Little Jim

The cottage was a thatched one
The outside old and mean
Yet everything within that cot
Was wondrous neat and clean

The night was cold and stormy
The wind was howling wild
A patient mother knelt beside
The death bed of her child

The dying child was Little Jim and the whole poem was a hit in Victorian England. The author, Ned Farmer based it upon real events as he visited Polesworth.  He was passing through in the course of his railway work when he sought succour on a wild night at a cottage with a lighted window.

The poem recounts in mawkish detail the death of Little Jim, the only child of a collier and his wife. This pandered to Victorian sensibilities which tended to the morbid and sentimental. I had never heard the full story until I read of it in the local paper. Little Jim's cottage was later bought by someone who tended both cottage and wonderful garden.

When I was a boy my father took me on a bicycle ride to see the cottage. At the time it didn’t mean a lot to me although he told me a little about the background. Sadly the cottage suffered a major fire in 1971 which led to its demolition. My father was nearly a Victorian himself being born the year after Victoria died.

Although he wasn’t a morbid man my father also took me a bicycle ride to visit a gibbet post. This was in North Leicestershire not too far from Twycross and near Bilstone village. A gibbet post was where a hanged man was displayed. The internet tells me it was erected in 1800 after a murder nearby although it had disappeared by 1988.The post was totally unremarkable just by the side of a country lane. Thinking it a local curiosity likely to interest young boys he later took me again with my friend Anthony. I recall Anthony was more interested in his new bike of which he was very proud so that on our return journey he raced ahead.

The countryside is full of strange and macabre stories. One I remember refers to Hangmans Corner near Shuttington. I’m not sure if this is in south Staffordshire or North Warwickshire. The story is that a thief stole two sheep which he slung together by rope over his shoulder. Stopping at the corner to rest by a gate he strangled himself by the rope after putting the bound sheep over the gate top. This all seems unlikely but I suppose there must be some reason for the name.

Features in the landscape often have a shrouded history. One which I visited as a boy was the motte ( or mound ) of a castle at Seckington in North Warwickshire. This known locally as Rose Hill. Lying very near the village this commanded extensive views to the north, east and west. Apparently it dates from the 11^th century. At primary school nearby we made an expedition to the mound although frankly at the time I didn’t really understand why.

An elderly man went to a station ticket office and asked for a return ticket. “Where to” asked the clerk. “ Back to here of course” was the reply.