Tommy Sowter's loaf - A Wartime tale of Newton

This was a post from 2013, I'm using it again today as it came up in conversation today when I was asked if I'd ever found out anymore about it. I hadn't which is a shame but by showing it again today it might jog a memory of two.. hope so!

We just had to post this great local story from Newton in the war years, sent in by Jacqueline and Colin Ridgway !!

"Reading Roger V Chapman’s interesting memories of his boyhood in Hyde during WW2 reminded us of an aftermath of a Bombing Raid in Newton. The large ICI works in Talbot Road which produced leather-cloth known as “Rexine” in peacetime, was switched to Munitions during WW2. As a result it became a target for the Luftwaffe, and Bombers regularly flew over Hyde on raids. They would locate the Reservoir near the Werneth Pub in Gee Cross then aim for the Reservoir at Godley which put them on the Flight Path to the ICI Works.

The factory walls were heavily camouflaged as was the roof and must have been difficult for the German aircrews to spot from the air, although several “drops” of incendiary bombs had fallen on the works and hit houses opposite the Clarence Hotel on Talbot Road.

On one such raid a German bomber was hit by a Hurricane plane, possibly from RAF Calveley, and flew in over Newton very low and on fire. It came down in the fields behind St. Mary’s Church and the crew luckily escaped. My Husband Colin Ridgway and his friends (all very young), were playing football nearby and saw the Germans run into the wood near Saville’s Farm.

The boys ran home to get their toy guns in order to capture the airmen and on the way to the wood they were met by a friend Tommy Sowter who had been queuing at the bread shop for his Mother’s ration and had a loaf of bread in a bag, he joined them and they went into the wood only to be confronted by the Germans! Toy guns not being a Sitha, bravery soon evaporated and the boys fled, but not before a German had pinched Tommy’s loaf off him.

Er' Sithe, wurs ma bleedin loaf

In the flight the boys ran into Constable Jackson and the Newton “Dads Army” who were on their way to search for the downed Airmen. The boys told them where the Germans were and ran back home and safety. The airmen were soon apprehended and marched off down Talbot Road. A large crowd of Mothers had assembled near the Post office and as the column passed by much hissing and catcalling took place; by the women against the Germans as their husbands were away fighting in the war. However, one mother was more concerned in giving her errant son Tommy a “good hiding” for letting the Germans steal their loaf. Nothing for Tea tonight!!

Many Thanks for sending this in to us, Jacqueline and Colin !

It's always great hearing such stories. :)

Clash of the Titans !!

Today I received this wonderful email from Phil Leech and just had to share it.

Hello.

I wrote the bit below as part of my reminiscence of my band, 'Biggles Wartime Band' which I formed with Trevor Hague (now James) and Jock ( who is still the current wonderful front man) and later, Graham Buckley - he of The Verge fame and who is still the organizer and banjoist with the band. I was about twenty years old when I met Jock and we decided to form a band. I am sixty three now and proud that the band plays on (even without me) Biggles, that is to say, me (Phil) and Trev, had this wonderful idea of forming The Hyde Orchestra!

This was in the days when there were terrible and quite snobbish arguments about where Arts Council funding should go. I think that when we approached this stupid and outlandish project in 1974 or 1975, I would be about 24 or twenty five years of age. We had no real ‘art’ intent. It was a huge joke. They said it was ‘‘inclusive’’.

Well, looking back, it did. But we never intended that. It was a joke. Actually, it was just one of a few ‘projects’ that we worked on at the time.

I remember reading a critique of Arts Council cash handouts, comparing the London opera and ballet, the usual recipients of large funding, to ‘Northern poets with carrots up their noses’ who were getting grants for the most outlandish projects. The conventional arts were being downgraded in favour of these more ‘ community’ based projects. The leftie press favoured, of course, the northern poets.

We never thought of applying for and of course never received any grants, but we were viewed by some of the artistic community and some of the left wing intelligentsia as ‘new’, ‘community’, ‘inclusive’, ‘avant garde’ ‘free thinking’.

And viewed by a lot of Hyde people as ‘daft buggers’, ‘probably students who should get proper jobs’, and some with sage comments like, ‘They’ve nowt better to do’. 

Now. Here is the essence of the Hyde Orchestra.

Anyone can join the orchestra. 

There are no restrictions at all – except one.

The instrument you play must be totally unfamiliar to you. 

You must never have played it in the past.

It would help if you own it, so that we would not have the actual owners arguing about it being abused.

Members were encouraged to swap instruments with friends, so that we kept the variety alive.

I played saxophone. Played might be a little of an exaggeration. Actually, after about a week, I could bash out (or blow out) a recognizable rendition of ‘I do like to be Beside the Seaside’. We warned everybody that if they became proficient at their instrument, it could be changed at the last minute. 

The conductors decision was final. And usually purposefully stupid.

We were amazed at the number of people who wanted to join. It got to the point where we were actually turning people away. It would be nice to think that we auditioned people and took them on, on the basis of how completely crap they were at playing even paper and comb, but I don’t think we reached this dizzy height of stupidness. But we did hire or turn away people on the basis of what instrument they could bring to the band (or Orchestra)

Our first rehearsals were at the White Gate Inn at the bottom of Manchester Road, Hyde. We rehearsed in a room at the back. Most bands usually rehearse by playing through a piece, perhaps stopping at some point if needs be, going back a bar or two and trying again.

The orchestra rehearsed (we preferred ‘practiced’) by trying to get everyone just playing the same tune. There was no sheet music. There was no musical arrangement, just a desire to get everyone playing the same tune, in unison and at about the same speed. Being in the same key helped. Being in tune with one another was rare. 

