Cusop History Group

The Story of The Moor

where I spent my childhood days…

where my father worked as head gardener

 

The Story of the Moor

My name is Elsie Buckett. I was born on June 24, 1893, at Cockfosters, near Barnet, England.  [North of London] My father was a gardener for a family named Malcomson and we lived at a lodge almost next door to the church and school.  When I was about four, we all moved to the gardener’s cottage at the Moor, where my father was head gardener.  One of my earliest memories is being taken by my mother, with my brother Bert, in a go-cart, to see “the little goslings”.  I had no idea what these were, and was bitterly disappointed to see they were “only little ducks”.  I cried.  The second thing I remember is the death of my mother, at age 38, of meningitis.  Later my brother had scarlet fever, but I was sent away to a neighbour’s house and did not catch it.  We had a young woman as housekeeper, and I spent a lot of time with my father at his work.

 

When Queen Victoria died [January 1901] I went with him to put the flag at half mast on the Tower.  He told me all about her as we did this.

 

The Moor was a little world of its own and employed many people.  Cook, Kitchen Maid and Scullery Maid, Butler, Footmen, 3 Housemaids, Nurse and Lady’s Maid, three Gamekeepers, 3 Gardeners, a Coachman and Groom and Stable Boys, Herdsmen and other Outdoor Workers.  They had chickens, ducks, geese, swans on the man-made lake and peacocks on the lawn.  Greenhouses and vinery, cold frames, and a big walled kitchen garden which produced all kinds of fruits and vegetables.  The wall is still there – some of the fruit trees are bravely in bloom in May, 1975.  The nails in the wall are hand-forged.  On the outside of the wall were grown the hardier fruits – pears, apples, etc. espaliered to the wall, while on the inside were grown the choicer fruits - peaches, plums, apricots and nectarines, currants which hung in bunches like grapes, red and white, and so transparent you could see the seeds at their centres. Cherries too, while the strawberry bed was covered with a net.  In the greenhouses, melons were suspended in nets as they hung from the roofs, as were the grapes.  My father told me that in some countries grapes grew in open fields.  I spent a lot of time with my father in the potting shed, I can smell it to this day.  Each day he took fresh flowers into the house and arranged them in the various rooms.  If anyone died in the area, a floral emblem would be sent, wreath, cross, or similar and I got quite expert at binding the moss to the frame with hessian which had been dyed green.  The grounds were lovely, there were cedars of Lebanon, which my father said were at least 400 years old. The lower branches were propped up, and mushrooms could almost always be found near them.  The house itself had a pillared verandah which went all around it.  Roses and other flowers grew on the pillars, there was  a lovely avenue of trees with flower beds in cement enclosures from the top lodge to the house, while a similar setting was for the lower drive, which led down to Hay, ending in a lodge on the Clifford road near the sawmill.  There was a famous rock-garden built up along the outside of the kitchen garden wall, and a pet cemetery where much-loved and departed hunting dogs were buried, with stones inscribed with their names.  One such inscription read,

“Ponto” was a faithful dog,

            Would with his master stay,

            But when his master’s back was turned,

            “Loiter” ran away."

 

The master of all this was a Captain Greystone.  He and his wife had one son Brian, who was a baby at this time.  The nurse who looked after the baby was a Sarah Ann Clerk, and my father married her much to my sorrow and distress, but that is another story!

 

The things that impressed my child’s memory were two-fold; the wonderful Christmas party that Captain Greystone gave to all who worked for him, and the hay-making party when they cut hay in the upper and lower parks.  Before Christmas I would go with my father into the “skinney” where the tower was, and we would cut holly, mistletoe, ivy and other evergreens to decorate the great rooms and halls in the house, and a huge tree.  Then on Christmas Eve, all the children of the estate had a party, about 4 p.m. Every kind of delectable food, and gifts for everyone from the tree, which was alight with candles.  There were about 18 children present.  It was at one of these parties I heard my first gramophone.  Then us children were all put to bed and the adults had their party – presents and a ball.  We were taken home, half asleep, and I remember we had so many gifts they had to be wheeled home in a wheelbarrow with the sides on, that they used for leaves.  Each man got enough good tweed for a new suit, wife similar, each child got good woolen cloth for an outfit, besides a turkey, a big plum-pudding, nuts, oranges, etc.  For so many people, this must have cost a lot… and taken an awful lot of preparation.  One year I got a French wax doll, with lovely hand-made clothes, and a doll’s bed complete with sheets, blankets, and eiderdown.  Another year I got a beautiful perambulator.  At the adults ball they had an orchestra, all kinds of drinks, and a bottle of whiskey to take home.

 

I don’t know what my father’s actual wages were, but we got the house free, with coal and wood, acetylene gas, all the vegetables and fruit we wanted and hunting privileges over the estate.  Rabbits were a nuisance, and he would go out early two or three times a week coming home with rabbits, an occasional hare, and now and then a pheasant or a partridge, too.  The butcher’s cart would come around once a week.  We would buy a joint of beef, some sausages, some tripe (how we loved it) and kippers for Sunday mornings breakfast.  We also got all the milk we could use, and beef dripping which we used like butter.  At age 82 I now have almost perfect blood, and I believe this is due to my early diet – those wonderful pots of soup, we had every kind of vegetable.  In the summer when they cut the hay we had another party.  Everyone worked at the haymaking and it ended up in a huge picnic.  Tea was carried out in large milkcans, sandwiches, cakes and strawberries and cream.  I don’t remember it ever raining for this event.

 

About 1903 or 4, something happened which I am not clear about, but Captain Greystone went on a trip around the world and Mrs. Greystone fired my father, I think it had something to do with the nurse, who was then my stepmother.  We went to live nearby in Hay, and my father worked for Mr. Cope-Potter, which was a real set-down for him.  However, it was a living and he played in the town band (the cornet, and also played the harp and the flute) and was well liked by the natives.  My stepmother was not popular, and as soon as I could work I got “out from under” serving in the Women’s Army in World War I, and coming to Canada after I married a Canadian soldier.  That was in 1919.  I have lived in Toronto ever since.  I went back in 1950, and my brother and I went to the Moor, but the house was empty and a caretaker there only.  Then I went back again with my three grown children in 1975 and wanted to show them this place of which I have such vivid memories.  We found it in ruins, and spent one whole morning there re-constructing it in my mind.  I have a photographic memory, I want to leave behind to someone these memories I have so they will not be lost forever.  So I am offering them to you for you to use if ever opportunity arises.

 

Elsie M. Williamson (née Bucket)

Age 82 [1975]

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Many thanks to Elsie's granddaughter Pam from Tennessee, U.S. who found us and sent the memories to Cusop History Group. 

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[The wonderful image below shows Elsie Mary Buckett in 1911 aged 18]