Birth: 4 December 1903 Near The Barracks, Barford Mill, Churt (now demolished) Churt, Farnham, Surrey, UK
Father: James Croucher 1860-1939
Mother: Ellen Fullick 1872-1943
Christening: 3 January 1904 St John the Evangelist, Churt, Surrey, UK
Marriage: Never married
Death: October-December 1973 In his bedsit near the railway station, Farnham, Surrey, UK
Also known as Rust or Rusty, both from the colour of his hair and the state of his bicycle.
Birth of Frederick Croucher in FreeBMD in January-March 1894 in Farnham (2a 138).
Entry in Churt Baptisms for Frederick Croucher on 3 January 1904, son of James and Ellen Croucher of The Barracks, Churt.
In the 1911 census as Frederick Croucher aged 7 and living with James and Ellen (parents?) Ernest, James and William (brothers?) and Ellen, Emily and Ruth (sisters?) in Churt, Farnham, Surrey.
Entry in the Register of Deaths for Federick Croucher, born in 4 December 1903, in October-December 1973 in Surrey SW (5g 1217).
Although he lived in Farnham, he seems to have lost touch with the rest of the family. I went with my father to see him in the late 1960's when he gave me a very small wood plane. My father cleared his bedsit after his death - it was full of books. My father and his sisters went to the cremation at Guildford, but due to a mixup over dates, were a day too late.
Shirley West has an entry in Ancestry Public Member Trees for Frederick Croucher born on 4 December 1903, parents James Croucher and Ellen Fullick, and his death in October-December 1973 in Farnham, Surrey. Matthew Savill adds his christening on 3 January 1904 at St. John the Evangelist Parish, Churt, son of James and Ellen Croucher of The Barracks, Churt.
Written by my father.
His real name is Fred Croucher
But he's known to his friends as Rust
And by gum his cycle is rusty
And covered with mud and dust
He neither cleans nor overhauls it
The nuts and the bolts are gone
In places it is tied together
And the wheels are wired on
The machine is well known in the district
By ear as well as by sight
For who in the world could mistake it
About 10 o'clock every night
The dogs in the yards would be barking
As he rides through the mist and the rain
And the good folk would listen, then whisper
There's Rusty's old iron again
One day he was trying to sell it
Would anyone buy it, no fear
His price was an ounce of Nut Brown
And half a pint of club beer
But Rust didn't care for the chaffing
He rode on till he got a bad skid
Then the kids all gathered around him
And asked for a ride on his grid
Of course not one was in earnest
Who was there to dare such a game
For to ride the old iron in public
Would earn one a terrible name
When Rust saw they did not mean it
He tied up the broken chain
Threw his leg over the saddle
And was off with the rattle again
Down hills, around corners, he sped on
With nothing his speed to check
Whilst folk stood gasping, expecting
Him to fall off and break his neck
Now that is the story of Rusty
Have you ever heard the like
A head like a blazing prairie
Astride a rusty old bike
William Croucher 1924
Frederick Croucher was my uncle.