A history of Coates

From Wordpress (https://coatesvillage.wordpress.com/a-brief-history-of-coates/) 

People have probably lived in the vicinity of Coates for thousands of years. There is plenty of evidence of early earthworks, not least there are the remains of an Iron Age fort at Trewsbury. Equally the southern border of the parish is the Fosse Way, a Roman road which ran (and still runs, largely) from Bath to the north east of Nuneaton.

The village lies very close to the source of the river Thames, and the outline of a Roman building is clearly visible in a field directly south of the Tunnel House Pub, just a mile from the village. Little is known about this building, but there has been speculation that it is a temple to the goddess Isis, as the source of the great river may have once started there.

The first mention of the parish is, unsurprisingly, in the Domesday Book – the limits of the parish were largely the same then as they are now. The name “Cotes” was derived from the sheep pens that littered the area, just as was the word “Cotswold”, which means “region of the sheep pens.” Oakley Wood possibly derives its name from Achelie, an ancient term meaning a clearing in the trees.

In 1066 the village consisted of three manor houses, named Radulph, Cockerel and possibly Oakley, as with the wood. Historical details of Coates are few and far between, based largely on the occasional spat in the courts. In 1221, for example, the then-priest of the parish, named Robert, slew William de Boses at the occasion of an Ale drinking. As nobody in the village helped to capture the renegade priest, the entire village was fined and the priest was outlawed.

Records suggest that the church was first constructed in the 14th Century. It may seem strange that the Church is so far outside the village, but at the time all or part of Coates lay between the Church and what is now Hailey Woods. No-one is sure why the main part of the village was re-sited where it stands today. One theory is that it was due to the Great Plague; a more mundane explanation perhaps, is that houses built up around the newer manors over time, and fell down in the older areas.

In the late 15th Century, the three manors were brought together by Sir William Nottingham, and in 1600 the village was officially renamed from Cotes to Coates. The remaining part of one manor is now known as Church Farm (reputedly with a tunnel from the stables to the church, but this remains undiscovered), and another is now Setts House.

The oldest part of the village is the end wall of church farm; the oldest house(s) still standing are Coates House, which was originally a number of cottages known as Setts Cottages. Architecturally these were based on the Craft Movement, as were Setts House and Fosse Hill. Setts House was actually built – or at least paid for – by a Captain Stanwick, who didn’t want to have to drive his sister to church!

Life in the village changed dramatically with the arrival of the canal joining the Severn to the Thames. Taverns were constructed for the benefit of the canal workers, one at each end of the tunnel – these are the Daneway Inn in Sapperton, and the aforementioned Tunnel House, which was built in 1789. It was was gutted by fire in 1952, and later renovated, and it was extended in 2004. The Thames Head, situated out on the Tetbury road, is an old coaching inn.

In 1848, 22-year old Thomas Gibbs came to Coates as Curator of the church. He later built the school, largely at his own expense, and lived to a ripe old 94 years. His body is buried in the church yard. The school, probably built originally on the site of a workhouse, first opened its doors in 1849; it was closed in 1987 and sold by the Bathurst estate as a private house. The clock maintenance passed to the parish council, and thereupon to the current owner who still has to ensure the time is set correctly!

Later in the 19th Century, a new manor house was built; later still saw the arrival of a further large residence, which was brought down stone by stone from Hams Hall, near Coleshill in Warwickshire, in 1921. During the war a German plane – a Junkers bomber – crashed into the tennis courts at the rear of Bledisloe, having jettisoned its bombs along the Setts. Coates resident Albert Wheatley was put on guard of the crashed aircraft, and the two German airmen were buried in the churchyard. In 1950 the house was acquired by the Royal Agricultural College and renamed Bledisloe Lodge.