We must have practised at least twice there. On one occasion, we were pestered, yet again, by a scruffy, under age, inarticulate yob who wanted to join in. He had asked if he could become a part of this a couple of times before. We told this irritating, snotty, whining, little red haired bit of a kid, “No”. (well actually, we were a bit more verbose than that. A little more direct, might one say)

So that is how we first met Mick Hucknall, famous front man and indeed founder of Simply Red.

So much for early talent spotting. 

After two or three ‘rehearsals’ we decided that we would do a gig. I cannot remember if the gig was at the White Gates or at the Gee Cross Sports and Social Club. However, we did a gig.

We were always pretty good at local advertising. Biggles was by now quite well known locally and so anything we gave to the local papers was almost always printed. So we had a good large audience at, er, er, Gee Cross or Haughton Green. I think it must have been the White Gates, but I cannot be sure.

Well, this gig went as me and Trev expected, which was badly. The joke was that many people, Biggles fans (who were mostly in on the joke) interested members of the public, curious, dour and sceptical pub locals and a member of the press, attended and listened to this musical travesty. One tune after another was ruined, tortured, ridiculed and, well, played badly. 

Some people walked out. Some orchestra members went for a pee whenever it suited. A few people stuffed handkerchiefs into their mouths as they walked outside and then laughed and laughed.

A lot of people did not get the joke. The artistic, inclusive and radically new nature of this ‘peoples orchestra’ which was ostensibly an outreach project aimed at the poor members of the public who did not experience live music – or indeed classical music – was missed by quite a few. 

However, two people did.

One was the concert secretary of the Droylsden Labour Club. He BOOKED us to appear at his club. We appeared. It was awful. The good people of the club (who were part of ‘clubland’ as it was sometimes called by the cognoscenti) booed and hissed. They were used to acts which, well, entertained. The Hyde Orchestra fell down on this score. It fell down on a lot of other scores as well. Including longevity.

The other chap who did not miss the joke was the local, tongue in cheek, press reporter, who decided to run a story on us. It appeared in the local rag, the North Cheshire Herald. This enterprising reporter, whose name escapes me, then sold the story on to the nationals, so his report then appeared in the Guardian, The Times, The Telegraph and a couple of red tops. 

The high brow press had fallen for the story of the plight of the poor down trodden Northern ‘peoples’ artists, even though it was admitted that it was difficult to play a saxophone, violin or cello with a carrot up your nose.

We were chuckling all the way to the pub. We had to take a bit of stick from our friends. I will never forget Jimmy Etchells shouting to us as he stumbled home late one night, “You never made the Daily Star, did you.”

It was all a great lark.

Our national coverage gave us much local fame. We were the talk of the town for about ten minutes, but we fell foul of the real local orchestra which was called:

The Hyde Festival Orchestra.

They were a proper band, not scruffy, musically inept upstarts like us. They gave concerts and wore black suits and white ties and were serious musicians with a grand Hydonian history. They never had pints of beer at their feet whilst playing or left burning cigarettes in ashtrays lying around near them. 

They could, unlike us, actually play classical music, and read musical scores and follow the conductor and not eat sandwiches whilst playing.

However, I suspect that, unlike us, they never attempted the likes of ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street’ and ‘Bye, Bye Blackbird’ and ‘I Do Like To Be Beside the Seaside’.

Their director or the president or some such – their main honcho anyway – instructed his solicitors to write to us to demand that we stop using the title ‘The Hyde Orchestra’ as it could easily be confused with their proper band, which was called ‘The Hyde Festival Orchestra’.

We were, arguably, one of the worst orchestras on the planet. The fact that we could be confused with ‘The Hyde Festival Orchestra, was laughable, and also never intended. I remember thinking that they never mentioned how we would bring them into disrepute. The solicitors letter never actually said we were crap. I wish I still had that letter. It would be reproduced on hundreds of tee-shirts by now. 

So we had a meeting. In a pub of course. Just three or four of us. We laughed and joked about the letter, putting forward suggestions as to what we should do next. Although we all appeared quite calm and relaxed (dare I say ‘cool’) by this turn of events, we were all, secretly, a little shaken by the fact that this stupendous hoax might have got a little out of hand – first the national press, now letters from solicitors – whatever next?

There was not much discussion as to what we should do. Trevor took over the meeting and told us what would happen next. He would write a letter in reply offering a solution. He explained what this would say. We all fell on the floor laughing and then got another beer. 

Trevor sent a letter to their solicitor in reply. It said, (I do not have the original, but this was the gist)

‘Thank you for your letter of the (whenever it was)

We are quite clearly in dispute regarding the titles of our two orchestras and must find a way forward.

We believe that the only fair and gentlemanly way of resolving this matter is in the boxing ring. We propose that the two conductors go head to head in a contest of ten rounds in a ring agreed by both parties at a mutually agreed venue. We propose that we have the red corner, and you have the blue corner. 

The winner will have the right to choose any name he pleases for his orchestra, and the loser accepts that their own orchestra might be re-named. 

The usual Queensbury rules should apply.’

We did not get a reply, and Our lovely band, ‘The Hyde Orchestra’ never played again.

The Hyde Festival Orchestra survived this hiccup in its illustrious career and, as they say, ‘the band played on’.

Many Thanks Phil, for allowing us to share this great story.

Much appreciated.

"Reliving our Youth"

The following was sent to us by Joyce and Graham Sharp and it is precisely for the reasons they outline below just why we do the blog.

Hyde Cheshire Blog.

One of the first things that Joyce and I do each day is to look at this Blog and also the Hyde Daily Photo by Gerald England. Why do we this and look forward to it so much?

Joyce and I were brought up in Hyde, we were married at Hyde Chapel in 1956, we had two sons and left Hyde for Canada in 1966. Our parents and siblings are all dead now leaving a few cousins, nieces and nephews and friends in England. We now have three children, seven grandchildren and one great grandson, we have had no time to be "homesick".

