I couldn’t let the lack f a J village pass, so I have included a second K in the list.
Just to the south of Kingweston, in between Somerton and Yeovil, sits the quiet village of Kingsdon.
With a population of just over 300 people, it is a tight-knit community, somewhere where, you readily find yourself walking along quiet roads, getting welcoming nods and hellos from local resident and dog-walkers.
The village gets is name from nearby Kingsdon Hill, which in turn reflects its regal connection to Somerton, a royal estate since the Norman Conquest.
All Saints Church, to the north of the village, is a peaceful location and dates back to the 1400s. The churchyard includes two Commonwealth War Graves, which I’ll explore in later blogs.
The community feel runs throughout Kingsdon, with a local pub, a phonebox book swap facility and a village school-cum-shop.
The views south are stunning too, heightening the real sense of countryside living. And, with plenty of footpaths locally, Kingsdon works well as a start point, finish, or stopping off point for an afternoon stroll.
Okay, so a slight hiccup in the A-Z proceedings in that there is no village (or town, or city) in Somerset that begins with the letter J. So, I will skip over that, and look at K instead.
And Kingweston is the stereotype for the evolution of a village.
It’s the end of the 11th Century. You’ve supported the winning side and so, as a reward, you are given the manor of Chinwardestune. It’s good farming land, and you have a nice house there. Over time – and changes of ownership – the manor has grown strong: you have a large house, alongside which you have built a church, there are farm buildings and cottages for your workers.
And that’s it. This village, with a population of less than 150, is little more than a farm, the attached manor house and its religious building and workers cottages.
The cottages are very picturesque; higgledy-piggledy on the lane up to the manor house and farm.
Walk up the main road and you encounter the Manor House. The barrier between those that had and those that had not. A high wall rings its lands, through the trees you get a glimpse of the grandeur within, but a glimpse is all you’re going to get.
The current Kingweston House was built in the 1800s by the long-term residents, the Dickinson family. In 1946 it was bought by Millfield School and has been used by them ever since.
The Church of All Saints is of a similar age to the manor house. Set at the upper end of the village, it is an ideal space for contemplation, as it overlooks the countryside towards Glastonbury Tor.
The Commonwealth War Graves Commission suggests that Major Francis Arthur Dickinson is buried in the churchyard and, while I was unable to find his headstone, he is commemorated on the Roll of Honour in the church itself.
The plaque mentions other members of the Dickinson family who died during the Great War:
Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Carey Dickinson, of the Somerset Light Infantry and King’s African Rifles, died in Dar-es-Salaam in 1918.
Lieutenant George Barnsfather Dickinson of the East Lancashire Regiment fell at Ypres in May 1915.
The village has, understandably, a community feel to it. Even though the farm workers have move on and been replaced by wealthier country folk, Kingweston has a heart and a draw to it.
In the south of the county of Somerset, almost at the border with Dorset, lies the enchantingly named Haselbury Plucknett. Lying three miles (5km) to the east of Crewkerne, the name literally means “(Alan de) Plugenet’s hazel grove”. A somewhat busy road runs through the village, but this does not detract from its charm.
The cottages in the centre of the village are built of local stone and face the village green. They’re well-attended and give the village a real sense of community, something that was in evidence as I roamed around.
Just down from the village green are the Jared Gear Almshouses, set aside to provide safe and secure housing accommodation for people with limited financial resources who have connections with Haselbury Plucknett.
Wulfric of Haselbury was a noted resident of the village. In 1125 he moved there from Compton Martin, just south of Bristol, in pursuit of a wholly religious life. He withdrew from secular matters almost completely, living in a cell adjacent to the village church, St Michael and All Angels. Wulfric’s piety attracted notable well-wishers; King Henry I and King Stephen both sought his advice and he became well renowned not just around Somerset, but also at court. When he died in 1154, he was buried in the church.
The village church lies just off from the centre and, like the village itself, is a tranquil place. There are no Commonwealth War Graves in the churchyard, but the War Memorial commemorates the twelve Haselbury souls who gave their lives on the field of battle during the Great War.
One of those remembered was Harry Shyer. He was just 20 years and 3 days old when the ship he was serving on – the HMS Good Hope – was torpedoed off the coast of Chile during the Battle of Coronel. All hands from the ship were lost, a total of 926 men.
The war memorial includes two sets of brothers: John and William Eastment and George and Harold Tout. Given the population of Haselbury Plucknett was less than 500 at 1911 census, the war must have taken an incredible toll on the village and the twenty-two losses would have been felt.
Two other key parts of the village lie within 300ft (90m) of each other; the local school and the village pub. (I make no assumptions as to their location, other than Haselbury Plucknett being a small village!)
The next in the A-Z is one that potentially challenges what I am looking to achieve in a list of Somerset villages as it examines what actually constitutes a village.
In England, at least, you have hamlets, villages, towns and cities.
Hamlets have no central place of worship and no meeting point (for example a village hall).
Villages have one central place of worship and a meeting point.
