Internment?

[Wingnut]

Woah!

I have just remembered something. It was Bobby Nixon/Dixon who got me my first bike. It was a Raleigh sit up and beg type. Three Sturmey Archer gears, stainless steel wheels, hub dynamo, and the crowning point was the Brookes fully sprung saddle, which now cost over ?40 just for that alone. How could I have forgotten something like that? The most comfortable bike I had ever had. If I saw one come up for sale tomorrow, I wouldn't think twice about buying it .

 

The little piece of cardboard that you fastened to the wheel frame, so that it rubbed against your wheel spokes to make it sound like a motorbike, I supplied me self.

[harry hayes]

Didn't Raleighs used to tick anyway? We used to use cigarette cards to make the noise.

I often used to go that way to sunday school in Dannett street (St Anns). (now that WAS internment). On the gas works there used to be a large sign "USE GAS" high up and in monster figures, so that anyone coming into Warrington couldn't miss it. My dad was always proud that he was one of the team who put the letters up.

And then there was coke in wheelbarrows..........

 

Disgraceful behaviour you describe, but there again there wasn't much else to do.

 

Happy days

[Wingnut]

Yes Harry the Raleigh bikes did used to tick by themselves, I can hear it now. What a lovelly relaxing sound it made.

 

As for coke in wheel barrows. The wheelbarrow is what we called a Donegaul Taxi.

 

I used an old silver cross pram. Sixpence a sack the coke cost as I recall. Me and my cousin took turns in pushing each other in the pram to the gas works. It was a bitterly cold winters day with a freezing wind blowing and hail stoning one Saturday morning, when we were asked by my gran to go for a bag of coke. And all for a sugar butty when we got back. Jam if it was near Christmas.

 

Standing bottles and cans up on the fence by the railway line in Hawleys Lane was one way of geting free coal, as when the trains came past, the firemen and drivers used to throw lumps of coal at them. We used to do it on a regular basis so the train drivers allways knew where the bottles would be. And they had plenty of ammo ready.

Tizer bottles were worth a threepenny bit on return, and sterilised milk bottles brought a penny back on them.

[harry hayes]

Magic, Wingnut, magic.

 

Happy days

[Wingnut]

Thank you Harry.

 

I/we couldn't get enough of bikes in those days. The scrap yard on Winwick Road was our regular supply depot. A frame off one bike, a wheel off another and a seat from something else kept us busy for hours on end. The regular size for a bike wheel was twenty six by one and three quarters. It is stamped inside me head with indeliable ink. Anything too technical for me and I'd offer to do a bit of sweeping up in Bill Heaths cycle shop, in return for the needed information. And the smell of that glue from puncture repair outfits was out of this world, I luvved the stuff. Little did I know how damageing it could be, as there were no known drugs about in them days, and glue sniffing was unheard of. Still, no harm done, and I stopped sniffing it one day when it gave me a bad headache, and I got a swipe around me lughole from me gran to boot.

 

By the age of 13, I could strip a bike down to bare metal. If it moved, it came off and was coated in 3 in 1 oil or grease. Lamp oil which was parrafin was used to clean the bike parts with.

 

Six penneth of lamp oil bought from old Bobs shop was used for polishing the lino with, how crazy was that then?? anything left over was kept for cleaning and pollishing me bike .

 

I could write about my younger days forever, but there is hardly much point in doing that unless I included the warts and all. One day if I get the time, I might put it on a cd and send my story out to any body who wants one. Then nobody will comunicate with me .

 

And do you remember that bloke who wore an old army blouse, and flat cap, with a woodbine hanging out of the corner of his mouth? he was a tall chap and walked with a sideways list. He used to sleep under the bundles of rags in the rag/scrap yard? I am somehow related to Georgy Daniels, Oggy and Bill Bowen the local tatters at that moment in time.

[harry hayes]

Remember Heath's cycle shop very well (opposite st anns sunday school). Loved the area - the brickfield; brewery sugar; Raffo's ice cream.

Your prestige in those days depended on what bike you had, like cars these days. Mine were usually hand-painted from the yard in Battersby lane.

