Acknowledgement: Mike Guy
Keepers Cottage
Acknowledgement: Mike Guy
The keepers started out as a small holding with cowsheds and lean-to buildings down below the house near the back lane. The buildings remained till the 1950’s when they were demolished. The house was extended in the 1930’s and painted to resemble a wood framed house with brick infill and remnants of this could still be seen up to the enlargement at the end of the 1990’s.
The first keeper I remember living in the keepers cottage was Mr Jones and his wife he originated from Ledbury in Herefordshire. He was one of the old time keepers, out most of the night and walking the estate during the day. His way of rearing were coops no runs each night the young pheasants were shut in with the broody.
Mr Jones had the use of a large corrugated iron shed just in the wood at the end of the cottage. It was the job of the estate maintenance to keep this in good order and a paint job was needed. So Pops and Sammy Lloyd were giving it a lick of red oxide paint, with Pops on the roof and Sammy painting the sides.
All was well till the roof paint pot started to slide down Pops shouted to Sammy to watch out - but Sammy didn’t, he just let the pot pass him by and land on the floor. He stuck out his hand and the whole thing ended up over his hand. The best thing was to see if Mrs Jones at the cottage had anything that would remove the paint before it slowly covered his whole arm, so Sammy went to the house and was soon shouting for Pops.
When Dad got there Mrs Jones was flat out on the floor in a faint, She had opened the door seen Sam with what she thought was blood dripping from his hand and duly fainted.
Thunderstorm at Mrs Jones'
Another incident I do remember when I was about six years old, when afternoon I was with my cousin Bryan from Burton-on-Trent when a heavy thunderstorm started. Pops had no transport then, not even the little furgy so we threw the tools in a barrow with me on top and started down for home. Just as we were down the bank by the corner just above the keepers, a lightning bolt struck an oak tree not six feet away from us.
Shelter at Mr Jones’ seemed the best thing to do and we sat in the living room. Mrs Jones made a cup of tea with the kettle was plugged in under the chair that Pops and I were sitting on. Just then was another almighty clap of thunder and the kettle, plug and socket duly slid across the brick floor to the other side of the room. Twice in the matter of fifteen minutes was cutting it a bit fine.
From the front door of the cottage were two low privet hedges bordering the path, Mrs. Jones said to me come and look at this. Halfway up the path she parted the privet to reveal the largest bird I had ever seen sitting on the tiniest nest - it was a soon to fledge cuckoo.
The Goodfellows
After Mr Jones we had Mr Goodfellow - a Scotsman through and through (you would think that he was more used to the heather moors but he did bring in lots of changes to the rearing of the pheasants). He was the one that had us make the runs that attached to the coops which were all safe inside with no need to shut up at night and loose out in the morning. He had no transport at all his work was carried out on foot and at this time we had acquired a little grey furgy tractor. This was used to transport the corn to bins in the woods so at least he only had to carry it a few yards. He couldn’t drive the tractor so we did his transporting for him.
Mrs Goodfellow was just the opposite of her husband as he was tall but carried some weight. With his tweed clothes with the statutory plus fours and hob nail boots.
Mrs Goodfellow, on the other hand, was small and frail. Mr Goodfellow asked if he could have a young lad as an underkeeper and Mr Carder agreed, but where would he live? There were no static caravans available, like there is today and no young lad would be given a house so it was suggested he lodged with Mr and Mrs Goodfellow. Bob flatly refused. In the end of the Passmore wood stood a chalet that was used by the guns on shooting day to have their meals in, so it was decided that we would move the chalet down to the end of the keepers where it would be wired for electric, and this was to be the young lads abode.
The first job was to jack up the building and place two large wood beams underneath with tapered ends to act a skids then attach it to the tractor dragging it down the road, (this was on 22/7/63). The operation went perfectly to plan and the shed was positioned at the end of the house facing up the river. A small tin hut was also positioned at the back for an elsan chemical toilet.
In the chalet was just about room for a single bed a table, cupboard and some shelves and heating was a single bar electric fire. You can imagine the poor lad coming in wet though and having to dry his clothes and himself with that.
Mrs Goodfellow would not even cook his meals this he had to do on a Baby Belling table top cooker. Water was not laid on but she did let him have a bucket full from her kitchen (how he had a good wash was debatable). As you can gather, the under keeper did not stay long.
Thee second lad arrived with his parents, but when they saw the living conditions Mr Goodfellow was told where to stick the job and took the young chap home.
Acknowledgement: Mike Guy
The Blue Pool pike
One thing I remember about Mr Goodfellow was the pike that lived in the Blue Pool as he had a passion for getting rid of them.
One very large pike had eluded us by fishing but Mr Goodfellow was determined to rid the pool of this monster. Most days he could be seen cruising the shallow water under the overhanging trees on the bank. The tactic was to lie along on one of the leaning trees and shoot the pike with a twelve bore as he swam underneath - the theory was good, but the recoil not so good as he ended up to his neck in mud and water.
After Mr Goodellow left we had no keeper till the shooting season started so Dad, Mother and myself did all the rearing.
The Welshman and the poachers
The end of the 60’s Mr Evans was next and as the name suggests he was a Welshman and not much of a keeper. He only stayed a couple of years and pheasant shot on shooting days not enough, so he had to go.
Mr Evans was if anything keen on catching poachers. Along the main road towards Wenlock he would knock six inch nails into the large oak trees that sat in the roadside hedges and here he would sit waiting for the telltale shot or distant light. Pops and myself were out one night on poacher watch it was around two in the morning (I was only about eleven or twelve and it must have been a Friday night so no school in the morning). We were sitting on the milk stand at Hill Top Farm where there were new large cattle shed built on the farm. It was one of the quietest nights I could remember - not a sound - when one of the cattle in the shed back kicked one of the large iron doors. The saying shit a brick sums up the feelings we both had.
After we settled down we heard a car coming but not sounding like any car we had heard before, so we got out of sight. The car pulled by where we were hiding and someone got out. "Are you there Harold?" he said. It was Mr Evans and family. We thought that he was along the road up a tree, but had been to Wales to see his relative. The noise the car was making were Mrs Evans’s stocking flapping about replacing the fan belt.
The last keeper
The last keeper on Buildwas was Stanley Booth - not your average born to keepering type of chap. He originated from Warrington, I always thought of him as poacher turned gamekeeper. He was ok but he had his moments. You had to watch what you said because if it was his time of the month you would probably get a shouting at.
Occupants
Mr and Mrs Parker (Gamekeeper)
Mr and Mrs Atkinson (Gamekeeper)
John and May Jones (Gamekeeper moved to Hereford)
Mr and Mrs Bob Goodfellow (Gamekeeper)
Albert and Gladys Evans, (Gamekeeper) Son John (moved to Llangollen)
Stanley and Norma Booth (Gamekeeper) 1 Son, 2 Daughters, (moved to Uffington Nr Shrewsbury)
Mr Bert Aldred (Brother of Maisie Guy at Lower Lodge)
Mike Guy
Buildwas Park
