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Bernard and Hilda Lovell:
71 Years Wed Julia Romain (nee Lovell) and Cliff Lovell Photos Julia Romain and Cliff Lovell December 2019 Bernard Lovell (1922-2017) was at the centre of Box’s evolution from World War II austerity. He took part in sports activities during this period and he was the main recorder of the making of modern Box as the local newspaper correspondent. Hilda Butt (1924-2017) was the local farm girl who delivered milk to the Ashley RAF base where Bernard was stationed. They married shortly after the end of the war and became one of the most popular Box families. This article was contributed by their children, Julia and Cliff. On their Wedding Day 26 December 1945 |
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Proud Welshman Bernard was proud of his Welsh heritage but was actually named after an Australian jockey. Apparently, his mum wanted to name him Cecil but his father recalled reading a newspaper article about the popular Australian jockey Bernard Carslake and he preferred the name Bernard. So, their first son born 5th June 1922 at Snowdon Street Caernarfon was christened Bernard. He was later joined by a brother Tom and sister Enid. From the local primary school, he won a scholarship to attend the Caernarfon County School and excelled in his favourite subjects of literacy, numeracy, art and sport. Bernard represented both his school and Caernarfon town at football and cricket. Left: At home in Caernarfon with Tom and Enid Below Left: Caernarfon County School football team 1939-40 and Below Right: Caernarfon County School cricket team 1938 Finishing school, his forte for administration and clerical work beckoned and he secured his first job in the offices of the Welsh Food Ministry before being called up for war service in 1941. |
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Marriage to Hilda Butt
His first posting was to the small RAF supplies base in the hamlet of Ashley, Box where he met the local farmer’s daughter and land girl, Hilda Butt, who delivered daily fresh milk to the base and won his heart by smuggling Bath buns and extra milk into the camp for his evening cocoa. They married on Boxing Day 1945 and made their first home in rooms at Ashley Farm, where Hilda continued to work for her father on the farm. Hilda was the younger daughter of William George and Florence Mabel Butt, tenant farmers of Ashley Farm. Bernard and Hilda Christmas 1946 |
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Sadly, Florence died when Hilda was 3 years old and her aunt, Eva Butt, moved from Kingsdown to Ashley Farm to care for the family. William remarried when Hilda was aged 7 and his new wife, Violet Primrose Comm from Bath, excelled as both step mother and respected farmer’s wife.
Tom, Bernard, Hilda and Enid in 1945
Life in Box
After the war, dad returned to the Ministry of Food in Bath and later transferred to The Royal Naval Stores at Copenacre. A work colleague at the Ministry played football for Peasedown who, on one particular day, were short of a player and asked dad to make up the numbers. They must have been impressed because he was soon playing regularly in the first team and an all-expenses-paid taxi would be booked to collect and return him to Ashley every Saturday. Dad also helped on Ashley Farm and kept the farm records and accounts in his meticulous detail and handwriting. The Miss Skidmore sisters of Ashley Leigh bred and showed prize goats and dad also kept their goat books. His reimbursement was a mug of cocoa made from goats’ milk.
In the winter of 1955, we all moved to 2 Ben Cross but we continued to help on the farm and on Sunday mornings, before 6am, dad and I would walk over to Ashley for early milking. On dry summer mornings we often took a shortcut by climbing over a 5-bar gate on the main A4, carefully negotiated the railway bridge and steep bank and finally crawled under the fence into the field that led into the farmyard. Valuable minutes saved! However, we must have been spotted because the Station Master had a quiet word with dad and pointed out that we were trespassing on railway property and suggested we walk the long way round in future.
On another occasion, whilst pursuing dad’s love of field mushrooms we diverted from our usual forage towards Ditteridge and set off for Drewett’s Mill. This field looks promising said dad so we climbed over the 5-bar gate into mushroom heaven. The field was packed with succulent whoppers and just half a dozen filled our container. Bacon and fresh mushrooms for breakfast. Yummy. Well the lure of that field got the better of us, so the following week we set off with two shopping baskets and filled both to the brim. That morning we shared our bounty with all the neighbours. Yummy breakfasts all round. Inevitably, word got out and the next we knew Farmer Ody was knocking on our door. Apparently, the mushrooms were a specially cultivated crop destined for market and he didn’t mind us taking the odd half dozen but two shopping baskets was a bit much. Of course, dad offered to pay but he saw the funny side and we returned to our usual Ditteridge route.