There was also, until 19-something, a licensed establishment in the village called The Shepherds Arms. Coates has never had its own pub; The Shepherds Arms was licensed to dispense beer, and while the men of the village were not legally allowed to drink on the premises, they used to sit on the opposite wall to do so! The last licencee of the Arms was the Wright family, before that Douglas Holder and before that Georgina Laurence, known to all as Georgie, and her assistant Laura. The post office, opposite what is now May Tree Close, was run by a Mary Ann Roberts in 1901, then her son Tom Roberts, and then by his daughter, Nancy. Mary Ann was married to George Roberts, who had a brother Robert Roberts. Their father was Richard Giles Roberts who was a master carpenter for Lord Bathhurst.

The Village Hall was originally built as a mens’ reading room in 1905. Today it hosts a gardening club, and “good companions” whist drives are held regularly. The church itself has been restored twice, once in 1861 and again in 1947. The footpath across to Tarlton was the route for burials of Tarlton residents, as they had no church yard. Incidentally, the cart was until recently still in the church! Inside the church there is an account of a Coates man, Bernard Vann, who was awarded the Victoria Cross during the First World War.

Coates has remained roughly the same size for the last hew hundred years, with population numbering around 400. 12 council houses were built between the wars, and 18 after the last war. Recent expansions include the creation of Quaker Row (in the gardens of the existing terraced houses) and May Tree Close in the early 90’s.

COATES COINCIDENCES

We purchased a semi-detached cottage in Coates near Cirencester on 4th July 2014. We liked the property because it had good sized rooms and big windows letting in loads of light - and because we could see how it could be improved and extended; but most of all because it had an airiness in and around it. Unlike so many other properties we had visited, this one was surrounded by a sense of open space - not hemmed in like so many British houses. It was also very quiet - but the village was clearly lived in (unlike others we had visited - Cotswold hamlets with pretty or rustic stone house but the places looked 'dead' - most properties owned as country cottages and obviously rarely visited by their probable London owners). 

When we looked at a property map of Coates, we saw that a house just up the road from 'ours' was named 'Sarona' and another house we thought was called 'Penney's House' - and thought what a coincidence given our investment company in Australia was called 'Sarhona Pty Ltd' - an amalgam of our daughters names (Sarah and Rhona) and because of our granddaughter, Pennie. We also noticed that the 'big house' of the village (well, set off in its own grounds just on the southern edge of the village) was called 'Bledisloe' - the same name as the famous cup fought out each year by the Australian and New Zealand rugby union teams. So many connections - it just had to be 'meant' we thought.

But we only knew half of it!

The 'big wig' of the area and the major landowner around Coates is Earl Bathurst - and yes, one of his predecessors was the Colonial Secretary and the first inland city in Australia was named in his honour - so another Ozzie connection. Bledisloe House was built (or rebuilt from a house in Derbyshire) by a member of the Bathurst family who as Lord Bledisloe was the Governor- General of New Zealand who donated the eponymous cup referred to above. 

The property was acquired in 1950 by the Royal Agricultural College (now University) at Cirencester and renamed as Bledisloe Lodge, it served as the residential hall of the Royal Agricultural College (until the 1960s). 

In the parish church yard is the grave of  Derrick Francis Douglas Christopherson, a former warden of Bledisloe Lodge.  Christopherson was born in the year Emmanuel UQ was founded (1911) and he died prematurely in 1959 at the age of only 48 years. Each time I take a walk that passes through the churchyard, I stop and pay my respects. 

The village clock which hangs off the wall of the former National School building (established in 1848) and featured in a BBC 2 TV program, The Restorers, in 2017.  Jan and I both appear in the episode on Coates. The clock was first installed in 1911 (that year again!) to celebrate the coronation of King George V. 

Then we discovered only after a year or so that teh curreent Master of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, Dame Fiona Reynolds (elected as Master in 2012) is a neighbour in Glebe House, only 300 yards down the road from us where she lives (when not in Cambridge) with her husband, Bob x, with whom we have had some dealings. As another Dame - Dame Edna Everage would say, ‘Spooky!’

UNO and other fun and games with the grandkids

It is 2017: Pennie is 6 and Liam is 4. It is February: they have spent a week with Jan and me in Coates while their parents packed up and moved from Ham back to Richmond. I wonder how much Pennie and Liam will remember of this in years to come?