Remember the army blouse fellow. Do you remember Frankie Lee (your nan will) eccentric character on a very large bike who used to run an illegal sweep.

Old Bobs to me would be Bob Youngs shop at the top of East avenue/Central avenue? He sold everything, fag and a match; single fireworks, anything at all, it was in there somewhere. Ask your nan about that shop.

 

Best wishes Happy days

[Peter T]

Did the bloke with the sideways list, walk a bit left-handed?

[Wingnut]

Yes he did lilt to the left Peter. I have also heard people calling him Lofty or Lefty, maybe that is the reason why?

 

I think I do remember somebody like Franky Lee Harry, he was also known as the itsy bitsy man. Gosh, all these names are comeing back to me now.

 

And how about Jacky Blackburn the hairdresser? The problem was that you got a Crew cut off him whether you wanted one or not. I wonder if he did ever pass a driveing test? Ha haaa, the less said about that the better I think.

 

Looking back, I think the kind of people that we have been talking about, is what is missing from todays society. Today, most people are far too civilised and have no character in them. Do something wrong and they want to sue the pants of you. Where as back then, most problems were sorted out by your own neighbours. And everybody was your aunt or uncle.

 

Going down the avenue asking people if they had a shilling for the gas was a regular occurance. Ahh yes the gas cupboard. This is where the cockaroaches lived. I could hear them clicking away as I lay on the horse hair stuffed couch covered by an army great coat to keep warm. I can still hear the strains of "Lady Of Spain I adore you" comeing over th'owld valve set. I had me own version of this song, ♫ Lady of Spain I Adore You, Give me A Fag Or I'll Floor You ♫ Don't you just miss these characters? I do.

[algy]

WN. your right about there being no characters any more when I first came to Grappenhall there were loads of characters about the village & the pubs were full of them, now everyone's so bland and typecast plus I don't think the society of today would accept the characters that we new they would be ostrasized and persecuted as being wieredo's or oddballs. Sad sad times.

[Wingnut]

Although I was born there, I didn?t live full time in North Avenue as already stated, I spent a good chunk of my younger life there well into my teens. And of course there was always jostling and dark looks as to who was cock of the Avenue. Because I didn?t really live there full time it didn?t bother me. But one of the local lads Henry, was forever pushing his luck. He was bigger and twelve month older than me, and now and again he would get me in an arm lock and force an Irish whip on me.

 

For some strange reason he changed his name to Joey, I never did find out why. I knew that sooner or later we were going to have to have it out with each other. It was just one of them things. It must have been twelve months later as I had sprouted up a bit and put a bit of size on when the day of reckoning came. Plus I'd had one or two cracks from me granddad for not sorting him out sooner. One night when Silcocks fair was on at the spud market by the old Blue Back pub, things started off as to who could hit the punchball the hardest, and get the highest score when the punch ball hit the clock that it was attatched to, we were quietly sounding each other out, and It was a penny a go.

 

I?d all but spent me pop bottle money and had about twopence ha?penny left in me pocket. So I decided to put an end to it and lamped him one when he wasn?t looking, and I give him a Glasgow kiss, with a few choice words thrown in for good measure. I think it hurt me more than what it did him as my aim and timing was well out , Ha haaaaaa. There was a further slight pavement debate, and two of the fair ground workers put a stop to it. Matters of such importance were more relaxed after that, and we became quite chummy, but only at arms length, cos Henry was a bad un. And I am sure that our friend Harry will know about him.

 

Strange thing about Big Jim Silcock. He owned a fair bit of land and property in the Orford and other areas, plus a fair sized chunk of Orford Park and part of the front at Blackpool and Southport. He was a very wealthy man. In spite of his wealth, he never owned a house, he lived in a caravan all of his life which he wintered up on the spud market, in the Summer months he would be moveing about in the rest of Lancashire.

 

The spud market was covered by an act of Parliament for markets and fairs, so Big Jim Silcock was quite secure on his lodgeing ground. He had a big Bull Mastiff, which was as daft as a brush that used to pinch meat from the owld Warrington market, it could often be seen running away with a leg of lamb in its mouth.

