Like many youngsters one of my pleasures was to watch trains go by. The noise and smell of steam locomotives was addictive. Many a happy hour was spent looking at trains of many varieties. Trains of fish wagons, trains laden with coal, iron ore and steel, general freight trains, slow passenger trains and express passenger trains.
One of our favoured locations was Tapton footbridge, just north of Chesterfield Midland station. There we would watch express passenger trains starting from Chesterfield station and we would stand on the bridge over the track the train was running along. We would be enveloped in smoke and steam as the locomotive passed under the bridge.
Our favourite location was Lockoford Lane bridge over the Midland line, just north of Tapton Junction. From this vantage point we could see the line to Sheffield curling away to our left and the 'old road', the original North Midlands Railway, making its way down the Rother valley to Staveley. Below us the Great Central's Chesterfield Loop passed under the two aforementioned lines, then curved away to the north to Brimington station and ran parallel with the 'old road'. When we saw the steam from a train coming along the Great Central from the Brimington direction one of our number would be dispatched on a bicycle down Lockoford Lane hill to the 'iron bridge' over the Great Central to 'cop' the locomotive. He/she had to take care as the hill was steep and half way down an an abandoned rail track crossed Lockoford Lane and could be slippery in wet or cold weather.
The line to Sheffield was for the most part the route passenger trains took. We would see a succession of Jubilee and Black 5 locomotives, sometimes piloted by a 4-4-0 and occasionally one of the 4-4-0 compounds. The 'old road' was busy on summer Saturdays with passenger excursion trains to the Lincolnshire and Yorkshire coastal resorts.
The 'old road' was very busy at other times with southbound coal trains. For much of the day, just as the locomotive on a coal train had passed under the bridge, the next one would come into sight from the Staveley direction. There was a steady flow northbound of iron ore trains.
Much has changed. The Great Central closed in the 1960s and the coal and iron ore traffic has gone. One abiding memory of of the empty fish vans train in the early evening. All the doors were open and the smell lingered for minutes after the train had passed.
TYKE IN KENT'S THEOLOGICAL RAMBLINGS
Showing posts with label nostalgia corner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia corner. Show all posts
Saturday, 25 January 2014
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
Past Watering Holes (6)
Giving directions to strangers often entails mention of landmarks: pubs, churches, shops, etc. However pub closures, followed by change of use or demolition, has made the task of providing clear directions much more difficult. The bewildering speed at which pub names are changed is a further trap for the unwary.
Many years ago a friend was visiting me and caught the bus from Chesterfield to Newbold. I told him to alight at the Cross Daggers. The pub had been demolished and replaced by a block of flats some years previously but the bus stop was known to locals, bus drivers and conductors at Cross Daggers. My friend caught the bus and was berated by the conductor for still being on the bus after it had passed the stop!
Newbold has two pubs which face each other: the Nags Head and the Wheatsheaf.
The Nags Head sold Mansfield Bitter. Mansfield Brewery closed some years ago and has been demolished. The landlord was Jack Keeton. A character: a visit to the pub to hear him in full flow provided an evening of entertainment, quite apart from the excellent beer.
I was in the pub one evening and a young couple were sitting as far away from the bar as was possible. They engaged in an energetic 'snogging' session. Not for long though. Jack was over to them in a flash and enquired in a loud voice: " which position is that in the Kama Sutra?"
Across the road from the Nags Head stands the Wheatsheaf which at one time sold the legendary Barnsley Bitter to be followed by John Smith's. The old Wheatsheaf was demolished in 1965 to be replaced by a typical 'estate' pub. The atmosphere created in the old pub by the 'regulars' did not transfer to the new pub.
In those days closing time was 10.30 pm with an additional ten minutes 'drinking-up' time. On Friday evenings the local scoutmaster, resplendent in uniform including shorts would arrive between 10.25 and 10.28 and order two pints of bitter which he would down before throwing-out time at 10.40 pm. In the old pub the regulars sometimes would adjust their watches and the landlord his clock and swear blind to the scoutmaster that he had arrived after time.
Many years ago a friend was visiting me and caught the bus from Chesterfield to Newbold. I told him to alight at the Cross Daggers. The pub had been demolished and replaced by a block of flats some years previously but the bus stop was known to locals, bus drivers and conductors at Cross Daggers. My friend caught the bus and was berated by the conductor for still being on the bus after it had passed the stop!
Newbold has two pubs which face each other: the Nags Head and the Wheatsheaf.
The Nags Head sold Mansfield Bitter. Mansfield Brewery closed some years ago and has been demolished. The landlord was Jack Keeton. A character: a visit to the pub to hear him in full flow provided an evening of entertainment, quite apart from the excellent beer.
I was in the pub one evening and a young couple were sitting as far away from the bar as was possible. They engaged in an energetic 'snogging' session. Not for long though. Jack was over to them in a flash and enquired in a loud voice: " which position is that in the Kama Sutra?"
Across the road from the Nags Head stands the Wheatsheaf which at one time sold the legendary Barnsley Bitter to be followed by John Smith's. The old Wheatsheaf was demolished in 1965 to be replaced by a typical 'estate' pub. The atmosphere created in the old pub by the 'regulars' did not transfer to the new pub.
In those days closing time was 10.30 pm with an additional ten minutes 'drinking-up' time. On Friday evenings the local scoutmaster, resplendent in uniform including shorts would arrive between 10.25 and 10.28 and order two pints of bitter which he would down before throwing-out time at 10.40 pm. In the old pub the regulars sometimes would adjust their watches and the landlord his clock and swear blind to the scoutmaster that he had arrived after time.