There were many games of UNO  - and, wondrously, Liam and Pennie won most of them! (Although Liam kept forgetting to call 'UNO' when he only had that one card left.) 


There were the usual requests for us to buy a ''mazagine.' Liam was delighted to get a magazine/mazagine with some Star Wars stickers including many Dark Fader (sic) figures - with which he then 'decorated' four sheets of paper - and very neatly too.

'Dark Fader' aka Darth Vader

But Pennie why, oh why, did every activity, no matter how much fun, no matter how many laughs, no matter how many words of praise, always end in tears? Nothing like a good sob to round things off?

Still, you were always good fun too, with your cheeky smile and your giggles... and your very good understanding of what was amusing. The there was your reading - wow! could you read!

'Grandma. grandpa. I've read 70 pages this morning - see! (and the pages read would be shown, held between your index finger and thumb. Or a question asked,'How many pages are there from 17 to 89 - I read that much. See!'




Then there were the endless 'eps' on NETFLIX. 'Not the noos, grandpa! It's boring! We want to watch Horrid Henry!'

A special outing that went very well was to the pictures/cinema - and both behaved impeccably when we all watched 'SING' together at the Vue in Stroud - and then had lunch at Jolly Nice on the way back 'home' (to Coates): sausage baps finished with ice-cream cones (both choosing pink 'strawberry' when I thought that at least one would follow my choice and go with 'shocklate?). Yum! 

Destined to be in Gloster?

Now in my seventies, having lived in Africa, Scotland, the Midlands of England, and Australia, I am a resident of Gloucestershire, living in a village near Cirencester.

The older spelling of Gloucester was Gloster. Way back when I was five, there was a hit song, with words including:

Put another nickel in

In the nickelodeon

All I want is having you

And music, music, music

I'd do anything for you
Anything you'd want me to
All I want is kissin' you
And music, music, music

Closer, my dear , come closer

The nicest part of any melody

Is when you're dancing close to me

So, put another nickel in
In the nickelodeon
All I want is lovin' you
And music, music, music

[Instrumental Interlude]

Put another nickel in
In the nickelodeon
All I want is having you
And music, music, music

I'd do anything for you
Anything you'd want me to
All I want is kissin' you
And music, music, music

Closer, my dear, come closer
The nicest part of any melody
Is when you're dancing close to me

So, put another nickel in

In the nickelodeon

All I want is lovin' you

And music, music, music

However, my elder brother, Donald, thought that 'Closer, my dear, come closer, was 'Gloster, O Clement Gloster' and so he taught us to sing it - and it became our musical item. I recall singing it for Uncle David and our cousins, Muriel, Jean, 'Little' Edna (to differentiate her from Auntie Edna, her mother) and Doreen, in the flat we lived in the High Street, Dundee, in 1950 or 1951 before we returned to Africa.

Ad now, all these years later, I live in Gloustershire just half an hour away from its capital, Gloucester, or Gloster, as it used to be written. 

From the mechanical age to the age of artificial intelligence

When I was a boy... that was a long time ago now, at least sixty years and almost seventy from my first memories - a vague recollection of King George VI's visit to South Africa when I was two-and-a-half - apparently the King smiled at me, according to my mother but I can take that with a pinch of salt, because I saluted my small hand held up against my brow below a pancake of mt then bright blond hair - but all I can recall, or think I recall, was a big, shiny black car passing by while people waved flags and cheered).

The Broons

My first clear memories are from 1950 when at age 5, I lived for almost a year in Dundee. The streets were cobbled, the old trams were running; 'old' men looked like characters out of the cartoon strip 'The Broons' (Sunday Post) with waistcoats and fob watches, many with large moustaches, flat tweed cloth caps, and many smoked pipes. 

There were many horse drawn carts - milk carts, costermongers with horse and cart selling fruit and vegetables. Other men wore trilby style hats and some 'posh' men in pin-strip trousers wore bowler hats. Women tended to wear hats too, or head scarves. On a Sunday, many would wear fur coats or have a fox-fur neck wrap. 

TV was to all intents and purposes, unknown - 

we had large valve radios in living rooms. 

