(53) 'The Unstead Park Chestnut Tree's'

[Ken]

The nine year girl beamed at her big brothers words, could it really be the best present he had ever had?   A simple sentence that meant so much to that young girl that she still remembered it, after almost seven decades have passed. The nine year old is now a seventy five year old and the lady, who I describe as forever young, is my sister Phyl.  I wasn't the brother she spoke of for back then I was just an eighteen month old toddler, still in nappies.  The words were spoken by the oldest of her brothers, the handsome and caring Wally Tuffs jnr, on the very first Christmas since his return home from soldiering in far away Japan.

Before I tell my sisters story, which is about the Chestnut tree's of Unstead, let me tell you something about Chestnuts. Most country folk, like we of the family Tuffs, know about these tasty nuts but a lot of town folk have never heard of them.  I can recall a time when I asked a member of staff at my Hammersmith shop to go to the greengrocers to get me some and he smiled in an embarrassed manner.  I discovered that to the young people of that area of London, chestnuts meant a part of a ladies anatomy and a part that no sane person would wish to roast on an open fire.  I also found that some towns people thought it was a joke of some sorts, that asking for them was like asking an ironmonger for a dozen sky hooks or trying to buy some sparks for your spark plug.  I discovered that some of my staff didn't know the difference between a chestnut and a conker.  I even had employee's who had never heard of the game of conkers, let alone how to toughen them by soaking them in vinegar.  But this story is not about the lack of knowledge of my one time colleagues, it's about the people who knew of the ancient tradition of gathering Christmas chestnuts to roast on an open fire, but were too busy to do so.  It's tells how my mother's enterprise supplied them with what they craved and, in doing so, made us all feel rich!

There were several places where you could find chestnuts in Shamley Green and I knew them all.  The place I used most was near the church and many a time I could be found throwing a stick up into the branches of those majestic tree's.  In time I would dislodge some of the green, hedgehog like, fruit and they would fall to the ground.  A couple of firm stamps with my large feet and their prickly covering would break apart and, usually, two or three nuts could be found.  I would pick them up and place them in my pocket and then I'd hurl the stick up into the tree again and continue doing so until all my pockets were full of the shiny brown nuts.  I did that a lot in my formative years and, although it was quite an arduous task, the taste of the roasted chestnuts that evening made it worthwhile.  But not as worthwhile as it was back in 1947 when my family lived at Unstead Park, that year the Chestnut crop was enormous.

The hot summer of that year was perfect for the fruit of the Chestnut tree and there were many such tree's in the private grounds of Unstead Park.  The Autumn winds came just at the right time and in late October the first of these fruits fell to the ground near the lodge house we called home.  I do not know which of my older siblings informed my mother of the enormous number of nuts available but it is obvious she went to see for herself for a plan entered her mind.  People didn't earn much in those post war years and my dad was paid just five pounds a week, so when my enterprising mother spotted an opportunity to make some extra cash she took it.  She enquired at Guildford's, North Street, market, to see if they would buy her chestnuts and found they would.  So she mobilised her troops and everyone prospered.

In the following weeks leading up to that Christmas, the winds kept bringing more of the hedgehog like fruits to the ground.  On most of those days the combined feet of her troops, who were also my older siblings, would stamp on these prickly green money makers.  From young Gordon's size one shoes to Wally's size nine's, they would stomp away and the precious nuts were gathered up and taken home.  Every one, excluding baby me, was involved and the chestnuts piled up.  On the very next market day mum cycled to Guildford and sold all she was able to carry.  Every Friday and Saturday they held a market in Guildford, and the traders would set up their stalls all along the right hand side of it's long sloping North Street.  Sometimes there would be as many as twenty fruit and veg stalls and everyone was a potential customer for my mothers wares.  But she could only sell what she could carry, so a plan was urgently needed!

My mother was bright and she would have realised that once Christmas was over, so would be her opportunity to sell her chestnuts.  However, every time the wind blew, more of them would fall, and it seemed an almost endless supply was available.  Our mother hated to see them go to waste so, as she continued to organise the gathering of the nuts, she formulated a plan to sell them all.  Her first job was to ensure all of her younger children would be working hard in those beautiful woodlands.  Daily they could be seen happily stomping away and gathering up all the nuts .  She also informed the older children, Len, Violet and Wally jnr, what part they could play in her money making enterprise.  They all had bicycles and they all worked in Guildford, so every day she sent them off with bag loads of the precious nuts. All of these were then stored at their various places of employment until the next market day arrived.  On that morning our mother, also laden with chestnuts, either cycled or pushed a pram to Guildford and sold all she had to her traders. She then visited Wally at his place of work and collected all that he had stored there. These she sold to even more market traders.  Mum then repeated the exercise by first visiting Violet's and then Len's place of work for the nuts they'd stored.  Needless to say she sold these to yet more of the market stall owners.

When my mother returned home later that day she was happy.  Instead of being laden with chestnuts, she was now laden with cash in her pockets.  If she felt a little pleased with her self she had every right to be. As Christmas drew closer her trips to the market continued and during that time she constantly counted her cash.  She then gave the children some of that money as their reward for their hard work and I know that they spent much of it on Christmas gifts for each other.  As I explained earlier, Dads wages never exceeded five pounds in any week, so can you imagine the feeling of well being my parents experienced when they totalled up mums chestnut earnings, for THIRTY SIX POUNDS in cash was the amount she had accumulated. To imagine how large an amount that was you should think of the average wage of today's working man and multiply it by seven.  You'll then realise how truly rich the family Tuffs felt!

I have often said that wealth has many faces and it's true.  The wealth of growing up with my wonderful family had nothing to do with financial prosperity and everything to do with being rich in other ways. However, for those weeks surrounding the Christmas of 1947 we had wealth in all it's faces, including that of having money.  My sister Phyl told me that our mothers chestnut adventure meant there were new shoes for everyone, including ones for my eighteen month old feet.  There was probably some extra coal to put on the Christmas day fire and certainly a few extra bottles of light and brown ale.  The chestnut money also meant that each of the children had been able to buy presents for everyone else.  The gifts beneath our Unstead park Christmas tree were plentiful that year and I bet my nine year old sister Phyl was excited as she handed a gift to her big brother Wally.  He unwrapped it to find a comb she'd bought for him from Woolworth's and he told her it was the best present he'd ever had.  As stated at the beginning of this tale they were words she would never forget, spoken during a Christmas she never forgot.  All of it made possible by our unforgettable mother and the unwanted fruit of 'The Unstead Park Chestnut Tree's!'                  

[Ken]

This is the story of the Tuffs family Christmas of 1947 and how some chestnuts made it magical.