Monday, 29 October 2012
The Hurricane
On Friday 16th October 1987 I was planning my trip from Derbyshire to Southgate to attend a party the following night. During the day television news reported on hurricane winds and fallen trees across the south of England. Undaunted, I set off in the afternoon of 17th October for the M1 and London. In those days motorway driving was a reasonably pleasant experience. It was only when I headed off the motorway towards Barnet that the extent of the devastation became apparent. On arrival at the party I noticed that a tree in the next door garden had crashed into the house and branches covered the roof on mine host's house. The news items had not prepared me for the extent of the damage wrought by the hurricane
In those days there was no 24 hour news service, no websites, no smart phones, certainly no Twitter or Facebook.
Compare and contrast with today, as hurricane Sandy heads for the USA. Now we can watch and comment on the drama as it happens thousands of miles away, such has been technological advance since 1987. We have ringside seats. Now we can rubber-neck on the misfortune of others anywhere in the world in real time.
In those days there was no 24 hour news service, no websites, no smart phones, certainly no Twitter or Facebook.
Compare and contrast with today, as hurricane Sandy heads for the USA. Now we can watch and comment on the drama as it happens thousands of miles away, such has been technological advance since 1987. We have ringside seats. Now we can rubber-neck on the misfortune of others anywhere in the world in real time.
Saturday, 13 October 2012
Nostalgia Corner (9)
In a previous post I mentioned that a small group of us at primary school would wander along Lockoford Lane to the Chesterfield Canal. Sometimes we turned right and went along the canal tow path to Chesterfield. Sometimes we went up the hill to the bridge over the Midland Railway. Often though, we would turn left along the canal tow path in the direction of Brimington. The canal was overgrown, silted up and the water a dirty yellow. And the smell! We would pass Sheepbridge Sidings on the Great Central Railway which provided rail connections to Sheepbridge Iron Works, the BTH factory and Pearson's Pottery. Then we would come upon the Three Bridges. The bridges took the Midland railway route to Sheffield over the canal, the Great Central and the steeply inclined line from Sheepbridge Sidings to Sheepbridge works.
We lingered here often to watch the trains and placed pennies on the line to be quashed by passing trains. Then we would continue along the canal, passing under the 'Old Route' of the Midland Railway to Rotherham. The tow path was almost impenetrable as we headed towards Brimington Station (closed and used as a builder's yard). On the right stood Wheeldon Mill, a dog track which had seen better days.
At Brimington Station we left the canal, took to the bridge over the Great Central Railway and headed for Whittington Moor. Out route took us under the two Midland Railway lines (to Rotherham and Sheffield) and, sandwiched between the two the line from Sheepbridge Sidings.
Then it was a short walk to Pearson's Pottery, wreathed in grey dust, to Sheffield Road. Before long we were back at Lockoford Lane. We would have been out for three or four hours. Can you imagine children being permitted to do the same today?
We lingered here often to watch the trains and placed pennies on the line to be quashed by passing trains. Then we would continue along the canal, passing under the 'Old Route' of the Midland Railway to Rotherham. The tow path was almost impenetrable as we headed towards Brimington Station (closed and used as a builder's yard). On the right stood Wheeldon Mill, a dog track which had seen better days.
At Brimington Station we left the canal, took to the bridge over the Great Central Railway and headed for Whittington Moor. Out route took us under the two Midland Railway lines (to Rotherham and Sheffield) and, sandwiched between the two the line from Sheepbridge Sidings.
Then it was a short walk to Pearson's Pottery, wreathed in grey dust, to Sheffield Road. Before long we were back at Lockoford Lane. We would have been out for three or four hours. Can you imagine children being permitted to do the same today?
Thursday, 11 October 2012
Past watering holes (5)
Continuing my saunter down memory lane, the following two pubs in Chesterfield, have been mentioned in earlier posts on this blog.
The Star:
The Bridge Inn:
The Star:
The Bridge Inn:
Both pubs continue to thrive, which is more than can be said for the Terminus Hotel, now demolished and replaced by retirement flats.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
Past watering holes (4)
Wingerworth, near Chesterfield, was once a sleepy village. In the 1960s three large housing estates were built, along with a parade of shops. For many years the only pub in the village was the Barley Mow.
The pub was crowded in the evenings and weekends, a bit cliquey, but friendly enough. The landlord in the 1970s was a stickler for keeping to licensed hours. Absolutely no chance of a drink after 10.30PM. Eventually a second pub was built in the village, opening in the 1990s. One day a woman came down the path to my house carrying a clipboard and informed me that I had to sign the petition she had on the clipboard. The petition was to oppose the new pub. She seemed somewhat put out when I refused to sign and even more so when I informed her that I was the Founder of the Wingerworth Drinking Society and would be initiating a rival petition is support of the proposed pub. She demanded more information about the Society. 'When was it formed?'. 'When I saw you coming down my path' I replied.
Sometimes I would escape the overcrowding by jumping into the car and visiting the Hunloke Arms.
Never a busy pub in the 1970s the Hunloke is on the A61. The disadvantage of the pub is that the car park is opposite a lay-by frequented often by police cars. There was a risk of being pulled over and being delayed by a breath test, even if under the drink-drive limit.
