War News
One hundred and twenty recruits from Bideford have joined the 6th Devon Territorials since the outbreak of war. Those leaving recently include H Woodyatt, E Taylor, R Stoneman, E W Kelway, E Bray, H J Harding, E Symons and J and W Woodland. Steps have been taken to furnish Bath House,* Bideford, for the reception of twenty five Belgian refugees. Weekly fund raising concerts are being held, at which patriotic songs are to be sung. One such concert given by the West Buckland School Nursery Boarders raised 10s 6d.
Other news.
Councillor S R Chope has been nominated for a further term as Mayor.
A cart belonging to Mr Baglow of Old Town was upset due to the horse shying. The accident happened near The Downes, Alverdiscott Road, the home of Rev. C H G Vivian JP. Fortunately Mr Vivian's daughters have received practical Red Cross training. After first aid had been administered, Mr Vivian took the injured to Bideford Hospital in his motor car. All are expected to make a good recovery. (From Bideford Archives, Windmill Lane, Northam)
*Bath House.
Can anyone corfirm the location of Bath House, Bideford? We know there were hot and cold seawater baths somewhere in the library/Tantons location but can't pin it down exactly.
As promised in last month's Buzz here is the poem about Appledore written by George Douglas, Warden, father of Audrey Jones of Bideford, who lost both eyes in World War 1. Sent in by Audrey's daughter-in law, Eleanor Jones
A little port
In Appledore, the cobbled floor of many a steep and narrow way seems ready to leap across the quay over the bar and out to sea, dancing away with a thousand years of Devon lore from Appledore. Like a wandering child by love beguiled a coaster hugs the maternal quay her lullaby the sound afar of the lone low beat of the harbour bar.
So old, this place that time it seems is kept in store at Appledore. Within a maze of weathered stays of stocks and struts and stilted beams a toy ship waits in a toy dry dock for her overhaul and painted frock they're 'boidering' "Laura" on her breast say the crew ashore in Appledore.
Old men tell tales of winter gales clattering boots on cobbled ways of daunting wave and doleful bell when they launched the lifeboat into hell of widows mourning measured by the weeds they wore in Appledore. But lazy days in summer haze and idling on the quiet quay put thoughts winter far behind like migrant swallows outward bound. So on this splendid tragedy, I'll swell no more in Appledore.