To Fred Archer, born in the village of Ashton-under-Hill in 1915 and growing up in the 1920s, nothing seemed to change except the seasons. This was the age of paraffin lamps, earth closets, and the last train from Evesham at 7 o’clock in the evening.
The village was a self-sufficient community with its own hierarchy, strong Church and Chapel, fierce politics, and home-made entertainment. But change was coming, and the motor car, wireless, telephone, and the service bus to Evesham cinema meant that village life would be changed forever.
Fred Archer’s anecdotes bring to life the lost village of his childhood, the eccentrics and the annual events relished by all: sprout-picking championships, village fetes, and racing down the slope of Holcomb Nap on sledges made from old cider barrels.
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