There were other itinerant vendors who came to Barwick on
their rounds in the 1930's and some I remember very well. One who
came regularly from 1930 until, to my knowledge, the early days of
the 1939-45 war, told us his name was Horatio Nelson, having been
so named by the orphanage which took him in as a baby. He had
badly deformed legs which, combined with his heavy suitcase and
having to travel on buses, must have made life difficult for him.
A page from one of William Prince's sketch books (c.1935). Horatio Nelson is seated on the stool.
He had the most cheerful, optimistic nature which probably
helped hill to survive so long in that way of life. His stock-in-
trade was razor blades, boot-laces, sewing threads and other items
of general haberdashery etc. When I returned from four years
service abroad with the R.A.F. in 1945, a helpful porter came to
take my luggage at Leeds City Station. His uniform looked strange
but the figure, which I had not seen for at least five years, was
still familiar. It was Horatio Nelson who, at last, through the
incidence of war, had been able to secure a steady, regular civilian
job. He had not forgotten Barwick, one of the villages he had got
to know so well, and referred with great warmth to my mother's
hospitality and his sadness at her death in 1934. He also recalled
with gratitude the cups of tea he had enjoyed on all the calls he
made on us.
In the early 1930's the village was favoured with the services
of a travelling chemist, a Mr Milburn from 'the other side' of
Leeds, who called weekly in his saloon car to provide the medicines
of his own composition or proprietary brands. He would take
orders and deliver the goods on the week following. We came to
the conclusion that his 'Pink ointment' was as good as 'Germolene'
and his cough mixture as good as any of the well-known brands. He
carried his 'Chemist shop courtesy' with him always, a smiling,
slightly deaf, pink-faced gentleman under a trilby hat.
Later in the 1930's there was another tradesman who came every
Saturday. He was Mr Brown who lived, and had a shop, in Garforth
and purveyed his bakery-confectionery goods to the villages in a
small van. He was also the organist at Barwick Church and had
been associated with Sir Edward Bairstow the York Minster
organist. Mr Brown told me how he had brought new items in to the
repertoire of organ voluntaries at Barwick Church, some of which
would not have been acceptable to many a country parson. They
included Sibelius' 'Finlandia', 'Sanctuary of the Heart' by Ketelby,
'Chanson de Matin' by Elgar and other popular 'classy' pieces.
As ever there were gypsies from time to time, the women
hawking clothes pegs, which were made from split hazel bound
together with a strip of metal from discarded cocoa tins and a
tack, the men parking their caravans where they could, often to the
discomfiture of the local farmers. The Thorp family had the most
trouble with gypsy encroachments and had to put up with a certain
arrogance at times. One loud-mouthed fellow told Fred Thorp he
talked 'like a penny book'.
I suppose one could say that 'Owd Jack', Herbert Turner, was
the 'village eccentric'. He owned a piece of land, perhaps 2 acres,
where he lived a squalid existence, subsisting on what he could
grow and sell in the Leeds area. He was of medium build and
always appeared to be scruffily healthy with pink cheeks peeping
out of a mass of tangled, grey hair and whiskers. His garb
spanned the years from the 1914-18 War, for through his multi-
trousered rents, amidst the civilian blues, greys and browns, one
always caught a glimpse of the rough, ubiquitous khaki. 'Whatever
the time of year, an inadequate Army greatcoat, belted with binder-
twine, and an ancient felt hat completed the ensemble. His home
was a flimsy, horse-drawn caravan with single-skin walls of half-
inch match-boarding through which there were many gaps. With so
many defects and its wheeled suspension, 3 feet off the ground, it
must have been so cold and draughty that I wondered how Jack could
survive the winters therein. In fact in winter he would have been
safer in his timber stable or store shed as they were built
directly on the ground.
For all his peculiarities, Jack was intelligent and well aware
of what was happening in the world. He was also straight and
honest, I found. One of our fields was next-door to Jack's 'estate'
so sometimes we had a passing observance of his affairs. He would
ask me to plough his field, a nice Saturday afternoon job, which I
gladly did for ten shillings. He always paid immediately the job
was done. '*'e were amused one morning to hear Jack calling angrily
and throwing stones at his caravan. '*'e knew he never had any
visitors so thought he must be off his head to be shouting, 'Get up
you lazy bugger, get up!' When we called him to ask what was
wrong he said, 'Oh, I was only talkin' to th' cat!'
