy Archbold, William Gibb Archbold was his name, but everybody called him Clippy. I didn't, 'cos I didn't know him all that well, but all the fishermen used to. If they were talking about him, they always called him Clippy. How did he get that name then? I have no idea. They still call my wife Marjorie Dawson. It's the same with Annie Jane Roberts, they still call her by her maiden name. You know what I mean. When I worked for Bill Robson, the lads used to call me Fatty. I diwn't know why. It didn't matter to me what they called me. I think Seahouses would be the same. All that sort of names stuck on them. Ralph Archbold, old Harry that lives in the field, he's in his eighties. He would be the very bloke to have a crack with mind. He's lived here all his life. He lives in the first house through the gate. He's a canny old fella, I think he'll have lived in that house since it was built. He's doing his windows like, and he's going to put some more in. I think he must have secondary double glazing in it. I went over there to spray his brussel sprouts for caterpillars. He says I've got some glass for you, I thought I didn't want any glass. Bill's going to put some new windows in the front, and I told him to keep the glass back for you. His father was a bit of a character mind. Old Raffa. Just after the war when Harry and Jack came back, they were both away in the Army, he bought a boat, a new corbie, and he had netted a salmon. The bailiffs came up and took the net of him and he had to go to court, and he had to go to Newcastle. He said to the magistrates, I had 2 sons away to the war and I sat all the war knitting them nets, and that buggar there come up and took them away. That's not right you know. You know what the magistrates said - case dismissed. Another time he reckoned he'd seen the Loch Ness monster out there. This was on the radio, on the BBC. Telling them what it was like, all these big humps. When he was finished, they started to play It's a sin to tell a lie. He was a character. He used to play the melodeon on the end of the pier on a Sunday morning. The boss used to give him corn for his hens 'cos he kept the key for the gate, and he used to come up and get the corn. He only had half a dozen hens. He came this time, and says I've got no corn for my hens. I says well mind there's none at the farm because we're waiting for the harvest starting. Well I diwn't kna what I'm gonna do.
So I went to the boss and says Ralph Archbold up here for some corn for his hens, but
I says we haven't got any. The boss says I've got some of the pellets I bought in
Alnwick, give him a stone of them and tell him that 2 ounces a day is quite sufficient for a hen. So I went down and says he's given you some of what he feeds his hens on, but you've got to give them very little. Because it's good stuff. The hens must have been ready to lay, because he came back 2 days after. He says. that's grand stuff, I was getting no eggs at all, and I got 2 yesterday. He'd walked all the way to tell us that. He says I've never known stuff like that.

After the war those fields along the bottom were ploughed. We used to have corn stacks along there, and the threshing mill used to come in. There was very little soil along the top. The rock in places, it's a flat as this floor. The plough used to slide along the top and turn it over. You know that film Arthur's Kingdom, well we are on that you know. We were stocking corn along there, and we'd cut the corn and it had lain for 2 days. It had rained and rained, and the boss says we'll have to go and pick it up or else it's going to be growing into the ground. We had old army topcoats on, and we were picking it up and stocking it. when this chap came along carrying a camera and a tripod. He says do you mind it I take a film of you but you'll have to take your coats off. I says we're soaking wet man, and he says I'll give you a pound each, and they were off in a flash. We only had 3 pound a week then. Years after it came on there. There was me, Geordie Armstrong, me father and Angus Lowerson. I always laughed at Geordie, cos he always wore a cap, he was a very particular sort of bloke. Bob Smailes, you can see him on that film, Charlie Kaysleigh, Charlie must have had a boil on his neck, cos there's a great plaster. In the war, he used to grow his own baccy, old Charlie. He had about 30 hives of bees as well, there's none now. When the baccy was ripe he used to get me to go up, he had one of these presses the printers use. He used to put the leaves in salt petre. He used to criss cross the leaves, a little bit of rum sprinkled on and he had to tighten it down. He'd cut the sides off straight. It would be like that for about a month, and every now and then we'd tighten it, and this black juice used to run out of the sides. That's what he used to smoke. There was 2 aviaries of canaries here. Jimmy Smailes had some and Jack Archbold. Now Jack was blind, and he had canaries up that garden. He had the feeders on the side, and he used to take the feeders down and blow into them the get the shell out. He could put it straight back. He was totally blind, so was his brother Roger. He used to put his fingers directly into the nests, he knew exactly where they were. To see how many little ones there were. He didn't show them, it was just a hobby. His old shed's up there now, it's covered in ivy.

Parking is hopeless now isn't it. Has it changed the numbers of visitors that come to Craster now. Nobody takes visitors in now. Marjorie's mother taken them in since well before the war. In fact she used to let part of the house. If you worked in the quarry then, sometimes the men were finished by half past ten and they paid them off then. He was once on the dole for 2 years. He told me, he was a grafter mind, he worked till he was 80 odd in that garden, he says you got that lazy you couldn't be bothered to feed the hens. They talk about them now catching them out for getting money for nowt, but they paid 6d a week into this fund in the village, and anybody who was off sick, got 10 shilling a week. They all had the flu, the grandfather, Marjorie, her mother, they all had it, and her father had to get up and feed the hens. Somebody saw him feeding the hens and they stopped his money. I wouldn't like to live anywhere else. I've gotten on well there. This thing where they say you're an interloper well I think it's just the way you think, because I've never felt an interloper. The people seem to mix in here in Craster, whereas as in some places where there's some posh houses, people seem to think they so much better, but you don't get that here. I heard some people in Cornwall by the harbour, they lost the gate off the house and they told the police. The police who came up says maybe the goats ate it. Basil Trail used to go around in a Rolls Royce, he lived over yon side, BT1 was the number. It was worth about 60,000 pounds, the number plate. He was sitting in the pub this Sunday, oh yes he said, hard work never killed anyone. That's right Basil. The only people it's never killed are buggars like you, because you've never done it. I can tell you of half a dozen men who never retired, because they brayed their guts out in the quarry with a 14 pound hammer. The next Sunday he says to me I think I owe you an apology. I said no you don't owe me an apology at all. You see you've been brought up at the other end of the stick. You didn't know. The trouble with you fellows is you don't know you don't know. I admired him after mind for saying that. Billy Williams, he never got to 50. They are the same fellows who used to work all day in the quarry, when the war was on, then come home and work on the harvest field till dark at night. Was that particularly hard work in the quarry. Oh yes. You used to break stone up with a hammer then, now they pick it up with a machine and feed it into the crusher. They've got secondary crushers now.

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