Growing up in the 1940s/1950s

From Adrian Daw:
In 1944 I was born at Tugela House in East Street, just up from the Golden Lion Hotel, which was then a nursing home. My parents' family rented property in Kingsbridge Lane and ran the local dairy. They rented land at Rew from Mr Sawdye and brought the cows in for milking in the Cow Shippons at the back of the property. They have now been converted into cottages by Fred Christophers. Next to us lived Mrs Sergeant and next to that was a big warehouse owned by Buckfast Mill. Both were knocked down to create an entrance to the town car park. My brother Martin and I used to play in the river behind Ron Bonstow's café and the Pannier Market which was behind the Town Hall.
Above: Cottages in Kingsbridge Lane.
With thanks to Adrian Daw
You went up some wide granite steps and through some heavy iron gates in to the market. The car park to the left was just fields up to a row of cottages entered via Globe Arch from North Street where the Knapmans lived. My elder brother and sister Pat went to Greylands (now Sands) in East Street which was run by Roman Catholic nuns. Martin was left handed and they tied his left arm behind his back to make him use his right hand. I seriously think this held him back.
Pat went to Totnes High School on the Bulliver (train). I went to Ashburton Primary School, headmaster Janny Bawden, until I was 14. (See Ashburton County School, under Ashburton Schools, for a photograph). When we started most of us were in secondhand clothes and virtually in rags (see photo opposite). No designer outfits in those days but we were all in the same boat and happy. We had the gym in Woodland Road where Harry Denyer (ex-army) gym master made us box. I got knocked out by David Thorne, who readily apologised for hitting me so hard. Like all the Thornes, David carried a punch.
 Naturally there was rivalry between the Higher Roborough and Westabrook estates, but we always backed each other up against insurgents from other towns. I can remember a group of boys came up from Ivybridge to cause trouble and the two groups were either side of West Street by the bus stop, with the town policeman in the middle. It was just a punch up with fists and boots. No knives in those days (very civilised!) If anybody was rude or disrespectful to the older generation they were soon reprimanded by the Ashburton mafia. 
At the primary school, in their final years, the boys and girls were separated, and any boys with academic potential were moved in to Miss Luxton's girls' class. In 1958 we were moved up to (The New School!) Ashburton Secondary Modern, which was previously a Remand Home in Balland Lane. Some of the local characters still living and in my class were David Brooks, Wendy Gill, Morva Hyslop (Townsend), Micky Bennett and Jenny Underhill (Allen). Many others still survive living in the outlying district. Cooks Close, Home Park, Beverley and Emmetts Park were fields and there was just a row of cottages in Balland Lane.
The main employer in the town was Glendinnings, and still is. When I was eight my parents moved to the new council estate at Westabrook and my grandparents rented and moved to Druid Farm. There were two bomb craters in the woods where German bombers must have discharged their load on returning from raiding Plymouth. It was great fun playing there on swings and dropping in to them as they were full of leaves. We used to go rabbiting with ferrets and I learnt how to lay wire traps (which I now consider very cruel). Grandad would shoot pigeons with his 12 bore but my Dad wouldn't let us have guns as there had been a tragedy with his friend. Hay and corn harvest were always very exciting with other farmers coming to help and having a big meal at the end of the day. Jugs of cider were the drink for the day, mainly to keep the dust out of your throat. I used to lead the carthorse to operate the grab for building the hay rick and Dad used to thatch its top against the rain. He always used to say the top field against the moors was a "Coat Colder". I can remember North Street being completely lined with properties. This included Cleder Place