Women seemed to be obsessed with washing their front steps. 

My grandmother, Grannie Mem (Jemima) did not own a washing machine (few homes had one) so she took her washing to the 'steamie' - a public steam laundry - her 'washing' transported there in a converted pram. Then she'd bring it home to be put trough a 'mangle' - a wringer a mechanical laundry aid consisting of two rollers in a sturdy frame, connected by cogs and, in its home version, powered by a hand crank. It was hard work - especially when bedding was washed - usually by tramping on it in the home bath (a bit like squashing grapes to make wine!) The clothes were then hung on drying racks on a pulley system that lowered the racks from the kitchen ceiling and then raised them again.

We didn't own a refrigerator (a 'fridge') in the 1950s - just used the old food safe (see picture) usually kept in a cool and draughty place - and sometimes covered in hot weather with a wet muslin cloth which waskept moist by placing its ends in a basin of water. To keep butter cool, many used a butter cooler, crocheted from porous cotton thread and weighed down with beads.

(It was easier to crochet a perfect round than to knit one.) The cooler was made wet and placed in a dish of water (not shown) so that the edges dipped into the water. This kept the entire crochet wet, and the evaporation caused cooling. 

US sailors boarding Edinburgh electric tramcar in 1947

The 'old' trams were still running in both Dundee and Edinburgh, sparks flying from the above-head lines when trams crossed at junctions. Trams and buses still had conductors (and they continued on the buses until the 1970s, happily providing me, and my brother with employment during the summer vacations in our student days). Many people did not own cars in the 1950s and early 1960s. Travel beyond the immediate area in which you lived was unusual - so daring to travel to the continent (Europe). Airfares were very expensive and cheaper, but longer, travel was still common on ships. My brother, Donald, travelled to New York on a ship from Southampton in 1966 - I hitch-hiked down from Scotland to see him off.

Transistor radio or 'trannie'

I remember returning from Nigeria (where my father worked in 1959-60) with a small portable transistor radio in 1959 - quite a sensation when I showed it to friends at school. 'Trannies' became the 'must have' electronic device of the early 1960s! (NB Not transvestites as in contemporary expression.) But in many ways it did signal the beginning of the electronic age.

My father's struggle to run a chemist shop

When we returned from central Africa in 1953 it was mainly for the sake of my brother Donald's health. He had suffered for a number of years from sinusitis and related breathing problems in Northern Rhodesia (today's Zambia) and doctors had advised that he return to Britain. My father loved Africa and was reluctant to return, but did so for Donald's sake. The plan was that Donald would become  boarder at George Watson's Boys College in Edinburgh for a year while my father, a pharmacist, looked for a place to buy or establish his own chemist shop. However, my father also harboured the thought that, if Donald settled into his new school (where he was in his first year of secondary education), the rest of the  family might return to Africa.

As it turned out, Donald was very unhappy in boarding at Watson's. His boarding master was 'Butcher' Watson, the sadistic head of PE at Watson's. He punished the boys 'in his care' with fiercesome regularity and in nasty ways. One punishment was reserved for the boy who returned last (albeit  'in time') from a week-end leave. as a result, Donald fretted all day on the Sunday of a 'home weekend' that he would be the last to report in to Mr Watson. The lats boy back into boarding would be forced to crawl the length of the dining table while the other boys kicked him. Any boarder suspected of not kicking hard enough would also have to crawl under the table, so all the boys made sure they gave the 'offender' a good kick or two as he crawled passed. Years later, after breaking a boy's legs in the gym, the school finally sacked 'Butcher' Watson - although clearly the school authorities would have known of his reputation as a sadist without doing anything about it. 

As related elsewhere, my father took locum positions for chemists all over the UK - meaning we moved from guest house to guest house for the best part of a year with devastating consequences for my schooling and my 'fear' of school that stayed with me until senior years at high school. Finally, he took a position as manager of the Co-operative Society Chemist shop at Ormiston in East Lothian. By which time it was clear that Donald could not continue as a boarder at Watson's and my father decided to saty in Scotland and open his own shop. He found a suitable property in the Main Street of Pathhead in Midlothian on the A68, a main road from Edinburgh south to England. The attraction was that Pathhead had no chemist shop and the nearest ones were at Dalkeith some 5 miles to the north and at Lauder about 12 miles south. It seemed perfect, especially as my father had special qualifications as a veterinary pharmacist, and Pathhead was a country location surrounded by estates and farms.

