CAMPING MEMORIES – AUGUST 1952 (Written by Dave PERROTT shortly after the event) Foreword (George MILLIE) This brief episode spanning a week occurred during the period of our final Summer Leave from AAS Arborfield, sandwiched between the Passing-Out Parade on Friday 25^th July and our posting via REME Depot, Arborfield to 5 Anti-Aircraft Group Workshop REME, Newark, Nottinghamshire w.e.f. Friday 29^th August 1952. In the account when Dave refers to “we”, he is talking about himself and me. Our base from which we set out on this expedition was my home at Dursley, a Gloucestershire market town within a few miles striking distance of our intended camping destination – Owlpen Manor near the village of Uley. My connection to Owlpen Manor and Uley village was of relatively short duration - 1947 and 1948 – when my Mother was Companion/Housekeeper to Mrs Bray, the Lady of the Manor. During this period I attended Uley Primary School, and in my solitary wanderings I came to know the area quite well. It may have been my suggestion that we establish our camp at Owlpen.
Uley Bury ► Owlpen Manor ► Manor Farm ► from Dursley ► Stouts Hill ►			◄Crawley Hill ◄ Keepers Lodge ◄ Camp
(above) - Uley Village, Owlpen Manor, and surrounding countryside The Keeper’s Lodge referred to in Dave’s account is the Gamekeeper’s Lodge, located on the edge of the woods at the end of a track (within the circled pink area). The stream from which we drew our water supply is seen on the map running in the direction bottom-to-top and making a sharp left-hand turn below Owlpen Manor where it runs into a Mill Pond that originally powered a Corn Mill (both detailed on the map below). Crawley Hill and Uley Bury, both mentioned in the text, are clearly visible. The Manor Farm (marked on the map above) is part of the manorial estate and also referred to in the text, is on the left side of the lane that runs from Owlpen Manor to Benscombe. A very early map of Owlpen Manor and immediate surroundings. Saturday 9^th The car arrived at 9.30 am sharp to take us on our perilous quest, and running between the raindrops we loaded into it everything from tent to toothbrush. As we approached our destination the rain holding up raised our hopes, but after unloading all our gear they were dashed to the ground by the onset of a violent storm. Donning our (Army issue) capes we struggled bravely forward under staggering loads, and after much effort succeeded in reaching the gate of the chosen field where we dropped everything and proceeded on a tour of inspection in the hope of finding a favourable site on which to pitch the tent. We decided on a corner of the field fairly near a small stream with water of rather doubtful origin, and fighting our way through driving rain we returned for our luggage which, with much struggling and cursing, we carried to the chosen spot.
Owlpen Manor		View looking towards the Keeper’s Lodge
The rain persisted and after battling with the wind for some time we managed to erect the rather frail looking structure which was to be our home for the coming week. No sooner had we done this than a local farmer appeared on the scene to declare: “He knew the land and we would get the full blast of the wind where we were”, advising us to: “Move the tent up there and face the door that way”, indicating the direction with his rather gnarled stick. Being mere amateurs we took his advice only to regret it later, for no matter how firmly we pegged the tent door the wind blew it open and the rain came in. This ended our tent erection efforts for the day and as it was still raining we bundled everything inside, including ourselves, and discussed what we should have for dinner, deciding on a nice, easy-to-cook bacon and eggs.
