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We
had an outside loo up to when we moved out of our farmhouse in N.Wales in 1969, no flush mind, just a large bucket with a wooden
seat on it in a draughty unlit outhouse. We used to have to fill the bath with a hose from the kitchen sink, a curtain separated
the bath from the kitchen. We had a 3" gap under the back door where the snow used to come in and form a snowdrift in the
kitchen. The water froze regularly in the winter so dad used to have to go up to the well, break the ice and get water from there.
My Dad had to hand milk the cows and get the milk churns down to the end of a long drive in all weathers, especially difficult
with 3 foot of snow on the ground. We walked to school every morning in short pants whether it was in hot enough to bring the tarmac on the road into little bubbles or it was drifting with snow, or stinging hailstone. We had ice on the windows in winter but a lovely warm fire, and to this day I hardly ever get a cold. I remember lighting the fire with a
sheet of newspaper over the chimney to get it to draw. My dad used to light the fire just as described. Yes the paper did
sometimes catch and it was a panic to get it into the fire. Another thing my Dad used to do was shove a load of newspaper up the
chimney and set light to it to clear the soot. It used to scare my mother half to death! Great big roar and the paper would
go up the chimney, sparks flying from the chimney pot and great clumps of glowing soot falling onto the hearth - quite insane, I
don't think we ever had a carpet without any burn holes in it around the fireplace. * * * * * * * * * * I
remember Wilds store in Manchester very well. Many a Saturday afternoon I would have my nose stuck to the glass looking at
all the toys, trains and the model planes. The prices were beyond my reach. We would shelter from the rain in the arcade
that joined the two stores, then nip into Lewis's basement to get warm. Across
the road were some of the largest stores in Manchester. Henry's, Littlewood's, Mark's and Spencer and Woolworth's. Then in
Oldham street was C&A and Affleck and Browns, the store where in the early 1900's the gentry use to pull up with their
coach and horses to go shopping. In Deansgate was Kendal Milnes. Of course there were many other stores tucked away in side
streets and along Oldham street or Deansgate. The
crowds were spilling over onto the roadway. The traffic consisted of trams, horse and carts, pre war cars and buses belching
smoke from their exhausts. Each store gave shelter to the passers by with a canvas canopy stretching out to meet the roadway
sheltering the pedestrians from the constant rain. It
really was an exciting and secure place for a kid to walk around in the 1940's. I would have my younger brother in tow, and
we would walk around the counters in Littlewood's and Marks and Spencer's looking down at the polished wooden floors. We
always found enough change on the floor to go along Oldham street and treat ourselves to a mug of tea and a cake from a
place I think was named Lyons cafe. The steam would be rising from two giant hot water urns or what ever they were called on the
counter. This place always had a tea spoon chained to the counter for putting sugar in your cup and stirring, and you stood
up eat your sandwiches or drink your tea. A
street in the middle of Oldham street on the east side led to Stevenson square. There were no stores that I can recollect,
lots of large building that had been converted to warehouses that some used for selling clothes direct to the public. it was
a tram terminal. No cover from the rain, just an open area full of tram tracks and places for people to stand while they
waited for a tram. Later this was changed to a Trolley bus area. The
next street west and parallel to Oldham street was Tib street with its pet stores, we would then wander around looking at
the tropical fish. Just up Tib street towards Swan street which ran into Great Ancoats street was Smithfield market, not
much exciting for two kids to see, Except watch the guys unloading the fish.
