My best friend and I spent most of our Sunday afternoons at Belle Vue Zoological Gardens.
Belle Vue was very popular in the early thirties, people came from all over the North West and beyond to visit the Zoo. It was almost as popular as Blackpool but without the sea, sand, “Kiss me quick” hats, lettered rock and the Tower. Visitors to Belle Vue came to view the animals, ride on the “Bobs” Coaster, the Scenic Railway, picnic in the gardens and tour the grounds on a real elephant.
My friend and I didn’t go to sample these delights, we went to look for boy-friends. To the uninitiated it would seem an odd place to go in search of amorous adventure but we hoped to meet someone from this wider spectrum of society visit Belle Vue and it was of course much easier for us to reach than Blackpool.
We had put as much thought - not to say strategy and ingenuity - into this foray, as the intrepid hunters who had ensnared, trapped and captured the animals, placed them behind bars and cages for the public to stare at for a small fee in their spare time. The various species were in their own houses as if residing in a minor public school, each house with its own special keeper in complete control at all times.
We went to “click”, the vernacular in usage for those innocent times. We did like to look at some of the animals but that came secondary to the pursuit of “love”. Our first stop would be the “Monkey House” where we would pretend a false interest in the various mammals at the same time eyeing the younger male visitors to this urban menagerie. The Orang-Outang embarrassed me, showing without shame or discrimination, its pink bottom to the Sunday crowd gathered round the cage. A really vulgar performance much appreciated by the public who responded making ribald remarks. The smaller mammals antics, swinging with a great deal of skill and agility on miniature branches intrigued the young men far more than two very naive girls from West Gorton ever could.
Finding the competition too strong from these clever monkeys we would make our way outside for a much needed breath of fresh air, the monkeys abode emanated dreadful odours permeating the atmosphere and our lungs.
We would then stroll over to the other side of the gardens past the Bear Pit. The Polar Bears would be lumbering from side to side patiently waiting for someone to throw them a leftover sandwich or better still, someone to fall in - nobody ever did, at least not in our time, we would have found that very amusing. Well worth the entrance fee!
The Parrot House was noisy; the parrots screeched, bad tempered at being constantly poked and peered at, the smaller exotic birds twittered like mad, complaining of their incarceration in cages instead of flying free. We admired the bright colourful plumage of the cockatiels, at the same time still keeping a wary and vigilant eye out for someone to flirt with. I always paid a fleeting visit to the Giraffe, my most favourite animal. I had quite an affinity with this gentle creature, its long neck reaching out to the sky over the thick wire netting, looking sad and bewildered with all the attention and commotion, miles away from its natural habitat in an alien setting, although it must have had a lovely view of the Pennines on a clear day to take its mind off the gawping, insensitive crowd of Sunday visitors of which I was one.
We obtained our tickets from the Co-operative Society grocery shop on Hyde Road. The tickets were sixpence and with this ticket we would stay in the Zoo and Gardens all day if we wished.
I was always more than willing to quit the smelly place after a couple of hours especially if! had not met a suitable boyfriend.
On reaching home I would dash straight to the mirror and gaze anxiously at my reflection to see if there had been a tremendous metamorphosis taken place since leaving the house earlier with such high hopes of a conquest wearing a C & A modes dress costing nine shillings and eleven pence. My mouth a garish bright red with Tangee lipstick with my friend looking equally peculiar.
It took quite a few wasted Sunday afternoons and sixpenny tickets before I realised Belle Vue Zoological Gardens was hardly the venue to find “Mr. Right”!
My friend received a short succinct billet deux from someone she had met on one of our Sunday afternoons asking for an assignation in the ‘Reptile House” near the Anaconda. She kept this brief epistle for years - long after she had ceased to remember the sender.
E.S. Jackson