Our Tent		The primus stove Puffing Billy
Working in such a cramped space we poured meths and paraffin over nearly everything; the Primus was then considered ready for action. As it was still raining we decided to cook in the tent doorway, a very foolish decision, for the atmosphere inside the tent became unbearably hot and a quick dash for the open was necessary. The stores were piled up in the tent and we couldn’t find a thing; the rashers proving the most elusive, but we eventually found them when George sat on them. Why rashers have to curl up when you fry them I cannot think. The eggs proved much easier and we were half way through the second one when the stove spluttered menacingly and threatened at any minute to go out. We just managed to coax it into finishing the egg. Our attempt at making tea was not very successful, and I had a very trying time with the tinned milk. After dinner we had to decide which was going to sleep outside, the luggage or us, and deciding upon the former we threw it outside and covered it with a cape. The wind was a great menace to the primus and a shelter had to be designed and built, developing into a structure of wood and ferns that we called La Cuisine. The primus was now christened Puffing Billy and mounted in a prominent position, with most of the gear stowed in the back of the shelter, which we hoped would prove waterproof. La Cuisine Mk 1 approximate dimensions: 4 feet 6 inches wide x 3 feet high at the front & sloping downwards to the rear
La Cuisine Mk 2 (centre & right) approximate dimensions: 6 feet wide x 3 feet high at the front & sloping downwards to the rear By now it was nearly teatime, and filling the smallest billy, we optimistically declared it wouldn’t take long to boil. Nevertheless, with Puffing Billy still sulking and the wind seeming to blow from every direction at the same time, La Cuisine proved useless. The water took about thirty minutes to warm up; however, a liquid resembling tea was eventually brewed and after straining it through a hanky it was quite drinkable. With this we washed down our bread and jam. While washing up another difficulty arose – the water in the stream was not really deep enough. Two courses of action lay open to us, to dig it out or dam it up. The latter seemed the better solution and the job was soon completed. After washing up we thought it advisable to clean Puffing Billy, which we did and then had to dash for the tent because of rain. The nearest clean water was at the Keeper’s Lodge, a house some quarter of a mile away, and as soon as the rain held up we trudged off to obtain some of this sparkling liquid. The weather kept fine for our outward journey but rain came again on our return, and with the tent as our sanctuary we talked over the events of the day, unanimously deciding that La Cuisine should be altered with the utmost speed. The rain persisted late into the evening and the possibility of cooking the prearranged supper of beans on fried bread seemed extremely remote. However, the rain ceased at about 8.15 pm, and due to our kind treatment Puffing Billy put up an admirable performance and supper with a brew of tea took about twenty minutes to cook. With respect to undressing and getting into bed one needed to be a cross between a contortionist and a worm. However, we eventually managed by going one at a time but once in bed turning over was entirely out of the question. The end of this first tiring day came at 9.20 pm and we decided to try and drift into peaceful sleep, seemingly an impossible feat with all the lumps imaginable sticking up in the wrong places. An owl hooted its mournful lullaby. Sunday 10^th We arose at 8.30 am to find that it had been raining during the night but the sun was now shining. Breakfast, a much more successful meal consisting of eggs, bacon and tomatoes, was finished by about 9.15 am with Puffing Billy still working in fine style. After washing up, the quest began for material for the construction of a new shelter. The sun was still shining as we trekked into the woods, and on our return we immediately started construction but a violent downpour brought our efforts to a standstill. By the time the shower ceased it was dinnertime, and under the partially constructed shelter we cooked a meal of stewed steak, peas and potatoes, with strawberries to follow, after which we hastily washed up and then completed the construction of La Cuisine Mk2, both agreeing that it was a noble effort. Once again began the Great Trek for water, and on this journey we discussed the possibility of getting our supply from some source nearer the camp. On exploring the territory we found a small trickle running into a large muddy swamp, but after some effort we altered the situation and fresh water was obtainable. Tea consisted of a light snack of bread and jam and then once again came the miserable chore of washing up. The evening was spent reading and writing up, and pondering over what to have for supper. To our horror we discovered we had no choice; half-a-dozen rather unappetising rashers remained, and having been warned on our departure that they would not keep for long we decided upon the precautionary method of “scoffing the lot” with an egg and half a slice of fried bread. After this, bed seemed an excellent idea so we retired immediately.
Two views of our water source
(left) George and (right) me, constructing the dam Monday 11^th Whilst lying in bed we planned a trip to Uley Bury, so we got up and had a hasty breakfast. For our trip we packed some cheese (strong), biscuits (wet) and butter, and armed with these provisions, plus our capes and digging implements, we set off in high spirits in the direction of Uley Bury, stopping at the farm en route to order eggs, bread and milk to be collected on our return. We had to buy more bread in the village to last us the day, but George said that this was all right as he knew the way.
