The King's Pooch

For centuries man's best friend has also proved popular around the corridors of the world's grandest houses and palaces. From ancient times members of many royal households have lived alongside dogs of all shapes and sizes. 

Many were regarded as high-status symbols. For example, in Imperial China the Emperor was the only person allowed to own a PEKINESE and the death penalty awaited anyone foolish enough to try and steal one. An ancient breed they can be traced back to the Han Dynasty 206 BC - 220 AD. 'Lion dogs,' as they were known, were kept in great numbers at the courts but only the finest were allowed into the Emperor's private chambers. It was only after 1860 that this breed emerged in Europe

 Similarly in Tibet only the highest dignitaries in the land were permitted to own certain breeds. The LHASA APSO is believed to be one of the world's oldest breeds possibly dating as far back as 800BC. Developed from the Tibetan Terrier and the Tibetan Spaniel they were bred exclusively at monasteries and only rarely permitted to leave the country. A few were given away as special gifts, usually to other royalty, and were always male so that reproduction of the species remained under Tibetan control. As in China with the pekinese the LHASA APSO were revered as lions. They provided protection for Buddha and guarded monastic treasures, participating in religious ceremonies whilst enthroned on silk cushions. 

The SALUKI was considered "the royal dog of Egypt". In ancient Egypt, their bodies were sometimes mummified alongside their royal owners. The Saluki is a 'sight hound,'  is very fast with a reputation as a strong hunter capable of taking down prey like gazelles.

The BICHON FRISE was re-introduced to Europe from the Canary Islands in the 14th century and by the 16th century they became fashionable at the French and other royal courts like several of the toy breeds. 

Although the BRUSSELS GRIFFON were first described in medieval french writings they were a favourite of the Belgian royal family. The late Queen Astrid loved these little dogs which almost became extinct after the First World War but because of royal support regained popularity in the 1930s.

Already well-established in other European courts, before being brought into England in the late 1500s, CAVALIER "KING CHARLES" SPANIELS reached the height of popularity with Charles II.  However, Elizabeth 1 and Mary Queen of Scots had also kept them and just before her execution at Fotheringay Castle in 1587 one dog, hidden under Mary's skirts, was not discovered by the executioner until after her death. As well as companions they were known for their tenacity and sporting ability. The first Duke of Marlborough developed some of the larger sporting dogs and it is from these the BLENHEIM spaniel evolved.

The PUG became extremely popular in Victorian times yet again many european royals had been championing the breed for years. Their patrons included Henry II of France, Marie Antoinette and The Empress Josephine. Originally from the Orient they were brought to the West by merchants trading with China. It is thought that the breed was introduced into Great Britain by William III and Queen Mary when they ruled this country in 1689. George III's wife kept pugs of german origin. Queen Victoria, an avid dog lover, had a particular favourite named Bully, a fawn dog, which was a present from Prince Albert. In the mid-twentieth century they found favour again with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

Some royal pets have even merited their own portraits in various palace collections. When Queen Victoria’s COLLIE, Noble, died at Balmoral in 1887, he was buried in the grounds of the castle and given his own gravestone, which read:

'Noble by name by nature noble too

Faithful companion sympathetic true

His remains are interred here.'

Caesar, a WIRE FOX TERRIER was a devoted companion to Edward VII. He was allowed to sleep on a chair next to the King’s bed and even wore a collar that read “I am Caesar.  I belong to the King”.  After King Edward VII’s death in 1910, Caesar attended the funeral and walked in the procession ahead of nine Kings and several other heads of state.

The current Queen is, of course, associated with the CORGI. The breed was introduced to the Royal Family by her father, King George VI, in 1933 when he bought a Corgi called Dookie. The animal proved popular with both princesses and soon a second Corgi was acquired called Jane who had puppies, two of which, Crackers and Carol, were kept.

For her eighteenth birthday, The Queen was given a Corgi named Susan from whom numerous successive dogs were bred. Some Corgis were mated with dachshunds (most notably Pipkin, who belonged to Princess Margaret) to create ‘Dorgis’. At present, The Queen owns two Corgis: Willow and Holly and two Dorgis: Candy and Vulcan.

As far as other royals are concerned Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall own several JACK RUSSELL TERRIERS including the Prince's favourite, "Tigga" 

Princess Anne has owned a string of BULL TERRIERS although a couple of them have, over the years, attracted notoriety in the press for unwarranted attacks on other dogs. 

