Sometimes we crossed fields and the grown-ups told us what crops the farmer was growing and how to look after the countryside, by walking round the edges and making sure we shut the gates behind us. In some of the fields the crops were taller than we were! As we walked along the lanes, they told us about the hedgerows, the wild flowers and the birds.
Every time we approached Clent village, the excitement rose and, sure enough, there leaning on his gate was an old gentleman with long grey hair and a weathered look, smoking a wonderful, ivory-coloured pipe carved into a man’s face. I now know that it must have been a Meerschaum pipe. There was something about the smell of that pipe – even out in the fresh air, it had an alluring, aromatic scent. But it wasn’t just the man that fascinated me, it was the monkey sitting on his shoulder. I think this gentleman must have lived on his own in his little old cottage with just the monkey for company. He always seemed to wear the same scruffy clothes, with holes in his shirt – he even made us look smart!
Small and brown with darting eyes, the monkey sat on the man’s shoulder, its arms round his neck, its eyes following us as we passed by. We weren’t allowed to touch the monkey, but we could stop and watch it if it was moving about, which it often did, coming alive and showing off when it saw us approaching. It would twitch its fingers as if playing an instrument, then clamber around, doing somersaults. Sometimes it made a chattering sound, as if saying hello to us. This monkey was one of the highlights of our outings. Perhaps we were also a highlight of the monkey’s day, watching this straggly troupe of small children walk past, waving and calling out jolly greetings as we went by.
Finally, we climbed the lane to the top of the hills and there we could run free and play for hours, punctuated by sandwich breaks. The adults organised ball games for us to join in, but we didn’t have to, so I used to wander round looking for insects and rabbit holes.
At the end of the day, we packed everything up and set off on the long walk back to Field House, where we could look forward to a hot meal on our return, before a quick wash-down. We were so tired those evenings that we’d go straight to bed and lights out, then followed the deep sleep of exhaustion after a long, happy day.
The only other trip we ever went on while I was at Field House was quite a surprise. I must have been about four and a half when my housemother told me one morning to dress quickly because we were going on a special outing.
‘It’s just for the older ones,’ she explained. ‘We’re taking you to Hagley railway station to see a steam train coming through.’
‘What’s a steam train?’ I asked. I had heard of trains, but didn’t know what steam had to do with it and I was quite excited to find out.
There were just a few of us on this trip and we set off straight after breakfast, walking along the lanes to the station. As we approached, the road widened and we saw cars and other vehicles passing by. I had always loved playing with my little toy cars, so this was a fascination for me. Soon I started to recognise some of them from the models I and my friends played with. We saw a bus too – it was bigger than I expected and had a lovely chugging sort of sound.
Looking back, I suppose that was the purpose of the day for us, to experience noisier, busier surroundings, as the staff knew that one day soon, most of us would live in more urban surroundings and we would almost certainly need to take buses and trains and learn how to cross roads. Indeed, we were all lined up along the edge of the pavement and told to look right, left, right. Most of us had problems with that, so the staff came along and patted us all on our right shoulders. Then we had to practise crossing the road.
We walked through the station building and were introduced to the station master, who took us all out onto the platform.
‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘It’s very important, don’t go any nearer than this.’
So, we spread out in a line along the back of the platform and waited. I don’t think any of us children knew what was going to happen, so there was a lot of nervous anticipation. We listened to the announcement the station master made with his megaphone. That fascinated me in itself – the way it made his voice louder.
‘Look,’ said my housemother, pointing along the track into the distance. ‘Can you see the steam?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said, peering in that direction and seeing the white and grey cloud that seemed to be moving towards us. I was mystified that I couldn’t see the train itself, but that soon changed as it drew closer. Small at first, it grew bigger and bigger, turning into a roaring, snorting monster. The giant engine emerged from its steamy shroud as it pulled into the station with a squeal of brakes. I stood back with a gaping mouth, in awe of the noise, the steam and the pungent smell of burning coal in its fiery furnace. I remember being frightened of it – fascinated, but fearful. The whole station seemed to shake.
Once the train had stopped and people started to get out, I was able to see that it was painted in a dark green colour, very shiny with gold writing on it. From where I was standing, I was lucky enough to be able to see into the driver’s cab, where the train driver operated some shiny brass knobs and levers, while another man shovelled coal into the hungry furnace. I must have taken a step forward to get a better look, but my housemother immediately yet gently pulled me back.
New passengers boarded the train and settled into their carriages while the guard walked up and down, closing doors. Then he waved his flag, the engine fired up and the train began to move away, creeping slowly along the track, snorting bursts of steam as it went. The driver and his assistant leaned out of their cab and waved cheerily at us, followed by some of the passengers as their carriages moved past us. Of course, we all waved back like mad, which was great fun, waving and waving until the train had disappeared round a bend up the track.
That was an incredible day and I can still almost taste the coal dust, but I was glad at last to get back to the peace and quiet of Field House.
A day or two later, one of the housemothers brought in some second-hand model trains for us to play with and a book about steam trains that we gathered round to look at. Now we had not just the humming of car engines to make, but also the steam and roar, the squealing brakes and clanking noises of that amazing train as we shunted our new toy steam engines across the floor of our dormitory. It didn’t stop there either: for days afterwards, the lawn became our station and we became the trains.
Christmas was always a special occasion to brighten the winter months at Field House. None of us had families to spend Christmas with, so the housemothers did all they could to make it special for us, although they must have had their own families too.
There was no build-up like there is today. The first we knew of it being anything different was on Christmas Eve, when fir trees were brought in from somewhere in the grounds. One was placed in the girls’ dormitory, another in the boys’ and one in the dining room too. The tree in our room was almost up to the high ceiling and wide all around. I remember the lovely scent of the fir needles that pervaded the dormitory. The staff came in and decorated it for us while we watched them, our excitement mounting as they adorned the branches with glittery silver and red tinsel, gold-foil wrapped chocolate coins and, right at the top, a large silver star.
‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day,’ explained my housemother as she put me to bed that evening. ‘If you are all good boys, there will be some presents under the tree when you wake up in the morning and a chocolate coin for each of you. We will come in and give them out.’
This was such an exciting prospect that it was hard to get to sleep that evening, but finally, we all did, and sure enough, when we awoke it was Christmas Day and there were presents all around the bottom of the tree. We leapt out of our beds with squeals of delight, but three of the housemothers were