The farm		View of Uley from Owlpen, with Uley Bury in the distance
Eventually reaching the village green we turned right and began a gruelling ascent up Crawley Hill. We had not gone far when a large sign “Golden Hovis Bread” loomed into sight and George, bubbling over with confidence, said this was the old shop; the bakery was now up above. Another Gruelling half mile was completed but of the bakery there was no sign but George still insisted that he knew they had moved. To settle the whole affair we asked at a nearby house and were quickly informed that the bakery was down the bottom of the hill; I gave George one of the most murderous glances imaginable. The lady who had answered the door offered to let us have a loaf and refused to accept payment; once again a happy ending to a very tragic affair. Continuing our ascent we finally reached the summit and then argued for some time as to where it would be best to start our excavations, eventually deciding upon a spot on the steep slopes of an old quarry. Perched precariously on a narrow ledge some ninety feet above a yawning chasm we started to dig, our efforts soon rewarded by the discovery of one or two fragments of “Old Roman Hardware”. View of Uley Bury
Our excavation		View of Uley from Uley Bury
The rain soon started and with the companying wind that increased steadily we had a terrific battle trying to get into our capes. At the limits of our endurance we were forced reluctantly to give up our excavating, and clutching a few small trophies in our hands we crawled up over the edge and then chose the best possible spot for dinner. Calling it dinner very over-rated a meal consisting of damp bread, damp biscuits, mouldy cheese, high fish paste and nothing to drink. With the rain persisting we gave up all ideas of any further excavation for the day and made our weary way homeward. Tea as usual was a light meal and after washing up we lazed about till supper, when a special brew of cocoa was concocted, for which we used up all the milk. This was our first attempt in this sphere of the finer arts of Mrs Beaton. Whilst cooking a supper of eggs and chips we drank the holy beverage and George, after drinking his share, turned green and declared he felt sick. He said he couldn’t eat any supper and luckily we had only cooked one egg, so while he was getting into bed I partook of the egg and two helpings of chips. Yet another weary day was brought to a close. Tuesday 12^th Feeling very tired after our previous day’s excavating we lay in bed until about 9 o’clock. Breakfast was then hastily started, and everything seemed to go wrong. Puffing Billy seemed reluctant to go and when we did start to pump we pumped too hard, Puffing Billy becoming enveloped in a sheet of flame. The roof of La Cuisine (ferns) caught on fire and we both thought that its fighting days were over; we had visions of something on our hands that compared favourably with the Great Fire of London. However, we managed to subdue the blaze and then ate a breakfast of fried meat loaf, beans and burnt fern. Taking advantage of the sun and the promise of better weather we moved everything out of the tent, airing it thoroughly. Airing the tent and contents An early dinner was planned so that we could return to Uley Bury. We hard boiled a couple of eggs and cut some bread and butter, and packed this with our capes and digging implements ready for our departure. The drink for the day was to be bought in the village, and having to get there before 1 o’clock it became a race against time. It was about 12.10 pm when the potatoes were ready to be cooked; they turned out half done, and with a slice of cold veal loaf made a very poor meal. After putting all the stuff back in the tent we started out for Uley at about 12.40 pm. Before us lay about a mile of the roughest country imaginable and we arrived in Uley at two minutes to one, a truly meritable achievement. The drink purchased we once again started the steep ascent, but this time our spirits were high as the weather looked promising. We were luckier today in both weather and findings, and trooped home tired but elated, arriving in camp at 7.30 pm. We had a cold supper and got quickly into bed where the peacefulness of sleep soon overcame us. Wednesday 13^th We again rose late at 9.15 am, and although the weather was very nice the day for us looked black, because when I opened one of the stores tins I found to my horror the tinned milk had tipped up over everything - cocoa, salt, coffee, tea, matches, fish paste, meat paste and sugar. I pulled the horrible sticky articles out one by one and laid them on the grass, leaving the mess to be cleaned up after breakfast. Warning to campers – Tinned Milk is taboo. Finding very little available in the larder we decided upon the half packet of “All Bran”, thinking it would be best to eat it all up. The two soup plates were filled to overflowing and there was just enough milk remaining to make a horrible wet mess that was eaten with very little relish. George could not manage any more, but I ate a couple of slices of bread and marmalade. The messy job of cleaning up now began, and armed with the tea-straining hanky we made our way to the stream and wiped off all the polluted articles. George brought everything back clean, including our patent strainer. I then cleaned out the biscuit tin with the tea strainer and pushed it to one side, forgetting it. A trip to the village was now necessary to replenish our ever-dwindling supplies and we were back in good time for dinner - a meal of sausage, mash and peas with cherries to follow. This meal was eaten in the open beneath the loving rays of the midday sun, our first taken in this fashion. The tent was again turned out and we spent the afternoon basking in the sun, finding that a groundsheet to lie on was necessary. The tea was brewed and it was not until I was looking for the strainer that I realized the state it was in after having mopped up tinned milk and cleaned out a dirty biscuit tin. It was very stiff by the time we