The pub was crowded in the evenings and weekends, a bit cliquey, but friendly enough. The landlord in the 1970s was a stickler for keeping to licensed hours. Absolutely no chance of a drink after 10.30PM. Eventually a second pub was built in the village, opening in the 1990s. One day a woman came down the path to my house carrying a clipboard and informed me that I had to sign the petition she had on the clipboard. The petition was to oppose the new pub. She seemed somewhat put out when I refused to sign and even more so when I informed her that I was the Founder of the Wingerworth Drinking Society and would be initiating a rival petition is support of the proposed pub. She demanded more information about the Society. 'When was it formed?'. 'When I saw you coming down my path' I replied.
Sometimes I would escape the overcrowding by jumping into the car and visiting the Hunloke Arms.
Never a busy pub in the 1970s the Hunloke is on the A61. The disadvantage of the pub is that the car park is opposite a lay-by frequented often by police cars. There was a risk of being pulled over and being delayed by a breath test, even if under the drink-drive limit.
Monday, 8 October 2012
Past watering holes (3)
The Buck Inn on the outskirts of Clay Cross was an unpretentious little pub and had much to be unpretentious about. It was a single storey prefabricated building. The pub's one redeeming feature was a jolly landlord who liked to perform his repertoire of two magic tricks.
The pub is no more, but the developers are having great difficulty securing planning permission to turn the site into a mini-housing estate.
The pub is no more, but the developers are having great difficulty securing planning permission to turn the site into a mini-housing estate.
Sunday, 7 October 2012
Past watering holes (2)
Holymoorside is a village two miles west of Chesterfield. Off the beaten track, it has two pubs, both frequented by me.
The Lamb Inn was never busy on a weekday lunchtime, at least not when I visited with my ambulance driver mate. One day we decided to play a game of dominoes. Two ancient locals sidled up to us and suggested we play a game of Fives and Threes, for a small bet, of course.
Well we took them on and duly lost the first game, in the midst of comments that we didn't really know how to play. But we did and soon wiped the smiles off their faces in game 2, and game 3. The hustlers hustled.
My more regular haunt was the Bulls Head run by Albert Swain and his wife.
In those days the Bull had two things going for it: lock-ins in the evenings and proximity to the football pitch.
At chucking-out time on a Saturday afternoon we would repair to the football ground to watch the 'lads', many of whom had earlier been in the pub drinking copiously, set about the opposition. And set about they did. Fouls and fights far more entertaining than the football.
The Lamb Inn was never busy on a weekday lunchtime, at least not when I visited with my ambulance driver mate. One day we decided to play a game of dominoes. Two ancient locals sidled up to us and suggested we play a game of Fives and Threes, for a small bet, of course.
Well we took them on and duly lost the first game, in the midst of comments that we didn't really know how to play. But we did and soon wiped the smiles off their faces in game 2, and game 3. The hustlers hustled.
My more regular haunt was the Bulls Head run by Albert Swain and his wife.
In those days the Bull had two things going for it: lock-ins in the evenings and proximity to the football pitch.
At chucking-out time on a Saturday afternoon we would repair to the football ground to watch the 'lads', many of whom had earlier been in the pub drinking copiously, set about the opposition. And set about they did. Fouls and fights far more entertaining than the football.
Past watering holes (1)
Many a happy hour was spent in the hostelries of Chesterfield and the surrounding area. One of my favourite haunts was the Portland Hotel, run as a family business, now a Wetherspoons hotel. The attraction of the hotel was that it was possible to engage in drinking long after normal pub licensing hours, so long as you were in the company of a hotel guest, the latter paying for the drinks (although, of course, you paid the guest for the drink).
Many an evening was passed playing solo in the company of a local solicitor and hotel guests who stayed from Monday to Friday at the hotel. The guests were employed by the Accountant General's Department and returned to London for the weekend.
Another regular haunt was the Yellow Lion. Peter, the landlord, a former miner, had strong opinions on most issues which he would regale to customers. We used the back room which was the drinking place of Dennis Webster the full-time Labour Party agent for Chesterfield. I got to know Dennis well and would take him to cricket matches at Derby, Burton-on-Trent and Nottingham. Dennis purchased Hansard and would sit in the pub annotating the publication.
Across the road from the Yellow Lion stood the Corner House, a mock-Tudor building. Sometimes our drinking party would call in for a pint, but it was not a well patronised pub, so we would quickly make tracks for the Barley Mow.
The Corner House is shown also in this photograph, which shows the close proximity of the two pubs.
The pub was run by Tommy and Ennis Andrews. Ennis ruled the pub with a rod of iron. Tommy had a day job as a surface worker at Williamthorpe Colliery and also found time to keep a massive allotment in a walled garden behind the Friends Meeting House. It was a busy, happy pub, redolent with characters, most of whom travelled a few miles to be there. Cheese and onion sandwiches and black pudding on darts, cribbage and dominoes match nights, plenty of banter and good beer (Wards).
Many an evening was passed playing solo in the company of a local solicitor and hotel guests who stayed from Monday to Friday at the hotel. The guests were employed by the Accountant General's Department and returned to London for the weekend.
Another regular haunt was the Yellow Lion. Peter, the landlord, a former miner, had strong opinions on most issues which he would regale to customers. We used the back room which was the drinking place of Dennis Webster the full-time Labour Party agent for Chesterfield. I got to know Dennis well and would take him to cricket matches at Derby, Burton-on-Trent and Nottingham. Dennis purchased Hansard and would sit in the pub annotating the publication.