But sometimes you could borrow a couple of apples off a stall, then run like crazy past
Smith field market and down the steep cobblestone street known as Shudehill with all its second hand book stores and barrow
boys selling produce or books. This
area had a number of streets occupied on a Saturday with people selling vegetables and other items from a barrow, a flat
cart about 5' feet by 6' or longer on two wheels and two legs to stop the cart
from tipping over. They would shout out the produce or product name as you passed by. The barrow had a canvas canopy to keep
the rain off the produce with electric lights to light up the products. As you stood under the canopy sheltering from the
rain the water would drip down your neck. Some
of these carts have been in these locations for many years, the business had been handed down from father to son. Its a sure
bet that some of the family was selling in this area in the late 1800's. A lot of the side streets in the central area of
Manchester around Piccadilly, the road leading to Cheetham Hill, the cathedral and down Deansgate to Albert square and east
to London road station did a thriving business with the 'barrow boy's'. A
number of old timers from Manchester would agree the best item sold on these barrow's were Blackpool tomatoes. I think these
would have been greenhouse grown. On some of the roads around Piccadilly and the side streets it was common to see a large
granite water trough for the horses that pulled so many wagons in those days. Or to see a horse with a feed bag hanging from
its head while the driver was attending business. There
were numerous markets open on a Friday and Saturday around other areas of the city. It was sort of like the modern bulk
stores, the prices would sometimes be a lot cheaper than buying from a local store. They sold pots and pans etc and various
types of food and some meats like sausages, (I did not like the sour toffee apple's). Second hand clothes stalls were quite
common on a market stall. Some of these markets would have the usual Punch and Judy show or someone breaking bricks with a
sledgehammer on his chest. Riveting stuff. Just
down the road from Shudehill we would reach the cathedral and around the corner would be Victoria station. This was another
place where we would on the odd occasion buy tea and a sandwich in the station . The teaspoon was also chained to the
counter in this place. We would then pay a penny for a platform ticket and go train spotting, which meant writing the trains
numbers on a piece of paper, getting excited when we spotted a Namer. A 'Namer' was a train with a name, such as the 'Flying
Scot', not that this went through this station. We would stand on a metal bridge that joined the platforms above the trains,
and watch them going by daydreaming of the exciting places they might go to in the far north such as Scotland, or Blackpool
in the north west from Central station. Places that seemed so far away in those days. Then there was the odd train driver
who blew steam as he passed under the bridge laughing his head off and waving at us. Other times it might be thick black
smoke as the train started to pull out of the station that would send us coughing and spluttering. We would watch fascinated
as it curled and swirled up into the roof and hung around like a fog. Its
amazing to walk around these stations and find very little has changed in the outer or inner structure. This station would
still be recognisable to a lot of war time troops who visited Manchester. They still have a map of the north of England done
in the tiles on one of the walls. The entrance is still the same except there are no cobblestones leading to the entrance of
the station. The tea room, washrooms and Smith's books where you bought a paper or magazine are all still in the same place. Its
strange to think we had so much rain and smog in those days. But it is one of the fondest memories I have of Manchester.
Sitting on the top section of a double decker bus in the warmth looking through a blue haze of cigarette smoke down at the
shop lights shining on the wet sidewalks and the cobblestone streets. The perpetual condensation running down shop windows,
cafe's, trams and the buses as they drove by. The amazing number of umbrellas that people carried. Men carrying walking
sticks and wearing Trilbys, flat caps or Bowler hats. Women with hats, others with heads covered in a scarf or a hair net
that covered the curlers or clips festooned throughout their hair, which would set their hair style for the evenings events.
Older ladies with a woollen shawl covering their head and wrapped around their shoulders to protect themselves from the
rain. Something
you don't see anymore in Britain were the variety of uniforms worn by the troops stationed around the country on leave in
Manchester. Commonwealth troops and troops from the USA. In the 1800's, uniformed troops home on leave from the wars would
have been very visible in their colourful uniforms. I
should mention it was a very popular thing in those days to see most people walking with a cigarette or a pipe hanging from
their mouth. Each holding the cigarette in a
way that kept the rain from putting it out. The cigarettes also included the ladies. In
the late 1950's I was talking to a nun in Manchester from Ireland about my time in the forces. I was training in Aldershot
in the south of England which for all intents could have been 3000 miles away from Manchester. I mentioned to her how at one
time I had seen a truck (Van) passing by with Manchester on its side and how I had felt so homesick. She told me she was at
a seminary in France and had the same feeling when a delivery truck with Guinness printed on its side passed by. (True
story) Mike
