Once upon a time we all went to church on Sunday several weeks before the whit religious Sunday. This became a sort of go to church on Sunday and get your mark to qualify for the treat. Which was a little stamp on the card that was presented to one when they attended Sunday school. The good lady Sunday school teacher taught about the good ways of the lord. And stamped the card to enable you to attend the walk in your Sunday best. Ones parents bought a fresh new suit of clothes of Jacket waist coat and short trousers. Paid for over the preceding months on another weekly installment card from the local Packman. The Packman called on his regular round. Displaying his samples of nice new woven of two by two twill cloth. In cut squares of cloth in book like form.
The walking Sunday best was delivered with all excitement of the forthcoming walk from Church. Many fathers and mothers and eager watchers lined the road. Watching their offspring’s in all of the antics of a few broody hen or father crowing cockerel. The girls decked out in pretty frocks and boys in fresh new smelling cloth. After this parade kids mothers and one and all loaded the makeshift horse and hay carts. To be transported to the field of the farmer who gave permission for use for a day. And Refreshments of teacakes and nice fresh brewed lions labelled tea. Well sweetened and milked in china cups and saucers. The scent of wood burning smoking boilers adding to the beauty of it all. Many sports of sack egg and spoon races were played in eager competition.
A Memorable day of the picture you now are looking at. Duffryn field Tredegar Estate.The author worked on the Tredegar Estate Farm for Mr Cullimore. In the early part of the war years I would walk to work down past this now field of now houses. My Memories of thistle cutting and cow dung spreading at four pence a heap. worked along with a young lady who was one of the Wynn family. Who lived in the first cottage of on the Lighthouse road. Serving in the land army. Young girl and boy would toil in pleasure in the sun soaked fields. My early age of thirteen I would take in the friend ship of all who worked at farm. Sadly no tale ends without some later tragic event. Joan Cullimore the boss mans daughter later shot her husband and then her self. Mr Cullimore was a good man also a JP and treated me very well. But on discovery of my art of making a good cup of tea insisted that I made the tea for the harvest tea time break. While we all worked the long hot double British summer rime evenings gathering in the hay. Plenty of nice Ham and gibbons and salad and afterwards home made cider to puddle the brain to work longer. Alas the docks new road now runs over this once Cullimore farm house and the orchard of apples that produced this cider nectar for past residents of this first house on this country lane. Gone into the past are the white gate once at the top of the light house road. Standing now at present time a roundabout and speeding cars and turning wheels. with no thought of folk of past that once trod this pathway of a once peaceful and pleasant country area.