Across the road from the Yellow Lion stood the Corner House, a mock-Tudor building. Sometimes our drinking party would call in for a pint, but it was not a well patronised pub, so we would quickly make tracks for the Barley Mow.
The Corner House is shown also in this photograph, which shows the close proximity of the two pubs.
The pub was run by Tommy and Ennis Andrews. Ennis ruled the pub with a rod of iron. Tommy had a day job as a surface worker at Williamthorpe Colliery and also found time to keep a massive allotment in a walled garden behind the Friends Meeting House. It was a busy, happy pub, redolent with characters, most of whom travelled a few miles to be there. Cheese and onion sandwiches and black pudding on darts, cribbage and dominoes match nights, plenty of banter and good beer (Wards).
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Blast from the past
It is reported in the local press that John Lowe is to play darts at the Red Lion in Rusthall in aid of the Rusthall war memorial fund.
Memories came flooding back. John would drop into my local in Chesterfield, the Bridge Inn on Hollis Lane. The locals were well-behaved, not challenging John to play darts, he was out for a quiet drink.
Another of my haunts was The Star on Chatsworth Road. The landlady bore a close resemblance to Hylda Baker, both in looks and voice. A friend of the landlord and his wife was Charlie Drake. Charlie stayed at the pub from time to time. Again, the regulars were well-behaved. Charlie was not asked to tell a few jokes, but as the evening wore on we would be regaled with anecdotes and a stream of jokes,
Memories came flooding back. John would drop into my local in Chesterfield, the Bridge Inn on Hollis Lane. The locals were well-behaved, not challenging John to play darts, he was out for a quiet drink.
Another of my haunts was The Star on Chatsworth Road. The landlady bore a close resemblance to Hylda Baker, both in looks and voice. A friend of the landlord and his wife was Charlie Drake. Charlie stayed at the pub from time to time. Again, the regulars were well-behaved. Charlie was not asked to tell a few jokes, but as the evening wore on we would be regaled with anecdotes and a stream of jokes,
Monday, 6 August 2012
Royal Tunbridge Wells Technical High School
Whilst hunting for her crochet needles (a family member is expecting a baby) Rosemary came across the programme for the dedication and opening in 1963 of the Royal Tunbridge Wells Technical High School. The programme contains lists of staff and governors, photographs of the building and pupils and mention of sundry Kent County Council members and officers.
Fascinating - there were aldermen in those far off days.
Fascinating - there were aldermen in those far off days.
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Market Day
Saturday was the 'big' market day in Chesterfield. Apart from the indoor market, there was (and is) a big outdoor market which lost some of its character when food stalls were transferred to the indoor market. A good market is as much a social gathering as a place of business and in this respect Chesterfield market was excellent. Wandering round the stalls one would meet friends, either stall-holders or customers, and enjoy the occasional drink, alcoholic and non-alcoholic, from flasks.
Then it was but a short step to The Market public house for a session. Our group was eclectic and during the course of the afternoon would vary is size from three up to as many as twenty people. Sadly our conviviality came to an abrupt halt at 3.00PM with closing time.
Then it was but a short step to The Market public house for a session. Our group was eclectic and during the course of the afternoon would vary is size from three up to as many as twenty people. Sadly our conviviality came to an abrupt halt at 3.00PM with closing time.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Playing Bowls
Watching the Indoor Bowls Championship today on television reminded me of the days when I played the game. Not flat green but crown green. The two games are as different as rugby league and rugby union. Flat green bowls is played in lanes with a jack which has no bias. Each player has four woods.
Crown green bowls, as the name suggests, is played on a green with a pronounced hump in the centre, a biased jack is used and each player has two woods.
Crown green bowls is not played in lanes.
My experience of playing crown green bowls was gained on a green behind a pub.
The lead off player would always show the position of the jack's bias. Some players sent the jack over the crown, others would play down the sides, either with the bias facing the hump (going straight-peg) or facing the edge of the green (going round-peg).
One character we played often was Mr Wilmott, who was of venerable age, contrived to win the toss and would set the jack off round-peg on his favoured piece of 'land', along one side of the green.. This was known as 'Wilmotts's Alley'. Opponents had to play with patience, it was known that Wilmott would tire, make a mistake and lose control of the jack. When this happened Wilmott's opponents would hurl the jack over the crown from one corner to the other. Cue for Mr Wilmott to take the hump and stalk off the green.
Crown green bowls, as the name suggests, is played on a green with a pronounced hump in the centre, a biased jack is used and each player has two woods.
Crown green bowls is not played in lanes.
My experience of playing crown green bowls was gained on a green behind a pub.
The lead off player would always show the position of the jack's bias. Some players sent the jack over the crown, others would play down the sides, either with the bias facing the hump (going straight-peg) or facing the edge of the green (going round-peg).
One character we played often was Mr Wilmott, who was of venerable age, contrived to win the toss and would set the jack off round-peg on his favoured piece of 'land', along one side of the green.. This was known as 'Wilmotts's Alley'. Opponents had to play with patience, it was known that Wilmott would tire, make a mistake and lose control of the jack. When this happened Wilmott's opponents would hurl the jack over the crown from one corner to the other. Cue for Mr Wilmott to take the hump and stalk off the green.
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Railway enthusiast in clover
In the early 1960s my father published a thesis for his Ph.D. awarded by Sheffield University. The subject matter was turnpikes, canals and tramways in South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire . Securing the material for the thesis involved visits to places where archives were stored: no e-mail or internet in those days.