However, as we get older there is a strong, but futile desire to relive our youth, a feeling shared by many. But, "You can't go home again". 

We cannot walk up Joel Lane and over Werneth Low. We cannot go down Hyde on a Saturday evening for a Football Pink and the Empire News. I cannot go to the Moulders for a pint with my Dad and on to Ewen Fields with a Handforths pie at half time.

We cannot go to the August Wakes Week Fair on the Market Ground or to the Ritz for a Saturday matinee. A tripe tea upstairs at the UCP is a distant memory.

Are there still Saturday night dances at Enfield Street School ? Does Jock still have his stall on Hyde Market?

A quick game of snooker in the Billiard Hall upstairs behind the Hippodrome on the way home from school.

To be able to walk down Hyde Lane looking in the many and wonderful shop windows.

These are some of the many things that we would like to do but, either they do not exist any more or, we don't have the legs for it!

So, this is where the Blogs come in, by refreshing some of those memories with the wonderful posts from so many people.

Thanks to Team Hydonian and particularly to you. Nancy, for helping us "relive our youth"

  

Joyce Baddeley and Graham Sharp on Werneth Low, 1954.

Many Thanks to you both for sharing the memories with us :) 

It's lovely to be able to help you relive your youth ! 

MEMORIES OF HYDE 1958 – 1962 Part 10

BY ROGER CHADWICK

The end of June 1958  saw Mum, Gran and I make the annual pilgrimage from Glen Wood to Godley Station.  We were on our way to the annual fortnight in Bournemouth. 

But that summer saw me staying in Bournemouth working on a market garden – for at that time Hyde had absolutely no work for temporary or unskilled workers. 

The pay at the market garden was low, the work boring and at times dangerous as I was shinning up ladders rolling “sylglass” between the greenhouse panes or taking new growth from the axils of tomato plants and for variety, feeding each and every cucumber plant in a vast greenhouse with one barrel-load of horse muck per day.  The summer did have its bonuses – I found very good “digs”, a smashing girlfriend whose father worked for De Havilland and I came home brown as a berry, ready for third year at Durham University.

This was the time when I realised I could not be in Hyde for much longer and still needed to work for the family income.  An enquiry at the Office of the North Western Road Car Company informed me that there was work for “temps” in the summer months.  I jumped at the chance! 

Mottram Road

I spent a fortnight in Conductor School and was then assigned to Glossop Garage and placed under the watchful eye of a senior conductor and an Inspector.  Very soon I was in charge of a vehicle and when on early shift, learnt to wake up at 0300 hrs, brew up, dress smartly in full uniform and stand under the lamp on Mottram Road(A 57) waving my billy can and hitching a lift so as to take a bus out for 0500.  Most days I got a potato lorry bound for West Yorkshire but then meant a long walk from The Gun Inn,  Hollingworth to Charles Street in Glossop.  Sometimes a newspaper van would oblige.  Occasionally one of the drivers would pick me up – sometimes in a car, sometimes on a motor bike.  Yet I never missed a shift in three years on the buses.  Thankfully most of the shifts started later and I could travel to work on the 0530 or 0600 service 125 to Glossop.  Coming home at night was sometimes difficult, The Company put on a “ghost” bus for late workers as far as Mottram Junction but you never got lifts from motorists so it was “shanks pony” for 2.5 miles home!  The shift that saw me work the Glossop Saturday Midnight Circular 190 taking all the boozers home was no fun when it was half past one in the morning before I got in!

Stalybridge, Hyde, Mossley & Dukinfield Joint Transport and Electricity Board Crest

It was a funny feeling to work on a bus route that passed my door and which I knew so well and to sit in the crew room at Glossop with North Western and SHMD guards that knew me from boyhood.  I often worked the 125 Limited Stop to Denton, Hyde and Old Glossop. It was an 8hr 31min “turn” and you worked hard with full loads to Hyde, full loads to Manchester and the same at night on return workings.  On one such trip we came into Chorlton Street, and went out immediately, fully loaded..  Late running was frowned upon.  Traffic jams were frequent around the city and you didn’t get a clear road until beyond Ardwick. 

 Belle Vue circa 1963

By Belle Vue I was dying to use the Public Conveniences. 

Going down Broomstair Brow I was desperate but I knew that there were facilities in Hyde Bus Station.  Never was I so glad to arrive at Hyde Bus Station and find relief – but then – it suddenly dawned upon me that I was in a cubicle!   There had been no urinal and I was too desperate to notice. I did now – I was in THE LADIES!!!  I really do remember breaking into a cold sweat.  Was I going to be arrested?   Someone might have already called the police for our bus was fully loaded and waiting immediately outside.  What if a lady came in?  Here goes – with head held high walked out pretending that nothing untoward had occurred, I emerged into the sunlight.  Suddenly there was a roar of laughter and cheering from the passengers and driver!   They had all seen what had happened and were going to make the most of it. It took me weeks to live that episode down.   Nowadays, such an incident would be world news!

Hyde Bus Station - The toilets were to the left behind the bus shelters.

I learn a lot about the British Public whilst on the buses and I will come to that in the next chapter.  My first driver warned me when I started that I would learn things about people’s behaviour that no college course could teach.   Bye – he was right – but they were good years with eight to ten weeks on buses, enjoying the travel, the “crack” with mates and the fun with passengers.  Of course, there was the bonus of good wages, plenty of overtime, Sunday double time, rest day working, spread-over penalty payments for split shifts.  I was to get married in 1963 with this “bus money” behind me!  My mother, instead of taking my wages for board and lodge took the money and then secretly saved it all up for when I needed it.

In some ways, these were the happiest years of my life!!