The doctors' surgery, led by a Dr Ireland, had been able to act for many years as a dispensing surgery, that is, the doctors both prescribed and dispensed prescriptions - a very lucrative operation (as they only had to stock the drugs they knew they would prescribe). Dr Ireland fought hard to prevent my father opening his chemist shop for once a pharmacy was established all the dispensing of prescription drugs had to be done through the chemist shop. With advice and legal aid from the Phamaceutical Society, my father won the battle. But it was something of a pyrrhic victory as Dr Ireland set about trying to destroy my father's business. 

It was a relatively easy, but unscrupulous thing to do. Dr Ireland, with his previous experience as a dispensing doctor, knew that certain drugs (potions and pills) had to be purchased in volume. He would prescribe a drug for say 12 pills to be dispensed, then move onto another drug, leaving my father with large amounts of stock on his shelves in the back-room pharmacy of his chemist shop untouched. Also, these were still the days when pharmacists often had to make-up a prescribed potion from various 'base' ingredients. all this stock had to be paid for by my father up-front - and I recall his anger and despair at the way Dr Ireland was undermining him.

Yet Dr Ireland was a church elder and prominent in local affairs - so much so that he was awarded an OBE (made a member of the Order of the British Empire) just two years or so after we moved to Pathhead. I remember my father snorting in disgust and saying, 'Yes, the OBE: it stands for Other Bodies Efforts!' 

The other thing that Dr Ireland did was to go slow with his evening surgery so that evening after evening my father would have his chemist shop open with few people coming down from the doctors' surgery until there would be a 'rush' of patients with prescriptions coming in just before and after 8 PM - so that my father would not be able to shut up shop until close to 9 PM. The other doctor was a Dr Stewart who got on well with my father, but their relationship didn't really develop until after Dr Ireland's retirement.

Despite these difficulties, my father made a success of his business - and had a glowing reputation among the villagers. He made up his own potions to treat various problems, but always had to caution people to go and see the doctor - as he knew it would be big trouble if Dr Ireland could prove that Mr Edmonds was 'diagnosing' and 'treating' patients. In fact, my father was a practising 'community pharmacist' long before that concept became accepted.

Mr Jim Gregor, the gamekeeper on the Callendar estate, with whom I worked for many years, first as a beater and then as team leader (rounding up village lads who were prepared to go up to the moors to beat the grouse towards the guns), always spoke with admiration about my father. 
'Yer faither wis a grand man, the best chemist I've ever met. He could make up a potion tae cure an itch - and he gave me something I'd tak wi' the Belhaven stout he said would do me the world o' guid - an' it did! We were a' that sorry when he have the business up - and we had to gang back to the surgery.'

For yes, when my father finally threw in the towel and went back to Africa (to Northern Nigeria as deputy head of medical supplies), the doctors' surgery applied again to become a dispensing surgery - and won a concession from the Pharmaceutical Society that they would not support another pharmacy opening in the village.

First awakening of a social conscience

I well remember the first occasion that I felt something akin to outrage at what I perceived to be  - albeit in a work of fiction - a social injustice, that is something I thought just wasn't fair.

I was seven going on eight. There was a story in my school reading book about a Dutch farmer and a farm worker, who was fed each lunch-time with bread and cheese. Eventually, the farm worker asked the farmer if he could have some variety in his lunchtime meal, to which the farmer agreed.

However, the next day the farmer again provided just bread and cheese to the farm labourer. When the labourer complained that the farmer had not kept his word that he would provide a different lunch from braed and cheese, the farmer replied, 'Oh, but I have. Today you're getting cheese with bread.'

It was, of course, meant to be funny, but I couldn't see the humour in it, only the injustice. It was the beginning of a life-long concern about injustice.