Remembering Ossie Butt Penny Newboult October 2023
Oswald Butt (left) along with Roger Byfield (third right) courtesy John Harris
The article and photographs you published about Oswald (Ossie) Butt are truly wonderful. He was a good friend to John and me after we moved to Box in 1963. The headline photograph of the article includes Roger Byfield, whose family ran one of the grocers in Box. I was unusual as I had a car in the 1960s but nevertheless all our grocery needs were supplied by the village.
We lived in Clydesdale Road for four years and I buzzed up and down Henley Lane without a care in the world (now I only do that with great trepidation). It is so sad to see how few shops remain now compared to 1963.
We lived in Clydesdale Road for four years and I buzzed up and down Henley Lane without a care in the world (now I only do that with great trepidation). It is so sad to see how few shops remain now compared to 1963.
Byfields shop on the High Street at the corner of Chapel Lane (courtesy John Harris)
I had forgotten about the connection Ossie had with Dorset. John and I both came from the Bournemouth area and Ossie told us that his father was offered some land in lieu of financial payment for some work he had done locally but Oswald’s father declined. The land was situated on the corner of Westover Road and Bath Hill, Bournemouth. I think eventually they regretted not taking it on as even by the early 1960s land and property there was rocketing in price.
Oswald was a carpenter by trade. We have lived at Littlemead since 1969 and, although we have extended the house and made improvements, we have never actually had a totally new kitchen. We still have the cupboards which Ossie built in our early days here. Another memory! I oversaw teas in the Council Chamber for the Revels in 1984 when someone put a hot teapot on the tabletop and marked it badly. As you may well imagine I was distraught but Ossie worked his magic and managed to repair it
for me. I was so grateful. The table still looks good now.
Oswald was a carpenter by trade. We have lived at Littlemead since 1969 and, although we have extended the house and made improvements, we have never actually had a totally new kitchen. We still have the cupboards which Ossie built in our early days here. Another memory! I oversaw teas in the Council Chamber for the Revels in 1984 when someone put a hot teapot on the tabletop and marked it badly. As you may well imagine I was distraught but Ossie worked his magic and managed to repair it
for me. I was so grateful. The table still looks good now.
Manor House Fire
The fire at The Manor House was in January 1963 and John and Penny Newboult came to Box in May that year.
Penny remembered that the smoke Ossie inhaled trying to rescue the children affected him for the rest of his life.
Griselda Davey (now Griselda Cooper) also recalled the tragic event.
I remember the dreadful fire that killed the two young children at the Manor House in Box in 1963. I remember how upset my father, Dr Jim Davey, was when telling his family about it. The death of children always upset my father, including one on Christmas Day, probably in the 1960s. A boy of about 7 years old was walking around his house up Box Hill with a Christmas cracker whistle in his mouth and breathed it in, blocking his windpipe. He was dead by the time my father arrived. That incident must have ruined all future Christmases for that family.
The fire at The Manor House was in January 1963 and John and Penny Newboult came to Box in May that year.
Penny remembered that the smoke Ossie inhaled trying to rescue the children affected him for the rest of his life.
Griselda Davey (now Griselda Cooper) also recalled the tragic event.
I remember the dreadful fire that killed the two young children at the Manor House in Box in 1963. I remember how upset my father, Dr Jim Davey, was when telling his family about it. The death of children always upset my father, including one on Christmas Day, probably in the 1960s. A boy of about 7 years old was walking around his house up Box Hill with a Christmas cracker whistle in his mouth and breathed it in, blocking his windpipe. He was dead by the time my father arrived. That incident must have ruined all future Christmases for that family.