Thanks to Roger for his continuing memories of Hyde.
They are much welcomed and enjoyed ! :)

 

MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN HYDE 1953 – 1962 Part 9

By Roger Chadwick

The school week at William Hulme’s G.S. was six whole days, there being lesons on Wednesday and Saturday mornings and compulsory sport until 4.00.p.m. on both afternoons.  Drama and School Cadets added yet more hours to the schoolday and at busy times I would do homework in Manchester Central Library getting home around 9.30.p.m. only to be off again at 7.30.a.m. in the morning.   Half term consisted of a Friday and a Monday tacked onto a weekend but the school holidays were longer.   These factors meant that my time in and around Hyde was becoming increasingly sparse! In those days, Sunday truly was a day of rest with shops closed, bus services curtailed and nowt to do unless you were involved in a church.

Just after my 15^th birthday, with the expenses of adolescence rising, some money had to be raised.   In the summer of 1954, I started labouring at Ashton Brothers Bayleyfield Mill, hauling tubs of cotton bobbins to Italian lasses, (many of whom had already done 8 hrs in the Pan Yan Pickle factory in Glossop) in what was then called the Pirning room and then sorting boxes of cotton in the cavernous damp cellars.  Weekday work began at 7.30.a.m. and finished at 5.30.p.m with 20 minutes for breakfast and 60 minutes for lunch.  Saturdays began at the same time and work finished at 12.30.p.m.  I was not allowed in the weaving shed because that was for skilled workers and overlookers only and I was very glad not to be in that infernal noisy place: nor was I allowed in cotton waste where men worked in cotton overalls and “plimsolls”.  One spark in that department and the whole mill would have gone up like bomb!   My first wage amounted to £6.8.10d (£6.44p) – a phenomenal wage at that time for labouring when teachers and other professions were  getting much less.  It was hard work with long hours but good money and I loved the smell and atmosphere, the views of Werneth Low from five floors up, the coarse cackle and vulgarity of the women in the cop cellar, the hot juice of lunchtime meat pies and endless tea from the steel urns provided.  We have an old cotton bobbin in the kitchen which is converted to an egg timer.  It still stinks of the mills….lovely!

Redferns Rubberworks

Sadly, the days of Lancashire cotton were numbered and I had to find other work in the summers that followed.  I biked to Harden’s Engineering, North’s Atomic Clothing, Redfern’s Rubber Works, Oldham Batteries, Daniel  Adamson’s and a host of other industrial concerns but the message was always the same , “no vacancies for unskilled work…nothing part time….etc.”  1955 saw me cutting malt loaves and sorting hot white loaves and milk buns in the Bread Factory on the road from Denton to Brinnington.  The following year  I was clipping and weeding graves for six weeks in Denton cemetery.  There I was a dab hand with the weedkiller and did untold damage through ignorance rather than malice.  I started learning the art of gravedigging!  But the money was poor compared with Ashton Brothers.

Whenever I see pictures of St Stephen’s Church,  Floweryfield, I am reminded of an intensely sad time.

Coming home from holiday work in July 1956, I was told of the sudden death of a school friend, David Oldham.  He had died of an unsuspected brain tumour.  His father was the Organist of St Stephen’s and the family were closely connected with that church.  It was my first experience of death and along with Pete Broughton and Barry Broadhurst(the son of George Broadhurst the painter and decorator),  we bore David into church for the funeral service.   His parents were much comforted by what we did but I am sure it was a case of “put a brave face on…”.  David was an only one, like most of us in those years.

Some three weeks after this sad event I came home from work and found the family gathered in the back room.  Straightaway I knew there was something up. “Where’s mi father….” I asked… only to be told that he had died on the 125 bus coming home from work.   I had to attend Platt Lane Police Station in  Manchester that night so we were glad of evening buses!   My father had to be identified and my mother couldn’t do it.  “Are you Roger Chadwick, the son of Harry Chadwick?....is this your Father?   Having answered the questions, the paperwork had to be done and I could not say that the police sergeant was sympathetic.  But then, he had to do his job and cards and sympathy and teddy bears were light years away.  This was the first time I had seen a dead body.   But my Vicar was brilliant and gave my atheist father a wonderful funeral!  

“These things happen”….is a truism even if it doesn’t help much.  The fact of the matter was that my mother had to go to work and had to manage to keep us on her wages and the £4 widow’s pension.   It was now even more important that I get work to support the family.  But this was not going to be easy as it was the time of a mini recession and temporary work became even more difficult to find from 1956 onwards! 

I would like to thank Roger once again for sharing his wonderful memories with us !
They are a pleasure to read. :)

GROWING UP IN HYDE 1950 – 1957 Part 8

By Roger Chadwick

For worse, rather than better, I sat the Manchester Grammar School 11+ three months before my 10^th birthday – and failed!  But then that was why we had two years for these exams and I did get a scholarship to William Hulme’s G.S in Moss Side Manchester the following year.  I still wonder how I won this award because on the day of the first examinations the 7.50 bus to Manchester was full and didn’t stop at Glen Wood, nor did the 8.05 and I was some twenty minutes late arriving at one of the exams.

In case anyone might think I am highly intelligent, I had another crack at Manchester Grammar just before I was 11 and for Hyde Grammar as well – and I failed those!!!. 

Hyde Grammar School, now Clarendon College.

Leigh Street had educated me well, even in drama when I played Jan in “Jan of Windmill Land” and somewhere in our attic there is a postcard of the “cast” to prove it but I have no real memory of it.  This gave me confidence for school plays and concerts at the new school – and later – in the pulpit!!. 

Nowadays, junior schools have big trips over huge distances.  We had only one – a bouncy ride in an SHMD Thornycroft single decker with the seats arranged around the sides of the vehicle (for cramming standing passengers in during the war) – and then a journey via Mottram to Melandra, a Roman Fort between Woolley Bridge and Glossop.  This was part of our history studies on Roman civilisation and there we learnt our first Latin words!!

