The Preacher Who Talked of "Geeover" (21 October 1977)

To my mind one of the most interesting photographs the Gazette has had for some time was that published two or three weeks ago which showed Mrs Diana Weale, of Wychwood Farm, Mursley, using a plough drawn by two fine heavy horses.  The horses were pulling abreast and that is how I remember ploughing being done.  However, it appears that in an earlier period horses pulled the plough otherwise.

In 1946 a former ploughman in this area who was then in his 80s wrote:

“When I was a lad I was what was then known as a ‘plough-boy’ and long before I reached my teens I became a ‘head plough-boy.’

“My first ploughman was an old man who was a splendid ploughman as well as a kind horsekeeper.  He loved his horses.  He always had his old grandfather clock half an hour fast and rose for the day’s work when the clock struck four so as to get the horses in and give them a two-hour bait (refreshment) before going out with the three teams to plough.

“Tractors had not been thought of and on that farm there was very little, if any, ploughing done with two horses abreast.  There were always three horses single, or four on the heavy lands.

“They were not guided by reins, as is the case with present-day ploughmen, but with ‘whip and call-signs.’   The plough was set and guided by hand, but the horses were guided by calls of ‘haw,’ ‘woot.’ ‘geeover,’ and ‘come hither.’   The horses knew the calls and what to do by the way the boy held the whip.  I doubt whether they are ever used now.  In time they will be forgotten.

“One of the old man’s stories was that one of his boys once went to a special service at church.   When asked what it was like, he replied that the preacher knew a lot about ploughing, as he talked a lot about ‘Geeover’!

“My old man had no watch but was seldom ever worried about the time, even when we were working in the most out-of-the-way fields where we could not hear the church clock. He usually had three sticks for a clock.  This was useful if the sun was shining.  If it was dull, he would stand and squint towards the sunlight and say ‘It’s baver time,’ or ‘shutting-out time.’

“He was a stickler for time and not one minute would he allow us more than the scheduled half-hour or hour.”

What a picture of times past is unfolded by those few sentences.  The employment of small boys and men alike in long, hard, relentless toil, with long periods when many a tenant farmer was no better off than his men.  No wonder the young men of those days trooped off to the Wolverton Railway Works instead, if they could.

At one time horses were much used for various purposes in and about the railway.  I remember Mr William King, the shoesmith, at work in the smithy at the old Bletchley motive power depot.  One of the last horse-drawn vehicles regularly on the local streets was used by the railway to deliver parcels.  It had a regular driver, nicknamed “Happy” Windsor and as his horse was named “Harry,” the pair were known as “Appy and Arry.”

Parcels were delivered by that means at the old Gazette office and printing works in the Central Gardens Approach Road.  First you heard a slow clip-clop of horse’s shoes in the road and then a loud “Whoa!” from the driver.  The clip-clop instantly ceased and then the voice sang out “Aubree!” and the said Aubrey, a boy, stopped doing whatever he was doing and went out to collect the parcels.

Possibly the last horse-drawn vehicle in the town (though some may have restarted since) belonged to Rowland Bros, the timber merchants.  The driver was Mr George Willis and his grey horse, “Dolly,” was loved both by Mr Willis and by all the local kids.  They used to deliver firewood to our house in Queensway.  Mr Willis was a rabbit fancier and had considerable success at shows up and down the country.  A small man, he had a rather large nose, supported by a small moustache, little chin, and every time he told me of his latest success his nose and moustache twitched in a way that reminded me irresistibly of his furry friends.

But Mr Willis was a worthy man and one who did good work in connection with the old Horticultural Society and the Bletchley Hospital Cup.  After he retired I never saw “Dolly” on the local streets again.

There used to be an annual horse show and sale at Bletchley Market.  The last I remember was in 1948, when some 50 horses passed through the ring.  There were classes for the best cart-horse or gelding over 16 hands, for heavy vanners and for light vanners.

Trade was slow, but most of the horses changed hands at from 40 to 60 guineas, ponies sold to 32 guineas, and three-year-old unbroken fillies made to 28 guineas.

How nice to be writing about guineas again in these days of dolefully dull and comparatively worthless P-money.