Often I would accompany him on his visits to York, Manchester and London and also on his field trips to look for the remains of old canals etc. One field trip took us to Goole and Thorne. On the way back we stopped off at a railway junction where the line from Doncaster divides: one line ending in Kingston-upon-Hull, the other heading for Scunthorpe and Grimsby.
It was a complicated junction. The four lines from Doncaster were paired by direction of travel and on the down side (from Doncaster) were sidings to a colliery. At the junction four lines led off to the left and became two shortly afterwards and were controlled by the junction signal box. The four lines leading off to the right for Scunthorpe merged into two lines at the next signal box.
The line was busy and the signalman was for ever moving points and pulling off signals. We sat on a fence watching the trains going by and could hear the block bells ringing in the box on the opposite side of the tracks.
We watched the signalman run down the signal box steps carrying what looked like a baseball bat. He crossed all the lines and standing in front of us proceeded to thump a piece of line side equipment. He then scurried back to his domain. The problem he had was that a rod linked to the points was not moving sufficiently to permit the signal wire to be moved.
By the time this performance had been repeated a few times we were on good speaking terms and I accepted the signalman's offer to thump the rod when he called me from the box. One good turn deserves another, and I was invited to join the signalman in his box. I managed to pull some point and signal levers including one which controlled the electrically operated points where the two tracks to Hull joined.
Bells were ringing all the time so it seemed as trains were offered to the box and then onwards to the next boxes. The signalman was busy making entries to the train register. I even managed to offer a passenger train on the main line from Scunthorpe to Doncaster.
Of course the signalman had broken all the rules in the book, but what he did was engender my interest in signalling which has remained to this day.
Often I would accompany him on his visits to York, Manchester and London and also on his field trips to look for the remains of old canals etc. One field trip took us to Goole and Thorne. On the way back we stopped off at a railway junction where the line from Doncaster divides: one line ending in Kingston-upon-Hull, the other heading for Scunthorpe and Grimsby.
It was a complicated junction. The four lines from Doncaster were paired by direction of travel and on the down side (from Doncaster) were sidings to a colliery. At the junction four lines led off to the left and became two shortly afterwards and were controlled by the junction signal box. The four lines leading off to the right for Scunthorpe merged into two lines at the next signal box.
The line was busy and the signalman was for ever moving points and pulling off signals. We sat on a fence watching the trains going by and could hear the block bells ringing in the box on the opposite side of the tracks.
We watched the signalman run down the signal box steps carrying what looked like a baseball bat. He crossed all the lines and standing in front of us proceeded to thump a piece of line side equipment. He then scurried back to his domain. The problem he had was that a rod linked to the points was not moving sufficiently to permit the signal wire to be moved.
By the time this performance had been repeated a few times we were on good speaking terms and I accepted the signalman's offer to thump the rod when he called me from the box. One good turn deserves another, and I was invited to join the signalman in his box. I managed to pull some point and signal levers including one which controlled the electrically operated points where the two tracks to Hull joined.
Bells were ringing all the time so it seemed as trains were offered to the box and then onwards to the next boxes. The signalman was busy making entries to the train register. I even managed to offer a passenger train on the main line from Scunthorpe to Doncaster.
Of course the signalman had broken all the rules in the book, but what he did was engender my interest in signalling which has remained to this day.
A visit to our testing centre
I agreed to visit an ex-colleague of mine at Trent Polytechnic. Travelled to Nottingham by train as it was likely to be day flowing with conversation and alcohol. In those days trains were somewhat sparser than today, so a choice had to be made between a train arriving in Nottingham at 10.30AM and one which would make me late for my meeting.
The pubs in Nottingham opened at 10.30AM and with time to kill I wandered into a pub for my favourite tipple in those days: bottled Guinness. Time for one drink and then towards the city centre. Near the central police station I was approached by two ladies each carrying a clipboard. 'Market research' thought I and my initial reaction was to steer away from them avoiding eye contact. But then I had time to spare, so why not.
Following a few general questions I was asked to name my favourite alcoholic drink. 'Bottled Guinness ' said I. 'Would I like to accompany them (the ladies) to our testing centre?' Would I!? The market research had been commissioned by Guinness.
On arrival I was invited to drink samples of 'normal' bottled Guinness and a new lighter bottled Guinness. I must say they were both delicious and by the end of the sampling session I had polished off a pint of each.
By the time I met my colleague I was somewhat late and he doubted my explanation. Well, only one way to prove it. We found the ladies who steadfastly refused the offer by my colleague to participate in the market research.
I could never distinguish bottled Guinness from Dublin from that from Park Royal. A friend of mine had no such problem. Mix up bottles from each in a crate and she had a 100% success rate at distinguishing them. Mind you, she was hopeless at identifying different bitter beers.
The pubs in Nottingham opened at 10.30AM and with time to kill I wandered into a pub for my favourite tipple in those days: bottled Guinness. Time for one drink and then towards the city centre. Near the central police station I was approached by two ladies each carrying a clipboard. 'Market research' thought I and my initial reaction was to steer away from them avoiding eye contact. But then I had time to spare, so why not.
Following a few general questions I was asked to name my favourite alcoholic drink. 'Bottled Guinness ' said I. 'Would I like to accompany them (the ladies) to our testing centre?' Would I!? The market research had been commissioned by Guinness.
On arrival I was invited to drink samples of 'normal' bottled Guinness and a new lighter bottled Guinness. I must say they were both delicious and by the end of the sampling session I had polished off a pint of each.