and from the Bay Horse up to opposite the Victoria Inn. The first film I ever saw was 'The Ring' shown upstairs at the London Inn by a traveling cinema. Opposite the Bay Horse was a lane down to the Old Mill which was later owned by Mr Barr who turned it into a cinema. Mill Meadow was a field up to Crockaton Cottages. When you walked up North Street and got to the Victoria Inn in the winter you almost doubled up when the cold wind hit you in your face. At Great Bridge Mr Hatch had a smithy which was later replaced with a garage by Peter Prowse. As boys we used to go up to Terrace Woods and Diver to make swings, camps etc.
At Westabrook we used to play football on the green. There would be about 20 of us kicking lumps out of each other. Happy Harry, as we called him, used to get very upset because the ball kept going in his garden. We always sent the youngest to go and ask for our ball back.
In those days we were one big happy family and no one locked their doors, Many parents sent their children to my mother Tiny to treat their wounds as she was in the St John Ambulance. She would bandage them up and send them away happy. She paid for all the bandages and plasters herself and my dad Wilfred could charm warts away.
When I was about 4 I was sort of adopted by Harry and Mary Osborn who, after the war, had lost their baby son Alam when he was just 10 days old (he is buried in St Andrew's graveyard opposite the rear gate entrance).
Above: M J Mann's electrical shop.
© Maurice Mann
 The Osborns ran the Greengrocers where the Delicatessen is now. On some Sundays they would take me to Brixham sailing in their dingy as my dad was working 7 days a week on the farm. We called the alley up to Foales Court 'Osborn's Alley'. To the left was Mr Cubitt's tailor's shop which supplied all the farmers on the moors. To the right was Minnie and Mabel Butler's toy shop. They gave away more than they charged customers. Next to Ron Bonstow's Café in North Street was the Liberal Club where we used to play snooker. The loser had to pay for the game so you soon improved. This was run by the Hext brothers who were both disabled. Dick was a very good artist and painted holding the brush in his mouth. Mr Mann had his electrical shop in West Street (Moor Dental) and also rented out televisions.
Next to that was the Wool Shop (Ella's Bakery). Further up West Street, opposite the Church, was Barnes' Café (The Haven) which used to cater for coach loads of visitors, and next to that was Bank House (previously owned by the WI) and now Shahnaz Tandoori. The local taxis were run by Nipper Warren and Vic Counter. Opposite Mr Mann's was Dewhursts the Butchers where I started as a Saturday morning butcher delivery boy with a bike. I had to pack my rounds and deliver and collect the money to properties all over Ashburton. The shop often got flooded as it was over the river Ashburn so it was relocated to North St and became Eastmans (Silver Lion). I specifically remember the working class were generous tippers and the richer people, ie Knowle Close, gave nothing. One exception was Ron Pengilly (Lloyds Bank) who lived in Bowden Hill and personally delivered his Christmas tip as he'd missed me. It was very much appreciated. My sister Pat was the cashier and Alf May was the manager who also took bets for Dick Arscott who ran a book for horse racing. I learnt how to bet and still do. 
Sunday mornings I had two paper rounds working for Mr Lowell and previously Mr Braund's paper shop. In East Street there was Mr Bradford's printer's shop next to Barclays Bank (Youth Club). Further up East Street were Kerslakes the chemist and Sopers Butchers, previously Eales and later Smiths. Opposite the bank on the corner of St Lawrence Lane was Frisby's shoe shop which was next to Roger Tilley's garage. He also had a car showroom in East Street to the left of the entrance to Stapledon Lane (known locally as Shamefaced Lane or Back Lane). Next to that was Mr Farley's electrical shop. Harold Witt, Mary's husband, was employed there as an electrician.
Right: William and Lily Eales (Bill and Lil)
Photo from Morva Townsend, to whom many thanks

