Norfolk Mills - Aldborough watermill

Summer Holidays at Aldborough Mill
Let's join young Clifford Craske aboard the train now taking him to Aylsham station, in the year 1902, or perhaps it is already 1909. Clifford came every year of his boyhood, from a very early age until he was a young man, when the First World War broke the pattern of his
holidays. But now he is about to start one of his regular summer visits to the old family home of his mother, born Anna Cooke, at Aldborough Mill. The route is already familiar to him and he knows who to expect on arrival.
In later life, Clifford wrote a memoir of these times, from which these extracts are taken.

I want to tell you about Aldborough Mill and the people who once lived there. No-one knew the exact age of the mill, but my mother was born there in 1850, when my grandfather had long been established as the miller. I was first taken to the mill at about the age of four, and at least once a year thereafter until old enough to go alone to stay, which I did very often, until the events which I shall describe caused the 'old home', as Mother called it, to be abandoned as a dwelling.
Aylsham was the nearest station, and my uncle Harry awaited us there with an old-fashioned four-wheeled vehicle of shabby appearance, drawn by an aged horse. My uncle was a bachelor of middle age, with a short grey beard and kindly eyes.

Clifford then talks about the religious and political beliefs which had occupied his uncle for much of his life, which made him remote and absent in more worldly affairs.
This passionate involvement had not, however, soured his nature, which was pleasant and peace-loving, but he cared little for his personal appearance, and the business of the mill came second to his political and religious activities. Worst of all, from the point of view of getting us home, he was of no use with a horse; and while humming some wordless hymn and meditating on far-off battles, he would let the reins bob limply up and down upon his knee, while the old horse jogged, walked, stopped and (on one occasion) sat down in the middle of the road, without any sort of direction from his master.
In the course of an hour or so, the journey was finished, and the whitened, weather-boarded walls of the mill peeped over the hedges across the flat, marshy meadows. My blind aunt Emily had long stood at the door, bonneted and shawled ready to welcome us.
Embracing us all, she led us into the Passage, as the first room was called, where a noble meal was ready. In a dreamy, far-away manner, my uncle said grace, and we fell to.

Breakfast at the Mill
My grandfather, who died about 1899, was no longer active in the mill when I began my visits. I associated him with God, on account of his great age, long white beard and venerable appearance. He presided till the end of his life over family prayers, held every morning before breakfast in the Parlour, a very beautiful old room that was entered from the Passage. If the whole family happened to be in residence, the room was packed; there were my uncles, Harry, Tom and William; my aunts Emily, Maria, Jane and Hannah, cousin John Lemmon, the Companion, parents and myself. There were usually two domestic servants at the mill and these came in and stood by the door.
My grandfather read a passage from the Bible, then said, "Let us pray", whereupon we all knelt down beside our chairs. My father, who was short and stout, assumed this position with reluctance, and maintained it with difficulty; possibly his thoughts, like mine, were fixed on the excellent round of ham that always appeared upon the breakfast table.
There was a chamber organ with a rosewood case and golden pipes, and a piano with green silk behind a fretwork front. But we did not sing until the evening; then my uncle Tom Cooke would play the violin on which he was a very good performer, my father played the piano, and sometimes - a great treat for us - my uncle Tom Craske - would come over from Holt and play the organ. And so with music and reading aloud, we would spend many an hour when darkness fell, our only light the great oil lamp standing by the latticed window. The bookshelves were full of interest and contained many rare and beautiful volumes.

He carries on with a detailed description of the house and outbuildings, (which we shall sadly have to omit), continuing with this introduction to the garden:
There was a beautiful kitchen garden, where the finest fruit bushes were grown under a closely netted enclosure. Following a path which ran along the bank of a small branch of the millstream, you went on to discover a rustic bridge leading to another garden, where in the month of June, you were welcome to raise the netting over some of the finest strawberries in Norfolk. There was also in this garden, which was surrounded by tall shrubs, a summerhouse which, I daresay, could have told its tale, for it was far away from the mill, and took some finding.
Near this garden was a large and level field, just right for football; indeed it was the scene of many a game between the village lads whom my uncle Harry loved to befriend and have around him.


William Cooke snr 1895	Robins Cooke 1909	Henry Carter Cooke 1909	Thomas Carter Cooke 1909


30 April 1977	Mill frontage 30 April 1977 - older section on the left


Rear of both buildings 30 April 1977- no water	Rear of the old weatherboarded section 30 April 1977


Thomas William Cooke on day of his wedding to Hilda Thirza	Tom Cooke c.1960


Mill dam c.1907	Mill dam January 2003


c.1958	1958


Bedford S Type - c.1955	August 1967


c.1981	2nd March 1997