By the time I met my colleague I was somewhat late and he doubted my explanation. Well, only one way to prove it. We found the ladies who steadfastly refused the offer by my colleague to participate in the market research.
I could never distinguish bottled Guinness from Dublin from that from Park Royal. A friend of mine had no such problem. Mix up bottles from each in a crate and she had a 100% success rate at distinguishing them. Mind you, she was hopeless at identifying different bitter beers.
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
A visit to Sheffield: with video
When I was 'nowt but a lad' a visit to the city meant a trip to Sheffield. The bus route passed the end of our road and although the journey took 50 minutes it was quicker than going by train. In any event, the bus terminated at Pond Street in Sheffield which is closer to the city centre than the Midland station. Victoria station was a long way from the city centre.
The bus route followed the A61 via Whittington Moor, Unstone and Dronfield. Between Whittington Moor and Dronfield the road ran close to the railway line and often we would see steam hauled goods and passenger trains. From the outskirts of Sheffield the road was shared with trams. Passengers getting on or off trams had to negotiate the road between the pavement and the tramlines. Just imagine trying that today. Road vehicles could pass trams on either the inside or outside. It was somewhat risky taking the latter route and many an accident occurred because the driver had not seen an oncoming tram.
Pond Street bus station was a massive affair built after the Second World War. The abiding memory I have is of alighting from the bus and and being overwhelmed by the smell of beer being mashed at one of the local breweries.
In those days Sheffield was still 'Steel City'. The sound of drop forges could be heard, although the major steelworks were some way away down the Don Valley towards Rotherham.
The main purpose of a visit to Sheffield was shopping. We would head for Cockaynes and Walshes
stores, then up the High Street to the Town Hall and thence along Pinstone Street to The Moor. The latter is straight for almost a mile and in those days was a busy thoroughfare. It has since been pedestrianised, but on my last visit I noted a small section of the tramway had been preserved. At Moorfoot we would catch a tram back to the High Street and thence a short walk back to the bus station.
Much has changed. The tramway system was scrapped. A new system has been built with barriers to protect passengers from real or imagined risks. (Interesting link to an accident in Manchester http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-manchester-16212963 ) The bus station has been rebuilt. Many of the landmarks remain but I was disappointed to note that the pub opposite the City Hall, much used during the interval at concerts, has disappeared.
And the smell of beer being mashed has gone, as have the drop forges.
The bus route followed the A61 via Whittington Moor, Unstone and Dronfield. Between Whittington Moor and Dronfield the road ran close to the railway line and often we would see steam hauled goods and passenger trains. From the outskirts of Sheffield the road was shared with trams. Passengers getting on or off trams had to negotiate the road between the pavement and the tramlines. Just imagine trying that today. Road vehicles could pass trams on either the inside or outside. It was somewhat risky taking the latter route and many an accident occurred because the driver had not seen an oncoming tram.
Pond Street bus station was a massive affair built after the Second World War. The abiding memory I have is of alighting from the bus and and being overwhelmed by the smell of beer being mashed at one of the local breweries.
In those days Sheffield was still 'Steel City'. The sound of drop forges could be heard, although the major steelworks were some way away down the Don Valley towards Rotherham.
The main purpose of a visit to Sheffield was shopping. We would head for Cockaynes and Walshes
stores, then up the High Street to the Town Hall and thence along Pinstone Street to The Moor. The latter is straight for almost a mile and in those days was a busy thoroughfare. It has since been pedestrianised, but on my last visit I noted a small section of the tramway had been preserved. At Moorfoot we would catch a tram back to the High Street and thence a short walk back to the bus station.
Much has changed. The tramway system was scrapped. A new system has been built with barriers to protect passengers from real or imagined risks. (Interesting link to an accident in Manchester http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-manchester-16212963 ) The bus station has been rebuilt. Many of the landmarks remain but I was disappointed to note that the pub opposite the City Hall, much used during the interval at concerts, has disappeared.
And the smell of beer being mashed has gone, as have the drop forges.
Saturday, 19 November 2011
Nostalgia Corner (8)
When I was of junior school school age my parents were quite happy for me to wander off on Saturdays with a few friends to go 'exploring'. Our small group was not interested in attending the children's films shown at the Regal cinema. We wandered far and wide, without the benefit of mobile telephones, but always with a few pennies to use in a telephone box should the need arise. How many of my readers remember button 'A' and button 'B'?
We had a favourite route which started with us walking along Sheffield Road, past the municipal bus garage, until we reached Wharf Lane. At the end of the lane we would explore the old warehouses of the long disused Chesterfield Canal Basin. Soon we would be crossing the footbridge over the Great Central Railway (LNER). The railway had purchaed the canal and when building the line to Chesterfield had cut the canal isolating the canal basin. The Great Central was never a busy railway, so we did not linger long unless a train was signalled and we might then be lucky and see one of the magnificent 'Director' class locomotives, so named as some of the engines bore the names of directors of the railway. Other engines of the class were named after Great War battles: Mons, Marne, Somme and Ypres.
Then it was over the River Rother across the field to the Chesterfield-Staveley road, through the gate and climb the steps to the footbridge over the four track Midland Railway line (LMS). Here we would linger and have great fun standing above the line on which a train was approaching and feel the exhaust from the locomotive chimney on the underside of the bridge. Often we would be wreathed in smoke and steam. Jubilees, Black 5s, 8 Freights, Crabs and Beyer - Garretts came and went in an almost continuous procession.