Memories of Leigh Street School continue to come back – ink monitor duties on a Monday moring, milk monitor duties at other times, boring assemblies and the singing of “Strawberry Fair” and something called “Tarah’s Halls” – the sight of Mrs Gaunt’s red Biro, something very new in 1948!  School reports, Moray House exam papers, the smell of school dinners and mad playground games.

School Milk !

All this ceased when I started school days with the daily 7.35 SHMD bus to Manchester and then another one out to Moss Side.  The new school co-incided with a new bike.  This was NOT given because I had “passed the Scholarship” but because at 11 years of age I was deemed sensible enough to be careful in the heavy traffic.   

Well! that  was like letting a cat out of the house for the first time. 

I set off up Mottram Road, through Hollingworth and Tintwistle to Woodhead Tunnel and then over the top to Dunford Bridge and Holmfirth.  Little heed had I taken of the terrain home via Holme Moss TV transmitter and a late arrival home and a good telling off for being out so long!   Then, other long days in the Cheshire countryside and by the time I was 14 I was cycling the 13 mile round trip to school in the summer term.  With no gears, the hills around Hyde were hard work but then I was young and strong and used to exercise.  I knew every blade of grass on Green Lane, past Dove House Farm, Glendarach, Godley Green to Mottram Old Road and up the Hackingknife to Idle Hill, Apple Street, Bothams Hall Wood, Broadbottom  and then a train ride back to Godley.  I loved the view across the Etherow valley to Charlesworth, Combs Rocks, Monks Road and Kinder.  Other walks come to mind -  up to Sulby Glen, Thompsons Wood, Matley, Harrap Edge and over the top of Hobsons  Moor and then home by the SHMD 4 Service from Carrbrook to the Hippodrome in Hyde!

ABC / Green Lane

During the summer holidays I cycled everywhere with a best friend from Hulme Grammar who lived in Denton.  We got as far as Oxford when we were 12, Whitby the following year and sundry other Youth Hostelling holidays in the Peak District.   Nowadays, even lads together would not be allowed this freedom and certainly not on solo walks.  But we always felt safe and there was always somebody you could ask for help.  I well remember a 40 mile ride from Hyde, through Ashton, Oldham, Rochdale, Bacup and Burnley and Colne to Skipton to stay with another friend.  Within sight of Skipton I stopped at a pub and asked the landlord if he could give me some water.   I was really tired and needed sustenance.  “Come t’ut back dooer”, he bawled out and then regaled me with tea and cheese sandwiches in his kitchen.  “Yuv come from wheah?  Hyde?  Oh aye, that’s where all’t flies from Denton go to in’twinter in’t it.    The good man would not charge me a penny.

Need I say more.

Great memories, once again, Roger !
Also, thanks to Carl's Cam for the photo of Hyde Grammar!
Many thanks :)

 

Memories from Hallbottom Street

 By David Hamilton

I've attached some photos of my early years in Hallbottom Street.

We lived at number 37, long before the houses were built on the other side of the road. In fact our front window overlooked Dad's allotment where he kept poultry, and there was a small part of the reservoir fenced off for his ducks.
Also from our house we could see Newton Mill, and I always knew when it was getting near Christmas when the tree went up on the office roof with lights on it.
 
There were several other youngsters in the street, all around the same age, always someone to play out with !
We used to play on the allotment, and also on the tip, (can you imagine that now !) At the bottom of the street, I think that it hassince been grassed over and turned into a recreational area.

I went to St. Mary's Sunday School on Garden Street, and just behind that, number 45 Clarence Street was Marshall's shop. I was always going there on an errand for somebody or other.

Happy days !





At  front door with Grandma

 
Back Yard 

 
 Back Garden - Whitsun !

 
Backyard Sherriff and Deputy

 
Feeding dad's poultry 

 
Picnic at no.33 

 
There wasn't much traffic then. 



37, Hallbottom St


45 Clarence St - formerly Marshall's shop

Great photos and happy memories, David !
Many thanks :)

Re: David Hamilton's "Bennett Street Memories

Thanks to Tony Downend for the following account...

Since my Mother's now turned 90 she doesn't travel much anymore but on her last visit in  2010 (she living in Poulton-le-Fylde for  25 years or more) she stayed, as usual, at my place for the week.  On one of the days I took her down yet another 'memory lane'  to Newton this time, to a house she'd not seen the inside of since 1950.  It was number 137 Bennett Street [across the way from David's 138].

I'd fortuitously stopped the car outside 137 some months prior as to take some photographs when a kindly lady had come out of the front door. I told her the tale and so was invited in. She allowed me to take some pics whilst in there my concentrating on the things I though would not have changed much. All the pics going onto a laptop for viewing by Mother on my next trip to Poulton. The marble fireplace and well fashioned staircase caused her some thinking my purposely not showing her the outside views or anything like until the very end. 

Months on, and now on her visit we drove past 137 and again the same lady had come out of the front door. It was an opportunity not to be missed. Mother was invited in. I deciding to take a walk around and about with thoughts of my own. She now saw the marble fireplace and well fashioned staircase and the cup of tea is still treasured and remembered. I thanking again the kindly owner and her welcoming Mother in to see all those years apart. 

One Three Seven is the first house I ever lived in, the one my grandparents had bought in the late 30's, the family, aunt and uncle, all having moved, as Mother tells, from the spooky candle lit, hidden passageway and yes haunted and now demolished Dukinfield Old Hall, Globe Lane.

Being in a pram at the time I cannot  remember the inside 137 although I would have still passed it on many occasions a little later, a little older as our move from grandparents was not so far away, to what was then known as the ' modern prefabs'...halcyon days with big gardens with privet 'kid gaps' hedges and an exiting tip with drum paint and  tin-lid shields and slim round bars for swords...a number of 50's pics  of these times, all which  my father took, have kindly already been posted on the Blog.

