Chapter 8
Games

From what I heard later in life cricket must have been the dominant game in those peaceful days when the local gentry all had butlers, grooms and footmen. All these, and the local farmers' sons, made the Hillesley team a formidable one. Stories were told of seasons when they never lost a match although Didmarton, similarly favoured with a large reserve of men, generally provided a strong challenge. Any match between the two villages was something of a local Derby.
Dan and Robert Alway, the Jotcham brothers, Jack and Joe Davis, were all keen cricketers and the pitch in Burial Croft was always kept in good order.
On looking back to those days when working hours were long and even the Saturday half-day was not allowed to everybody, it seems incredible that men found the time to practise and travel to away matches.
I know more about the boy's games. Those were played in the school yard were very rough. The big boys loomed like men over the heads of the smaller ones and the rough, muddy surface of the yard was more conducive to discomfort than pleasure. One game we played was called 'Chi, Chi, Chidlin', or at least that is what it sounded like. A big boy would grab another, shouting "CHI, CHI!" and they then grabbed everyone else in turn. The whole yard was finally filled with a frenzied mob shouting "CHI, CHI, etc." 'Old Gramp' was the game where one boy would volunteer to 'go Gramp.' He, looking very fierce, would stand in a corner while we all jumped around, taunting him with cries of "OLI) GRAMPY so-and-so" until he darted out to catch some unfortunate boy who would then be 'Gramp' in his turn.
Marbles, tops and hoops appeared as if by magic at their appropriate seasons. We all whipped our tops when fashion dictated, but if a big boy produced his hoop, then hoops were in and tops disappeared. Likewise with marbles. The very pretty 'glassies' would come out of the calico bags mothers stitched for their boys and marbling would be all the rage. In the season of marbles our motor-free roads were rarely without a group of boys squatting around their game. A humble ring, scratched by somebody's hobnailed boot in the dust or mud of the limestone road, yet it may have been something of a magic circle to those fresh young minds.
There was another game in which I was deemed too young to take part. Our house overlooked the corner where big boys gathered on winter evenings. If the night was bright and frosty, I often watched the group as they talked and teased one another in boredom. Suddenly a boy would shout "Hounds!", and another crying "Fox!", would race away, his iron shod heels striking fire from the frosty road. The others would wait to give him 'law', I think they called it 'crip', and then they would lay on. With most life-like imitations of hound and horn they disappeared into the night. I would lie in bed, half frightened but wholly fascinated, as I listened to the music of the pack in distant hills.