A tale about one of the ways a young Owen made himself a bob or two...
Around 1937-38 (aged 12 or 13) I used to help our neighbour's wife with her hens on a Saturday. Bob Smith and his wife lived on a small farm very close to us in Brick Kiln Lane.
I would let the hens out of their coops and feed them at about 7.30 am and then carry Mrs Smith's hamper, which was full of home made butter, to the bus stop. She took this butter to Norwich to sell on the market every weekend. Personally - even in those pre-food hygiene standards days - I never felt the urge to eat any of her butter. My mother certainly never wanted to buy any of it either; mainly because we knew that many of the chickens and one or two of the farm's cows spent more than a little time in the room where the butter was made, while it was being made!
At that time the bus came along Bunwell Hill and luckily that meant it was not far for me to go to catch it, carrying as I was the heavy hamper, from Brick Kiln Lane.
During the day while Mrs Smith was in Norwich I would feed and water the hens a couple more times, collect and sort the eggs they laid, and then meet her off the bus at about 5.00-5.30 pm and carry her hamper home. By then it was full of her purchases and sometimes even heavier than it had been in the morning. I would also make sure the hens were safe in their coops for the night in the darker evenings. For this pretty much full day of work I received the grand sum of 6d in old money - 2 1/2 pence today.
Eventually Eastern Counties Buses took over the bus route and stopped the bus going along Bunwell Hill so Mrs Smith had to go to the Queen's Head pub to catch it - about 3/4 of a mile walk away. She expected me to carry or push the hamper to and from the pub in my little handcart for no additional pay. My father Elijah decided his son was not going to do that and soon told her to rethink the idea and to pay me more. In the end I did not take on the extra work. I missed the income but not the hard labour.
I kept hens for many years in my orchard in Bunwell Street - until I was 87 or 88 when I had to give up after a nasty fall and I broke my ankle - I never was as mobile again. I've always had a soft spot for hens and used to get my girls from an egg factory farm near my home. Normally I took the hens which had escaped from the battery cages or were a little older and not laying so well. These hens would arrive without feathers and had no idea how to peck or free roam. Didn't take them long to settle in though and lay me some lovely eggs and I enjoyed seeing them blossom into being real hens again. My wife used the eggs for cooking and I sold on any spare as genuine free range eggs. Those chickens had a lovely home in my 1/4 acre orchard and caring for them gave me a great escape excuse when I had had enough of her indoors. They never answered back neither!
I've worked very hard physically over the years but I have some very good memories.
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