Fred Thomas Crook

Tribute written by Joan West (granddaughter in law)

FRED CROOK'S BACKGROUND

Fred Crook was born in 1880 in Long Crendon.   He came to live with his daughter Hilda, and her husband, Dick West at Stocken Farm, Lacey Green in 1940 after his second wife died.   He had retired from his job in London, in poor health ten years earlier, and taken a small dairy farm at Wheeler End.   His wife was good with money, buying property.  He employed a man and sold the milk round Wheeler End.   He would stretch the milk to make it cover the round.   He gambled away any money he made.   He would agree to go on holiday provided his wife took him near Goodwood or Cheltenham for race meetings.   When she died she left a number of terraced properties all with sitting tenants to Dick West, not to Fred, knowing he would gamble them away, but Fred to have any income from them in his lifetime.  This did not come to a great deal as repairs often outweighed the rents.   On her deathbed she begged Hilda not to take in her father. Feeling she had to, because it was thought he was in failing health, Hilda and Dick took him in. He was then 60 years old and lived to be nearly 96!!!

"GRANDAD"

Fred Crook came to be commonly known as “Grandad”, being John West's grandfather.   Grandad was a great character, people liked him, even admired him, but great characters are not always easy to live with! This man, "dying" in 1940, lived for another 36 years at Stocken Farm.   However he always pulled his weight.   GREW & PREPARED VEG

He grew and prepared all the vegetables for the house.  The family by now increased by the arrival of Harry Floyd who lodged with them until 1981 when Dick remarried following Hilda’s death.   There were also families billeted there from Bomber Command during the war.

BUTTERED UP CUSTOMERS

The farm sold eggs which Grandad would serve.   He always "buttered up" the lady customers, sometimes getting himself into difficulties after calling more than one "his favourite customer"

BUTTERED BREAD FOR TEA.

He also buttered the bread for tea.   This went onto the plate facing where he sat at the round table.   The bread on the far side of the plate would be spread with margarine.

DOG RACING

He did not belong to anything in the village.   Certainly not the 81^st Club (all those old people!)   In later years, once a week he went to Park Royal Dog Racing.  He would say to Dick, "I have a lift to Wycombe Station, but would you pick me up coming back?" then he would say to John, " I have someone to get me home, but would you take me to Wycombe Station?". Just a little example, he could be very devious. He hated you spending money.  “A waste” unless you lost it on a bet – that was “Just bad luck”.