THIS IS FINDON VILLAGE — www.findonvillage.com  created by Valerie Martin, contains scenes from her home village of Findon, West Sussex, U.K.

SHEEP DIP WHISKY AND FINDON FAIR — 2008

Copyright Valerie Martin 2008

CHATTING AT FINDON FAIR.... written by Barclay Wills in 1933....

Shepherds' Sundials.   The shepherds of today usually carry a reliable watch, and I have already recorded how one man, whose favourite watch could not be repaired, carried a small kitchen clock in a bundle of cloth in a hare pocket.   Although I had read of dials cut in the turf in past days, I scarcely hoped to track down much information concerning them, but when Nelson Coppard told me about his life as shepherd boy, and mentioned a dial cut in the turf for his use in Horton by Michael Blann, I followed the clue eagerly.   At a later date Mr. Blann willingly gave me the details of dials which he made.

He had no watch at that time (about 60 years ago), and could not afford to buy one, but he owned a little pocket compass, which he used in arranging the dials.  It was quite a business to make this type of clock.   His method was to select a flat place where the turf was short, and draw a circle about eighteen inches in diameter.   A hole was made in the centre to hold the end of his crook stick.   The stick was held perfectly upright, and where it threw its shadow at each hour cuts were made and turf removed - a narrow cut near the stick and widening a little towards the edge of the clock.   Sometimes he walked a long way to be on the spot to mark a shadow line correctly at the hour.   "I had two or three of those clocks", he said, "So that wherever I was I knew the time, if 'twas sunny."   On approaching a "clock", he stood the crook stick in the hole perfectly upright, and noted the time.   He did not leave a permanent stick there, as it might have drawn attention to the spot.   Sometimes the sheep fed over the clock, but if necessary he kept the turf clipped short, for his own convenience.

While chatting to George Humphrey at Findon Fair I happened to mention the matter to him, and gathered further information.  "Sundials?" he said: "yes, my father made one for me at Selsey, but not a turf one.   He made it of clay brought from a distance, and arranged it on a bank.   It was just like a clock face and he made it by using his watch and marking on the clay."  This dial not only had hour marks, but a mark for every quarter of an hour, and George used it constantly.   The gnomon was not a stick, but a big nail.   From this, rows of dots, pricked with the point of a nail, radiated to each division of the outer edge.   The sun baked the clay hard, and the clock lasted well.   Later his father improved on the dial by constructing a carefully finished one of the same kind in a cheese box and drying it well.  This could be carried to any place where they were working, and having been placed in position correctly could be left and used until they moved to fresh ground.

"My father was always busy," said Mr. Humphrey; "he did all kinds of things on winter evenings.   He made us clay marbles and baked them in the oven.   He made rush seats for chairs too.   We made our own candles then.   We had the moulds and things for doing it, and work like that passed away the dark hours.

I think that the old shepherds of the past depicted in the photograph below would have enjoyed sampling the Sheep Dip Whisky of 2008.

I will tell you about one of these grand old figures of the downland who spent 64 years as a shepherd.   Mr. G. Chant (depicted with the massive grey beard) on the left, was one of the oldest of the honourable diminishing company of local shepherds when this picture was taken.  

He died in 1949 at the age of 83 and was a familiar figure at the Findon Sheep Fair.  

He was a winner of many cups and other prizes, and for much of his 64 years of shepherding was in charge of the registered Southdown flock of that well-known breeder, Mr. O. E. Pyle of nearby Angmering. 

Sheep belonging to Oscar E. Pyle of Southdown Farm being driven from Angmering and meandering over Long Furlong on the way to the Findon Sheep Fair on 14th September 1935. Oscar Pyle owned a famous Southdown flock.  Tolmare Farm in Findon can be seen in the distance.

An Austin pulls up to let them pass in 1936.

During Mr Chant's tenure at Angmering, he lived in one of two Elizabethan cottages but since his occupancy the pair have been converted into one residence, named by the new owner as "Chant's Cottage" in his memory.   

Mr. Chant started employment at the tender age of eight working with his father's flock.   He lived at Shoreham for some years after his retirement before moving to Handcross.   He left a total of ten children and an even larger offspring of grandchildren and also great-grandchildren.

Tom Godding, on the right in the photographs at the beginning of this page, was also an avid visitor to the Great Findon Sheep Fair year after year.  

This was written by Arthur Wilde in 1949 about another shepherd of the hills...

Some years ago, when a resident of Shoreham Beach, I met a man I had been looking for.   His name was Tom Godding, and I had many interesting talks with him, sometimes while he was tending his sheep on the downs at Shoreham, and also while sitting in his little bungalow before a cheerful fire and with our pipes well filled.  

He told me he was born in 1864 in Rottingdean. His father had spent the whole of his life as a shepherd on the downs between Rottingdean and Newhaven.  

Starting work when nearly eight years old, Tom's first job was to lead a team of six bullocks drawing a plough, by carrying a lantern illuminated by candles.  Imagine this job for one so young in the very cold weather!   His wages were 2s. 6d. per week, but he received, on becoming a shepherd boy, a rise of 6d.  

