FINAL THOUGHTS

George Clark, and a man called "Ox" were the recognised drovers in the village. "Ox" lived in Fore Street, in a house long since displaced by the council houses, and often brought back herds of sheep from as far away as Dorchester market, a trip that would take up to three days, with two overnight stops. Bulls were always led on a staff, with the rings in their noses.

I suppose two of the most respected people ever to be associated with the village would be Walter and Mrs Northcombe, the schoolmaster, and mistress, who lived here almost all of their lives, and taught two generations, and in whose memory, the very beautiful Lych gate, at the entrance to the Church, was erected.

It was contributed for by scholars, old and new, that had at some time passed through their hands. I am proud of the fact that my own brother, Bill, helped in the building of this memorial, built under the supervision of Sir George Davis of Leigh House. Sir George, was another man who took a very active interest in the village, and his love of the place ensured that the Lych Gate would be built in keeping with the church itself. The tiles, of Ham Stone, over the Gate, were very difficult to come by, and the farms and other buildings for miles around were searched to find exactly the type required. They had to be of the right type, size, and weathered to the correct degree, and to find a single tile was enough to cause a mild celebration in "Tommy's", but eventually enough were found to complete the job and there it stands today, to remind us of two of the most popular people ever to have lived here. 

Winsham is indeed a strange place today, compared with the times of which I have written. In those days it would be the right thing to do, to walk straight into someone's house, and announce your arrival. In fact, if you knocked on the door it would have been taken as an affront, and they would have wondered what was wrong. Everyone in the village knew everyone else, we all depended on each other, and grew up to rely on each other. 

Today we pass each other in the street without a nod of the head. In those days not only did you know everyone, but you knew everyone's horse and their dogs. I well remember many animals that were characters in their own right, and possibly the best known was Carlo, the Vicar's dog, closely followed by Boait's Nigger, Churchill's Ben, and Robbin's Pincher. The horses were equally well known. Everyone for miles around knew Tom Spindle's Brownie, normally to be seen tied up outside one of the pubs, then there was Teddy Bear, the baker's pony, and Courtney's Anchor-Right, and so on.

We shared each others cares and each others joys, we laughed, and we cried, together, but if we returned in a thousand years we would still say "Those were the days".