A good life celebrated
John Carford Seabrook 15th August 1923 – 1st August 2023
These calls come as we know they must.
‘Tim, it’s Mark here, thought I’d tell you that Dad’s died’.
John Seabrook, a farmer for almost a century, in Tollesbury, Essex had passed away. So very sad however his was a life to celebrate. And we did, gathering in St Mary’s Church Tollesbury, a sunny afternoon a few days back. A good turnout, no surprises there. Before the service there was quiet chatter before John’s family arrived, exchanges between friends and relatives who had known and loved John. A church full of people of good stock, broad smiles and a desire to get back to their combines (!) There was a droll remark after the service: ‘John would never have planned this for August’.
I sat there and thought. John’s later life was so close to my father’s (Bill Baynes died in 2017). He was Bill’s customer for many years, my father having worked for a seed merchant. On retirement for both of them, my father would drive the nine miles to Garlands Farm and work along side John; putting in hedges and small trees and cover for wildlife. And once established they tended these vital habitats.
John Seabrook had returned to the family farm after a gallivanting tour of duty in the RAF (Spitfires and Hurricanes). We often talked about this period when my dad, John and I gathered at Garlands for a cup of tea and Penguin biscuit. And how farming had changed across seven decades.
Memories come flooding back. In my dad’s final years I’d drive across from Buckinghamshire to see him. We’d then pop over to see John and talk about times past, what was going on right now and how the crops were looking. Banter liberally dosed with wit and hilarity.
Sitting now waiting, for the service to begin, I was thinking about them both. Men of Essex, who loved the land and everything about it. I admit I was tearful but so happy to have known them both. And grateful to be here now, in a small village, fields and farms and surrounded by marshland. Land I love so very much.1 Like these two men.
After Bill’s death I’d pop over and see John and Mark. For tea and a chat, I’d bring the Penguin biscuits. And the high spot, after a cuppa, would be driving around the farm by John in his battered Mitsubishi pick up.
A helter-skelter across tracks and field edges, and all the time a running commentary from John on what was happening where, him pointing out the stewardship he and my dad had achieved.
During the service’s Address John was quoted as saying
“You only learn from your mistakes at harvest - then you start again”
A characteristic remark from a thoughtful, kind and generous man.
Tollesbury-on-Sun
Dated July 2019
The other Saturday I was pleased to be driven round the fields and small woodland areas by retired farmer John Seabrook. This was a real treat, and the weather was glorious!
John was one of my father’s greatest friends. Dad would often drive over to John’s farm and working alongside each other, they would tend to and nurture these woodlands, put up as havens for wildlife. Trees were planted and undergrowth was brought under control. This was early conservation work by two enthusiasts!
Tollesbury, on the Essex coast, has been farmed to grow crops for thousands of years. The dominant crop is wheat for bread, animal feed and biscuits.
We toured the farm in John’s old Mitsubishi pick-up, the fields of wheat were looking beautiful and waving in the wind - another sea, and like the sea just yards behind us. The winter barley was about to turn pale gold.
The last desolate coast
Dated May 2011
On Saturday I went down to Essex, for two reasons; to see my father and to visit the seashore and gather such material that the time might grant. We went to Tollesbury, on the very edge of the coast some 70 miles east of London.
I have been before. It was the need to connect that impelled this visit.
From the Tollesbury village it is about 5 minutes by car to the water's edge, now grandly called a marina. Fishing boats moored or quietly decaying or being perhaps refurbished with all the paraphernalia of fishing and sailing is littered everywhere. Each item makes its own picture. I selfishly gathered material, a few drawings and many pictures.
Thence out of the harbour, up through the village, stopping at the bread shop for two iced-buns and out onto the coast abutting the farm of John Seabrook.
On the farm we walked along the sea wall, fabricated from bright rusted iron sunk deep into the land to hold back the sea. This deserted small area of Essex coast where the occupying Romans would sink their amphorae into the mud to collect the sea and evaporate it into salt. The water was too high to collect the shards of their pottery which are so plentiful at low water.
The light was flat a leaden sky spread flat upon choppy sea and May-green corn land. Wind from off the sea chilled and made regaining the car a pleasurable moment.
