Following on from the article about Helen Hartwell, Teleprinter Operator at Wood Norton during the Second World War, Brian Smith has sent us his poem, “Never to be faggot”, in which Helen is mentioned. The poem is about the Hartwells and their butcher’s shop on the High Street.
Brian knew Helen well in the 1950s, when he was a young lad and she helped her parents in the butcher's shop. He had no idea then of her involvement with the BBC at Woodnorton. Forty years or so later, Brian became reacquainted with Helen when he used to take his mother to have her hair done at Bet Norledge's house in Green Leys.
Brian last saw Helen in 2015 when he delivered a copy of his book containing the poem to her. They chatted about the old times , and she seemed genuinely pleased with the poem.
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Never to be faggot
The present Badsey Butchers Shop
Was once run by Arthur Bell
And owned by Collins & Grindle
I remember other ones as well.In the middle of the High Street
Where The Poplars leads to Seward Road
Once stood Wheatley's butcher's shop.
But that's not the subject of this ode.Next to where Badsey Butchers stands
Was Elgar Hartwell's butcher's shop.
That was the one my mum would use,
Often down to there she'd pop.If there was no one in the shop,
You would go to the house next door.
I wonder why they knocked it down?
It could have been saved, I'm sure.Mrs Hartwell wore her hair in a bun,
She was kind and very nice.
Mr Hartwell did the butchering,
From live pig to pork chops in a trice.I've heard a tale or two about Elgar,
Of secret pig killing during the war.
I blame him not at all for that,
Perhaps best I say no more!The Hartwells had a daughter, Helen,
With lovely auburn hair.
She would often serve me in the shop,
They were such lovely people there.I remember lots of pussy cats
Who would rub against your leg.
They always seemed to be well fed
And didn’t need to beg!My dad, he liked his offal,
Chitterlings, heart and such.
Me, I liked liver and kidneys,
But the rest of it...... not much!Back then, people ate all of the pig,
(Except the squeal of course!)
Their faggots were fantastic,
With a little tomato sauce.Mum would send me for half a dozen,
Taking a basin down with me.
I've never had such faggots since,
They had a secret recipe!One day I had a nice surprise,
Elgar really made my day.
He gave me a blown up pig's bladder,
So that indoor football I could play.And now it is a dwelling,
I can't pass without a thought,
Of the Hartwells and their little shop,
Where the world's finest faggots were bought.Brian Smith
NB – The Hartwells lived at Hollywood Villa, 10 High Street. The butcher’s shop is now a private residence, Greystones, 10A High Street.