The latest royal pooch to hit the headlines belongs to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and is Lupo, a black COCKER SPANIEL. He was adopted by the couple just before Christmas 2011 from a litter allegedly born to the Middleton family dog, Ella.  The dog replaced a black LABRADOR named Widgeon, who was given to Prince William by his mother Diana, Princess of Wales, shortly before her death in 1997. 

Lupo also achieved some notoriety recently when a story in one newspaper revealed that Lupo had eaten a pair  of pearl earrings given to the Duchess by Prince William. However, this rumour was swiftly quashed by a royal spokesman so it seems Lupo's reputation is safe: for the moment at least.

Royal Flush

I’ll tell yer about Kings of England 

Along with a handful of Queens 

And, who followed who, in each century

All claiming blue blood in their genes.

The French sent the first Bill in 1066

After skirmish near old Hastings Town.

Next William Rufus, then Henry the first

Afore Stephen fought Maud, for the crown.

Now Henry Plantagenet, can you imagine it , 

Found himself next chap in line.

Next Richard the Lionheart, lacklander John

Then Henry the 3rd, who was nine.

Edward the First was the ‘hammer of scots.’

Edward Two just brought chaos and hassle

And noat more was heard from Edward the Third

After trip down to old Berkeley Castle.

Richard the Second took crown for a while

But was frankly a bit of a louse.

So got overthrown by Henry the Fourth, 

The first of the Lancaster house. 

Henry Five and then Six,  both entered the mix 

As the War of the Roses began.

From York in the north, came Edward the Fourth 

And he was a very tall man.

His sons were both princes in London’s white tower,

The elder became Edward Five.

But sadly he wasn’t around very long,

‘cos folks didn’t want him alive.

For hundreds of years they blamed Uncle Dick

Or Richard the Third as he’s known.

But Henry the Seventh ’s more likely the rogue

Who helped all them Tudors claim throne.

Now Henry the Eighth, that’s the bloke with six wives,

Though none were much help with the chores.

So he ranted and raved on for 38 years

Wouldn’t you with six mother-in-laws?

His nine year-old son became Edward the Sixth 

Soon followed by Mary, his daughter.

Then after her death came Queen ‘lizabeth 

Who ruled as her father had taught her.

Then Stuarts took over in 1603, 

With James , who was really a scot.

He nearly went bang in 1605 

All thanks to the gunpowder plot.

The next king was Charles, well he soon got the chop, 

After roundheads and Cromwell barged in.

Charles the Second felt merry and sometimes poor Nell

‘specially when tanked-up on gin.

The second King James lasted only three years 

Then together reigned William and Mary 

Queen Anne was the monarch with cabriole legs

Although I believe one was hairy!

Hanoverian George was offered the crown 

Though his English was said to be bad

A second George followed and later a third

Whose fifteen kids sent him quite mad.

With his Dad ‘off his trolley’ they brought in Prince George

And for nine years we had us a Regency

At his pad, down in Brighton, he’d party ‘till dawn

So hardly a picture of decency.

In spite of the beers, George the fourth had ten years

Then William the fourth became king.

But “Sailor Bill” died, without any brood

And that proved a most awk’ard thing.

His niece became queen, at the age of eighteen

So started the reign of Victoria. 

Prince Albert she wed, then the poor chap dropped dead 

Thus ending her chance of euphoria.

With the house of Hanover, decidedly over

A new royal household was found

So the throne went on offer, to SaxeCoberg-Gotha

When Edward the Seventh was crowned

Dislike of the Kaiser was rife in the war

So a new ‘Windsor’ house was created.

After Mary of Teck said, “I’ll marry, by heck.”

And the heir to the throne was elated.

So George took the throne when his father, Ted, died

And the fifth king to have such a name

But when Edward the Eighth was offered his chance

A crisis occurred, such a shame!

It just wasn’t his thing, for he wanted a fling 

With a woman who couldn’t be queen.

He soon abdicated, the throne was vacated 

So George the Sixth entered the scene.

Throughout the war King George held the throne

Until in the fifties he died

Since then we’ve had Lizzie who keeps very busy

With Philip, her Prince, by her side.

For sixty odd years she’s remained at the helm,

Whilst Charles calmly waits with his gal.

Yet Liz knows Camilla quite fancies her villa

Which stands at the end of the Mall.

Call the District Nurse

  Recently there have been a couple of television dramas exploring the lives of doctors and nurses working out in the community and these have reminded me of the numerous stories and anecdotes that my mother would tell of her experiences as a district nurse working along the edge of the Lincolnshire fens in the 1960s and 70s.

