50 years of the 20th Century
From: The East Yorkshire Village Book, © East Yorkshire Federation of Women's Institutes; Countryside Books, Newbury. Published circa. 1991
It is true that there was a settlement at Walkington as far back as the Bronze Age - recent excavations of burial sites prove this. Yet, paradoxically, most of the real history of the village has unfolded during the past 30 years or so.
Let us take a look at the Walkington of some 50 years ago. It was a quiet farming village. Whilst it is true that there was a bus service to Beverley, three miles away, Walkington was nevertheless an isolated, self-contained community. A day trip to Hull, or the annual Sunday school trip to Bridlington, were events to which the villagers looked forward with eager anticipation. The ancient church overlooked the village. Then, as now, little was known about its history, but few people really cared.
The fact that the modern village had been shaped by the Fergusons who, father and son, had occupied the rectory for virtually the whole of the 19th century, was of little concern to most folk. Far more villagers remembered Rev Michael Dawe, who had succeeded Douglas Ferguson as rector at the turn of the century. Even then, they remembered not the words of wisdom which had emanated from the pulpit, but rather the unecclesiastical words which used to be uttered by Marcus, his old parrot of doubtful gender.
The other village potentate was the schoolmaster, who got on with his work almost unchallenged, and who ruled his charges with his favourite cane. One event which was still widely talked about was the sacking in 1911 of a much respected schoolmaster, James Truscott. Officially this was because Truscott liked a pint at the Dog and Duck; unofficially it was because Truscott was a staunch Methodist, and was at loggerheads with Mr Dawe, the rector. Whatever the reason, on the day of their departure, the Truscotts were accompanied to Beverley station by the whole school, who then sang protest songs outside County Hall before their sad return to Walkington.
By the outbreak of the Second World War Walkington was still a self-contained village. Rotsey Lawson, the joiner, made everything from coffins to farm wagons. Across the road, Tom Bailey the blacksmith was kept busy meeting the needs of the local farmers. The butcher, the tailor, the cobbler, and the shopkeeper were all within a hundred yards of the centre of the village. In terms of recreation, there was very little. There were enthusiastic cricket and football teams. A new parish hall had been built in the 1920s. Here the WI held sway, and the occasional dance was held. But the Dog and Duck crossroads formed the real hub of village life. Here the men folk gathered of an evening to chew over the latest village gossip and to catch up with events in the world at large. Yes, Walkington was a typical sleepy East Riding village, with three pubs, a pond, and an abundance of old characters, whose memories stretched back into the Victorian era.
By the end of the war, Walkington was poised to undergo significant changes. The village water carrier had already been made redundant since mains water had arrived: the standpipes scattered along the village street were the pride and joy of the parish council. Electricity had also arrived, though many houses stuck for several years to their paraffin lamps. Walkington was at last in touch with the outside world. Council houses sprang up in Autherd Garth - the first real development ever to appear in Walkington. Prior to that, Lythes the builders had put up the odd house when it pleased them. Each was embellished in true Lythe fashion with redundant relics salvaged from churches in the neighbourhood.
As the 1950s dawned, Walkington was destined never to be the same again. The wider use of the internal combustion engine meant that travel became so much easier. The sons of the village soil moved away to earn their living. Only a few of the old village characters remained. But those few are still remembered with affection. Supreme among them was Oliver Cromwell. Oliver - an unusual name for an unusual person. He had left the village at the turn of the century to travel, as a railroad builder, across the United States. His tales of the American Wild West, related in a rich East Yorkshire accent, were a joy to the ear. 'Crommy' Oliver and many of his friends had spent their youth as labourers on Yorkshire farms, then they had served in the trenches during the First World War. They had so much to tell, and they told it well, especially under the influence of a few pints of beer in the Dog and Duck.
By the mid century there were signs that things in Walkington were changing. A group of villagers, in which the young new rector, Tony Lawrance, and the schoolmaster, Bethel Taylor, featured strongly, decided, for example, that the new Walkington would need a playing field. Much to the consternation of the residents, £200 was spent to purchase the field on which cricket had been played for as long as anyone could remember. What foresight!
Whilst many had left the village in the post-war years, others had arrived. One such new arrival was destined to lead the village towards its greatest hour. Ernie Teal, an ex-Coldstream Guardsman and a Beverlonian, decided that he would do his best to make his newly adopted village a happy place in which to live. At first, the newcomer was regarded with suspicion by the natives, but he was a born leader of men and had the charisma of a pied piper. His first innovation was a seemingly trivial one: monthly general knowledge quizzes to raise funds for local organisations. Amazingly, 30 years later, they are more popular than ever. The reason is simple: an evening of good, homemade entertainment (for only 30p!).