Living a good mile out of the village, as we did, meant making a lot of our own entertainment. Farmer Goulstone was very accommodating and on summer evenings, after the hay had been cleared, allowed dad to organise games for the small Ben Cross community, cricket and rounders proving the most popular. Anyone could join in and the rules were very elastic but we were all outside enjoying one another’s company, getting fresh air and exercise but above all having fun.
After the war, dad returned to the Ministry of Food in Bath and later transferred to The Royal Naval Stores at Copenacre. A work colleague at the Ministry played football for Peasedown who, on one particular day, were short of a player and asked dad to make up the numbers. They must have been impressed because he was soon playing regularly in the first team and an all-expenses-paid taxi would be booked to collect and return him to Ashley every Saturday. Dad also helped on Ashley Farm and kept the farm records and accounts in his meticulous detail and handwriting. The Miss Skidmore sisters of Ashley Leigh bred and showed prize goats and dad also kept their goat books. His reimbursement was a mug of cocoa made from goats’ milk.
In the winter of 1955, we all moved to 2 Ben Cross but we continued to help on the farm and on Sunday mornings, before 6am, dad and I would walk over to Ashley for early milking. On dry summer mornings we often took a shortcut by climbing over a 5-bar gate on the main A4, carefully negotiated the railway bridge and steep bank and finally crawled under the fence into the field that led into the farmyard. Valuable minutes saved! However, we must have been spotted because the Station Master had a quiet word with dad and pointed out that we were trespassing on railway property and suggested we walk the long way round in future.
On another occasion, whilst pursuing dad’s love of field mushrooms we diverted from our usual forage towards Ditteridge and set off for Drewett’s Mill. This field looks promising said dad so we climbed over the 5-bar gate into mushroom heaven. The field was packed with succulent whoppers and just half a dozen filled our container. Bacon and fresh mushrooms for breakfast. Yummy. Well the lure of that field got the better of us, so the following week we set off with two shopping baskets and filled both to the brim. That morning we shared our bounty with all the neighbours. Yummy breakfasts all round. Inevitably, word got out and the next we knew Farmer Ody was knocking on our door. Apparently, the mushrooms were a specially cultivated crop destined for market and he didn’t mind us taking the odd half dozen but two shopping baskets was a bit much. Of course, dad offered to pay but he saw the funny side and we returned to our usual Ditteridge route.
Living a good mile out of the village, as we did, meant making a lot of our own entertainment. Farmer Goulstone was very accommodating and on summer evenings, after the hay had been cleared, allowed dad to organise games for the small Ben Cross community, cricket and rounders proving the most popular. Anyone could join in and the rules were very elastic but we were all outside enjoying one another’s company, getting fresh air and exercise but above all having fun.
Outings
If I recall correctly, the Box Sunday School outing took place on the Tuesday of Whitsun week and at least two coaches – either Harry Miller or Brownings – left the village for Weston-Super-Mare packed with excitable kids and parents. Come rain or shine our large group from Ben Cross, Ditteridge and Ashley set up camp on Weston beach and of course dad was chief games master and sandcastle builder. Dad loved to have all the kids involved with building the most ornate sandcastles complete with towers, turrets, bridges, battlements and moats. Complete mayhem but wonderful times.
Every other year, we travelled to Caernarfon for two weeks in August to visit our Welsh grandparents. This involved a change at five stations, a train marathon that mum called journey to the end of the world. Luggage was kept to a minimum as we had to transport a large hold-all packed by Nan Butt containing fresh farm goodies for the Welsh relatives. Fruit, veg, butter, a dressed chicken, pork joint and at least two trays of eggs all securely wrapped and packed for the journey. At each station change, as he herded us to the next platform, was dad’s cry of Mind the eggs. Those eggs arrived in better condition than we did after such a long day. In my childhood naivety, I recall asking my granddad if they had any eggs in Wales, to which he replied Oh yes but there’re not like Mrs Butt’s Ashley Farm eggs.
One of dad’s favourite sayings was It’s not what you know, it’s who you know and this was proved correct on one Caernarfon holiday. Grandad was treating us to a trip on the Snowdon railway. At the Llanberis station he was chatting with the engine driver and soon Cliff was being ushered along the platform to enjoy the journey up front with the engine driver. Every young boy’s dream. As you’ve guessed, granddad knew the driver!
If I recall correctly, the Box Sunday School outing took place on the Tuesday of Whitsun week and at least two coaches – either Harry Miller or Brownings – left the village for Weston-Super-Mare packed with excitable kids and parents. Come rain or shine our large group from Ben Cross, Ditteridge and Ashley set up camp on Weston beach and of course dad was chief games master and sandcastle builder. Dad loved to have all the kids involved with building the most ornate sandcastles complete with towers, turrets, bridges, battlements and moats. Complete mayhem but wonderful times.