Further up from Mr Farley's was the Westminster Bank. The Bull Ring, a tiered granite structure, was there when I was a boy. Opposite in East Street, up from Lloyds Bank was Saddler Eales, Underhill's sweet shop (Howard Douglas, estate agent) was on the corner and inside there was also Shiner's hairdressers (no number 1, 2 or 3 in those days, just a short back and sides army style). Also in North Street was Mrs. Hambly's fish and chip shop where every Wednesday a whist drive was held upstairs.
1st prize was probably a packet of sugar or tea. I used to play with my mum and I would say that was her only night out. Further up was the Chapel(Adrain Ager Antiques). To the right of Globe Arch was a shop which became a bakers and opposite was the Co-op Butchers managed by Butcher Hallett.
The cattle market was run by Sawdye and Harris. There were cattle pens in Chuley Road and the cattle would be taken away on the railway. The only hotel was the Golden Lion which had a swimming pool where we learnt to swim as a school lesson. I used to take my revenge on the school bullies as they were terrified and couldn't swim.
Above: Ruth Brothers' photo of The Rose and Crown. 
From the collection of Pete Webb, with many thanks

Next to the Golden Lion was the Fire Station. Other pubs were The Railway (Silent Whistle), The London Inn (Coljan), The Exeter, The Red Lion (flats), The Victoria Inn, known as the First and Last, The Bay Horse, Rose and Crown (Spar), the Royal Oak (Hound of the Baskervilles) and some I've probably missed. Some of them ran pub outings which were enjoyed by the customers - men only if I remember correctly. The Red Lion Inn and the Victoria Inn operated a side window Off Licence where you could take a jar and get it filled with your tipple. Charley Harvey who was employed as a local coal man was a regular customer at the Victoria. When his wife died and he couldn't look after himself people, including my mum, would leave food on a plate inside his door so that he had something to eat. The London Inn operated an Off Licence in later years.
At the top of St Lawrence Lane was the Conservative club and at the bottom was the Police Station; opposite the Railway Station was a huge gasometer. On the right side, just past the Chapel steps, was the local building firm Webbers and Christophers, who organized staff outings. I can remember going to London with my dad to see a football match and show. Henry Christophers and Ivor Gill (Wendy's dad) went on the underground to see some relatives and one of them got robbed by a pick pocket. It was lucky they didn't pick on the other one as he had all the money and tickets for the weekend. I can remember going to Raymond's Revue Bar (nude ladies) and seeing Fiona Richmond with my dad. He was a bit old-fashioned and wouldn't admit he enjoyed it.
At the end of the lane to the rear of Grey Matter, up a flight of wooden stairs, the Cub and Scout meetings were held. It was freezing in the winter with no heating. My sister Pat was one of the cub mistresses. It was about the end of the 50s when we had two tragedies very close to each other in the Scouts. The first was when a young scout, Gordon Pearce, fell out of a tree and was killed (his father owned the café at Pear Tree). The other was our scout leader who was killed at Liverton in a motor accident.
The local football team played on the school pitch in Balland Lane; it wasn't unusual to get over a hundred people watching and they had a coach for away trips. I expect the cricket club which had its field donated by Major Varwell had similar support.

Above: Ashburton cubs.
Lady on the left: Pat Orsman. Lady in centre: Olga Churchward (later Lee).
Some other names in the photo: Graham Monnington (Chris Monnington's brother), Peter Cubitt, David Tubby, Robin Bligh, Leonard Coombes, Derek Roberts.
From the collection of Pat Orsman, with many thanks.

These are just my memories which can be inaccurate and open to debate. I apologise for the grammar and any errors in dates, names, etc.
With many thanks to Adrian Daw and to Judy Marshall of who originally published the artice.

From Christine Lunt: 

My Grandparents, Mr William Martin and Mrs Beatrice Dorothy Martin, took over The Royal Oak in 1921 where they stayed for 10 years. A story from Mum - when Granny and Grandpa Martin ran the Royal Oak, they all lived upstairs. The old wooden floorboards had gaps in them and Mum said that Russell used to pee through the gaps trying to aim into the beer glasses below. Every time we go back there we always go into The Royal Oak for a drink and look up, thankfully they now have a proper ceiling in there....

Later they ran a tobacconist and greengrocers shop which my Mum managed. It was 17 East St., at the bottom of Stapledon Lane. They moved into the London Hotel in West Street in 1940, where he and Granny housed American Army Officers on the top floor during the 40's. My brother was born at The London Hotel and as well as me and my Mother. Russell and Rose Martin also lived there. Russell Martin was in the Navy during the WW2 and survived, I think it was 3 times, being blown up by German submarines. 

