five with Miss Gould who encouraged a host of small people to transmute into giants – thunderous chords from the bottom octaves of the piano – or butterflies – crystalline tinkles from the upper register of the hard working instrument as we clod hoppered or tippy-toed with varying degrees of artistic expression. We were a long haul from discerning the difference between a waltz and a polka but some of us were inspired enough to drop the Thelwell pony wishes and head for Swan Lake.


For little boys, Miss Atewell, who taught the primary class at Bookham School and rode around the village on a bike wearing a grey felt hat not unlike a modern bike helmet, recruited for the local cub pack. The next step up was the 3rd Bookham Scouts who met at the Scout Hut on the Lower Road just by the second entrance to the school. Gerald Childs lead the troop, responding enthusiastically to the scout-leader’s name of Zeta; he was assisted by “Jumbo” Denman and “Dutch” Holland, I was suitably impressed to learn that, under their instruction, my brother and his patrol had not only made and cooked an apple pie in the middle of a field while at scout camp, but built the oven as well. At the time I was incapable of cooking one in a well appointed kitchen!


The Gilmais Swimming Pool on the top road opposite Clack’s Yard was a wonderful spot to have picnic tea as there was a field of grass all the way round and plenty of room to run around to get dry and practice cartwheels or play bat and ball. I did try to stay on top of the water but I swam like a stone and only just managed a width of


frenetic breast stroke to get my certificate, luckily it was not stipulated whether I had to reach the other side above the waterline or below it. Unfortunately, my brother got thrown in before he could swim and this put him off his stroke for a while, I think we were both overjoyed when we finally went to the seaside and discovered buoyancy but at least Gilmais had prepared us for the worst and we would never have learnt to swim otherwise. Village Day was a time of bustle and competitive excitement, each association or club prepared a stall and they were set up in and around the Barn Hall decked out with flags and buntings for the occasion.


Scottish Dance Group, at Village Day!


The Scottish Dance Group manned the white elephant stall and a remarkable collection of bric-a-brac was begged, borrowed or stolen. I’m afraid that one year my mother and I took down my brother’s model aeroplane collection, dusted it off and set it on trays; they never even got to the stall but were snapped up by a hawk-eyed collector who stopped us to buy the lot. I see, as I write this, that in two weeks time you will all be enjoying another edition of this annual event. I am always so impressed by the dynamic community spirit when I come home to Bookham, and the little girl in me asks, “Do they still sell toffee apples, candy floss and pony rides on Village Day?”


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