The Merlin Connection ( VILLAGE TALES EP. 37 )

Industry is not something always associated with the rolling hills of the Dorset countryside,

 but when research for the village museum turns up something of national importance,

 it could make the village famous.

Rachael, who as you know is our local historian, has been researching the village’s industrial past for an exhibit in the village museum. It may seem odd as such a thing hardly exists other than the occasional tech firm re-locating for the ‘mindfulness’ of their employees, and why not. No one would discount the village blacksmith as a manufacturer, he, or she, in their time have produced far more than horse-shoes and garden gates. Chairs and tables were often produced locally and the legs as well as staircase spindles and other turned parts were produced sometimes on a ‘pole lathe’ by the fine skills of a ‘bodger’. Not at all the careless, half hearted, temporary work with which the name is now associated.

The farming landscape has changed over the years so that small farms and small buildings are no longer efficient. The closest we get to an industrial complex is a range of artisan units which was once Humberts Dairy farm. As far as manufacturing is concerned, the best we can offer is a range of ceramics, screen prints, T-shirts, wood turning, and model making.

What had sparked Rachael’s interest was receiving a box of assorted photographs donated by a local. In it was a black and white photo of two Nissen huts and a two story brick building in front of which a group of women in overalls were posing for the camera. On the back of the photo was written, ‘The Hodgson Girls - 1940’. After some research Rachael had found out that ‘Hodgson’ or ‘Hodgsons’ was an abbreviation of the Hodgson Manufacturing Company after the war, and before the war it was just Hodgson Engineering. During the war, apparently it ceased to exist. It was supposed to be on Westmill Lane close to the village, but neither Rachael nor I had seen anything that resembled the huts or the building.

‘Time for an APB,’ Rachael suggested and I presumed it was code for a beer, but she said it stood for ‘All Points Bulletin ’ and added, pub, shop, magazine, and asked me if I could think of anywhere else we could put up a notice asking for information?

The following lunchtime Rachael had printed off several notices asking if anyone had information regarding either ‘Hodgsons Engineering’ before the war, or ‘Hodgsons Manufacturing Company’ after the war. Then there were phone numbers, etc. 

Over the following week several people got in touch to say that they had heard of Hodgsons, and two knew where the factory had been. Thinking that was that, we were surprised when someone out of the area phoned a fortnight later to say that her father who was in his eighties, had worked for Hodgsons after the war.

Charlie Pots was waiting outside the Drum with Dawn his daughter and after introducing ourselves we went inside. 

Charlie had started working at Hodgsons as an apprentice at the the age of fifteen in 1950. He trained as a lathe operator, of which there was six, including the boss, young Mr. Hodgson. Young Mr. Hodgson, he explained was in his early forties but was called ‘young’ to differentiate him from the ‘Old Man’, Mr. Hodgson senior. Asked what the were making, Charlie wasn’t so sure but thought they were carburettor parts for motor cycles. They were small parts and made mostly from brass and aluminium.

Rachael then showed him the black and white photograph that had been donated.

‘Yep, that’s it,’ Charlie said, and pointed to one of the huts where he worked.

‘They was awful places to work, hot in the summer and cold in the winter. We had to protect everything from the condensation, twas the corrugated iron see.’

Charlie was understandably moved by seeing the photo of where he had started his career as an engineer, however his expression changed,

‘Well I’m blowed,’ he said, ‘see her,’ and Charlie pointed at one of the women in overalls in the photo, ‘that’s my mum. Twas her that got me the job.’

Then showing it to his daughter he said,

‘Look Dawn, there’s your grandma.’

We could see Charlie was quite overcome. So after another round of drinks we asked Charlie what his mother had told him about Hodgsons but he shook his head,

‘Nothing, I never knew she even worked there.’

We explained that the photo was taken in 1940 and wondered if she’d ever mentioned what she had done during the war.

‘Well, she never wanted to talked about it, but I knew there was something she was keeping quiet about.’

‘I think I might be able to help,’ was what Dawn said, and explained that amongst her grandmother’s possessions were some old exercise books which she’d use as a diary, or just to write in. Dawn had looked at them but much of what had been written she could make sense of, maybe Racheal and I could.

Racheal suggested we meet in the board room, her code for the Drum. Racheal seems always to have sheaves of paper, this time it included four or five old exercise books, and she was wearing a broad smile.

‘I know what Hodgsons were doing during the war,’ she whispered. I thought this was particularly conspiratorial especially when she also tapped the side of her nose.

What she had discovered was that shortly before the outbreak of the second world war, Hodgsons were approached by an aircraft manufacturer. 'Old Man’ Hodgson had been making bicycle parts during the first world war, a form of transport that was invaluable, didn’t need feeding like horses, or fuel like motorbikes. The part that bicycles played should not be underestimated, so Hodgsons had made a valuable contribution to the allied victory and were on the list of reliable suppliers.

I told Racheal that was good news, but Racheal indicated she was no where near finished. She continued by telling me that at the outbreak of the second world war, to all intents and purposes Hodgsons ceased to exist. All evidence of engineering was removed from the outside at the same time as two Nissen huts were added alongside the barn which previously had been the only workshop, the house being part office and part dwelling. 

Charlie’s mother, was Margaret Potts, and in her note books, written after the war, she describes how she and eight other women were recruited to work in what was now just an anonymous few buildings close to our village. There were several women who had experience of the work they were about to do and they were billeted in the village. Others like Margaret, were employed locally to work alongside and to learn any skills required. They were all subject to the official secrets act. 

‘So, out with it, what were they making?’ I asked, but again Racheal suggested I wait.

She then reminded me about what was described as the ‘Phoney War’, a period of about nine months after the second world war had been declared but nothing had happened. Britain had been following a policy of appeasement and the military had warned that the country was ill-equipped and unprepared for any conflict. A panic ensued and any companies who could, would be drafted in to manufacture whatever was needed to try and catch up. Companies of all sizes were enlisted wherever they could be located. The fact that some were in country areas was seen as an advantage as spreading the manufacturing would, if industrial centres were targeted, ensure a more reliable supply chain, and not have ‘all one’s eggs in one’s basket’.

Racheal asked me to guess what I thought Hodgsons specialism might be and I thought of what Charlie had mentioned he had been working on after the war, so I suggested carburettors. Racheal thought that unfair, and then said,

‘Yes, but for what for?’

I shook my head.

‘Spitfires!’ She said, and it’s difficult to hear that without being immediately impressed. More particularly she explained, parts for the fuel systems of Merlin engines which were those used by Spitfires and Lancaster bombers. Not only that, she told me, but after a raid on Southampton, Hodgsons in the middle of the Dorset countryside was the only facility producing certain essential parts for the Spitfire during the summer of 1940, other wise known as . . 

‘Ah,’ I said, ‘the Battle of Britain?’

‘So . . .  our little village,’ Racheal said, ‘not much more than a hamlet, had a tiny engineering works on which the Battle of Britain depended.’

I was about point out that there were many, many, contributors on which the Battle of Britain, could be said, to have depended, but Racheal told me that was irrelevant. 

I told her for a local historian she had spent far too much time being a journalist, but that wasn’t going to change how she would present the new exhibit in our village museum.

Listen to Village Tales and other short stories from the HONKEYMOON CAFE

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Written and read by Barkley Johnson.