Meanwhile, up at the church, churchwarden Norman Castle decided in 1960 to produce a monthly newssheet through which to communicate church news to the village. General news was soon included and the publication became a village newsletter. That monthly newsletter is still going strong; it is still produced voluntarily; it is still delivered free of charge to every house in the village.
The church approached the 1960s with an appeal for £1,500 to provide a new ring of bells. The village responded magnificently, just as it did in later years when appeals went out to provide a new east window and to restore the organ. Also in the early 1960s, the Methodists were busily carrying out a massive renovation of their chapel.
The dawn of the 1960s marked the beginning of the end of Walkington as a small rural village. Large tracts of farmland were sold for private housing development: first the Crake Wells estate; then All Hallows; then Manor Park; more recently Red Gates. Broadgate Hospital - once a flourishing psychiatric hospital, has now closed, and will soon be razed to the ground to make way for yet more houses. Houses, houses everywhere! The orchards and the pleasant lanes that were the very essence of old Walkington are now covered in tarmac. Heavy lorries roar through the village on their way to the M62.
The number of people who were born and bred in Walkington is in sharp decline, but whilst old Yorkshire characters like Eva Boynton and Dick Grantham are still around, memories of old Walkington will linger on. The 'new' Walkington is still a splendid place in which to live; it is still bustling with activity; there are events by the dozen to prepare for and to anticipate; each year there are new innovations, new challenges, and new friends to make.
They say that what Walkington does today, Ambridge will do tomorrow. The Walkington Song - always sung at the end of the village pantomime, and on other special occasions - sums up our feelings: 'Happy, oh happy, oh happy are we: living in Walkington, you and me! Of this pretty village, we're all very fond: three pubs and a church and a mucky old pond'.
Ernie Teal, the architect of modern Walkington, could not have foreseen how the village would change. Nevertheless, he must be quietly proud of the way in which he has guided it through the years of change. His fruitful mind has dreamed up idea after idea for events which would both raise money and provide entertainment. Every Christmas, carols are sung round the pond to the accompaniment of a steam organ, then Father Christmas crosses the pond in a boat and gives out free sweets to the crowds of eagerly awaiting children. The money raised ensuring that the pond remains an attractive centrepiece to the village. He had always toyed with the idea of recreating a Victorian hayride, in which an army of horse-drawn wagons, accompanied by a multitude of villagers in Victorian costume would descend on Beverley to raise money for charity. In June 1991, the 24th hayride set off Beverley. The villagers are very proud that Ernie was awarded the MBE in 1990 for his services to the community. Never was a medal more richly deserved!
From: The East Yorkshire Village Book, © East Yorkshire Federation of Women's Institutes; Countryside Books, Newbury. Published circa. 1991
It is true that there was a settlement at Walkington as far back as the Bronze Age - recent excavations of burial sites prove this. Yet, paradoxically, most of the real history of the village has unfolded during the past 30 years or so.
Let us take a look at the Walkington of some 50 years ago. It was a quiet farming village. Whilst it is true that there was a bus service to Beverley, three miles away, Walkington was nevertheless an isolated, self-contained community. A day trip to Hull, or the annual Sunday school trip to Bridlington, were events to which the villagers looked forward with eager anticipation. The ancient church overlooked the village. Then, as now, little was known about its history, but few people really cared.
The fact that the modern village had been shaped by the Fergusons who, father and son, had occupied the rectory for virtually the whole of the 19th century, was of little concern to most folk. Far more villagers remembered Rev Michael Dawe, who had succeeded Douglas Ferguson as rector at the turn of the century. Even then, they remembered not the words of wisdom which had emanated from the pulpit, but rather the unecclesiastical words which used to be uttered by Marcus, his old parrot of doubtful gender.
The other village potentate was the schoolmaster, who got on with his work almost unchallenged, and who ruled his charges with his favourite cane. One event which was still widely talked about was the sacking in 1911 of a much respected schoolmaster, James Truscott. Officially this was because Truscott liked a pint at the Dog and Duck; unofficially it was because Truscott was a staunch Methodist, and was at loggerheads with Mr Dawe, the rector. Whatever the reason, on the day of their departure, the Truscotts were accompanied to Beverley station by the whole school, who then sang protest songs outside County Hall before their sad return to Walkington.
By the outbreak of the Second World War Walkington was still a self-contained village. Rotsey Lawson, the joiner, made everything from coffins to farm wagons. Across the road, Tom Bailey the blacksmith was kept busy meeting the needs of the local farmers. The butcher, the tailor, the cobbler, and the shopkeeper were all within a hundred yards of the centre of the village. In terms of recreation, there was very little. There were enthusiastic cricket and football teams. A new parish hall had been built in the 1920s. Here the WI held sway, and the occasional dance was held. But the Dog and Duck crossroads formed the real hub of village life. Here the men folk gathered of an evening to chew over the latest village gossip and to catch up with events in the world at large. Yes, Walkington was a typical sleepy East Riding village, with three pubs, a pond, and an abundance of old characters, whose memories stretched back into the Victorian era.