Towns have more than one of each and will often have a charter to hold a weekly market; they will also have their own form of council.
Cities are larger conurbations with multiple places of worship and meeting points.
So, why bring this up now?
Well, the issue with the next place I have visited is that technically it is not a village.
Godney has a handful of houses, a farm and a small church (Holy Trinity), but no meeting point.
It lies just to the north of Glastonbury, on a small rise overlooking the River Sheppey.
Why am I including Godney in the A-Z, then? Well, on the other side of the river are two other hamlets – Upper Godney and Lower Godney – and between the three of them, they meet all of the requirements of a village.
So, then, I am looking at The Godneys, not just Godney itself. (Okay, it’s a bit of a stretch, but they’re nice places!)
While Godney has the place of worship, Lower Godney has the meeting place. This is where the Village Hall is located, as well as the local pub, The Sheppey Inn (named after the river that runs behind it).
Upper Godney is today just a small stretch of houses, but it was once where the local school was located as well as the village post office. Both have now closed and are houses.
There are no war graves in Godney. However, like Dinder, it formed part of the war lines, and the landscape includes a number of pill boxes at either end.
The Godneys are surrounded by flat, drained marshland and the natural ditches formed the basis of tank defences during the Second World War. These were supplemented with a purpose-built anti-tank ditch around the village, while bridges in the area were prepared for demolition at short notice.
The Godneys are a great place for walking and cycling, particularly as the ground is so level. The views south to Glastonbury Tor and north to the Mendips are well worth it.
Samuel Reginald Watts was born in 1897, the seventh of eight children of Samuel and Augusta Watts.
He followed his father and brothers into the main industry in the area – coal mining – and was certainly working down the pits by the time of the 1911 census.
Samuel enlisted on 21st April 1918, and joined the Royal Garrison Artillery, which focused on heavy, large-calibre guns and howitzers that were positioned some way behind the front line. He was 5’5″ (1.65m) tall and weighed 144lbs (65kg). According to his war records, he had brown hair, hazel eyes and a fresh complexion.
His service started the very next day, when he was transferred to the Citadel in Plymouth for training.
After feeling unwell, complaining of headaches and a sensitivity to light, Gunner Watts was admitted to the Netley Hospital in Southampton on 18th June 1918. He was diagnosed with cerebrospinal fever, more commonly known as meningitis, and was treated over the next week.
Sadly the treatment did not work, and Gunner Samuel Watts passed away on the evening of 26th June 1918. He had been in the army for a little over two months and had not seen active service.
Samuel Watts lies at peace in the graveyard of St John’s Church, Farrington Gurney.
Arthur James Ashford was born in the Dorset village of Okeford Fitzpaine, to John and Tryphina Ahford. His father died when Arthur was only seven years old, leaving Tryphina to raise him and his three siblings.
Arthur had had a military career before the start of the Great War. He had enlisted into the Dorsetshire Regiment in 1891 and, while I have not been able to locate his records from that time, the regiment had been stationed in Ireland in the 1890s.
In 1899 he married Amy Upshall, at which point he was employed as a labourer. The couple had six children, though sadly, two of them – Arthur George and Elsie May – died in childhood.
He enlisted within months of the First World War beginning, returning to the Dorsetshire Regiment he had previously served on 30th September 1914. (It is interesting that on his enlistment papers he said that he had previously served for 12 years, although the dates don’t fully tally up.) This time, however, Private Ashford served on the Home Front, in Dorchester and Portland.
On the evening of 22nd December 1916, Arthur fell down a gulley in Portland. He was taken to the Verne Military Hospital in the town, but died of his injuries – a fractured skull – in the early hours of the following day.
Private Arthur Ashford was buried in his home village of Evercreech on Thursday 28th December 1916.
Herbert Andrews was born in July 1896, the eldest of seven children of Hugh (known as Henry) and Jane Andrews from Evercreech, Somerset.
By the time war broke out, Herbert was helping out on his grandfather’s farm in nearby Thornford. He enlisted into the army on 15th November 1915, joining the Gloucestershire Regiment.
Private Andrews served in France from March 1916, eventually spending eighteen months on the front line (not counting leave), and received a gun shot wound to the face on 27th August 1917. (He was treated in France, and remained there for a further five months.)
Herbert seems to be the only member of his family to have seen active service. His brother Norman was the only one of his siblings to have been old enough to enlist and, while he did so in 1917, he was assigned to the Experimental Company of the Royal Engineers, testing munitions and gases in Porton.
It appears that while Herbert was on leave in February 1918 he fell ill. Ultimately, he was discharged as medically unfit for service on 7th September.
Just three days later, Private Herbert Andrews passed away three days later, succumbing to a combination of chronic Bright’s disease and haemoptysis.
Thomas Edward Moody was born in 1890, the second of five children for Thomas and Emily.
By the start of the war, “Little Tommy Moody” was working with his father in the quarries around Shepton Mallet and was the eldest son living at home.
