A town in Lincolnshire, England.
'What do I remember about Stamford?'
Picture and text contributed By Ian Hensman
What do I remember about Stamford?.Having been born in St Mary’s nursing home in the town I then lived with Mum and Dad at Croft farm Thornhaugh, as I got older and when Mum and Dad went to town there was always a visit to Granddad J.W. Hensmans house at no 1 St Peters Vale. This was just after the end of the Second World War. The house was a large imposing building to a small boy immediately opposite the Kings mill. I remember the side entrance being down a narrow passage behind a black wooden door. Inside the door we always seemed to use was a striking tiled hallway, which being so well polished by aunt Phyllis I could slide on it and get in trouble for wearing out my socks. Grand mother at this time was a striking six foot tall white haired lady who was quite often confined to bed with some mysterious ailment, however for wet days she had a very good line in stories that suited the imagination of a small boy.
Many of her tales were tales of empire and our countries glorious history, as she would put it. I learnt about Francis Drake, and the early Elizabethans, Nelson, Wellington, and many more, She did not stop with tales of conquest and military success but told tales of famous explorers and missionaries. People like John Bunyan the Suffragettes, and Florence Nightingale. She also had a wealth of stories which passed through the ages all the way from Beowulf including the legends of King Arthur, local stories of Hereward the Wake She didn’t forget Robin Hood either, all of this came without the use of books and without considering dates which I now believe she considered superfluous.
If grandmother was too ill to look after the children the household had a large selection of books for us to use with strict instructions to treat them with due respect. The love of books and their plentiful supply carried on into my fathers house as well.
School holidays were eventually spent here with many trips down the meadows and family picnics. Swimming well paddling really ‘cos I never mastered the art until much later in life. We fished for tiddlers in the millstream, even Granddad fell in the river once, much to our amusement. In those days we were able to roam the town at will. For small boys Stamford could be great fun with all the narrow passages and alleyways.
Pocket money for school holidays only was sixpence a week! Except when Granddad would give us a discrete shilling and Half a Crown to put in the bank before we went home.
Sundays dressed in best bib and tucker we would be off to Barn Hill Methodist chapel for Sunday school, When we got older it was for evening service as well, I spent my time fidgeting and trying to make my sister giggle so she would get into hot water. This was the worst day of the week except for Sunday tea, which was always a grand affair, especially aunt’s trifle or granddads fruit cakeMealtimes always spent round a large Mahogany table (the one my father had his appendix out on when they lived over the shop in Red Lion Square).
The only thing to blight our mealtimes was the rule that children should be seen and not heard, and one particular aunt who occasionally came from afar, (it seemed to me that she came specifically to rap my knuckles or pick on me when I was a “wicked ill-mannered child”)
Eventually as some families do we moved away from the area for pastures new so visits to the Vale were somewhat curtailed.
In later years, I still have a great affection for the town and visit as often as I can.
Ian Hensman
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