Nurse Jessie Temple (formerly Shaw) started her time on district work just when my brother and I had started at primary school. She was approached by a couple of local GPs to see if she would like to return to nursing, a career she had taken up during the Second World War. Before going off to study nursing she had worked on the family farm at East Keal for a time. She had tried out a few other jobs; acting as nanny to a couple of children at Langton Hall, cycling to work at a laundry at Skegness. She had not really enjoyed working on the land and talking to a couple of cousins, who had also chosen to train as a nurses, she found herself lodging with an aunt and uncle in Wisbech whilst she completed her training at the North Cambridgeshire Hospital. After marriage in the early fifties and a gap of 10 or so years she found it quite a challenge to pick up the reins of nursing again. However, she found working in the community was very different from working as one of a team in a hospital ward. Nevertheless, I think she was soon in her stride and remained on the district, in one capacity or another, until she retired in her late sixties.

 The job brought her up against many of the people with whom she had grown up; the farmers and folk who made their living from the land. She was less impressed by wealthy townies who had bought up country cottages only to ‘gut’ them and turn them into characterless weekend retreats. When she started out we didn’t own our own phone so every evening about a quarter to six she would stand in the telephone box which stood about fifty yards along the road waiting for the call telling her who required a visit the following day. It sounds odd but it was about two years before the health authority agreed to install a phone in our house. Oddly enough we were given a 2-party line so every time we needed the phone we had to press a button to take over the line. Curiously she was only supposed to use the phone for the first 30 minutes in every hour before our opposite number had precedence. As before the senior district nurse, Nurse Taylor, who lived within the grounds of Tattershall Castle, would ring daily to dole out patients to the three or four nurses under her charge. I recall in the mid sixties a Nurse Jackson covered the Woodhall Spa stretch and later on Nurse Mitchell, Nurse Eyre and my mother were brought in to share the increased work-load. My mother was not a midwife so she usually attended geriatric cases and long-term patients. The geographical area covered by my mother’s team was vast.  It stretched from Anton’s Gowt in the south (just outside Boston) to Horncastle and from Burgh le Marsh near Skegness to Billinghay just over the River Witham in the west. During the summer holidays I would travel with her on occasions reading my comic or listening to the radio whilst she visited some remote farm cottage out in the fen.

 On one occasion however I found myself in a right mess when, having fiddled with the car’s ignition, I caused the car to burst into life and it shot like a ferret after a rabbit right across a gravelled yard and through a low privet hedge. Although dramatic amazingly my escapade did little serious damage to both car and garden although my mother was none too pleased.

 As district nurse she visited some quaint places and met dozens of interesting characters over the years.

One lady she nursed, a member of the Lilley family, had been born and brought up in Teapot Hall, a unique, most curious example of vernacular cottage construction that stood just outside Dalderby off the Horncastle road. It was supposed to have been owned at one time by a retired captain of a tea clipper- hence its name. It was a timber-framed, thatched building shaped a bit like a section of Toblerone -  a prism in fact. Sadly it stood empty by the time of the Second world war and was burnt down in a fire in 1945 thought to have been started by some airmen celebrating the end of the war. The lady explained to my mother that at one time there were eight children living in the cottage with an outside privy (also thatched) and water only available from a pump outside the back door.

 Another patient was a former gamekeeper from Revesby Abbey who, at the time, still lived on the estate. He regaled mother with tales about shooting parties and grand dinners at the abbey when he was a young lad. Before the war his mother had worked in the kitchens of the great house and he would earn sixpence for assisting the chauffeurs polishing the cars of all the guests whilst visiting the Hall. He told her one story about a young lad from a local farm who was normally paid a few shillings to assist in ‘beating the bushes’ when visitors to the hall were invited to join a shooting party on nearby land. The lad was unlucky enough to get sprayed with shot on one occasion by one of the house-guests.  Fortunately he wasn’t badly hurt and as consolation for his injuries received a silver watch and chain from the guilty party.

Another of her patients was a descendent of George Jennings, one of the pioneers of the flush lavatory. I remember her telling me they still had a toilet and cistern decorated in blue peonies which they were still using every day in the 1970s.

After she retired she was still involved in caring when she joined the ranks of The Marie Curie and Macmillan nurses looking after terminally ill in the local community. She was also employed doing something that at the time I felt quite uneasy about; she would go out, often in the middle of the night, to assist the local undertakers, J.W. Sivill, in the laying out of the deceased. Only now can I look back and appreciate how hard she worked and how dedicated she was to serving her patients.