He joined the North Somerset Yeomanry and was shipped out to France, where he was badly injured. An article in the Shepton Mallet Journal, included after his funeral, says as much about the life of this young man as it does about the Edwardian approach to military matters.
DEATH AND FUNERAL OF A SOLDIER – The death has taken place of Thomas Edward Moody, son of Thomas Moody, of Stoney Stratton, Evercreech, at the age of 18, and who as a 1914 man, joined the North Somerset Yeomanry and went out to France. He was badly wounded, resulting in the loss of an eye, and after some time in hospital and a short leave at home, he was sent back to rejoin his regiment, the 3rd Reserve Cavalry, in France. This was about two years ago. He spent his last leave home at Christmas. After a time in hospital at Devonport, he was removed to Bath early last month, discharged from the army as incurable, and there he died on May 5th, the cause of death being consumption of the brain. The funeral, on Saturday afternoon last, was of military character. The corpse, brought from Bath the day before, was borne from the deceased’s home at Stratton on a hand bier, attended by a bearer party of eight men from Taunton Military Barracks, to the Parish Church, where the first portion of the service was taken. The Union Jack enshrouded the coffin, on and around which a number of floral tributes rested. Sixty members of the Evercreech Branch of the Comrades of the Great War, and a couple of marines, joined the funeral cortege at the home, and on leaving the Church lines up on wither side, as the body of their dead comrade was borne hence on the shoulders of four of their number to the cemetery. The vicar, Rev. RY Bonsey, officiated. The Last Post was sounded by Bugler Tucker, of Shepton Mallet, and another bugler from Tauton Barracks. “Little Tommy Moody”, as he was familiarly called amongst his chums, was a conspicuous member of the Evercreech Football Club previous to the War.
Shepton Mallet Journal – 9th May 1919.
(It is interesting to know that the date of death in the article does not match that on the gravestone. I would be inclined to believe the latter.)
Private Moody was obviously a fighter and a strong character – returning to the front after losing an eye, some time in hospital and a short leave – and you can guarantee he was missed in the village.
Walter Ernest Hartnell was born in 1888 to William and Jane Hartnell in Charlton Musgrove, on the outskirts of Wincanton in Somerset.
One of eight children, it appears he could have been a bit of a tearaway in his youth; in October 1905, the Shepton Mallet Journal reports on a “Hobbledehoy Nuisance” in Evercreech, when a Walter Hartnell was caught with nine of his friends causing a disturbance close to the church.
They were shouting, racing after each other up and down the road, using obscene language, and smoking cigarettes. This continued till 7.15, about half an hour.
Shepton Mallet Journal – Friday 20th October 1905
Hartnell was fined 5/- and 2/6 costs, or would face ten days in prison.
Things looked up for Walter and, by the time his call to enlist came, he was working on the railways. He joined the Infantry branch of the Machine Gun Corps (MGC), while his brother Fred fought in the Royal Artillery.
The MGC was a particularly brutal part of the armed forces. Of the 170,500 officers and men who served in the corps, 62,049 became casualties, including 12,498 killed, earning it the nickname ‘the Suicide Club’.
Details of Private Hartnell’s death are sketchy; his company saw action at Ypres and Arras. However, records suggest that he died in Colchester; the Military Hospital there was used to dealing with troops straight from the Front. It is likely that he was injured at Ypres and shipped back home to recuperate, but died of his injuries.
This is all conjecture on my part, of course, but either way, Private Walter Hartnell lies at peace in a quiet Somerset cemetery.
A hop and a skip away from Dinder is a bit of a jolt; the population of Evercreech is ten times the size, and you do notice it.
Just to the south of Shepton Mallet, this has the potential to be a bustling place, although the day I visited was a typically English summer, with heavy showers, so it was quieter than it could have been.
The centre of the village holds onto its Norman roots – Evrecriz was mentioned in the Doomsday book – and the buildings are old stone cottages, with the occasional larger manor thrown in.
The church, however, is one of the things that drew me to choosing this as my ‘E’ village. The renowned twentieth century architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner said than it has one of the finest Somerset-style towers in the county, but it is the mysterious clock that interested me.
The face of the clock has no 10 on it (or no X, in Roman numerals). Instead, the numbers go 9 – 11 – 12 – 12 (IX – XI – XII – XII).
Local rumour suggests that the person who paid for the clock to be made was instructed by his wife that he had to be home from the pub by 10 o’clock. Therefore, he ensured that the 10 o’clock numeral (X) was missing from the clock face.
While the village is a large one – with a population of nearly 2,500 – it is very easy to get into the open countryside.
Walk past the Bell Inn, one of Evercreech’s three pubs, and you find yourself crossing open fields to reach the village’s cemetery.
A small graveyard, but still in regular use, this holds a history of its own.
There is a war memorial to those who fell in both World Wars, while there are four war graves to those whose remains were able to be buried on English soil. Four stories, which I’ll explore in later posts.
CKPonderingsToo 