Silver Cross of St. George: Eunice Mcghie-belgrave

2018-02-07 - Charles Meredith

There

is nothing more disheartening than wanton vandalism caused by rioting but equally nothing more uplifting than an enthusiastic response to rebuilding what has just been destroyed. Following the Handsworth Riots in Birmingham during the Eighties, Eunice Mcghie-belgrave, who worked with young offenders in the probation service until she retired in 1999, decided to respond with something positive.

It has long been recognised that disadvantages of living in a barren urban environment can be alleviated by visits to the country so what better idea than to bring the countryside to the town? Eunice set about highlighting the value of allotments and, supported by Birmingham City Council, the Barrow Cadbury Trust and Free Radio, created “Shades of Black” and “Help Signs Allotment” projects. Aimed specifically at Afro-caribbean women, the aim was to grow vegetables and other plants, leading to the joy of partial self-sufficiency by eating one’s own produce. Local schools were soon happy to involve their children.

Imagine the sadness, therefore, when vandals — people who cannot abide others being helpful or successful — damaged the allotments and stole the equipment.

Undaunted, Eunice, now 83 and a great-granny, created a new enterprise in her own back garden where children and others are welcome to come along and join the green-fingered fraternity.

Happily, Eunice’s work has not gone unnoticed and in 2002 she received an MBE, followed two years later by the Queen’s Golden Jubilee Award for Voluntary Service. In addition to her gardening she has been involved with improving disabled facilities at her local railway station, sewing groups, helping at the local library, coffee mornings, Christmas dinners for the elderly and many more worthwhile projects.

Nicknamed the First Lady of the Allotments, she puts her love of hard work and social conscience down to her upbringing and education in Jamaica when Christian values were instilled into her from a very early age. She has received numerous other awards, including a Pride of Britain sponsored by the Daily Mirror and Trustee Savings Bank, to which we are delighted to add our Silver Cross of St. George. We wish there were more social crusaders like her around because she has brought happiness and hope to many adults and children.

Hall. And we would watch all the fine ladies and gentlemen, and sometimes children, who would gracefully descend from the plane and walk across to the Hall.

It was only a few years later when, during the war, I stood in the garden of our new abode in Addiscombe, near East Croydon, and watched some aircraft of a different silhouette fly in towards the aerodrome. Suddenly strange-shaped things began falling out of them. I called my father, who took one look and almost threw us into the “dug-out” air-raid shelter, saying, “They’re bombs!” There had been no siren sounding the alert. So lax were things just after the beginning of the war, that a few German planes had flown in after a Canadian crew, beginning the first of many raids on Croydon after that. — MARY AKERS, NORTH BALLARAT, VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA.

Church Carving

Sir: I wonder if any of your readers can identify this carving (below)? I seem to remember seeing a similar one in an old church in the UK, when I was younger and lived there. I remember reading that it was Anglo-saxon and it was said to represent the Nativity with two donkeys looking over Mary’s shoulder.

Although I found my small carving in a garden centre in the United States many years ago, I thought that it must have been copied from the carving I saw in the English church. Perhaps someone else has seen it and could tell me if I am correct. — CHRISTINE BORN, WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA, USA.

Selsey Fishermen

Sir: “The Fishermen of Selsey” (“In England — Now!”, Autumn 2017), brought back fond memories of family holidays spent there as a child. My grandmother had a holiday cottage on Eastern Beach called “Jolly Nice”. Later in the 1950s, I stayed with her when she lived at “Flint Cottage” in East Street.

I spent many happy hours on the shingle beach where the fishermen had their tarry smelling huts, cooking vats and boats winched up beyond high tide. The boats were wooden, clinker-built, with single cylinder diesel engines which puttered off when they put to sea. The fishermen always welcomed a helping hand (or so it seemed!) and they let me help strip the old paint off their boat hulls with a blow-lamp and scraper.

Later my grandmother moved to a new cottage on Fisherman’s Walk — there were just paddocks with cows grazing between her cottage and the beach. The fishermen rode their bikes to and from the village along Fisherman’s Walk and their bikes had baskets front and rear often with a dog, usually a spaniel, in one of the baskets and crabs or fish in the other. My Grandmother got to know them and exchanged greetings as they passed or hailed them to see if they had anything for sale.

It is good to know that the current generations of fishermen are carrying on the tradition and that they are going to sea in bigger and safer boats and that the lifeboat is still there to protect all those who put to sea. It is also great to know that delicious Selsey crabs and lobsters will still be on the menu! — DAVID HESSE, PELICAN WATERS, QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA.

Wartime Picture

Sir: My aunt, Ida Mcnally, has been a reader of This England for many years. She particularly likes any memories of the First World War, because her father served in the conflict. Ida remembers her father telling her about a photo that was taken at the old Royal Hospital on Chapel Street, Salford, Lancashire. Her father’s name was Charles Hufton who served in the 15th Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers (1st Salford Pals).

Charles fought on the Somme and was wounded by an exploding shell on 22nd April 1917. His friend and fellow fusilier Private Arthur Briggs dragged him into a shell hole. Moments later Arthur was also hit by shrapnel and sadly died from his wounds. Clearly both men would have died as a result of the second shell explosion, but for Arthur’s selfless act of dragging the wounded Charles into that shell hole. To our family, Arthur is one of the unsung heroes of the First World War.

Charles spent time at the St. Quentin field hospital before being sent back to Blighty sometime between April and November 1917. Back in England Charles was in the Dixon Mann ward of the now closed Salford Royal Hospital. During his time there, Charles and another wounded soldier were introduced to King George V and a photo was taken of them shaking hands. We have tried to find a copy of the photo, but so far without success. All we know is that a copy was once on display in the now demolished Seven Stars pub in

Withy Grove, Manchester. It would be lovely for my elderly aunt to see the photo and any help from readers would be wonderful. — STEVE WILSON, SALFORD, MANCHESTER. EMAIL: stevegw2003@gmail.com .

Tea Time Poem

Sir: My late mum had a fair few poems published over the years, and my son (her grandson) seems to be following in her footsteps. Mum particularly loved England and her poem “Rain on the Tea Garden” is very precious to our family. One of Mum and Dad’s favourite haunts was the lovely tea garden attached to Pevensey Castle in Sussex. Of course, my dear Mum was inspired to write this beautiful poem, which is framed alongside a picture and now proudly hangs at the Castle Tea Rooms. Rain On the Tea Garden by Jeanne K. Pitcher Furled are the sunshades over the tables,

No pretty china set for tea, Pink serviettes so familiar are

absent, Rainwater dripping from every

tree. This is the cottage that stands

by the castle, Carefully built beside old

Roman walls. Spirits of Normans on grey

charging horses Ride silently past — and still

the rain falls. Raindrops, like tears, on the

bright yellow pumpkins That grow in this garden down

by the gate, Wet leaves that lend shelter to

little brown sparrows, Stop searching for cake

crumbs, they patiently wait. Ours are the footsteps, ours

and no others, That sound on the red brick