This article, written by Mary Bennett, first appeared in the Parish Magazine in July 1978 and was published by the History of Thursley Society in a loose-leaf book.
THURSLEY IN THE 'TWENTIES
When I was a child in the ‘twenties, Miss Aileen Lutyens, Sir Edwin Lutyens’ youngest sister, dominated the Thursley scene. She lived in the large house by the Clump, now Charringtons (the present vicarage stands in what was then her meadow) and looked exactly like her photograph in the village hall - brisk, capable and benevolent. There were close links between her and the Rapleys at Hill Farm, since Mrs.Rapley - already an old lady in my memory - had taught the little Lutyenses before her marriage. Both families were musical and, in retrospect, I think it was rather bold of my mother, as a newcomer, to start a choral society in the face of this entrenched interest. But she did, and all was well; Miss Lutyens’ penetrating alto was safely absorbed into the new choir, which proceeded to do well in a couple of Dorking festivals but did not survive our partial migration to Oxford in 1925.
Miss Lutyens was one of those who got Thursley its first Village Hall, the large army hut that stood on the crest of the hill by the ‘Shoes and was to be the scene of all major social events for some forty years; she was also a founder member of the local W.I. I suspect that she had a hand in most of the local events of the time.
The School was a real school then, presided over by Mr. Swallow, and beyond the playground where the Thorfield flats now are, was the Vicarage, now Thorcroft. This was then a much larger house (the upper storey was later destroyed by fire) and the garden seemed to me infinitely romantic, with winding paths leading through the belts of trees and shrubs that encircled the two lawns. On one occasion there was a fairy play, in which we dressed up with butter-muslin wings and flitted in and out of the laurels - this must really have been rather awful, but remains magical in my memory. Angela Smith, the Vicar’s daughter, also ran a pack of Brownies, whose meetings were the high spot of my week. We met in the Vicarage stable loft, which meant climbing up one of those ladders that are no more than hand-and-foot-holes against the wall, and stepping sideways off it through the loft door, an adventurous exercise when one’s legs were short. One of the things Brownies had to learn was (oddly enough) how to make a rice pudding. This was impossible for one of us, since her home had no oven, a fact that made a deep impression on me at the time and is a fair measure of the change in standards of living since. Angela Smith must have had a considerable gift with children since she kept a dozen or so little girls from a variety of homes happy and out of mischief on Saturday mornings for some years.
Beyond the Vicarage, at Foldsdown, (which they had themselves built) lived the Parkers. Mrs. Parker was very pretty and very fragile - everyone liked and respected her, but she was not strong enough to play as active a part in village affairs as Mr. Parker, to whose drive and devotion Thursley owed the installation of its first district nurse, Nurse Collins.
It is hard nowadays to realise that there was a time when the nurse’s salary and expenses were wholly provided from private subscriptions, but so it was, and a very great deal of work was needed to keep the nursing fund solvent and in good order. Of course I did not realise this until much later: I thought of Mr. Parker as a kindly grown-up, with whom my father used to go for walks, and Foldsdown as the scene of very splendid children’s parties at Christmas.
My mother’s chief friend in those days was Miss Stevenson, who lived at The Lodge, now the O’Briens. She was a retired headmistress, a formidable and rather fascinating Scot, who still gave violin lessons and was very occasionally persuaded to play at village concerts. Among her pupils was Bob Goble from across the road, soon to join the Dolmetsches at Haslemere and eventually to become the leading English maker of harpsichords.
A musician of a very different sort was Mr. Pecskai, who taught at the Royal Academy and played in a well-known London quartet. Hungarian by birth and breeding, though passionately English in sentiment, he looked like a rather stouter Napoleon: my father enjoyed the verve of his conversation and we saw a good deal of him. He and his elderly rather cross-grained accompanist, Miss Lebel, lodged at Heathview, the house now owned by Wendy and Graham Jones, until he suddenly married one of his pupils, when Miss Lebel went off and took lodgings with Mrs. Harbutt in Vine Cottage.
Poor Mrs. Harbutt must have had a time of it with my old cousin, Mrs. Woods* in her front room and Miss Lebel in her back - neither old lady at all easy, and the two of them on far from friendly terms. Louis and Bertha Pecskai eventually built themselves Rack Close and they lived in Thursley until his death in the 40’s. But that takes us far beyond the days of these childhood memories of a Thursley that now seems very remote indeed.
MARY BENNETT
* Margaret L. Woods, a well-known poet and popular novelist at the turn of the century.