Then it was down the far steps and into Tapton Hall park. At the top of the park's hill (must used for sledging) stood Tapton Hall School, which had once been the home of George Stephenson. Stephenson had surveyed the route for the railway we had just crossed. Then it was across the fields to the municipal golf course, down a lane and under the railway and platforms of Chesterfield Midland station.
By this time we were becoming weary and we did not stop to look at the Trebor-Bassett factory (a sickly sweet smell at times hung in the air), passed Chesterfield Central station, where once we almost bumped into Jimmy Wheeler. We hardly glanced at the technical college but were intrigued by the Mines Rescue building. Soon we would be back at Wharf lane and nearly home.
How things have changed. The bus garage closed, the canal warehouses demolished, the Great Central railway and station demolished and replaced by an inner by-pass. Tapton House School closed in 1991 and is now part of the technical college. The Trebor sweet factory is gone, as is the Mines Rescue. The Chesterfield Canal has been re-opened at the Chesterfield end and a new basin established close to the Trebor factory. The whole area is to be 'regenerated' with the waterfront as a key feature.
We had a favourite route which started with us walking along Sheffield Road, past the municipal bus garage, until we reached Wharf Lane. At the end of the lane we would explore the old warehouses of the long disused Chesterfield Canal Basin. Soon we would be crossing the footbridge over the Great Central Railway (LNER). The railway had purchaed the canal and when building the line to Chesterfield had cut the canal isolating the canal basin. The Great Central was never a busy railway, so we did not linger long unless a train was signalled and we might then be lucky and see one of the magnificent 'Director' class locomotives, so named as some of the engines bore the names of directors of the railway. Other engines of the class were named after Great War battles: Mons, Marne, Somme and Ypres.
Then it was over the River Rother across the field to the Chesterfield-Staveley road, through the gate and climb the steps to the footbridge over the four track Midland Railway line (LMS). Here we would linger and have great fun standing above the line on which a train was approaching and feel the exhaust from the locomotive chimney on the underside of the bridge. Often we would be wreathed in smoke and steam. Jubilees, Black 5s, 8 Freights, Crabs and Beyer - Garretts came and went in an almost continuous procession.
Then it was down the far steps and into Tapton Hall park. At the top of the park's hill (must used for sledging) stood Tapton Hall School, which had once been the home of George Stephenson. Stephenson had surveyed the route for the railway we had just crossed. Then it was across the fields to the municipal golf course, down a lane and under the railway and platforms of Chesterfield Midland station.
By this time we were becoming weary and we did not stop to look at the Trebor-Bassett factory (a sickly sweet smell at times hung in the air), passed Chesterfield Central station, where once we almost bumped into Jimmy Wheeler. We hardly glanced at the technical college but were intrigued by the Mines Rescue building. Soon we would be back at Wharf lane and nearly home.
How things have changed. The bus garage closed, the canal warehouses demolished, the Great Central railway and station demolished and replaced by an inner by-pass. Tapton House School closed in 1991 and is now part of the technical college. The Trebor sweet factory is gone, as is the Mines Rescue. The Chesterfield Canal has been re-opened at the Chesterfield end and a new basin established close to the Trebor factory. The whole area is to be 'regenerated' with the waterfront as a key feature.
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
The Romance of Steam
We like our heritage railways; Spa Valley, Bluebell, Lavender, Kent & East Sussex, North Yorkshire Moors, the list is long. We like even more steam engines, the smell, hissing steam and the roar from the chimney when moving at speed.
Many of my generation wanted to be engine drivers when we grew up. The phase soon passed.
Most railwaymen were pleased to see the demise of steam. A steam locomotive is a dirty beast. Ash has to emptied from the smokebox and ashpan, clinker removed from the firebox, coal loaded into the tender, water taken on board and parts of the motion, through which power is transmitted from the pistons to the wheels, oiled. The steam locomotive is a greedy animal, tons of coal have to be shovelled into the firebox and water injected to the boiler. The cab for the driver and fireman only offers partial protection from the weather.
Just think, a diesel or electric locomotive only has to be switched on and the driver has a warm cab in which he is fully protected from the elements.
Many of my generation wanted to be engine drivers when we grew up. The phase soon passed.
Most railwaymen were pleased to see the demise of steam. A steam locomotive is a dirty beast. Ash has to emptied from the smokebox and ashpan, clinker removed from the firebox, coal loaded into the tender, water taken on board and parts of the motion, through which power is transmitted from the pistons to the wheels, oiled. The steam locomotive is a greedy animal, tons of coal have to be shovelled into the firebox and water injected to the boiler. The cab for the driver and fireman only offers partial protection from the weather.
Just think, a diesel or electric locomotive only has to be switched on and the driver has a warm cab in which he is fully protected from the elements.
Monday, 23 May 2011
By boat and tram to Blackpool
We had relatives who lived at Knott End-on-Sea, on the opposite side of the Wyre Estuary from Fleetwood. The highlight of our visits was the trip to Blackpool.
We would use the ferry to cross the water to Fleetwood. Lovely on a sunny calm day, rather a different proposition when it was raining and a howling gale blowing in off Morecambe Bay. Strong nerves and stomach required. The Bourne Arms Hotel, a few yards from the Knott End jetty provided a welcoming haven for many a traveller before and after the crossing.
I came across a website with many photographs of the ferry. Click here for the link.
