Felley Paradise

Years ago the village of Underwood was surrounded by what I used to think of as Robin Hood land. In the 30s my friends and I would unlock magic everytime we ventured there. We called it "going down Felley".

Felley woods; the 'Common'; Felley Mill farm: Felley Priory: the three lakes and the reservoir were all immortalised by D.H. Lawrence in his earlier works, especially The White Peacock.

School holidays at that time signalled weeks of unfettered play - play that cost nothing. Tree houses were built high in the trees, serviced by crude ladders made from a log and rung with six inch nails.

Another favourte pastime was the Tarzan swing. A rope was hung from a branch which reached over the brook. A piece of wood tied to the end served as a foothold. I remember one day the branch broke and I really did see stars as it hit me over my head.

Hours were spent fashioning bows and arrows from willow and hazel so the outlaws of Sherwood could march again. But nobody wanted to be Friar Tuck!

Once I was in serious trouble when I cut a piece off my mothers clothes' prop to make a sword like Robin Hood's. Cowboys and Indians would appear bringing the "Wild West" into Felley. Pea-shooters made out of the stalks of hogweed or cow-parsley took the place of guns, and pheasant feathers made a good Indian head-dress.

Peter Flint, whose brother Dereck married Rachel Heyhoe-Flint the cricketer, was an amateur film-maker in the 30s. He made a black and white movie starring about twenty Underwood children. We were all wildly excited, dressed as cowboys and indians. I have in my possession the film taken all those years ago. Channel 4 Television used it in an EKO programme in which I was one of the stars. The documentary was against opencasting near Moorgreen reservoir.

In 1940 when the German army was rumoured to be preparing to invade Britain, we were playing on the 'Common when we spotted a uniformed man wearing jackboots riding fast towards us. Convinced he was a German officer we quickly hid in a clump of gorse. Later, a little disappointed, we found it was one of the Chaworth-Musters family.

Swimming in the reservoir and afterwards basking in the sun like contented seals was as good as a holiday at the seaside. That we were trespassing made it more exhilarating.

I can't remember seeing the sea until I was fourteen when my parents took me on a trip to see my auntie in Bristol. I told my teacher but she said it was only the Bristol Channel.

It took days to build a raft; nails were hard to come by and nobody seined to have a sharp saw. Mark Twain would have been proud as the young Sawyers and Finns set sail.

Stalking wildlife in Felley was better than visiting any zoo. To sit in a hide of bracken and gorse and wait for the shy roe deer to come walking by was never boring because there were so many other animals and birds around.

A fox might slink by or maybe a pheasant. Rabbits, hares and squirrels were observed, and above, linnets, siskins and yellowhammers settled on the gorse. In the cloudless sky a skylark would pour forth cascades of song. A free paradise indeed!

Pulses would run high whenever we children were taken to see a badger sett. Spotting a stately heron standing beside the water silent as a stick was something to brag about.

Fishing was always exciting. Bullheads were easy if one could see them among the mud. Perch were often too fast. Crayfish frightened girls as did water rats. They preferred minnows, but unfortunately when they were taken home in a jamjar they invariably died.

There was a cornucopia of treasure to be found in Felley. Mushrooms, blackberries, wild strawberries, hazel and beech nuts abounded. I remember an old lady who kept a field full of blackberry bushes and charged sixpence a basket.

During the war a bomb dropped there and the crater filled up with water making a miniature pond. Precious conkers passed on many an hour. Pipes were made from acorns and some children even tried to make corn dollies.

Now sadly television has arrived and unfortunately children aren't safe anymore on their own in what we called 'Robin Hood Land'. They were really the 'good old days'.

MAURICE HOLMES