found it but managed to ply it into shape and the tea was strained. While we were carrying the tea to the groundsheet I had a sip of mine and told George how horrible it was, tottering the last few steps to sink to the groundsheet breathing fire. George was still not fully convinced and said I was putting it on. To prove his statement he took a deep gulp at his tea and to this day regrets it. He writhed on the ground for fully ten minutes, clutching his throat and gasping. We threw the remaining tea away and found that it had eaten the enamel off our mugs. After tea we scrubbed our archaeological finds with a small brush, examining them carefully. We were quite pleased with our specimens. We decided to explore up-stream before supper, a direction never taken previously and saw some scenery well worth snapping, but unfortunately we had left the camera in camp. We returned to a very tasty supper of tomato soup and bread and butter, and after washing up we retired to the tent to write up until 9.50 pm, then closed down and crawled into bed. Thursday 14^th We started the day well by oversleeping, and it was 10.30 am when we arose. For breakfast we had egg, sausage and tomato, the meal not completed until 11.20 am. We spent the rest of the morning rebuilding and improving our dam, and taking snaps of the scenery upstream and around the camp. A late breakfast called for a late dinner, and it was 3 o’clock before we finished this meal. The weather was marvellous, so we again turned out the tent, and with what was left of the afternoon we used up laying in the sun and destroying a lot of our rubbish. The paper was easily disposed of by fire, but the tins presented a more difficult problem and it was finally decided that the best method was to use a stick to push them into an area of boggy ground. George soon regretted this plan of action, for when he was leaning precariously over destroying his second tin the stick he was using broke, and he slid unceremoniously into the marsh. Wearing plimsolls that were not fastened, the task of retrieving George plus shoe proved difficult. However, he was eventually pulled out, and with the lower portion of one leg entirely surrounded by thick black slime he hastened away to wash himself and peace once more reigned supreme. Cleaned up, George went to the farm for the milk whilst I prepared tea, and afterwards we set about making improvements to our water system. Later in the evening a bright idea struck me - I thought it would be a good plan to go stalking rabbits. We thought some knife practice was necessary so amused ourselves throwing our knives into the trunk of a tree. Deciding the best time to go stalking would be after supper, hard-boiled eggs and bread and butter was prepared and quickly devoured. We made a wide detour of a chosen stretch of ground but the rabbits were too wary and beat us all ends up. Resorting to an alternative plan we sat and waited in the bracken for fifty minutes, becoming horribly cramped and cold. We saw only one rabbit and even as I raised my knife it scampered off into the thicket. At 10 o’clock we packed it in for the night, had a brew of tea, and went to bed.
George (left) and me (right) stalking rabbits Friday 15^th We rose comparatively early at 8 o’clock, the weather didn’t look too promising, we had rain in the night. A hasty breakfast of fried egg with fried pork luncheon meat was soon eaten, and leaving the washing up we went once more on our quest for rabbits, again proving unlucky and gave up. For the rest of the morning we amused ourselves throwing our knives around and making a bow and arrows. Dinner was the next problem and it was to be a meal designed to get rid of everything possible. We eventually ate three eggs, a pound of spuds, a tin of beans and half-a-tin of pork luncheon meat. A notorious “Choc Pud” still remained untouched; the fact that it thudded against the inside of the tin when shaken rather put us off. The meal over we washed up nearly everything; it all seemed to be dirty. We packed everything possible, gave Puffing Billy a good clean, went for a stroll and took some snaps. The weather now looked very threatening so we returned to camp to prepare for the storm that broke with plenty of thunder and lightning, and crouched under La Cuisine Mk 2 in rather a cramped position we wrote notes. Packing up The rain persisted late into the afternoon and by teatime it was still raining. George went to fill the small billy with water, and as I watched him disappearing slowly over the horizon his head suddenly left my vision and I heard the clatter of a billy. I completed my job of coaxing Puffing Billy into action and went to find him all in one piece but a little muddy. It appeared he had slipped on an extra greasy piece of terrain and descended heavily and swiftly on his hindquarters. Tea over, we packed the few remaining articles and set about dismantling the shelter, agreeing that a natural death would be too demeaning an end for such a noble servant. A funeral pyre was arranged and slowly, in the fading light of early evening, La Cuisine Mk 2 was fed into the flames with all and sundry salaaming to mark the end of this honoured being. The last remnants of fern consumed and the ashes scattered on the surrounding ground, the memory of it would linger on for many days to come. This mournful service completed we packed the tent and once again loaded down like a couple of pack animals we started the Great Trek towards the road. The car was very punctual and we left looking back with a feeling of deep regret in our hearts. The life we had led during the past week had at times been rough, but we both had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and were forced to agree that it would long be remembered as a bright part of a rather gloomy existence. Uley and Owlpen (Contributed by Dave PERROTT)
Another view of Holy Cross Church, Owlpen		Interior view of Holy Cross Church, Owlpen
View of Uley from the direction of Owlpen The lane between the buildings leads to Owlpen Manor