Fleetwood had a large trawler fleet and it was indeed a treat to have fish and chips, the fish having been collected the same day from Fleetwood dock.
The tram was a short walk from the Fleetwood jetty. What a bumpy journey. In those days the standard of track maintenance was poor and the double-deck trams would lurch alarmingly between Cleveleys and Bispham.
Blackpool was as tatty and run-down then as it is now. The railways still conveyed most of the holidaymakers to the resort. Blackpool Central, close to the Tower, was a huge station. The other terminus in Blackpool, Blackpool North had lost its services to Fleetwood and was a much quieter and smaller station. The Beeching Report did for Blackpool Central and it was bulldozed, trains being diverted either to Blackpool North or Blackpool South which had been the first station out of Blackpool Central.
We would use the ferry to cross the water to Fleetwood. Lovely on a sunny calm day, rather a different proposition when it was raining and a howling gale blowing in off Morecambe Bay. Strong nerves and stomach required. The Bourne Arms Hotel, a few yards from the Knott End jetty provided a welcoming haven for many a traveller before and after the crossing.
I came across a website with many photographs of the ferry. Click here for the link.
Fleetwood had a large trawler fleet and it was indeed a treat to have fish and chips, the fish having been collected the same day from Fleetwood dock.
The tram was a short walk from the Fleetwood jetty. What a bumpy journey. In those days the standard of track maintenance was poor and the double-deck trams would lurch alarmingly between Cleveleys and Bispham.
Blackpool was as tatty and run-down then as it is now. The railways still conveyed most of the holidaymakers to the resort. Blackpool Central, close to the Tower, was a huge station. The other terminus in Blackpool, Blackpool North had lost its services to Fleetwood and was a much quieter and smaller station. The Beeching Report did for Blackpool Central and it was bulldozed, trains being diverted either to Blackpool North or Blackpool South which had been the first station out of Blackpool Central.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Indoor Assembly
Unless it was pouring down with rain or snowing heavily morning assembly at my secondary school was held outdoors. We would gather in our houses in columns, small boys at the front and graded to the big boys at the rear, which fanned out from the steps leading to the terrace. On the terrace, to our left, the school choir assembled. Just to our right stood the prefects and behind them in a line the teaching staff.
At 8.55AM the master of ceremonies Major B. O'Kelly, would set off from his position at the top of the terrace steps, pass the line of staff and report to the Headmaster, Mr Glister.
Mr Glister was a tall imposing figure and he would walk briskly to the top of the steps and open the proceedings with the words 'Good morning school' to which we replied 'good morning, sir'.
The hymn would be announced and often had many verses. Mr Glister would announce which verses were to be omitted. The lone trumpeter gave us the tune and then the singing commenced. Chaos prevailed as the school sang at a different speed to the choir and also sang verses which were to be omitted.
We judged the morning a success when the hymn was abandoned before the final verse. The remainder of the morning service was conducted in an orderly fashion. The fun started again when Mr Glister made his announcements. A favourite trick was to hide a small boy behind a large boy and for the former to make the latter laugh. The imposition of a detention was immediate.
At the end of assembly Mr Glister swept off followed closely by the staff, leaving the Major to dismiss the school. Orders for departure were barked out which related to various locations round the school - North Wing, Hurst House, the huts etc. Unfortunately this resulted in a manoeuvre more complicated than the spin wheel at the Trooping of the Colour as pupils from each of the houses crossed paths.
One morning at the height of a hot summer we were instructed to go to an indoor assembly. The reason for this unprecedented departure from tradition became apparent when we saw the flagpole, situated at the top of the terrace steps, being wound down. Fluttering in the breeze were a bra and matching panties which had been nailed firmly to the mast the previous evening. The poor Major was beside himself at this affront to the moral standards of the school. The culprits were never identified by the Major although rumour was rife. We did wonder where the underwear came from.
At 8.55AM the master of ceremonies Major B. O'Kelly, would set off from his position at the top of the terrace steps, pass the line of staff and report to the Headmaster, Mr Glister.
Mr Glister was a tall imposing figure and he would walk briskly to the top of the steps and open the proceedings with the words 'Good morning school' to which we replied 'good morning, sir'.
The hymn would be announced and often had many verses. Mr Glister would announce which verses were to be omitted. The lone trumpeter gave us the tune and then the singing commenced. Chaos prevailed as the school sang at a different speed to the choir and also sang verses which were to be omitted.
We judged the morning a success when the hymn was abandoned before the final verse. The remainder of the morning service was conducted in an orderly fashion. The fun started again when Mr Glister made his announcements. A favourite trick was to hide a small boy behind a large boy and for the former to make the latter laugh. The imposition of a detention was immediate.
At the end of assembly Mr Glister swept off followed closely by the staff, leaving the Major to dismiss the school. Orders for departure were barked out which related to various locations round the school - North Wing, Hurst House, the huts etc. Unfortunately this resulted in a manoeuvre more complicated than the spin wheel at the Trooping of the Colour as pupils from each of the houses crossed paths.
One morning at the height of a hot summer we were instructed to go to an indoor assembly. The reason for this unprecedented departure from tradition became apparent when we saw the flagpole, situated at the top of the terrace steps, being wound down. Fluttering in the breeze were a bra and matching panties which had been nailed firmly to the mast the previous evening. The poor Major was beside himself at this affront to the moral standards of the school. The culprits were never identified by the Major although rumour was rife. We did wonder where the underwear came from.
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