My distant memory has now again been recently jolted  by David's own well documented  memories of 138, my reading things in their I'd 'well forgotten'.  Like "Eleanor's Shop" close to the red bridge, a tiny mixed business and I can now just see her, "Eleanor" herself again quizzing me over "mother's" poorly (as I write now) hand written note asking for permission for a box of matches!  The hardware shop on other side (red bridge) in my day sold, I think, wallpaper and the likes; my father having rented a garage round the back of it.  A  Morris 8 van, one repainted green which he converted with new side-rear windows and a bus seat in the back of it, a 'shooting brake' they called it'; going to Devon with five in it was like going to the Moon.

Thanks very much, Tony :)

Memories of Greenfield Street School

Hello ex-Greeny-ites,

I have put together a list of teachers and pupils in my class in 1959.  
A big part of a lifetime ago...
Bill Lancashire, who previously made some comments, helped with some of the names.

 

The teachers over our 4 year period were as follows....

---BIRCH---BRODERICK--HARTLEY---HALLSWORTH---HORROCKS---JONES---FENTON---HOUSE---MELLOR---WAINWRIGHT---WHITTAKER---AND A LADY WE CANT REMEMBER WHO WE HAD FOR RELIGIOUS INDOCTRINATION. I had the feeling Brodders was keen on her !!

Classmates were as follows....

 ----ATKINSON---BALL---BUCKLEY---BELL---BOWKER---(MYSELF) MAX COLLINS---CROMPTON---COOPER---DEELEY ---DEWSNAP---DUFFY---EDWARDS---ELISS---FARRELL---FARQHUAR---FRY---HADLEY---BILL LANCASHIRE---LEWIS---MORRIS---NASH---NEEDHAM---ROBOTTOM---SCHOFIELD---SMITH---STONE---THOROGOOD---TINKER---TOON--- WILSON. ---PROCTOR---GARSIDE.

Those who no longer with us include RUSSELL COOPER---BRIAN LEWIS-- -BILLY MORRIS --- PAUL FARQHUAR.

Russell was crazy about Chemistry.. He had a fantastic lab at home. He was always mucking about creating explosives and nearly blew his mother up !!.
Billy Morris I remember having a bad time after getting a dart in his eye.
Paul I remember as being a bit withdrawn.
I can't remember Brian Lewis Unfortunately.


Several remarks have been made about the amount of floggings by some of the teachers . All I know is I am sure I was flogged more than anyone else in the class. Some memories are still very vivid .
I got the pump off Birchy one day and as I went back to my desk he farted.. This was probably due to getting over excited whilst flogging . He tried to cover it up by saying that Max Collins had done a trump when he had the pump too Which I replied "No Sir, it was you" Which got me six more but this time he didn't fart.. :)

I took a heap of Love Heart sweets into Beaky Mellors class once. Most of them got crunched up all over the lab floor. The next lesson was Tech Drawing and there was a rapid appearance by Beaky in the classroom. ..He wanted whoever had made the mess or he would flog the whole class . So, John Nash and me stood up and got six of the best.  It was the hardest I have ever been caned and couldn't hold a pencil afterwards.
I never had any swastikas on my arse from Houseys pump though..   It was christened James size 11 !!

Another memory was with Peter Toon and myself  being stopped from bringing in conkers to school and selling them  They made too much mess in the playground apparently..
If anyone knows the whereabouts of Peter Toon, please contact the blog as I would like to know.

Whatever we got in corporal punishment I think was balanced by the fact that without any doubt the majority were very good teachers.

Some of you must have some recollections of Greeny. get them posted before we become no more than history - Time is getting short !!

 

I bumped into Baz Wainwright about seven years after leaving school and apparently he was of the opinion that we were an outstanding class.. My thanks to you, Brodders if you are still with us for what I was given by you regarding English.. Bill seems to have the same feelings for this too..

So, I'm hoping that a few others might post remarks - Who knows, maybe sometime in the future a few of us might have a pint together - The one with the most wrinkles pays ;)  !!
It'll probably be me. .

Bye for now.

Regards,
Max Collins

(Corrections to any of this invited).

Many thanks, Max, for taking the time and trouble to send these great memories in to us. :)

MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN HYDE Part 6

1939 – 1955 by Roger Chadwick

Between 1945 and 1948, the bus fare from Glen Wood to Hyde Market was 1d both for adults and children. It was regarded as a good value ticket but when your pocket money was between 3d and 6d, it was wiser to walk the three stops and save the money for pies! 

Readers will gather that food has and always will be important to me. I am fortunate to bear the same weight at 74 that I had at 18! Walking about makes you observant and I knew every part and parcel of that 10 minute amble!

   

 Mottram Road

Mottram Road was quite “elegant” even in those post war years with Victorian terraces, huge houses and rows of cottage style dwellings. John Oldham’s, Grocers, was just down the road and between the shop and the Bankfield Hotel were what we called “the dolls houses” as they looked so small and neat. Past Grange Road you came to Sober Row, so remembered because of the stone plaque in the middle terrace house bearing the words “Be sober, be industrious, be economical”. Then I might cross the road to avoid the temptations of Proctors Chip Shop, buy stamps at the sub post office and then hurry past the Co-op at the corner of Lumn Road with its crepe paper window decorations and ginger cat! After a passing the tram shed on Lewis Street and Smith’s The Butchers I would eye all the cars and take in the whiff of unburnt petrol at the garage before Ridling Lane and Clarendon Street.

Co-op on Lumn Road corner

There was a lovely fruit pie outlet just below the road that led to the Hyde Lads Club and The Ritz!

