Notes from the Field: Village pump politics

I took to the road to see if I could find a working village pump and meet any chin-wagging water carriers.

I hit it lucky. My newly acquainted chaperon got back into his car and told me to follow him down a mountain road for a mile.

When he stopped, I pulled in behind him and leaned the bike against a hedge and looked to the place he pointed to within an adjacent field.

At first, I could not locate it, but then its shape formed against the surrounding browns and rusts of dead nettles and rushes.

Bounded by an old fence, the pump was hidden in plain sight.

“It was last worked 25 years ago, and the water was as cold as if it had been in a fridge for a month. You will need to pump-prime it. I’m not fit for that any more. I’m away. Good luck!”

This was the second pump I visited that day. It had clearly seen better days.

Its finial – or pointed decorative fluted ‘hat’ – was missing, and its inner workings could be seen from above. The pin connecting the cow-tail handle to the pump had been replaced by a large, rusty iron nail.

The pump I visited previously produced water with very little effort as it was still in regular use, but would this be the same?

I trampled down the nettles, took hold of the handle, and relaxed into a steady pump-priming rhythm.

After a few minutes, the loose metallic sound from the protesting pump changed from a hollow clanking to a more fulsome low guttural gurgle as the suction process took hold of the water below as it was slowly drawn up through the pipe.

Eventually, a brown trickle emerged from the fount, and with a little more effort, water gushed forth, becoming clearer all the while.

A satisfactory exercise indeed, given that it had been a generation since the pump had last fulfilled the function for which it was designed.

Both pumps were survivors. They had escaped decommissioning.

Once ubiquitous, tens of thousands of water pumps were installed in the 1800s above wells in local communities. They were places of social and cultural importance where people gathered daily to draw water, trade chat, and exchange news about neighbours and events beyond the parish.

They were hard times, and many hours of drudgery were spent drawing water for the home.

Some pumps were plain enough, but others were elaborately decorated with rope motifs on main stems. The hooks for holding buckets on the tops of their feather-fluted fonts often resembled stylised rams’ horns.

These gems of form and function were made by foundries around the country, including local ironmonger John Lemon & Son from East Bridge St., Enniskillen who traded from 1871 and is still remembered today.

Following the installation of piped water to homes and businesses, most pumps were forgotten, and from the 1970s were considered a public health hazard and were disconnected.

Many were repurposed as brightly painted ornaments for gardens and public spaces on the outskirts of villages, or used more recently as coat hangers and table-tops in trendy bars and restaurants.

The few remaining working pumps are rapidly vanishing, and require our urgent protection.

If you own a pump above a well or water cistern, please get in touch so that they can be mapped, even if they no longer work, as their mechanisms are simple and can be repaired.

Perhaps then our eager young pump attendant (photographed) might live to see his grandchildren pull on a cow-tail handle and delight, as he clearly does today, in the sound of rushing, cold, fresh water drawn from a natural well.

And village pump politics?

Social media has clearly supplanted that role, and the likelihood of us returning to the pump for our news is gone forever. More reason for us to preserve them.

Barney’s blog is available to view at https://notes-from-the-field.blog.