June has been Gypsy Romany and Traveller month, and we have previously 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. In part one, Jean discussed memories of her parents, and one particularly terrifying memory from her childhood.
In this blog, Jean has shared more recollections of her life…
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After leaving Heavenly Bottom, Leah [Jean’s grand-daughter] wanted to visit Rossmore where my dear old grandmother, Kate James nee Collins, lived on her own bit of ground, [and] where now there stands a house. When gran died the ground was sold and the money divided amongst the surviving children. From the road you could not see her place, as you entered the gate to your left was a long front garden with an apple tree. The brick cobbled yard with her hut and wagon was hidden by tall trees. How lovely it was to be welcomed by such a loving and kind old lady as my grandmother, and to have a piece of her home made cake that she always made with dripping, and cooked in an enamel basin in her kitchen range, oh there was never another piece of cake like it! I can see her now cooking all the vegetables, cabbage, potatoes etc putting it all in a net and cooking it in the pot where she had just taken out a hock of bacon. Anything done today would never taste the same.
When we left Heavenly Bottom, we moved up to Rossmore and a stone’s throw away from gran so myself and cousins were always round there and if anyone of us chored -“stole”- one of her apples off the tree, she knew it. I’ve seen my dear old gran go out with a basket full of heather and stand at West Station near Bournemouth. She would catch the people coming off the trains with her “Lucky White Heather” and when she had sold out she would return with a basket full of food. But what l remember most is the lovely big Jaffa oranges she would bring home for us chavvies -“kids”. Christmas time my uncle Sammy (Sampson James) would get some holly for gran to make holly wreathes. She would be up late at night with only the light of the oil lamp which wasn’t all that bright, but she made them and sold them to the local green grocer. If ever a woman had a hard life she did. She had eleven children and lost five in their twenties, Aunt Freedom Jackson (nee James) being one. Freedom left a boy of 5 (my cousin George Jackson) and my dear old gran brought him up. Aunt Hilda died 2 days before her 21st birthday leaving a daughter, Iris, who Aunt Lucy (Lily James’ sister) brought up. Plus, [there was] an incident in my grandmother’s life which l will not reveal – the only thing l would say is my grandfather Sampson James Sr was a very cruel man. I never knew him, he had died before l was born.
Living next to my gran was the Crutchers and Charity Jeff. She was Mark Crutcher’s mother-in-law – her daughter Lizzie was Mark’s wife. Lizzie couldn’t pronounce her words properly and one day there was a bit of a do over the rabbits that the Crutchers kept. My Uncle Sammy had lit a fire which was near the rabbits of course someone got the gavvers “Police” and when the local Policeman (Mr Harris) arrived Lizzie said “oh mister awiss me wabbits” we often laugh about Lizzie “me wabbits”!
When l was 5 we left our stopping place near grans and moved into a bungalow and not more than five minutes away from gran. It was strange to have so much room to move about in but my mother was determined that we should have an education as her sister Lucy never did. It was mother who forced her youngest brother to go to school – my grandfather couldn’t read or write, my mother did go to school but got expelled – l know she said she put some boy in the big dustbin they had at school. l dread to think what Aunt Ina May Walton (nee James) got up to at school, although it was hard for my dear old gran to send them to school. I’ve heard my mother say many a time they didn’t have shoes to wear – how my gran fed and clothed 11 of them I’ll never know! I’ve heard my mother say how she and her sister Lucy would walk bare foot over the allotments and chore a few swedes and how my gran would clean and slice it and fry it for them. This would be just before WW1. Recalling what my mother told us brings tears, to think what they went through as I’m sure many of our Romany brothers had to go through much the same.
But with all the down-sides there was also always up-sides; times for sitting outside around the fire, the kettle hanging on the kettle props over, and tales would be told of things that happened long ago. How lovely it used to be to wake up with the sun coming through the wagon door and to eat outside, my mother always had a lovely starched tablecloth on the table and never did a cup of tea ever taste better than when the kettle was boiled on an open fire – Kushti – “good or nice.”
How different everything is now, mainly because all those who coloured our lives are gone but we are the fortunate ones who lived it and can remember. There are still many memories, some too sad to tell and l’m not educated enough to write more so I will hitch up my imaginary team and say “Horsey Horsey don’t you stop”. There is one person beside myself who knows what that means and that person is special to me. For all my Romany Brothers and Sisters, Kushti Bok – “Good Luck”.
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Kushti Bok is the voice for Gypsy, Roma and Travelling people in Dorset, and for the last three years our Community Engagement Officer has worked closely with the organisation. We’re hoping that a strong relationship with Kushti Bok will lead to better representation of these communities in the records we store. If you would like to learn more about Kushti Bok, and our ongoing work, please get in touch – archives@dorsetcouncil.gov.uk.