When I was about 7 or 8, Mum took me to meet Mrs Young at the National Savings Shop and to buy Savings Stamps. These bore the portrait of Prince Charles with blonde hair aged about 3! It was the start of saving money for the future. Round the corner was Lever’s, the Gents’ Hairdresser where I would deliberately attend for the short back and sides at the busiest time of the week so as to study the Dandy and Beano comics in detail. In those days, Mr Lever, chain smoking and coughing, would sterilise the shaving heads and briefly use the cut throat razor above the ears and below the hairline. That implement frightened me to death especially when being “stropped” for shaving the older gentlemen 

The Reform Club Building reminded me, like many more lads of my age, of the lady dentist from the school dental clinic on the first floor. “Keep still, this is going to hurt…what’s the red tie for… are you a communist?” She brooked no nonsense and was downright rude. Pleasanter moments were spent in Warburton’s Pork Butchers with the huge Kelvinator Fridges and blue tiled images of pigs on the walls, a scrupulously clean environment, smelling of butchers’ mace as the pork and pies were served out to the huge queues. Then perhaps across the road for a saunter round Woolworth’s. The manageress was usually found in one of those glass screened shoulder level offices and had a tremendous hooked nose which fascinated me. Not so the goods on offer as I always thought of them as too cheap and nasty and everything at a penny or a halfpenny short of a round number: I never cared for Woolworths but thousands did!

Woolworths, with Abbey National which was the site of the UCP cafe

The UCP( translated “United Cattle Products” for foreigners..) across Hamnett Street and the Shaw Hall bus stop was a favourite haunt for an “illicit” plate of faggots and peas or a savoury duck. It was always full and smelt wonderful. All those cubicles where people met to eat and chatter and meet friends and family. You would think I never got fed at home!

As I remember it, Hyde Market was held every Tuesday and Saturday. The square was packed jam full of stalls and people and buses were off-loading at every street corner. I am pleased to see that the elegant Tram Stops have been preserved and The Town Hall makes an excellent backdrop even now. What no longer seem to exist are Meschias and Levaggi’s Ice Cream Kiosks where I would squander pocket money, always leaving some for the horehound candy in the Market Hall. The smell of that candy filled the place. Summer months would see me rushing home with dripping bags of wimberries(bilberries) for deep plate pies with custard!   

Meschias Van on Hyde Market

Early teenage years would find me in Market Street gawping at the lovely new “rexine” record players at 15 guineas in Callers window – something I desperately wanted but was way beyond my income. No so the suet puddings, gravy and chips at Ibbotsons Café which were always wonderful for a growing lad’s appetite. Thence to Cooke Brothers for cheese off the slab and butter from the barrel and perhaps a swig of sarsaparilla or dandelion and burdock at the Herbalist’s fascinating premises. I never cared for liquorice sticks but loved pink “kalai”(is that how it is spelt?) that came in spills of paper where a wet finger would enable me to lick the glorious taste. When sweets came off ration I didn’t go mad for them. I still don’t!

These days, you can eat or drink anything you want and the huge choice doesn’t excite me at all. The times of shortages after the war made me really appreciate and enjoy absolutely anything that was on offer. Hyde could offer plenty enough even in those hard times. It was a wonderful place for me!

Thanks so much for your wonderful memories, Roger.
They are a delight to read.

MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN HYDE Part 5

Continuing Roger Chadwicks fabulous Memories of Hyde....

My church bore the grandiose title of “the parish of St John the Baptist, Godley cum Newton Green”!   I never found out where Newton Green was but assumed it was somewhere around Newton Station.  Certainly Godley was a huge geographical parish and then included Hattersley and parts of Hoviley.  The great excitement of the year was 0900 hrs at the Sheffield Road (Church) School on a Whit Friday.  Huge banners, pretty little girls, a be-decked bible, Mothers Union members in blue veils, everyone in new Whit Walk clothes and the Church Lads Brigade resplendent in their smart uniforms and highly polished bugles.  A procession of up to 100 people would set off led, by custom, every year, by The Dove Holes Prize Band.  Choirboys were somewhere in the middle behind the Church Banner, the Churchwardens proudly bearing their staffs of office and the cheery rubicund Vicar, resplendent in choir robes, hood and mortar board or Canterbury Cap.  His eyes were usually fixed on us because we were troublesome and he was always ready to pounce! 

 

St John the Baptist, Godley

Our parish Walk was something of a marathon!  We would pass through High Street and Fountain Street, down “Sammy Spit” and up Commercial Brow, back down towards Hyde and through Hoviley and into Clarendon Place.  For some reason we never went into the market area with all the other processions.  Then the fun would begin!   Our route thence took us straight up the A57 (Mottram Rd), through Godley Arches and up Godley Hill Road to the War Memorial.  Apparently, the police didn’t like this tradition because we caused massive hold ups of local and commercial long distance traffic.  But process we did and the choir lads, by adroit timing of the walk and surreptitious hand signals, could welcome angry motorists and sometimes an SHMD Decker into the procession!  One brave lad decided to mount the rear platform of the bus on one such Walk and was hastily pushed off by the guard!  All this caused mayhem and infuriated the Vicar but we loved it.  All the way round, crowds would line the pavements of the parish and there was much banter and raillery on all sides. Our Godley Whit Walk took three hours to complete with numerous stops for “Deep Harmony”,” Lloyd”, “The Old Hundredth” (Hymn Tunes), prayers and readings.  On Whit Friday afternoon, everyone, including the Bands, repaired to Farmer Osborne’s field beside The Barmhouses for the Sports.  (The usual Olympic style fare of sack/egg and spoon races and much else). By 1700 hrs we were home, worn out but happy!

 

Clarendon Place

The Church had a striking tower with a good peal of “bells”….   These wonderful “bells” consisted of a heavy 78rpm wax record in a gramophone in the Choir Vestry and it was the task of choir boys to reset the record every three minutes.  This process usually lasted for a full fifteen minutes but we made sure that, if possible, the needle could be left playing at the centre of the disc.  A hideous sound of magnified hissing and scratching would then fill the air of the parish until an irate Churchwarden or Sidesman would come in and ask “what the hell’s goin’ on?”  I seem to remember that this record was called “Grand Sire Garters” from Westminster Abbey”.  It was a dreadful noise but caused us unforgettable merriment.

