Married to Mrs Buggins, seen here buying an ice cream in the late 1950s. and had two sons Les and Tommy.
Les Buggins.
Born in the village in Dormer Row end cottage where he lived all his life, Les was the source, alongside his father, of many anecdotes concerning village life just after the second war. Just three will suffice to get an intimate insight into happenings that live long in the imagination,
First, The Amazing Chicken Hurling Machine of RAF Croughton.
After the last war and before the USAAF took the site over for its' Listening Station, the base was used for experimental aircraft engine development. To gauge whether prototype aero engines could withstand damage to the spinning blades caused by bird strike, a machine rather like a medieval trebouchet hurled chickens, (dead of course, do you think we English hate animals!), into tethered engines running at various speeds. Any unused chickens left at the end of the day's proceedings made their way back to the village by RAF Personnel where they were traded for pints at the Red Lion.
Second, 'We don't need a taxi home!'
During the second war a road gang left their road roller with its engine running outside the Red Lion one lunch time. A few well inebriated ERCS, (ground crew), from the air base decided to borrow it to get a lift back to base. Mr Buggins Senior, the local air raid warden and special constable, managed to overtake them without too much difficulty before they reached the main road. However, overtaking them he then left his bike in the road in front of the approaching roller, and placed himself in its path. Result, one flattened bike, ERCS confined to base for one month, though Buggins did eventually get a new bike.
Third, 'and the pig got up and slowly walked away'
During the war the residents of Dormer Row shared the upkeep of a pig, kept in one of the brick sheds at the bottom of their gardens. When it came to its final day, Mr Greatbatch Senior unfortunately bungled the job and the cut to the animal's throat was not deep enough to despatch it, merely to stun it. It was the practice then to place the dead pig on the red hot embers of a bonfire to singe off the bristles prior to bleeding the animal. Not ten seconds had elapsed before the animal gave an enormous squeal, jumped up and ran off down Church Lane. It enjoyed eight days of freedom before being caught by Lady Bridge and despatched by Mr Buggins using Major Furlong's Patent Horse Euthanasia Captive Bolt Gun.