HE was just a simple countryman who enjoyed talking about his beloved donkey and of the common sense in steering clear of that big city Hereford.

But he was also hard working, frugal and 'crafty dafty' - and being so had made him a man of property.

It was on a summer's day back in 1924 that old Tom Goode found himself rubbing shoulders in print with some of England's most noble names.

A journalist ventured into the borderland between Herefordshire and Wales to paint a picture with pen and photo of the community of Clifford - past and present.

He related the exploits of men of pedigree who had made a mark in Herefordshire's history. Fitz Osborne, Baskerville and Walwyn featured large.

And there, of course, was a famous woman, 'Fair Rosamond', the member of the Clifford family whose love for Henry 11 ended with her death at the hands of his Queen.

The good folk who made Clifford tick between the first and second world wars faced the camera. Smiling for the visiting journalist were such village stalwarts as the head teacher, stationmaster and engine driver.

And described there, too, was good old Tom whose meeting with the scribe happened by chance. It was a happy arrangement for the conversation with sprightly Mr Goode brightened up what was otherwise a rather a dry article with facts gleaned from the office history book!

The chat seemed to perk up the journalist and certainly satisfied the needs of his rather patronising pen.

He wrote: "Clifford is one of the most straggling parishes in the county and one may spend quite a considerable time in discovering the pretty nooks and crevices that abound in this part. It was during my tour of inspection that I alighted on one of the oldest Herefordshire personalities who are now, I regret to say, fast dying out, and taking with them the memories of the dear old county as she was in the days of the sporting lords and squires who were looked up to with reverence and respect by the villagers; when a yeoman set out at dawn to his daily toil and returned at twilight, tired but satisfied, to sit down and enjoy the hearty meal, flavoured with several horns of delectable cider."

The writer was cycling along a winding road and, when approaching two whitewashed cottages, he espied a donkey grazing in a nearby enclosure. No pub lunch for that 'hack' of bygone times who decided to enjoy a bite to eat 'al fresco', sharing his snack with his new found four-legged friend.

As a tasty morsel was handed over the journalist heard a voice behind him exclaim: "Ye don't find many of 'em about nowadays, do ye?"

The reader is told: "I turned round to find an antiquated figure contemplating me over the garden gate. Here was one of the old brigade - Mr Tom Goode.

"I found him to be a most interesting personage. He must be very, very old, yet he stood as straight as a young soldier, with the help of a walking stick, while his keen and humorous eyes stamped him as a man of unusual perception and keenness."

Tom proudly proclaimed himself to be 'about the oldest inhabitant around these parts' and also boasted that it had been 20 years since he had ventured into Hereford!

"I finds plenty to do in these parts, what with my garden and hens, while I manage just comfortably on my old age pension," he declared.

He did travel, however, the three miles into nearby Hay-on-Wye, courtesy of the old donkey!

It was there that Tom - described by the newspaper article as 'an old rustic' - pulled off a cheeky coup that left a local auctioneer red-faced.

He attended a property sale in Hay and showed willing when others bided their time in making a bid for the cottage on offer.

The 'old rustic' shouted a bid of £35 and the gathering roared with laughter at the so-called prospective purchaser and the derisory amount he offered.

Going along with the mood of mirth, the auctioneer took the joke a stage further by bringing down his hammer with a thud that attracted even greater guffaws from those assembled.

But old Tom was deadly serious. His humble appearance disguised a man with money - cash saved from his days working for Petercoat, the cotton manufacturer who had owned much of the land in that area.

The joke had turned sour for the auctioneer and, happily recalling the day he became a home owner, Tom told the journalist: "He had a shock when I showed him the colour of my money. It was the best bargain I ever made!"

So our writer friend concluded his interview and left behind old Tom and his donkey. Sadly, he seemingly failed to take a photograph of this great character - although one can imagine that a certain auctioneer never forgot his face!