Life in Eastville, Bristol England and the Infamous Christmas Doll

Shortly after this time (the previous post), we moved into the suburbs at the other side of town. It was called Eastville. There was a large park not far away called Eastville Park. It was a very delightful place to play in and to take walks. 

Eastville Park, Bristol



Eastville Park today

There was a large lake at the lower end with a waterfall and swans gliding gracefully around. In the summer evenings a band would entertain us.

There was an outlet at the lower end of the park and by following a narrow path through a glade and by another waterfall we would come to "Snuff Mills", then through a meadow to "Frenchay Common". It was a long walk for little feet but when we grew older it became our favorite rendezvous.

Snuff Mills Restored

Up the hill from the park, past Farmer Owen's cow pasture, was an old rustic church and every evening just at dark the chimes from the old belfry would ring out across the still air, "Now the Day is Over".





It was like a beautiful benediction, especially if we were passing after a quiet walk through the country lanes. I used to feel such a sweet sense of peace fill my soul, as though in the words of the poet, "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world". 

Church of the Holy Trinity built in 1857. This may or may  not be the church mentioned but it is in the area.

At this time, England was experiencing a bad depression and our Christmases were very meager. I well remember my first doll. I thought it was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen. It had blond curls, deep blue staring eyes that never moved, and a cloth body. Conditions were beginning to improve so we were each given the choice of one good toy.



The night after Christmas we were left to entertain ourselves while Mother and Dad went to visit some friends. We all sat around the open fire playing games and watching the flames dance up and down. This occupation was a little bit tame for my brother Herbert so he reached for the long handled toasting fork which always hung by the fireplace and with which we toasted our bread before the coals. He stuck the fork into a rubber toy which belonged to the baby of the family, rubbing it in the soot at the back of the chimney and daubing it into our faces. Finally he tired of this sport and spying my doll sitting on a chair, he stuck the fork onto the back of her and held her for a brief moment in front of the flames just to tease me. What he didn't realize was that the face was made of wax and began to melt. He was horrified when he saw what he had done and I was broken-hearted. Just then our parents came home and poor Herbert got his desserts. I could tell many stories like this but there isn't room or time to write them.


"Now the Day is Over" Full Text



1 Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.

2 Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep;
Birds, and beasts, and flowers
Soon will be asleep.

3 Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With Thy tenderest blessing
May our eyelids close.

4 Grant to little children
Visions bright of Thee;
Guard the sailors, tossing
On the deep blue sea.

5 Comfort every sufferer
Watching late in pain;
Those who plan some evil
From their sins restrain.

6 Through the long night-watches,
May Thine angels spread
Their white wings above me,
Watching round my bed.

7 When the morning wakens,
Then may I arise
Pure, and fresh, and sinless
In Thy holy eyes.

8 Glory to the Father,
Glory to the Son,
And to Thee, blest Spirit,
Whilst all ages run.

Amen.

 

My Earliest Recollection

My earliest recollection is of living in a little cul-de-sac under Park Street in the center of the city. In England in the winter time, it gets dark about 3:00 in the afternoon and sometimes on stormy days it is dark all day long. One afternoon about five o'clock, I was playing  in the street and a drizzly rain was falling. I happened to look toward the underpass and in the semidarkness I saw a dark, hooded figure coming toward me. I thought of the terrifying stories of bogey men I had heard and I fled toward the house in a panic. Mother was slow to open the door upon which I was frantically beating with my fists. When at last she opened it, I fell in almost faint with fear. This neighborhood was very rough. People used to get drunk and fight in the streets.

There was an old cathedral close by (Bristol Cathedral), built about the ninth century. The bells were tolled every night. I used to lie in bed and listen to their mournful sound and I felt so sad and afraid. I was afraid of the dark, of people, of thunder and lightning. In fact, I was afraid of everything.

One evening Mother and Dad were going out so they had my sister, Annie, take me with her to a Christian Endeavor class. This was an auxiliary of the Church of England. Annie used to attend this class once a week. I remember sitting in a room with quite a number of older children. The teacher was a sweet, gentle lady with a soft voice. She took me upon her lap while she told the story of the Good Shepherd, who left the ninety and nine to search for the sheep that was lost. She said that the Good Shepherd was Jesus Christ and that he really cared for us and if we ever felt lost or lonely we could pray to Him and He would hear us. She spoke with such a quiet conviction that I believed her and the seed of faith was planted in my childish heart that night that has continued to grow through the years.

My Story

(Back row: Herbert Henry, William Albert, Walter John, Frederick George. Front row: Alice and Henry)

I was born on the 13th of October, 1898, at the close of a momentous century. My parents were Henry Ernest Neal and Alice Yard. Like Nephi of old, I can say they were goodly parents. Our family consisted of the following: Annie Lillian (1893), Herbert Henry (1896), John Walter (1897), Hester Alice (myself, 1898), William Albert (1899), Walter John (1901), Frederick George (1903), and Arthur (1894). John Walter and Arthur died in infancy.

River Avon today


The city of Bristol, in which I was born, is situated on the banks of the River Avon and the River Frome, its tributary. It had a population then of about 600,000 people. It is a very old city and was often called the City of Churches.  Some of the cathedrals and churches dated back to the Ninth Century. The original walls and parts of the old Bristol Castle were much older than that.

River Frome today