The Spaniel and the Mushroom Soup

 A lady was planning a supper party at her home for some close friends. She was a bit of a society snob and always liked to try and impress her dinner guests with the best locally sourced ingredients. She employed a cook who had a reputation for good, home-made rural fare. Unfortunately, on the day of the dinner, the cook was suddenly taken ill and couldn’t prepare the meal. The hostess knew that the maid was too inexperienced to be entrusted with preparing an impressive supper for her guests, so she decided she would have to prepare it herself.  She chose to serve a simple collation of the finest cold meats and cheese from the larder but thought she would also make a warming soup using a selection of mushrooms that she had found and picked in the adjacent woods whilst out walking with her pet spaniel . The maid queried this idea saying that Cook had often warned her that there were, “Many poisonous mushrooms in the woods that look just like the edible ones and perhaps Madam should reconsider serving wild mushroom soup.”

Madam, however, was having none of this and said she had made sure that the mushrooms she had picked were perfectly safe as she had given several pieces of the mushroom to the dog.

When the guests arrived she told them about the soup she had prepared and her way of testing the mushrooms. She went on to assure them that the dog was feeling fit and well. Supper went off very smoothly but a few moments after the dinner the maid suddenly ran screaming Into the dining room and shouted,

“Oh Madam, the dog is dead!”

The maid was instructed to ring for a couple of ambulances and after they arrived all the guests and the hostess were rushed to the A and E unit at the local hospital. After arriving at the hospital they all had their stomachs pumped using a nasogastric tube and a wash of activated charcoal, which was administered to prevent the absorption of any mushroom toxins. In addition, a strong bowel preparation of Colyte and magnesium citrate was given to all those who had partaken of the soup.

After a couple of hours the guests, feeling somewhat drained and weary, returned to the house of their hostess. The hostess ordered the maid to bring all her guests some strong coffee and brandy. When she returned with the drinks the maid said, ”Oh! by the way, the lorry driver is here to talk to madam.”

 Her hostess turned to the maid and asked, “What Lorry driver?”

The maid replied, “ The one who ran over the dog!”

Dog in a Suitcase

 About a year ago I recounted a true story about the pitfalls of owning a robotic floor cleaner in a house with a dog. It was only recently that I had occasion to meet up again with the person who had told me this story, my G.P. As I departed his surgery I happened to remark that if he had any more amusing dog stories he should let me know. Imagine my surprise when the next day, after my wife nipped into the surgery for a repeat prescription, the doctor called her in to recount the following rather sad doggy tale he’d been told.

A close friend of my GP had, after retiring as a doctor, been living abroad for several years in a small flat within an apartment building in Rumania. She was friends with a British couple in a village nearby whom she regularly visited. They owned an affectionate bulldog called Dexter, to whom she was equally devoted. Whenever her friends went abroad on holiday or came back to visit family in the UK she would dog-sit Dexter in their home. But as both Dexter and his minder got a little older and less agile Dexter started to spend the time when his owners were away staying in the lady doctor’s own flat.  Pets were not really permitted in the apartment block but as Dexter was docile, quite arthritic and not able to walk far, the doctor was able to accommodate Dexter without too much trouble and this arrangement suited both parties. As Dexter got frailer his owners were understandably more reluctant to leave him. Unfortunately, a family crisis one summer meant they needed to come over to the UK for several weeks and so arrangements were hastily made to leave Dexter with their friend. Sadly, whilst they were away, Dexter, aged 18, passed away peacefully. Dexter’s death was not only a sad event but left the doctor in something of a dilemma.  Being summer she urgently needed to dispose of the dog’s body in both a discrete and compassionate manner. There was no garden attached to her flat and she knew her friends had talked about their intention of having Dexter buried in their garden under an apple tree. She decided to break the news of Dexter’s death in a letter to her friends back in the UK but did not say anything else other that she was making arrangements to have Dexter buried in their garden. She went to their home and getting a spade from the toolshed attempted to dig a hole under the apple tree. Almost immediately she realized that this was not going to manage this chore on her own. Luckily Her friends employed a local man once a week to work In the garden and he who was able to pop round later that day to complete the digging of the hole.