At the age of ten he was sent to Telscombe School for one year and a half, but he told me that his heart "was not in book-learning" and that he was always thinking of the open-air life.   He said that, although he did not learn to read and write, he claimed to be "a good reckoner".

At 19 he married, his bride being 18, and the wedding took place at Telscombe's pretty old church.   Mrs Godding told me that they had "kept company" for three years, during which she often helped Tom in his work.  She was born in 1865 at Chailey, and her father was a game-keeper.  She left school t the age of nine, but she can read and write.

In her early married life she had to help the family exchequer by doing such jobs as docking, "cooching", cabbage and swede hoeing, tying up corn behind the reaper, and picking flints off cultivated land, such flints being used by the road-makers.   For this arduous work she earned 1st. per day!  Mrs Godding said she was only too glad to do it, for at that time Tom's wages were only 16s. per week with, of course, a cottage rent free;  and they were allowed to keep pigs and poultry, trap rabbits, and grow their own vegetables.   Tom usually rose at 4 a.m. and often worked until 11 p.m.

Three sons and seven daughters blessed their happy union, and all are living except the youngest, whom they lost at the age of 13.   That was the only occasion when they had a doctor in the house.  

Tom amused me when he mentioned an attack of asthma when he was 13.   His father took him to a doctor in Newhaven, who advised that the boy should smoke the strongest shag in a clay pipe for his ailment;  and Tom astonished me when he said that the treatment effected a complete cure.  His father, who up to that time did not approve of smoking, became a pipe-smoker himself, and enjoyed his baccy till he died. 

 In my chats with Tom he was often helped by the keen memory of his wife.  

He has always been a great believer in home-killed meat, and when he worked for Colonel Campbell at Stanmer Park he said that every week he used to kill and prepare one pig and four sheep for the big house, and that his father went around the neighbouring villages killing and dressing pigs at 1s. a time!

Tom liked talking about the many exciting lambing times he had known.  On one occasion he helped to dig as many as 500 sheep out of the snow, with only a few dead from smothering;  hand he spoke with affection of the faithful dogs he had had in his time.

I asked Tom' wife about bread-baking for their large family, and she said that one brick oven she used was so big that she could "crawl into it".  She usually baked once a week, and had flour in by the sack. 

Tom had always been a useful "snobber" and it was their proud claim that their children have always been well shod.   When I asked Tom about the picturesque Sussex round smocks which were worn in his day, he replied; 

"With our corded breeches, leggings and round smocks we looked right-down smart when attending church on Sundays." 

Talking about their wedding he said they had only one present, a glass tankard, a gift of a local lady; but on the occasion of their golden wedding at Shoreham, quite an array of useful presents cheered their hearts.   Tom's wife mentioned her home-made wines, such as elderberry, rhubarb, sloe, apple, blackberry, potato, and last but not least grape-cuttings wine, which she described as "mighty strong."

Squire Ambrose Gorham of Telscombe, was recalled, and the old couple talked of that great day in 1902 when the Squire's mare, Shannon Lass, won the Grand National.

Mrs Godding often cleaned and stewed lambs' tails to make into pies for the Squire, who was very found of the dish.   Cleaning and preparing the tails was a tedious job, but the Squire always rewarded her with a golden half-sovereign.

Concerning the family exchequer, out of Tom's first wages of 16s. per week, Mrs Godding gave him 1s. for pocket-money, and Tom paid 3d.k per ounce for tobacco and 2d. per pint for beer.

"It was better and stronger beer then", he added.

He must have been a very strong man, for his employer at Lodge Farm, Piddinghoe, offered a day's pay to the man who could carry two sacks of wheat tied together across the bar, and Tom duly accomplished the feat.   He lovingly displayed his shepherd's crook, over 150 years old, which was given to him by his father, and it has also been used by his grandfather.   It is made out of a gun-barrel, and is a beautiful piece of work.  

Tom recalled the days when a large umbrella was part of his shepherd's outfit.

In my talks with this grand old couple, my glance often went to the direction of the china cabinet, where their only wedding present, the glass tankard, has an honoured place; and I realised that that tankard had been the silent witness of the joys and anxieties of Tom and his devoted wife.  

The loss of my home on Shoreham Beach as a result of the war was the cause of my absence from Sussex for some years, and it was with deep regret that I heard of Tom's passing in his 79th year.   I can see his sturdy John Bull figure now, for he had the stamp of a real countryman; and his healthy rosy complexion must have been the envy of the ladies.   He followed his calling for over seventy years, and a fitting epitaph to him would be the simple words "He did his best".

I will now travel in time to the 1950s for the next photograph....

In January 2008, I asked if anyone had heard anything appertaining to the arrangements for this year's Findon Sheep Fair.    Nothing came in.

Jane Nicol then wrote to me regarding Sheep Dip Whisky ....

By the end of the month there was no comment from the Findon Sheep Fair Committee.     Perhaps they were waiting for free samples?    Comments came from as far away as Australia.... and ..... and oh yes, I did get some about the Morris Minor too!

