Alongside the recorded history of Somerton exists another layer — one that is less structured but often more revealing. These are the stories, observations, and shared understanding that come from living in a place over time.
The Deep Lock Cottage
I have wonderful memories of the deep lock cottage which was my home for about eight years. I lived with my grandparents there from a tender age of three. My grandma and I would walk along the towpath for the school bus, then after a long day at school, make the long walk back. On entering the cottage, the fusty smell of old damp walls and the crackling sound of the logs burning in the stove was always such a welcoming feeling. My grandfather would walk across the towpath every day to fill a barrel of water — our daily amount. At the time we had no electricity to the cottage, so we would use a car battery to run the television. I remember my grandma being frustrated as she could barely get an episode of Coronation Street on before the battery gave up. We had no lighting but used a gas lantern. All this, though, still made the cottage the best place to live for any child.
Forum contributor — Somerton-Oxon website
Visiting Memories
I have fond memories of when I used to visit the quaint village of Somerton back in the eighties when I had family in the village. My cousin would take me to the river where we swam all day. It was a popular place back then. As an American, I have fond memories of the fantastic great church and the little lady that lived nearby.
Ragman — Forum contributor
Life Without Electricity
Growing up in the village in the 1930s and 1940s, many families had no electricity and no mains sewerage. Paraffin oil lamps on the table, and candles to go to bed with. A big hole dug in the garden. The big houses had electricity first. Brenda remembered the day the electricity came to New Buildings: she and other children made a seesaw with some big planks laid across the big wheels of wire. It made a great seesaw but they got into trouble for it.
All their houses had tin baths. Once a week the copper in the corner of the kitchen was heated and then they went in the bath in turn by age. The Connors were a family who lived at Connors' (Deep) Lock. They were very poor and never had shoes or socks — but Mrs Connor must have had style as she always wore her makeup. The baker would leave any left-over bread on the canal bridge for the family. One day Alfie Connor came with a pram to collect it and fell in, bread and all. Monty Stevens told Sheila he saw it all from the signal box — all the bread floating down the canal.
Stories That Remain
One story, repeated often enough to become part of the village itself, speaks of a passage between the Fermor manor house and the church crypt. Whether truth or story, it reflects something important: the sense that the village holds more beneath the surface than is immediately visible.
And then there is the recurring tramp — a figure often mentioned in the memories. "Tramps were very common," Brenda recalled. "There was one in particular who was very scruffy with a long beard, who came to the Lydiatts' house every Christmas, and Mrs Lydiatt always gave him food and mince pies." In such details, a way of life is preserved.
Lucy Arnold
Curly, funny, kind, clever, lovely. That is Lucy in five words and not much more really needs saying. But she deserves to be part of the history of Somerton that is remembered, so a little more will be said.
Lucy was four years younger — that little friend who always wanted you to play with her, and who had a seven-year-old face with curly hair and dimples that made refusal essentially impossible, even for an extremely busy and nearly-grown-up eleven-year-old. Over the years there were many adventures. A favourite was to collect Jess — an Old English Sheepdog belonging to Derrick Kingdom up at The Paddocks, who also bred Bodie, the celebrated Dulux paint advertisement dog — and head off across the fields for the day: building dens, eating picnics, pretending to be on missions of great importance.
One freezing winter day, the two of them decided to go “down the Lasher” — something neither of them was entirely sure was a good idea, but which they did anyway. The river was raging. When they reached the edge of the field where you cross over, the log that served as the usual route looked more precarious than usual; the water was running fast and high, almost level with the crossing. The sensible suggestion — that they go back — was firmly dismissed by Lucy, who without a second thought stepped onto the log. There was one log for your feet and a branch above to hold. It happened in slow motion: Lucy’s hands slipped, her feet went from under her on the wet bark, and she plunged into the icy water.
What followed was exactly like a scene from a film, except it was real and it was frightening. Lucy’s little face could be seen trying to stay above the water, frantically doggy-paddling and kicking as she was carried by the current. Running out as far as possible onto the log, shouting ‘swim, swim’, reaching out and grabbing her hand — it seemed to take forever to pull her back to the log, grab the back of her trousers and haul her up. She was shaking harder than anyone has ever been seen to shake before or since.
Her coat was taken off, her friend’s coat put on instead, and hand in hand they tramped back across the field. “Please can we go through the field, not the road,” Lucy asked. She didn’t want people to see her. She didn’t want to go home either, because she would be in trouble. So they went back to the other house, where the situation was quickly and warmly dealt with: Lucy was put straight in a warm bath, Rosemary was called, and when dry again, Lucy was dressed in borrowed clothes — including a pair of brand new knickers. That detail was never allowed to be forgotten. Lucy owed a pair of knickers, and the debt was maintained as a point of affectionate principle for many years.
That is one story. There were many others. Everyone loved Lucy, and the village is quieter for her absence.