Every other year, we travelled to Caernarfon for two weeks in August to visit our Welsh grandparents. This involved a change at five stations, a train marathon that mum called journey to the end of the world. Luggage was kept to a minimum as we had to transport a large hold-all packed by Nan Butt containing fresh farm goodies for the Welsh relatives. Fruit, veg, butter, a dressed chicken, pork joint and at least two trays of eggs all securely wrapped and packed for the journey. At each station change, as he herded us to the next platform, was dad’s cry of Mind the eggs. Those eggs arrived in better condition than we did after such a long day. In my childhood naivety, I recall asking my granddad if they had any eggs in Wales, to which he replied Oh yes but there’re not like Mrs Butt’s Ashley Farm eggs.
One of dad’s favourite sayings was It’s not what you know, it’s who you know and this was proved correct on one Caernarfon holiday. Grandad was treating us to a trip on the Snowdon railway. At the Llanberis station he was chatting with the engine driver and soon Cliff was being ushered along the platform to enjoy the journey up front with the engine driver. Every young boy’s dream. As you’ve guessed, granddad knew the driver!
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Another of dad’s favourite sayings was to the grandchildren and great grandchildren if handing them any cash. He would always say Spend a little, save a lot, to which the kids replied No granddad, spend a lot, save a little.
Later holidays saw mum and dad setting off with their best friends, George (Jock) and Mary Kerr. Asked where they were heading this time was usually answered by just one word: Wales, Scotland, Norfolk or Cornwall. They would load Jock’s car to the roof, mostly with food and goodies, especially sweets, and of course find room for the primus. Every holiday they set off like a group of excited kids on their next adventure, exploring the British Isles. With Jock and Mary Kerr on holiday in 1976 |
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Concusion
Dad was secretary of the Royal British Legion, Box School Parent-Teacher Association and the Box Boys’ Club. He was also a Sunday School teacher at Ditteridge Church and, for many years, treasurer, where he earned the nick name of The Chancellor because of his tight rein on the purse strings. His love of the written word came to the fore when he was persuaded to become the Box News Correspondent for The Chippenham News and Bath Chronicle in 1962. In tandem with his day job, he carried out this role for 20 years, reporting on all aspects of village life. In 1973 he had the task of reporting on his own election as chairman of Box Rovers and modestly described himself as one-time player of the Rovers’ successful post-war side.[1] He enjoyed meeting and talking to people and being involved. He also submitted articles to the National Civil Service Monthly Magazine relating to items of interest and social events happening at Copenacre.
Bernard died in 2017, aged 95. Box residents who knew him have their own personal memories of this wonderful, generous man with his unique sense of humour and sincere and caring nature. His delight in Box was partly due to Hilda who gave him the connection to local people and the security which they both needed. Married for 71 years, they were devoted to one another, always together. Hilda also died in 2017. She was the homemaker: always constant, fire lit and meal on the table. She was the quiet one, the opposite to Bernard’s more boisterous nature. She kept his feet on the ground and decisions were always made jointly.
Dad was secretary of the Royal British Legion, Box School Parent-Teacher Association and the Box Boys’ Club. He was also a Sunday School teacher at Ditteridge Church and, for many years, treasurer, where he earned the nick name of The Chancellor because of his tight rein on the purse strings. His love of the written word came to the fore when he was persuaded to become the Box News Correspondent for The Chippenham News and Bath Chronicle in 1962. In tandem with his day job, he carried out this role for 20 years, reporting on all aspects of village life. In 1973 he had the task of reporting on his own election as chairman of Box Rovers and modestly described himself as one-time player of the Rovers’ successful post-war side.[1] He enjoyed meeting and talking to people and being involved. He also submitted articles to the National Civil Service Monthly Magazine relating to items of interest and social events happening at Copenacre.
Bernard died in 2017, aged 95. Box residents who knew him have their own personal memories of this wonderful, generous man with his unique sense of humour and sincere and caring nature. His delight in Box was partly due to Hilda who gave him the connection to local people and the security which they both needed. Married for 71 years, they were devoted to one another, always together. Hilda also died in 2017. She was the homemaker: always constant, fire lit and meal on the table. She was the quiet one, the opposite to Bernard’s more boisterous nature. She kept his feet on the ground and decisions were always made jointly.
Reference
[1] Chippenham News, 17 August 1973
[1] Chippenham News, 17 August 1973