By the end of the war, Walkington was poised to undergo significant changes. The village water carrier had already been made redundant since mains water had arrived: the standpipes scattered along the village street were the pride and joy of the parish council. Electricity had also arrived, though many houses stuck for several years to their paraffin lamps. Walkington was at last in touch with the outside world. Council houses sprang up in Autherd Garth - the first real development ever to appear in Walkington. Prior to that, Lythes the builders had put up the odd house when it pleased them. Each was embellished in true Lythe fashion with redundant relics salvaged from churches in the neighbourhood.
As the 1950s dawned, Walkington was destined never to be the same again. The wider use of the internal combustion engine meant that travel became so much easier. The sons of the village soil moved away to earn their living. Only a few of the old village characters remained. But those few are still remembered with affection. Supreme among them was Oliver Cromwell. Oliver - an unusual name for an unusual person. He had left the village at the turn of the century to travel, as a railroad builder, across the United States. His tales of the American Wild West, related in a rich East Yorkshire accent, were a joy to the ear. 'Crommy' Oliver and many of his friends had spent their youth as labourers on Yorkshire farms, then they had served in the trenches during the First World War. They had so much to tell, and they told it well, especially under the influence of a few pints of beer in the Dog and Duck.
By the mid century there were signs that things in Walkington were changing. A group of villagers, in which the young new rector, Tony Lawrance, and the schoolmaster, Bethel Taylor, featured strongly, decided, for example, that the new Walkington would need a playing field. Much to the consternation of the residents, £200 was spent to purchase the field on which cricket had been played for as long as anyone could remember. What foresight!
Whilst many had left the village in the post-war years, others had arrived. One such new arrival was destined to lead the village towards its greatest hour. Ernie Teal, an ex-Coldstream Guardsman and a Beverlonian, decided that he would do his best to make his newly adopted village a happy place in which to live. At first, the newcomer was regarded with suspicion by the natives, but he was a born leader of men and had the charisma of a pied piper. His first innovation was a seemingly trivial one: monthly general knowledge quizzes to raise funds for local organisations. Amazingly, 30 years later, they are more popular than ever. The reason is simple: an evening of good, homemade entertainment (for only 30p!).
Meanwhile, up at the church, churchwarden Norman Castle decided in 1960 to produce a monthly newssheet through which to communicate church news to the village. General news was soon included and the publication became a village newsletter. That monthly newsletter is still going strong; it is still produced voluntarily; it is still delivered free of charge to every house in the village.
The church approached the 1960s with an appeal for £1,500 to provide a new ring of bells. The village responded magnificently, just as it did in later years when appeals went out to provide a new east window and to restore the organ. Also in the early 1960s, the Methodists were busily carrying out a massive renovation of their chapel.
The dawn of the 1960s marked the beginning of the end of Walkington as a small rural village. Large tracts of farmland were sold for private housing development: first the Crake Wells estate; then All Hallows; then Manor Park; more recently Red Gates. Broadgate Hospital - once a flourishing psychiatric hospital, has now closed, and will soon be razed to the ground to make way for yet more houses. Houses, houses everywhere! The orchards and the pleasant lanes that were the very essence of old Walkington are now covered in tarmac. Heavy lorries roar through the village on their way to the M62.
The number of people who were born and bred in Walkington is in sharp decline, but whilst old Yorkshire characters like Eva Boynton and Dick Grantham are still around, memories of old Walkington will linger on. The 'new' Walkington is still a splendid place in which to live; it is still bustling with activity; there are events by the dozen to prepare for and to anticipate; each year there are new innovations, new challenges, and new friends to make.
They say that what Walkington does today, Ambridge will do tomorrow. The Walkington Song - always sung at the end of the village pantomime, and on other special occasions - sums up our feelings: 'Happy, oh happy, oh happy are we: living in Walkington, you and me! Of this pretty village, we're all very fond: three pubs and a church and a mucky old pond'.
Ernie Teal, the architect of modern Walkington, could not have foreseen how the village would change. Nevertheless, he must be quietly proud of the way in which he has guided it through the years of change. His fruitful mind has dreamed up idea after idea for events which would both raise money and provide entertainment. Every Christmas, carols are sung round the pond to the accompaniment of a steam organ, then Father Christmas crosses the pond in a boat and gives out free sweets to the crowds of eagerly awaiting children. The money raised ensuring that the pond remains an attractive centrepiece to the village. He had always toyed with the idea of recreating a Victorian hayride, in which an army of horse-drawn wagons, accompanied by a multitude of villagers in Victorian costume would descend on Beverley to raise money for charity. In June 1991, the 24th hayride set off Beverley. The villagers are very proud that Ernie was awarded the MBE in 1990 for his services to the community. Never was a medal more richly deserved!
