Mummy Will Be So Upset By Harold Cunliffe
In my last feature, I related the Hopwood’s of Hopwood Hall and how the latter family members were in fact the Gregge Family who adopted the Hopwood name as a mark of respect.
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ollowing the use of the hall by the Lancashire Cotton Corporation during the Second World War, we find that the Catholic Brotherhood, De-La-Salle acquired the building as a college on the 26 August 1946. A short distance from the hall is Woodside Farm. My first encounter with this ancient farm was during the hot summer of 1976. Hopwood Clough which is in close proximity to the farm became a magnet to children during the summer holidays. Many children spent hours playing on the banks of the stream which wends its way through the Clough. The area also was the home of a coal pit at one period. Most days a check would be made of the beauty spot to make sure all was well. On the day I happened to be passing through and noticed a group of children looking a bit distressed. Upon investigation I found that a young boy from Hopwood in Heywood had been swinging on a rope above the stream, and had consequently fallen into the stream. Unfortunately he landed on broken glass which had caused a nasty wound to his hand and arm, which was bleeding at a steady rate which could prove fatal if not arrested. This nine year old chap was in luck, I was a trained first aider with the St John Ambulance. The boy who was called “Whittaker” was in shock, cold and shivering even though we were experiencing the hottest weather on record. After arresting the bleeding he was put into my vehicle, with the heating on full I may add, which is good for treating shock, then I transported my casualty to the nearest telephone, which was located at Woodside Farm. Arriving at the “Woodside” the farmer, Mr Howarth and his wife were quickly on scene to offer help. An ambulance was requested to attend, next, the Ambulance service messaged, stating that they could not locate their casualty or the farm. We replied by requesting that they remain at the entrance to the Clough, and we would find them. I am pleased to say the boy recovered after a few weeks. Mr and Mrs Howarth were friendly people and were keen to have updates on the progress of this young man’s recovery. A week or so later I happened to be in the area so dropped in for a chat. At the front of this farm was a type of lean-to built into the hillside which contained a large stone water trough. This it transpired was their water supply. Ice cold water would pour at a steady rate out of the hillside through a clay pipe behind the trough which constantly topped up the supply, with the overflow being carried away along a gully. Mr Howarth stated that the supply of water was constant, never slowed down even in the driest of summers. It certainly provided a tasty cup of tea. A farmer friend who lives about three miles away decided to brew his own beer. At their farm no mains water was available, a pump supplied water for domestic purposes from an underground 72
LANCASHIRE & NORTH WEST MAGAZINE
well, which he used to make the beer. It was hay making time when the beer was at its prime. Life on the farm could not be more pleasant, working in a field, the smell of new mown hay, good farmhouse food, cheese always tastes so good, along with half a pint of home brew, magic. I can vividly remember the experience today enjoying the fresh bread and cheese in the hot sunshine, and how the half a pint of beer took its effect. It was interesting watching the farm workers becoming jollier, but being in charge of agricultural equipment we decided not to indulge in any more of this strong liquor until sunset. No doubt the pure water had increased the quality and strength of the beer. I believe that the old Woodside farm at Hopwood has been demolished and replaced by a modern building. At the time I was documenting the town’s history by producing a weekly column in the local newspaper, the son of farmer Howarth made contact. He grew up at this farm and related that during the Second World War a German prisoner was allocated to their farm to provide labour. In fact they all got along very well. The German P.O.W. noticed that the farm had no hot running water. With this in mind he designed a system where the living room fire heated a tank of water which was fed to the taps via gravity. To obtain enough pressure he placed a cold water tank on two wooden poles a distance from the farmhouse, on the higher ground, this tank had to be filled from time to time by the use of a hand pump. But it was when a friend of the family was carrying out some electrical work that something unexpected happened. The electrician, who was also a local policeman, carried out electrical work in his spare time. On the day in question work was progressing very well. One bedroom required attention. The family were seated in the living room at the time the electrician entered the room to carry out the work, and remarked, “I am about to complete the work upstairs, I will wait a little while until your daughter stops crying.” Mr Howarth asked, “Who stops crying?” their friend stated, “Your daughter, she is sat at the end of the bed dressed in a petticoat, very distressed saying that mummy will be so upset.” Mr and Mrs Howarth were taken back by this comment, “We do not have a young daughter, our daughter is grown up and out on the milk round.” When a search of the room was carried out the young girl was not to be found. MISS DAVENPORT In making a search of our extensive archive we find that the death of a child was recorded a short distance from the farm; Miss Beatrice Evelyn Davenport aged 11 years, drowned in a pond which was located between the farm and Hopwood Hall. Was the vision of a girl in the bedroom the spirit of this young girl? Following the death of her husband in 1907, the grandchild of Mrs Hannah Davenport went to live with her, providing help with running the farm. Each morning before going to school the child would deliver fresh milk around the area. Her first delivery was at Hopwood Hall then to the cottages on the estate. One www.lancmag.com