In 1949 Granny and Grandpa bought 'The Rising Sun' at Woodland, after a few years there, they retired to a cottage in Ashburton: 'Sunnywaye' 18 Back Lane. Grandpa was always buying cottages, doing them up and selling them off. One cottage that he and Mum bought was up the top of West Street in the 50's. The walls were so lumpy and bumpy that Mum covered them all with amazing floral wallpaper, when she came to sell it she put in bits and pieces of furniture plus an antique Grandfather clock. The cottage sold for £1,200, but the clock alone was worth far more! Oops! He also owned lots of cottages in Back Lane which he rented out to family and friends: he was also instrumental in changing the name of Back Lane to Stapledon Lane, so named after the Bishop Walter de Stapledon.

My mother went to the Ashburton Grammar School in St. Lawrence Lane. When Mum was in her last year at the Grammar School, she and her class mates were made to mark the homework of the younger children: Mum used to moan about lazy teachers!

She also belonged to Ashburton's Amateur Dramatics theatre run by a Moyra Babington and was for several years in a row, the Carnival Queen's attendant. My Mother and Uncle Russell, who was a gifted musician, used to play in the Pub Bars to entertain the customers and to earn some money. Mum also played piano at the local Cinema to accompany the black and white silent movies. In 1952 we lived at No.12 North Street but Mum never opened the shop and we soon moved out and went to live up at The Hollies, Holne Cross.

Peter Yelland lived a couple of doors down the road with his parents and The Sopers lived next door to us. My friends Janet and Caroline Daw lived just up the road, or a quicker way to them was over the field at the back of the house

My brother and I used to free wheel our bikes down Lent Hill with our legs outstretched to the side and screaming our heads off (no traffic around in those days): how we didn't break our necks at the bottom of the hill I'll never know, bells worked, brakes didn't. We also used to wander up over the moors and went up to Cold East and sat on the Ten Commandment Stones. Freedom was ours and we had no fear of being molested more likely to have got a smack round the ears and told to go home. We were only 8 and 13 years old then, and 13 in those days was nothing like a 13 yr. old today! We were innocents abroad. 

Grandpa had about 1 acre of garden at 18 Back Lane. My brother and I were told NOT to touch the gooseberry bushes, especially the pink sweet gooseberry bush. Well, one day we were going past this bush and it was laden with fruit, so after looking around to see that no one was watching us, we picked and ate 3 pink gooseberries each. Delicious, but no sooner had we done so than Granny came rushing up the garden path waving a poker in her hand and yelling at us. I said to my brother, 'You go one way and I'll go the other, she can't chase us both!'

She didn't catch us, gave up and went back indoors, BUT several days later, out of nowhere, she hit us both hard across the face. Crying and rubbing our sore cheeks, I said, 'What's that for?' She bent down, glowering at us and said one word - 'Gooseberries'.

Up the top of this garden Grandpa had an orchard, part of which was a chicken run. Granny had given us some old net curtains to play with and my brother and I fixed them up in the trees to make a kind of tent, and we played cowboys and indians with the chickens - we were the cowboys ! We would sit quietly in the trees, and when the chickens were all out of the coop we would jump down and chase them round and round till they all ran back to the coop, clucking like mad. Next day Grandpa would be complaining to Granny that he couldn't understand why his chickens weren't laying!