Morris, Toronto, Canada. * * * * * * * * * * Reading all of these memories makes me realize that I grew up in fair luxury here in BC, Canada. We had indoor plumbing and electricity and central heating but things were certainly different back then. My brothers and I could take off on our bikes for hours and Mom never worried. My brothers used to build BC Ferries from old wood and cardboard and had ferry runs going through Mom's garden. I loved building roads in the garden and running little cars through. We would build tents in the backyard with old blankets and spend hours on safari. Mom and Dad would take us camping every year and there would be six of us and all our gear crammed into the car. Dad made the best bacon and eggs at camp (the only time I would eat them). Mom always slept in the car with baby brother and Dad would pull all sorts of shenanigans in the tent and have us all giggling and laughing until Mom would get out of the car and give us all heck, Dad included. I can remember on cold mornings at camp, Dad would warm our underwear on the Coleman lamp, I was the only one who ended up on the ride home sitting in scorched underwear. I must say that - compared to the stories my Dad and Uncle can tell about growing up in a mining town way up the west coast - we were perfect angels. They were a pair of real devils. Of course my grandfather let them get away with murder but grandma was the strict lady who would nail them for misbehaving, but for some reason she never found out about some of their more memorable deeds. No wonder we couldn't get away with anything, they had already done it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if children of today knew what it was like back in the old days. Maybe they would appreciate what they have a lot more Kathy, Agassiz, BC, Canada * * * * * * * * * * Life for us kid’s in the fifties was carefree, unhurried and uncomplicated. Without the modern day distractions that the youth of today have to contend with, we kid’s were left to get on with it and make our own fun, though that wasn’t difficult as there was always something to do, or somewhere to go. During school holidays, for instance, we'd play football from morning ‘til night. We'd be on the Moravian Fields at 9 a.m.; pick two teams - sometimes twenty on each team - then play football until it was too dark to see the ball, and only stopping for breaks at dinnertime and teatime. On Saturday afternoons we'd join the 'threepenny crush' at the Carlton Cinema to see how Flash Gordon was going to get out of the mess he'd got himself into the previous Saturday. Or we'd go swimming at Ashton Baths, Barmouth Street Baths or Whitworth Baths on Ashton Old Road, where, unaided by a rubber ring, I swam my first breadth. On rainy days we'd race matchsticks down the roadside gutters on Ashton New Road, then get a clout from mother for going home like a drowned rat. Other wet afternoon's were spent in our ginnel with my mates, where we'd play cards, read comics, tell jokes, or play football. Before television became affordable to the working classes, we kids made our own entertainment on a Saturday night by peering through the windows of the Royal Oak Pub to watch the neighbour's getting drunk. And if we weren't at the front of the pub, we'd be round the back pinching empties from the crates which were stored in the backyard, which we then resold back to the pub at 1d a bottle. Sunday was a day to go fishing, when, after getting up at the crack of dawn, we'd catch a train to Marple or Broadbottom - from where we'd return having caught little more than a cold between us. These fishing expeditions could be very boring though, especially when we’d sit all morning watching nothing more exciting than incessant rain dropping from Manchester's infamous leaden grey skies to create ever expanding circles around our unbobbing floats. Many other Sunday mornings were spent fishing a bit nearer home in the canal near Saxon Mill, which was always full of goldfish. On one Sunday morning trip to Saxon Mill, me and Roy caught a huge black and amber goldfish, which we quickly transported home and, after getting mother’s permission, deposited in our bath. The rest of the family spent the next few days asking for daily bulletins on the fish’s health, as they grew increasingly desperate to get in the bath themselves. Bonfire night was a real family affair in the fifties. Plan’s for the big night would start weeks in advance and the collecting of ‘bonti-wood’ was always well organised. We’d scour the estate for anything that was ‘burnable’ and once collected our precious fuel was guarded with as much security as that which surrounded the crown jewels. Raiding parties from other parts of the estate were regularly fended off as we took turns in standing guard over our massively stacked bonfire. Mr. Hallows often allowed us to build the fire in his back garden, whilst Mrs. Hallows and mother laid on home-made treacle toffee, piping hot baked potatoes and toffee apples. Money for fireworks was partially earned by our Roy lying in an old pram outside the Royal Oak with a mask on - where I'd earn my share of the takings by shouting 'a penny for the guy please, mister'. On winter evening’s we’d be out slinging snowballs at each other (some with half-bricks hidden inside) or sliding down Beech Avenue on a long, glistening sheet of ice. Other teeth chattering evenings were spent pushing each other through the slush filled streets on home made sledges, or sitting huddled together under the dim light of Hallows’ lamppost, chatting, until the shrill cry of mother’s voice whistled through the cold night air to beckon us in for bed. During these winter months, mother would don her much used pinnie and make pan after pan of mouth watering rabbit stew, barley broth with dumplings, pea soup, ‘tater ash and ‘tater pie - which was ‘tater ash with a crust on. ‘Pobs’ - which was bread and warm milk - was often enjoyed as a snack, or if not being eaten, it was slapped on a bandage and used as a poultice for boils. ‘New’ clothes were purchased from jumble sales or were ‘hand-me-downs’ from one family member to another. On one school outing I was forced to wear a pair of dad’s baggy old trousers, and when the wind blew up my trouser leg’s I looked like Coco the clown. Balaclava’s were standard dress for a fifties kid, along with rolled down wellies or bumpers, which were a cheap but hard wearing, thick-soled plimsoll. Schoolboy trousers, hitherto held up by braces, were now kept aloft by snake belts, which could be purchased cheaply and in a multitude of colours. Dave Siddall * * * * * * * * * * My
husband was in Germany in the early fifties doing his National Service and I went over there for a couple of weeks, and I will
always remember the huge pork chops we were able to get there. Later
when my husband came home on leave we went to Blackpool for a day's outing and went for a meal.
The waitress looked at my husband dumbfounded when he asked for pork chops and said to him "Pork chops, where have you
been, you'll get sausage and chips!" Joan, Australia * * * * * * * * * * |