Jane emailed...."We always get comments about Morris – and Dug the delivery dog If I used it all the time id make new friends every day – all reminiscing about family holidays ,”ine of us in the morris”, district nurses, post office vans and the lovely smell of the plastic upholstery in the sunshine, have just asked Morris Minor owners club if we can go and take the car to their 60th anniversary rally even tho he will only be 40 this year.   Regards ....Jane".

Jane wrote again with some more photographs....

www.flickr.com/spencerfield

click on pic to enlarge

Looks a bit like one of Mandy's Gloucester Old Spot piggies with a knowing look in its eye to me.   These eight little poppets were born in Findon in January 2008 also.........

click on imagine for enlargement

Here are some extracts from Nancy Price's (1880-1970) writings published in 1955.... when she talks of Nepcote Green and the Findon Sheep Fair......

"I walked up past the Findon Fair Ground and saw that they were busy putting up wattles for the September Sheep Fair which is still a great event in the district.   I thought of all the sheep who would be penned there and the crowds of gaping humanity that would hang over the pens, with, it often struck me, less intelligence in their faces than the sheep they were viewing.  I remembered the last time I visited this Fair and watched the farmers pinching and prodding the flesh under the soft wool, going from pen to pen with critical, calculating eyes, while the helpless sheep endured and impotently baaed a protest.

Findon Fair still continues;  but here again there is change.  In the old days, if I was out riding early on the day of the Fair, the quiet of the Downs was broken by the barking of sheep dogs and the baaing of innumerable sheep coming from every direction and all making for Findon.   The farmers arrived in their gigs, and there was a long line of various other vehicles stretching away down to the school one way and past the old rectory the other.

There were not only sheep, but cattle, horses with their manes and tails plaited with straw and coloured ribbons, goats, donkeys.  I never counted the number of caravans on these occasions, but I should think there were well over sixty, and with the stalls and amusement booths Findon Fair provided attraction for all tastes, and the variety of type and class that gives a country its interest and character gathered there.   Findon cannot boast such a showing today.   The Country still calls and gossips at the Fair, but not to the extent it did;  it is now much more of a sheep market than a fair.

It seems but yesterday that I was looking forward eagerly to this yearly excitement.  I always made my way there very early, for I liked to hear the shepherds exchange greetings as they penned their flocks, and I liked to walk round the gypsy caravans and watch the women making the sweets which would be sold later on the various stalls.  The favourite 'hum-bug' looking like a mass of brown and white putty was suspended from an iron hook fastened to the sides of the caravan, the women pulled this mass into long ropes and then shaped it into smaller lumps.   I wouldn't like to say how many teeth were broken on these delicacies, all for the price of a half-penny and penny.

The refreshment booths were being prepared which later would be crowded with farmers and shepherds.   I can see them again gulumphing out, wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands;  I can even smell the beer.  There was all the fun of the fair, the "try your luck" booths with their tempting array, the horses and the swing boats.   The music that accompanied the wooded horses would contend with the voice of man, sheep and dog.   There would be a mixture of bargaining, swearing, laughter and sweat. 

The lads of the village would crack the rifles, testing their aim at running targets - 'A Bull's Eye and the bell rings, gentlemen.'  The auctioneer would mount his stand, the crowd gathered, if not to buy to listen to his ready tongue and apt jests;  he well earned his fee.  The sheep would change hands, helpless, hot and scared they stood together in their crowded pens looking fearfully at man.  Did they wonder why this should all be, why this hustling shoving and penning, why they were taken from cropping the sweet turf on the quiet Downs?  For them there was no fun of the fair.  I can see the shepherds returning over the Downs, minus their sheep, but with many parcels for their women folk, china ornaments and cocoanuts.

Today the sheep come to the fair in motor lorries, there are no smocks or crooks, the farmers come in motor-cars, the booths and caravans are few.  I miss the gypsies' ponies and horses;  now the ground is cut up with lorry tracks and the smell of petrol pervades.

Even the gypsies have changed.  Then, when you crossed their palm with silver to learn your fortune it was an event of mystery of romance, now it has lost its romance and is purely a commercial transaction.   I remember the first time I went to Findon Fair I had my fortune told in a caravan in an atmosphere so stuffy and smelly that I wondered how any one could thrive in it.  But there was something about that dirty old gypsy that convinced me that she had the power to see things denied to her cleaner and more desirable sisters. 

I was told to beware the cup that was handed to me by a dark woman.  Since then many cups have been handed to me by many dark women;  one did contain poison, and I at once thought of the Findon Gypsy.  I was told that I should have many lovers, but that my heart would be untouched by any of them.  There has been truth in that also.  I was told many lies, probably with intent to please, and many truths, probably by accident, in that caravan.   One of the things I remember most clearly was the unusual sight of a number of small children asleep in wooden boxes one about the other in the far end of it.   I suppose it was the créche for the tribe".

PORTRAYALS OF THE PAST......

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A sheep fair of 1850....... not at Findon...... but at Lewes.   

This contemporary drawing appeared in a copy of the Sussex County Magazine of 1938 when it was stated that "Today the largest sheep fair in the County is held at Findon".

THIS IS FINDON VILLAGE — www.findonvillage.com is a continually growing record created by Valerie Martin exclusively for documenting life in Findon.