From Robin Bligh

I was born in a nursing home in East Street - Tugela House. I lived at the quarry for the first years of my life, where my father was manager for Lewis Rugg, but my earliest memories are of 5, Globe Arch, where my mother and I moved after my parents separated. Globe Arch was behind the Co-op bakery in North Street, accessed between nos.15 and 17.
At one time my mum drove the Co-op van, and sometimes I went with her. She made deliveries to places like Widecombe, Poundsgate and Ponsworthy, winter and summer, and one of the Co-op's customers was the author Beatrice Chase (real name Olive Katherine Parr). She lived at Venton,but all that I can remember about her was that she didn't like children - or perhaps it was just me she didn't like.
My mum rented no. 5 from Frankie Badcock; we had no electricity, and the gas only supplied lighting downstairs in the lounge and in the kitchen, not upstairs, where we used oil lamps and candles. The gas meter took shilling coins, and we frequently ran out of money to feed it. We only had water at one tap downstairs, and if we needed to heat it we used a copper cylinder on legs. Mother tipped water into the top, and gas heated it at the bottom - there was a tap so that containers could be filled from it. Bath time was once a week, in a tin bath. There was a lead range in the kitchen, but Mum had a gas cooker, and for heating we used an oil heater - I knocked it over once when it was lit. We had a coal fire in the lounge. I remember being amazed once when I visited a friend who lived at Westabrook, because they had an indoor bathroom and electricity - my friend had an electric train set.
The front door of the cottage faced the river, which was only about 5 or 6 feet away. There was no barrier whatsoever. The drop down to it was also about 5 feet when the river was low, and the water overflowed when it was high: we had floodboards for such times, that slotted across the front door, which Mum used to putty in. The boards stopped some of the water, but not all of it, so my mother moved the lounge to an upstairs room at such times. There was a long back garden, and a shed on the side of the house which had an outside privy - when there was flooding we had to paddle to it.
The occupants of the cottages along the river used to throw food scraps such as chicken carcasses into the water. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, there was an abundance of fish such as trout and eels. The water had washed channels at the bottom of the walls that lined the riverbank, and trout used to lie in these channels. I spent hours 'tickling' for trout, and often brought home our tea. My fishing expeditions, often with friends such as Genny Rice*, sometimes took me through the river right from North Street to the Recreation Gound, proceeding under roads and buildings such as Morris Mann's.

I used to spend a lot of time with Pop Bonstow, Ron Bonstow's father. The Bonstows had a cafe on the corner of North Street and Kingsbridge Lane, and I would often scrounge roast potatoes when they were cooking Sunday lunch. Pop Bonstow was both the chief of the local fire service, and a farmer, and he kept cows in the fields that are now on the hill behind the carpark. He had a dog called Maggie, who twice a day would bring the cows down for milking, all on her own.
The second milking was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. I would go over to the milking shippen after school, having climbed in the kitchen window at home to change from my school uniform: Mum was out working, and I didn't have a key.
I often 'helped', sweeping the floor in the milking shippen, and would bring home a jug of milk, scooped from the bucket. Bits of straw were floating in it.
It used to fascinate me that Pop had shot gun pellets in his forearm, just under the skin. He used to move them up and down his arm.
At one time Ron was a special constable - a truncheon used to hang up in the entrance hall, but this may have been a Victorian one for decoration.

As well as trout and roast potatoes, there are other foods that I remember from the 1950s. At one stage Mum obtained a load of tins, which in true Beano fashion had lost their labels. For a while we never knew what we would be eating - it could be tinned peaches, meats, or assorted canned vegetables.
We of course had no refrigerator, so butter quite often went rancid.
My mother kept chickens for eggs, and for the occasional roast. One day a rat was dragging off a chicken - and the rats that lived along the river bank were enormous - and Mum shot the rat with a rook gun. Unfortunately she killed the chicken at the same time, but we ate well that night.
Mum boiled and painted chicken eggs at Easter - I don't remember having a chocolate egg until I was about 8, probably because they just weren't available.
Sweets were rationed until 1953 **, and when they were in the shops again I can remember buying sweet 'bananas'.
At one stage I was underweight (yes, truly), and Dr. Mills suggested that I be given malt extract, a thick dark brown disgusting tasting sticky concoction. One tablespoon a day.

Christmas was a very exciting time, and one of the occasions when a chicken was roasted. The Christmas tree had real candles on it, fastened to the branches with crocodile clips. We lit the candles on Christmas evening, making sure there were no branches above the flames.
Mother's Christmas treat for herself was always a bottle of VAT 69.
One year I had a spaceman's suit as a present, which had glowing patches on it - almost certainly radium luminous paint. I used to love going in a cupboard, to see the patches light up.

I left Ashburton at various times during my childhood, but was back for the first day that the new Secondary School opened in Balland Lane, in 1958. Mervyn Dymond and I walked up there together.