She decided she would have to take Dexter there herself but as discretely as possible. In order to get him out of the flat she decided the only way she could do this was by putting his body in a large brown suitcase she kept on top of a wardrobe. As a doctor she coped with this chore with less difficulty than many others might have done. Getting the suitcase out of the apartment prooved more problematic as the lift in her apartment block was not working and she found herself having to lug the heavy suitcase down four flights of stairs.

She was quite relieved therefore, when a young man appeared in the stairwell and she decided to ask for his assistance. As he carried the suitcase for her, he remarked that it was very heavy and asked what she had inside. To avoid the embarrassment of explaining the true contents, she said that the suitcase contained an old computer and some software. At this the man suddenly gathered up the suitcase and ran off with it, out of the building  and down the road never to be seen again. The woman was left dumbfounded when she realized what had happened and wondered how she was she going to break the news to Dexter’s owners.  She decided, rightly or wrongly, that losing their beloved pet would be upsetting enough never mind having to explain that his body had been stolen. She decided that the best thing she could do was to find another old suitcase which she put in the bottom of the grave filled with some old magazines and books so that when the gardener popped back to fill in the hole he wouldnt inadvertently discover an empty suitcase where there should be a full one. Everything went to plan and not long after they returned from their trip all three friends gathered beneath the apple tree to say their farewells to Dexter. As far as my GP knew his old friend never let on what had really happened to Dexter. We can only imagine the shock that the suitcase thief got when he came to open the suitcase to examine his ill-gotten gains.

The Ballad of John Smith and Pocahontas

Some ‘ud say to be called Smith is rather boring

And what is more, to then be christened John

But a chap with such a name was destined for great fame

An explorer and a hero, all in one.

Just a farmer’s son from Willoughby near Alford

For many years he sailed the Spanish main

Amassed a fortune soldiering in Turkey

Then adventure beckoned westwards once again.

Plans to colonise Virginia for profit

Brought Captain Smith to land at Chesapeake

Soon settling in the spot we know as Jamestown

That grew along the shores beyond the creek.

Yet times were tough and many folks were starving

Apart from this they’d neighbour trouble too,

Some Indians of Powhatan were bruising for a fight

They  weren’t too fond of anybody new.

Now Captain Smith then tried his best to calm things

He went to have a parley with the chief.

But some redskin with a knife tried to finish off his life

And poor John lay there shaking like a leaf.

Yet one amongst the natives gathered round him

The daughter of the Chief, was most concerned.

She threw herself across his shakin’ body

As John Smith said, “I think me luck has turned.”

Now the maiden who had saved him, Pocahontas

Had kept him from a scalpin’ to be sure.

Soon the rumours started spreading that there soon could be a wedding

And together they would be for evermore.

But I tell you sommat now, that’s noat but rubbish

And Disney, they’re the folks we have to blame

For some other fella married Pocahontas

A tobacco planter, Thomas Wolfe 'is name.

So you cant believe the things you see at ‘pictures

Pocahontas  simply wasn’t  John Smith’s date

For starters when they met she was eleven

And Captain Smith, were pushing twenty-eight!

The Werewolf of Dogdyke

Ev you ‘eard o’ the Werewolf o’ Dogdyke?
It’ll be news to you, I’ve noa doubt.
A creature of legend you’re thinking
And noat to get fretted about.

Now many folk gab about werewolves.
‘It’s mere superstition,’ they say
But I knowed of an ode boy who seen one,
I’ll tell you his tale, if I may.

Way back in the twenties it ‘appened
This scientist feller, called Jones
Was delvin’ in Langrick Fen peat bog
When he dug up some very queer bones.

He carried ‘em back to his kitchin
And scrubbed ‘em to see what he’d found.
The skeleton looked pretty human
But the ‘ead was the skull of an ‘ound!

It rattled t’ode chap for a moment
He thought that it must be a hoax.
P’raps travelling fair-foak had left it
To put the wind up local folks

He was supping the dregs of his Horlicks
Whilst sorting the bones on the floor.
Summats out on the causey was scratting
And lifting the sneck o’ the door.


The noise from the causey alarmed ‘im
What on earth could be maakin’ the din?
He decided to peer through the winder
To see who was trying to git in.

For there i’ the glow of the moonlight
A glimpse o’ a figure he caught
A creature i’ black and all crooked
‘Ahh, that’ll be parson,’ he thought.

Then a ‘ideous face manifested,
The face o’ some creature from hell.
Jones ran to the petty and bolted the door
I suspect ‘e was feeling unwell.

