Former Advertiser reporter remembers the magical memories - and dramatic rescues - at Churchover's ford

As far as Churchover children were concerned, it seemed to be one of the best-kept secrets of their little world.

It was their special place, totally unknown, territory untouched by Mankind – or so it appeared – for miles in every direction.

You never saw Harborough Magna or Pailton kids there. Or, come to think of it, young shavers from Easenhall.

And as for youngsters from Brownsover, Cosford and Newbold, neighbouring settlements that lay just a mile or two over the fields, well… they didn’t know of its existence, either.

But that’s just the way the Churchover mob liked it. For regardless of the time of year, the ford at the bottom of the lane just south-west of the village provided endless fun and recreation.

It was impossible to grow tired of the ford. Whether we were listening to the tinkling sound of the water running over the pebbles, or the roar and crash of gravy coloured floods hitting the bridge buttresses, it was all music to our ears, a veritable symphony of the seasons.

Mind you, summer was undoubtedly the best time of all. Here we would fish for sticklebacks, loaches, minnows and bullheads, either with nets or with improvised rod and line.

An eager child at one end… and a wriggling worm at the other.

Most captures were released back in the river Swift, although a few might be taken home and installed in improvised aquariums. Sorry to say, most of them would be dead by the next day.

You don’t understand the need of fish for oxygen at the age of eight. Or at least, you didn’t back then. Such a shame.

Then there were the boats made from tractor tyre inner tubes. Floating downstream on a dreamy August day… ah, this was the life, may this never end.

Mind you, the ford could be a treacherous place in winter, when the Swift was running in full spate. Yes, it might have been wonderful to play ‘poohsticks’ and see whose improvised boat would be first under the bridge, but you would definitely have been in trouble had you fallen into what was often a raging, untamed torrent.

In February, 2013, this was dramatically highlighted when a woman and three young children were rescued after their car broke down in the middle of the flooded ford.

Fortunately, two workmen taking a short cut home after an accident had closed the nearby motorway, helped the young family to safety.

They were cold and wet but otherwise uninjured. The incident prompted fire fighters to warn motorists not to try and drive through floods.

The woman’s VW Polo had broken down in darkness as floodwater swirled all around the vehicle. With her in the car were two young boys aged six and three, and an 18-month-old girl.

The men waded into the water and helped the family out, one of them carrying the girl in his arms. By the time fire fighters arrived moments later, the water was up to the windscreen.

The workmen were later praised for their prompt action by crew commander Matthew Hibberd, of Rugby fire station, who said the two men had done a great job.

Yes indeed, the Swift can be quite a volatile river. And its name is certainly deceptive, if not downright misleading, because in summer it hardly seems to move at all as it languidly makes its way to join the Avon at Brownsover.

But in winter, this little flow can change its personality almost overnight when, after heavy rains, it comes rolling and tumbling down from its source near Walton and Kimcote in neighbouring Leicestershire.

The formerly docile, gentle creature of high summer suddenly transforms itself into a raging beast, which is why the woman and her children found themselves in such a fix on that wet and windy winter’s night.

Towards the end of the 1950s, everything started to change down at the ford. As car ownership increased, so did people’s mobility. And that meant previously far-flung places were starting to be discovered… among them our beloved ford.

By the early 1960s, it had become a summer playground for families from Rugby and Coventry, a seaside in miniature that lay on their doorsteps.

Soon, Austin Sevens, Fords and Hillmans were lining the approach roads, on occasion almost up to the blue brick railway bridge supporting the Great Central line.

It was the end of an era. No longer was the ford hidden in our secret valley, solely the private playground of Churchover children. From Brinklow to Bretford, Catthorpe to Cotesbach, the secret was out.

The world and his wife had discovered the ford. And nothing would ever seem the same again.

John Phillpott’s memories of the river Swift and the countryside around Churchover are highlighted in his book Beef Cubes and Burdock, available from booksellers and online.