Beware Of Bargains

I went out for a meal a few evenings ago. I went to one of those Chinese places that advertise in the window 'All you can eat for a fiver'. The restaurant was beautiful very plush in fact, I was met by a charming Chinese waitress who showed me to my table. She brought my drink to the table and asked me to let her know if there was anything else I needed. The buffet was fantastic and included dishes from every part of the far east. Everything was cooked to perfection. I won't be going again. They only give you one chopstick.

John Cartwright (1862-1944) - Part 3

In Part 3 of John Cartwright's story he talks about cricket, the death of Lord Londesborough and a very special gift.


The Life of John Cartwright of Blankney Fen from the age of twelve years


Now I must go back some years for a bit of cricket. After leaving school I joined the Blankney Club in 1878, and have been a member up to date. Amongst a good many matches I played in was one at Welbeck Abbey. Mr Cecil Chaplin took a team to play the Duke of Portland's eleven, both the Duke and Mr Chaplin playing, but to the great disappointment of us all it turned out a rainy day - only two or three overs bowled. I was not out, having been sent in first. We had to make up the day with a splendid luncheon, and looking all over the Abbey, which was most interesting. Another match I shall never forget was playing for Mr Ed. Howard's eleven against Bishop Norton, that eleven all being of the same name (Duckering). We won, but only got 16 run out myself. Playing for Mr. Frank Godson's eleven against the Cliff Rovers at Leadenham on Feast Day, I scarcely dare write this, but it's quite true. I hit the first four balls sent down to me clean out of the field. The fifth ball dropped in the hedge. That finished A. Collingwood's bowling, and he was supposed to be the best slow bowler in Lincolnshire. We have often joked about it since when we have met at the Saracen's Head Hotel. I also made more big hits in my time, one on the road against the Tally Ho! at Blankney, and another into Mr. Maltby's yard, also one over the Schoolmaster's house, another on the Schoolroom roof at Martin, but I think the biggest of all was at Coningsby off the Sussex fast bowler, C. Bland, but I did not do what Jack (my son) did at Sleaford, when he made a mighty hit that struck the flag-pole on the pavilion. Pat Lawrence running backwards trying to catch it nearly broke his neck falling over the pavilion rails. The last match I played in gave me as much pleasure as any of them, the game at Blankney between young Lord Londesborough's eleven against my eleven, Lord Londesborough finding the luncheon and tea in the rink. My team won: I had the satisfaction of making the top score in the match, 38, not so bad on my 59th birthday. When the young Lord died I was very grieved: he was such a good sport. Lady Londesborough gave me a gold pencil and thanked me for my kindness to him. I often played billiards with him in the Hall. He also came and had tea with us in the Fen.

Look out for Part 4 of this fascinating story in the Journal.

Poem - Blankney Ghosts

In 1995 I set myself the task of writing some poems about Blankney. They were never going to be great works of art but I wanted to create some small picture of how Blankney was as we headed towards the end of the 20th century. I would like these poems to survive in the hope they may be useful or interesting to future generations. Putting them in the Journal may help to ensure their preservation. The first of these poems 'Blankney Ghosts' is published below:

Blankney Ghosts

As Autumn winds grow fierce
And bend the slender birch

I see the ghosts of Blankney past

Assembled round the church

Across the fairways in the park

The wind begins to whine
And the ghosts of Blankney golfers
Send shivers down my spine
In a cold and draughty playground
Even to this day
The ghosts of Blankney children
Still gather there to play
In the wind that blows through stables
Now sadly in decay
The ghosts of hunting horses
Can still be heard to neigh
And in the swirling wind
I hear his Lordships call
And the ghosts of Blankney servants
Can still be heard in Blankney Hall
Wind blowing through the Rockery
Gusts round the rocky cave
As the ghosts of Blankney past
Gather round a horses grave
These spirits now remind me
Of the day I know I must
Leave this place behind me
Ashes to ashes dust to dust

Rodney Garlant