Whilst the snarling and clawing continued
He lay back far-weltered and frit.
He weren’t gonna argle wi’ werewolf
‘e’d leave him to cool down a bit.

When dawn came Jones felt a bit better
He listened for sound o’ the beast.
“Perhaps he’s calmed down and gone home now”
Though he wasn’t convinced in the least

Then he stopped and he started to think why
The beast was in such a bad mood.
P’raps werewolf was just a bit hungry
And all that he wanted was food.


He decided to make ‘im some breakfast
Some cheese and plum loaf  ‘ud be fine
If only he’d been there last Sunday
He might ev enjoyed stuffed chine

He unbolted the door of the lavvy
Wi’ his stick he approached kitchin door
Now what if the beast were still in there
If he was, he ‘ud give him what for.

With ‘is hand on the sneck he just waited
And then in he bu’st at a pace
But there wasn’t noa beast to be found there
Just glass, smithered all ower the place.

I can’t say ‘e felt disappointed
That the beast had returned whence ‘ed came
But his paintwork ‘ud need touching up now
And ‘e’d only got hissen to blame.

So straightway he gathered the bones up
And returnin’ ‘em back to the fen
He hoped that the beast ‘ud forgive him
And not damage his paintwork agen.

So if iver you’re passing through Dogdyke
And walking your dog on your own
Doan’t let ‘im run off in the peat bog
He might cum on back wi’ a bone!

The above is my attempt at Lincolnshire dialect to retell a tale told to me some forty years ago by Mrs Rudkin of Toynton.

Ethel H Rudkin (1893-1985)

Mrs Rudkin, was a respected local historian well known during the last century throughout the length and breadth of Lincolnshire. Born Ethel Hutchinson in Willoughton, she was a dedicated collector of Lincolnshire ephemera. She was active not only in the fields of local history but in archaeology, local traditions, music, folk-lore, and dialect. From the age of 12 she kept a detailed diary which she continued to write up until her death at the age of 92.

The first part of her diary to be published recounted her early life in Willoughton where she lived with her family.  There was a gap during the first world war when in 1915 she married George Rudkin of  Folkingham. Then sometime after he died in the influenza epidemic of 1918 she became housekeeper for his brother and helped to run the family farm. Her own house at Willoughton became a virtual museum, a place of pilgrimage for many researchers, packed with artefacts, farm implements, and memorabilia, as well as books and manuscripts. Several farm wagons and other agricultural vehicles that she had rescued, but which she had no room for, were stored in a variety of farm buildings belonging to different friends in nearby villages. Her main folklore collecting, in the 1920s and 1930s, was made directly from the people of the villages up and down the county and covered a broad range of topics. In 1927 she helped C.W. Phillips in revising the ancient monuments for the Ordnance Survey maps containing snippets of local information, conversations, historical facts and accounts of interesting journeys in her Bull-nosed Morris.

A string of articles published in the Folklore Society's journal included descriptions of many local customs which were celebrated at different times of the year in villages throughout  Lincolnshire. Much of her own research involved beliefs in witches and devils, stone-lore, and over a dozen ‘Black Dog’ stories one of which was that of the hound/werewolf of Dogdyke. She spent little of her long life away from her native Lincolnshire yet although she wrote many papers and contributed articles to a variety of magazines yet with little recognition or encouragement. She only wrote one book, Lincolnshire Folklore. This was published at her own expense in 1936.

She wrote in the second volume of her diary, which covered just one year, 1932 It contained tales of many Lincolnshire characters she’d encountered. One story is of her visit to the hamlet of Scredington where she met an old lady, Mrs Carter, who still dressed in traditional Lincolnshire Victorian style and could neither read nor write. She wrote an account of a visit to the deserted village of Gainsthorpe near Hibaldstow and retold the legend of Byard's Leap. She made several trips to healing wells and springs in north Lincolnshire, many of which in the years just before the Second World War still displayed rags and bandages on the bushes nearby as tokens from those who claimed to have been cured.

In later life Mrs Rudkin moved to a small cottage in Toynton All Saints where she continued her digging and archaeological studies for many years with the help of her friend and companion, Lucy Arliss. After building a larger bungalow to accommodate more relics she continued her researches, working on the site of the nearby manor of Eresby and the brickworks at East Keal. It must have been during in the early 1960s when I was introduced to her by my aunt and uncle (Fred and Jean Shaw) who at that time owned Brickfields Farm at East Keal and which had previously been my mother’s childhood home.