 

Sermons were quite long and the mosaic of the floor around the choir stalls was a good surface for “glass alleys” (marbles) which we could flirt across to lads on the other side.  Wax sweet papers made good darts and we carved our names in the choir stalls.  Once we were sent out for really bad behaviour but once chastised, it was soon forgotten.  We sang two services on a Sunday, “murdered” anthems and sang Oratorios on Good Friday, even Stainer’s ‘Crucifixion’ and Maunder’s  ‘Olivet to Calvary’.   The choir was raucous but enthusiastic.  I enjoyed every minute of it.

Canon May guided several lads towards Ordination and I was one of them.    In 1962 I wore the clerical collar for the first time and I can honestly say that over 37 years in the work I have always encouraged and joined in mischief and high spirits.   It’s all part of being a boy(and a man!) and in these days of political correctness it is something that they are missing.   Some years ago I was at Evensong in York Minster and the choir lads were misbehaving terribly.   In high spirits there was just no dealing with them.  

Bad with silent laughter I thought to myself – “Oh aye! Been there! Done that !

Many Thanks again, Roger ! :)

Also, thanks to Carl Rogerson for use of the photo of St Johns.

 

MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN HYDE by Roger Chadwick

1945 – 1950  Part 4

Halfway down Station Road Godley there is a tunnel under the line which in my young days led through the back of Wall’s Ice Cream factories.   On the back road towards Godley Hill War Memorial you came to the pie factory.   The smell of pies cooking and the view through the window of all the operatives preparing the pies would have me slavering like a dog!    My mother worked there briefly but never came home with samples!   Some of my contemporaries had holiday jobs at “Walls” but I remember Unilever as a mean company towards its employees and their rates of pay were not good. I found other more lucrative work!

Those were the days when one could pick and choose – even for temporary jobs.

Godley Hill, with its old Inn and cottages was a quaint and interesting place.    In one such I had a friend whose mother ran the Ice Cream Kiosk at the foot of Godley Hall Road.   The War Memorial was our last stop on the Whit Friday Church Procession and I see from the Blog that it is still there. 

 

Godley War Memorial

There was another track from the “tunnel” which led to Godley Golf Club where both my parents were members. Both were active “athletes” and excelled at golf and other sports.     Although I learn to swing a club and play reasonably well for my age, sport was something that my parents did not pass on to me.    I preferred to follow the wisdom of Winston Churchill who is reputed to have said, “When I feel like sport, I lie down until the feeling wears off”.   But the Golf Club was an interesting ramshackle affair until it was re-built and the source of veal sandwiches, pork pies, home made scones and tea after matches.  I became friendly with the Professional, Alan Brown, who let me share hair raising rides with him on the old jeep as he mowed the fairways and the Greens.  The 9 hole course was really an assault course with no need for artificial hazards – the terrain provided that – like the similar course on Werneth Low.  Sand bunkers were for the flat lands!   I cannot imagine what it looks like now because the Club closed in the early sixties to make way fore the Hattersley Overspill.

Our milk was delivered by horse and cart from Osborne’s Farm at the back of Godley Reservoir.  This farm had the lovely name “Tetlow Fold” (“tetla fowt”) and was quite an old construction, 16^th century in parts,  with the farmhouse, a second home, the byres and the shippon constructed in the form of a square with a cobbled yard.  The kitchen always smelt of milk for that was near to the cooling room.  Hay barns and cattle stands gave that lovely sweet aroma that one associates with the rural setting.    There was a “copper” in one of the barns where we would sit and eat freshly boiled pig potatoes with hard margarine.  Harvest time saw us stooking and riding the hay cart back to the barns.    Mrs Osborne’s mother was a Highland lady with the lovely old surname of “Christiansen” so there must have been Nordic roots in the family.  She was famous for her soda scones which I love to this day!   I would accompany Farmer Osborne and/or his strapping son, Ian, on some Saturday mornings with the milk deliveries around Godley, Hoviley, Cheapside and Mottram Road.    I learnt about jills and quarts and pints as the appropriate steel measuring implements would brings the milk out of the cool churn and into the waiting  milk jugs of the folks standing around.   The approach of the milk float (and indeed the Co-op Horse) would have gardeners ready with shovels, gambling that the rich brown horse muck might fall at their doors!  

Nowt was wasted then!

Tetlow Fold

I became a choirboy after my sixth birthday.  Under the tutelage of Fred Whyatt, the head chorister, I learnt how to pronounce the Latin tags of the canticles and “point” the psalms.  Discipline was strict and a clout at the base of the neck from a Psalter was standard practice if we misbehaved.  Fred was a lovely kind “older brother” to me and I recognised him immediately some years ago in a “You Tube video” of Hyde Grammar School, where he is seen playing football.     I gather he returned to the school as the PE Teacher.       Godley Church was big for the size of the village but was well attended and it was the scene of the ministry of Canon Samuel May who was Vicar of the parish for over thirty years.    He had a huge influence on young men, had a wonderful preaching style and a powerful delivery and was full of fun.  I have an abiding memory of standing at the Lych Gate in 1947 for the Armistice Day Remembrance, watching the villagers standing silently, some of them weeping profusely, as 1100.a.m. struck, the Last Post and Reveille was played and the Fire Station siren went off and all the mill chimney hooters of the town blared a Remembrance Day sound I shall never forget.  

But choirboys are not little angels and that topic starts the next chapter.

Happy Days!

 

   

The Lych Gate at St Johns, Godley.

Thanks to Carls Cam for the photos and Roger for another great account !!

Much appreciated !