'Thatchways' by Peter Hemming
This page attempts to illustrate and publicise the unusual concentration of artists that have been attracted to Harvington. This was not surprising when travel was becoming more frequent and artists were finding these gems of rustic beauty from a past age, although by the turn of the twentieth century Harvington was changing with the addition of national standard Victorian and later Edwardian houses. Up until then, apart from two or three large Georgian houses and a large brick hopkiln, Harvington had retained its vernacular architecture in the form of timber-framed and thatched buildings that had stood in their rural setting for hundreds of years, epitomised by manor farm over 600 and Crooked Walls over 500 years old. But the age of 'modernisation' was coming which struck Harvington with a vengeance in the 1930s, mostly led by the District Council. This resulted in the loss of almost half of Harvington's ancient timber-framed buildings coupled with 'road improving', kerbs, street lighting etc. We now have to rely on artists and photographers to remind us of the loss.
Here is a lovely little piece to illustate the above sentiments.
'Our ancient hamlet sweet'. by Alice Mary Cook.
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THERE WASN'T so many folks as knowed
About our village afore it growed,
’Cept Arthur Mee who said ‘twas a sight
Of the pictureaskew in black an' white,
An' 'ceptin’ them artists as come to paint
The village as was. But now it ain‘t.
Cos why? Well, no repairs was done
To the “sweetest 'amlet under the sun.”
Them artists wanted it kep‘ that way:
To touch it would be a crime, they'd say.
So things were gettin' worse than bad;
Just ’alf a roof was what some folks ’ad.
But this could give us a lovely view
Of the midnight stars a-peepin' through.
An' sometimes, now l laughs to tell,
A rat ud come peepin‘ through as well.
The rain come drippin’ on our ’eads
An' toadstools grew a-side our beds;
The roofs got a-fallin' now and then,
An' buried many a scrattin‘ 'en.
“Don‘t alter it," one more artist said,
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With tears a-streamin’ from his ’ead.
So. in case 'is tender ’eart should break,
Nobody no repairs would make,
That‘s ’ow our ancient 'amlet sweet
Become just ruins each side the street.
Then along eomes one o' them sanity blokes,
What looks into your drains and pokes.
We ‘adn‘t no drains for 'im to smell
But the ditches we‘d got did just as well.
So, bein' a knowin' kind o' man,
’E said we needed a 'ousin‘ plan.
My grandad. what was a 'undred an' more,
Said us all knowed that ninety yea afore.
So they swep’up the ruins o’th" 'amlet sweet,
Built lots of 'ouses and made a street.
They even put ’ouses down the lanes,
With water laid on to taps an' chains.
Them artists? They upped an' mumbled
toodle-oo,
For our little old village ain' now on view.
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