June has been Gypsy Romany and Traveller month, and we have already shared with you various blogs charting some of the challenges in identifying members of the GRT community in historical records.
This week we wanted to share the memories of Jean Matthews, a member of the GRT community, about her life at Heavenly Bottom…
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If ever a place was mis-named it was Heavenly Bottom as it was far from heavenly. Gorgio’s – “non gypsies” – feared the place, as you might have guessed, it was inhabited by several Romany families – the Saunders, James and Colemans and us, the Hopes. We had a wagon on a field known as Burgess Field [and] there was a stream running through on the far side of the field known as Bourne Stream which eventually ran into Bournemouth Gardens and out to sea.
I use to love tagging along when my mother (Lily Hope nee James) when she use to pass time with her cousin Emma Saunders. What l remember of aunt Emma’s place was a large hut, but what sticks in my mind is the lovely shining copper kettle that stood in the grate; it might only have been a hut but it was spotlessly clean. I remember the days there when my dear old dad Golden Hope would go out calling as they called it, he and Benny Coleman would put their rugs and carpets in a kit bag and they would call on the big hotels in and around Bournemouth. I remember Benny was a very handsome man, my dad also with that foreign look – jet black hair, lovely brown eyes and dark tanned skin. They were immaculate dressed with diamond rings on their fingers, a diamond tie pin, and gold watch chain hanging across their waistcoats, they looked more prosperous than some of the hotel owners.
I remember in later years the beautiful eastern type bedspreads my father sold they were blue and gold with the pattern of Arabs riding on camels and palm trees edged with long tassels. Imagine my amazement when I worked for a small hotel and the very first time entering the bedrooms all the beds were covered with these eastern type bedspreads. I thought to myself dad had a good touch here. Of all the lovely rugs and bedspreads he had my mother never kept one. When l look back l think what a dinlo – “daft or stupid”- mum you were not to keep any. I suppose the money meant more in those days than material possessions.
Getting back to Heavenly Bottom, something happened there that l will never forget until my dying day and can still see it in my mind’s eye, it is so vivid. This particular day my brother Peter and l were on the top bed in the wagon [as] we both had the chicken pox or measles. l was nearest the little window at the back of the wagon when this THING appeared in the window. It was black as night with eyes that haunt me to this day. It had a fixed stare my brother said it was The Muller – “the Devil” – and l remember we pulled the sheets over our heads. The face of this thing filled the whole window. When my parents returned we related what had happened, at the time my uncle George James (brother to Lily) and my cousin Jackson was looking after us. Well, as l said, we told my parents and our father looked all around the wagon. There wasn’t a sign of anything and at the time no one had a horse in the field and certainly not a bear. There was no tell-tale signs – had it been a horse we would have heard it, plus a horse had a different shape and would have let the light in around the edges. What we saw filled the whole window it was more than unkery -“scary”- if it was imagination it would be long forgotten but all these years it is later l can remember it as if it was only yesterday.
I was visiting Heavenly Bottom a few years ago with my granddaughter Leah as she wanted to have first-hand knowledge for her thesis that she was doing for university – she chose to write about the Gypsies, so who better to give her first-hand knowledge than me? Where we once had our wagon and where the others also had their wagon, trailers, tents and huts it’s all a very different scene today with houses and bungalows that now occupy what was once our stopping place. Where we once had our wagon was an empty house and we stopped to talk to the man who was doing a bit of the gardening. We related the story of the day this Black Thing had appeared at the window. l think l had trashed – “frightened”- the poor old mush! He told me that the house had been empty for more than two years, l wonder why?!
Back to Heavenly Bottom, after all these years it felt very strange you could sense a heavy atmosphere there, even my granddaughter passed a remark to the same. If someone was to give me a house on Heavenly Bottom l just could not accept it. There is something there, you could feel a heaviness and foreboding, and what l experienced as a child still gives me the shivers and it is still clear in my mind today. Heavenly Bottom – you can keep it!
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This is part one of a two-part reflection by Jean Matthews about her experiences growing up in the GRT community. The second part will be released on Friday, so make sure you come back to discover more about the GRT community.
Good read. Your uncle George James was my grandad
Hi Julian – its good to hear that you enjoyed Jean Matthew’s account of life at Heavenly Bottom, and that your Grandad appears in the story as Jean’s uncle. You may be interested to hear that we work closely with Kushti Bok, Dorset’s charity and advocacy service for GRT people. Several members are very keen on family history and will also be related to you through Jean’s family. I’m sorry to say that Jean has passed away since she sent us her reminiscences and was interviewed for DHC – we’re so glad we can help her memories live on.