I HAD A LONG association with the Bourne Institute because my grandfather was the first steward and caretaker. Joseph Pool had moved to Bourne from London in 1888 to work on the building of the railways and first went to live at a house in Woodview with his wife Ann and their four children, two boys and two girls, but a condition of his new employment was that they should live on the premises and the family subsequently moved into the accommodation that had been provided at the rear of the Institute.

The children therefore had the run of the premises when it was closed and so they got to know every nook and cranny. The two eldest, Joe and Clara, left home first but the other two stayed on. Ethel, the youngest girl helped out her parents and the youngest son, John Henry, who was my father, remained at the Institute for over twenty years and was able to get in a great deal of practice playing snooker and billiards and became a fully paid up member as soon as the committee allowed. He was lame after contracting polio when a child and after leaving school, worked as a casual labourer or gardener, but this did not stop him from becoming a very proficient player on the tables over the years, often winning the annual tournaments and getting his name inscribed on the silver cups and trophies for snooker and billiards. One year, a national newspaper presented him with a cue for having the highest break in one of their competitions. On one occasion, a club member complained to the committee that the caretaker's son should not be allowed to play on the tables but it was explained that he had been elected a member and was fully paid up. 

In November 1919, my father got married and moved out and eventually went to live at No 5 Alexandra Terrace with my mother Elsie, together with their new family, a son Cyril and daughter Gwen, and their second son, myself, was born there on 16th December 1925. My father remained a frequent visitor to the Institute after he married, both as a playing member and to help his parents, and we were often taken along to see them. In later years, my brother and myself also became members at the Institute and fairly proficient players thanks to years of practice when we were children.

My first recollections of the Institute date from around 1928, which is the first visit that I remember. I was just a toddler at the time but I have vivid memories of going into the building through the very grand front entrance, with its stone pillars and wrought iron gates, and up the stone steps to the front door. Inside was the entrance hall, on the left, was a very grand looking long case clock and I had strict instructions never to touch it. To the left and right of the entrance hall were two large rooms, one of which was the reading room. On the right of the hall was a very fine looking stairway leading to the snooker room and the office of the Kesteven County Council. On the left of the stairs, the coloured tiled floor led up to a door with stained glass panels and beyond were the garden and lawn. At this point, one turned right along the corridor to the caretaker's living room, and also on this corridor was a flight of steps for the servants to access the upper floors and another flight of steps going down into the cellar. On the right, as you entered the living quarters, was a speaking tube connected to the snooker room [no telephones in those days] also on the right was a large framed photograph of my father's brother, Uncle Joe, in his dress uniform, taken during his years in the army.

I have very clear impressions of my grandfather in those days. I remember him sitting in front of the coal fire in the living room with a steaming kettle on the fire, a billiards cue in his left hand and a cue tip on the end of a ladies' hairpin in his right hand. He placed them both in the steam coming from the kettle spout and then, when the glue had softened, the tip was fixed on the cue which was then stood against the wall to dry. He would then sandpaper the cue and tip until he got the correct profile. On another occasion, I also remember that he would often sit in his chair on the lawn at the back of the Institute with his shotgun, facing the wall and waiting for a rat to pop out and hoping to despatch it. I inherited the chair and use it to this day although not for shooting rats.

My grandfather and father were instrumental in the planting of the very fine weeping willows that dominate the view when you enter St Peter's Road. These trees were given to the town by a local solicitor, Cecil Walker Bell, and planted by them. Unfortunately this turned out to be the wrong place because the roots eventually demolished the wall that separated the river from the road. The water was very fast flowing and a barrier was required to keep children away from the water.

There was a shooting range in the old granary building behind the Institute and as a lad, my father used to sieve the shot out of the sand in the target area and melt them into blocks for sale as scrap because lead fetched high prices in those days. The first time he did this, he accidentally tipped the molten lead on the floor which was damp and caused a small explosion, plastering his face and waistcoat with lead particles but fortunately there was no lasting damage. Also near the river was a mound, said to be the top of a borehole sunk to provide water for the maltings when it was in production.

At the end of the lawn, a small bridge with a cobbled surface spanned the river and led to an orchard. This was not actually part of the Institute grounds but was rented by my grandfather through Lyall and Company, the auctioneers and estate agents, who had offices in the Market Place. It contained a wide variety of apple trees such as Codling, with raised ridges from the stalk to the base, Worcester Pearmain which always seemed to have a maggot inside, Blenheim Orange, Bramley and Ironside. The first apple to be edible was a little fruit which was only about an inch round, hardly a bite size for a child, and we had our fill right through the summer months with apples and plums. The Ironsides and Bramleys, or keepers as we called them, were not fit to eat until spring and so they were picked in October and stored in the house until New Year. These gave off that wonderful aroma of stored apples that reminded us of the pleasures to come when they had matured and were fit to eat. There were also several plum and damson trees in the orchard, New Orleans and Golden Drop, and a very large green-yellow variety which was so good to eat when ripe that I once climbed into the tree and gorged on them until I felt sick and that put me off eating plums for a very long time afterwards.

The Institute was always a great attraction on Sundays. My brother Cyril and I had to go to Sunday school at the Baptist Chapel in West Street but afterwards, we would make a bee line for the Institute as it was closed on Sundays and Bank Holidays and so we could play billiards and snooker for as long as we wished. In my early days, I used to stand on a box to reach the table but as we got older, we were given the key to the glass case containing the members' cues, each one locked in a tin tubular case, and we would use father's personal cue but always treated it with extreme care. Also upstairs at the Institute was an area with small tables which was used for card games and whist drives were often held in the long room. On occasions, tables and chairs were needed for functions in Bourne other than at the Institute, and then the tables and chairs were lowered down from the long room to St Peter's Road on a rope and returned via the same route after use. 

The Institute could be a cold place and the snooker room was heated by a very large tubular coke or coal fired stove which was the only source of heating in the whole room so it had to be kept well fired in winter. My father and Uncle Joe used to sleep in the long room and one night they thought they heard a ghost. They were woken by the sound of footsteps and they followed them out of the long room, into the snooker room and down the servants' back stairs to the cellar, but at that point they decided to go back to bed. They never did get an explanation and they were certainly not suffering from an excess of alcohol because father was a lifetime teetotaller.

My grandmother, Mary Ann Pool, died at the Institute in November 1932 at the age of 71 and my grandfather Joseph also died there on 10th May 1933, aged 74. My Aunt Ethel carried on looking after the Institute for a while and we children took it in turns to sleep there and keep her company but after a few months, she left and went to live in one of the cottages in St Peter's Road, now demolished, later moving to one of the almshouses in West Street where she died in February 1956 aged 71. Uncle Joe died in York in September 1939, aged 58, and his body was brought back to Bourne by train and they were all interred in the family grave space in Bourne Cemetery. My mother Elsie died in 1954 aged 61 followed by my father John Henry who died in 1956, aged 70. Both parents were cremated at Gilroes Cemetery, Leicester. My brother Cyril died at Grantham in 1987 aged 67 and was buried there.

I often recall those happy days spent at the Institute. They say that an aptitude for billiards is the sign of a misspent youth but that is not so in my case. It just so happens that as I had the run of the Institute for much of my youth, it was inevitable I should learn to play and as I recall they were very happy days.

Written by Trevor Pool of Halifax, West Yorkshire, July 2003

A photograph of the old Bourne Institute can be found in West Street