*Possibly Eugen[e] B Rice, born 1948
** Sweets had been briefly off ration in 1949

Dave Pengilley 1948 - 2000 

Right: The family later moved to 26 Higher Roborough.
David George Pengilley was born at 6a North Street, in July 1948. 6a was surely the cottage (now demolished) behind No. 6 North St., accessed by a passage to the right of the shop. His father, George, was a forestry worker.
GRO certificate

He was baptised in August of the same year.
The vicar, Gerald A B Jones, signed the certificate.

David attended the Elementary School, which became Ashburton County Primary School in 1958, when a separate Secondary School was opened at Balland Lane.

C J Bawden was headmaster at this time.

Other activities that a boy could join in the 1950s and 1960s

Above left: Cubs and scouts
Above: Cadet in the Devonshire Regiment
Left: Junior Red Cross

Below: The Dartmoor Rangers
The South Devon Journal in September 1963 reported that six members of the Dartmoor Rangers' boys' youth club had crossed Dartmoor from north to south in the dead of night. Their leader was Frank Lee, and together with his alsation, Simon, the team left Okehampton at 9.30pm 'with only the help of a compass'.
The boys were: Alan Boon, Clive McDonald, John Brixey, Graham Monnington, David Pengilley and Lesley Grigg.
Their first stop was Cranmere Pool, and their last Bittaford. Mr Lee commented that it was 'extremely tiring, but well worth while.'
South Devon Journal, September 18th 1963 cutting: page and column number unknown

With thanks to Sue Pengilley for all items 

From Rachel Wood:
I was born in 1950 in North Street, just two doors up from what was then a fish and chip shop; my mother knew never to hang washing out when they were frying! We were situated right across the road from the Town Hall which was very convenient as my mother (Margery Morris) worked there throughout the years I lived in Ashburton.

Like the rest of Britain, in the early fifties, the town was still adjusting to peace time from the austerity of the War. Sugar then was coveted, not seen as something to avoid! In spite of its proximity to the bombing of Plymouth, I seem to remember being told that only an orphanage at Hele was affected. As children we would dare each other to venture inside the shell of the empty building, believing it to be haunted - we were unconvinced by reports that the stray bomb fell on the very day the children were all away on an outing!

Above: Westabrook, soon after it was built
From my own collection

The Ashburton I remember from the 1950s was a well ordered town. Although still boasting many original and historic structures, new houses were again being built: Westabrook Estate was looking very fresh. There were well-meaning souls who organised events and enthusiastically arranged entertainments. Despite being away at school for more of the time, my childhood seemed to be a succession of harvest festivals (of all denominations), jumble sales, fetes, coach outings with one group or another, Girl Guides, horse riding, and of course the carnivals.

The town seemed peopled with colourful characters. Captain Hook in Peter Pan held no fears for me after I witnessed round faced Fred Wills, the Town Crier, frequently exchange his prosthetic gloved hand for the sinister hook he wore every day. I can still hear his voice proclaiming coming events as he stood by the Bull Ring, and feel the cold metal against my cheek in a cheery greeting.

Although merely a granite monument marking a piped water supply to the town in 1867, the Bull Ring served as a hub - and later a traffic obstacle - but I still bemoaned its destruction in the 1960s. Although the bulls were long gone from the town centre, I recall moments of terror when faced with excitable cattle being herded down the streets to the market at the end of St Lawrence Lane. In autumn it was Dartmoor ponies which skitted down the paved roads to the market.

Above: North Street showing the Co-op and the Bull Ring.
From my own collection

In the post-War optimism and prosperity, the shops in the town always seemed busy. The Wool Shop at the bottom of West Street sold not only wool, but displayed elegant dresses with full skirts that defied former austerity. Elegant wives, gloved and hatted, carried baskets of provisions, stopping to greet or exchange gossip with others. As a child, it was me who had to step off the pavement to negotiate a route around them. However there was little traffic until the 1960s. Sid Baker's British Rail lorry often had North Street to himself when he delivered fresh fish next door!
Not far from the Wool Shop was Holman Ham the chemist, with those amazing tulip shaped coloured glass containers in the window. The compensation for being ill was when my mother bought Lucozade in its bright yellow cellophane wrapping from the chemist. Next came Mann's, the electric shop, offering all the latest household gadgets. As a young teenager I bought my first transistor radio from there.

Among the shops was Owen's the bakers, at the bottom of East Street, and Barnes, also bakers, were situated opposite the church; and there was Frisby's the shoe shop, Cubitt's for haberdashery and linens, Church's the hardware store, and Tom Lang, the butchers where I was sent each Saturday morning for the family meat.
Above: West Street showing the Exeter Inn and Barnes Café.
From my own collection.

 Saddler Eales, next to Lloyds' Bank, was a dark and very dusty shop smelling of leather and oils. Mr Eales, seemingly always ancient, like a figure from a Harry Potter story, would perch on a stool at the rear of the shop and saying very little would grudgingly part with his beloved goods. Anyone with an interest in horses will remember him well - similarly the blacksmith's shop in St Lawrence Lane.
I recall a cinema off North Street made a brief appearance in my life. I was dragged there once by my older sister to see some horror film and had nightmares for weeks! However I associate the little Barn Theatre set back, half way up West Street, with humour. The Buckfast players entertained us there; Mrs Hurley their leading lady seemed so glamorous and fashionable.

I must have been four when a Medieval Market was held in the old pannier market at the back of the Town Hall. It must have gone on for several days, and my mother's contribution was a stall making griddle scones. We found the rusted cast iron griddle when we cleared my parents' house in 1995. She always claimed that she and her helpers must have made hundreds of scones during the festival. I was scared by the jester even though I knew it to be 'Uncle' Robert Garner dressed up.

I was just tall enough to look over the counter of the International Stores when it first opened in East Street, and later moved to the Card House in North Street. I saw treasured sugar poured into blue bags and chunks of freshly cut butter or cheese wrapped in greaseproof paper, biscuits kept in stacked boxes with lids that lifted. Yet the best delight of all was to watch the change canister whizz across the Ashburton Co-operative Store in North Street, on its track to the severe looking lady sitting high up in her glass box.
It was a Saturday treat to catch the train from the station and journey to Totnes. The playground on the hill had a long rocking horse I loved. Bill Cartwright was the engine driver and he would let me jump on the footplate when in the station. There was that smell of hot metal and the oily feel of the cold metal handle as I was hoisted up.

Changes came as I became a teenager. Some stores moved premises, others closed. The sweet shop run by the dear Misses Butler closed down. The railway stopped running in the Sixties; I sadly missed the last train. The market ceased. The street lights changed from gaslights to electricity. Traffic constantly began to clog up North Street, so the buildings behind the Town Hall were demolished to create a carpark. The by-pass was extended from the single carriageway I knew as a child to the dual carriageway of nowadays. The Police and Fire stations moved from their town locations to new premises in Eastern Road.
Above: North Street showing Town Hall.
From my own collection

However, not all the changes were to be regretted. Flood defences at Great Bridge put a stop to the regular flooding down North Street. I clearly remember one occasion when the river water swirled down the street, to eddy around the Bull Ring and seep into Lloyds' Bank cellar. Our house had slots either side of the front door to hold the heavy flood boards which were hastily put in place whenever there was heavy rain. It was well into the Eighties before my father finally moved the collection of sandbags that stood by at the ready!

However, one thing has remained constant through many years - the ale tasting! In the 1800s Ashburton had a proliferation of public houses, and there were still over a dozen when I found myself carrying the sprigs of ivy to be presented to the town's landlords during the procession around the town. As the Town Clerk, it fell to my mother to act as Steward to the Court Leet and Baron Jury, and so take part in the annual ceremonies held in St Lawrence Chapel when the pig drovers, bread weighers, ale tasters and others were appointed.

I left Devon in 1971, when I married, to travel the world. Yet, although I settled happily in Warwickshire, near Alcester, one of the few other towns to boast a High Bailiff (similar to a Portreeve), a part of my heart has remained in Ashburton. I have returned regularly and seen it change, and yet not change - it still seems to be a town which nurtures a real parochial spirit, perpetuating the same sense of community that was so active in the fifties and into the sixties.
Many thanks to Rachel for this account; also to Judy Marshall of Around Ashburton for giving me permission to reproduce the article.