I think the fair used to make its first opening of the season on each and every Warrington Walking Day.

 

My most vivid and funniest recollection of Silcocks Fair was on Warrington Walking Day. Everybody knew that it always rained on this day, and I think it still does. Me and the rest of my tribe (family) were standing at Market gate watching the procession. I heard somebody say, wheres Babs? (Gran) Somebody else replied, she?ll be here soon, as she was waiting for her hair to dry. You look lovelly Mam I heard me aunt say. I turned to see me gran had turned up dressed in all her finery.

 

But there was something different about her that I couldn?t quite put me finger on. Everybody was staring at her, and then me Granddad said, it?s yer hair, what have you done to yer hair? Usually it was a silver grey colour, but now it was a dark chestnut brown. The matter was dropped as we could see by her facial expressons that the subject was closed for further discussion. If you can imagine Les Dawson pulling one of his quizzical faces dressed as Cissy, then you will know what I mean. Shortly afterwards and as predicted, it began to rain.

 

Mam, what have you done? Said me aunt with her hands part covering her eyes and mouth. I turned to see what all the fuss was about, and me gran was stood there with brown chestnut rivulets of water running down her face and neck. She had only gone and dyed her hair with Bisto gravy browning. And the rain did the rest.

 

Yep, Bill Sykes , Fagin, Bullseye, and The Artful Dodgers had all been well and truly resurrected. We were all part of it at that time in life. And I might add that the phantom dustbin lid crasher and gate rattler of Alder Lane made his first debut at about the same time.

 

Hows about that strange sound that the local lads, and some girls used to make? It could mostly be heard during the dark of night. It sounded like a rusty metal gate being pushed open on its hinges that hadn?t been oiled for years. Try as I might, I could never get anywhere near the sound that it was supposed to be. Maybe it was an aquired sound that could only be made by those who had been near throttled by their parents who had given up any signs of hope on them. The worst thing that I ever did, was to stick a pick axe into somebodys head. I will leave it up to the reader to decide whether or not it was by design or accident. So there you have only a small part of it, warts and all. I hope it wasn?t too distastefull.

[harry hayes]

Some quite vivid memories there Wingnut. No real explanation where all the characters have gone, but gone most of them have.

 

As far as the town generally goes, the closing of the "spike" in the hospital grounds stopped probably 50 or so tramps a night visiting the town. Any that couldn't get in or were thrown out would doss down anywhere.

 

Certainly when I was younger there were quite a number of characters - which is an unkind word - about, who were suffering from WW1 injuries. (I remember one who couldn't stop walking once he started, and there were many one-legged and one armed people around who looked different.) Better medicines and methods will be a factor to lack of characters.

 

The Salvation army also seems to have gone up-market. In the old days it housed people who were perhaps one up on the tramps and could afford a modest fee, but they were nearly always scruffy non-local, characters.

 

My last thought is that we have lost contact with people to a great extent, as we get in our cars; shop or whatever; and then drive back home again.

 

Wingnut should write a book of his life, warts and all plus no doubt many happier bits. Think physical strength was a much bigger factor in previous times than it is today, which can't be bad.

 

Midnight on New years eve was a splendid time at Silcocks Potato market fair. Kissed more girls there than the rest of my life put together.

 

Happy days

[Wingnut]

I wouldn?t mind writing a book Harry. Problem is, I have no idea on how to go about it or of finding a publisher etc.

 

I think it is worth mentioning one character that some of us will know about. Henry Marshall. He was one of the sadder victims of life. A lot of people will only know him as the town drunk. I got told by my Gran, that, as a child, he often went to school full of bruises or with a broken arm. He had a hard life as a youngster. War started and he joined the Forces. He was torpeadoed twice, and ended up in a Japanese prisoner of war camp and was put in the sweat box. How many of us could survive something like that without turning to drink? .

 

Another poor soul who I can remember, used to prop himself up by the bar in the Horse and Jockey. He would order a pint of beer, but never touch it. He didn?t have the time as he was busy tyeing cats cradles between his fingers with an old boot lace. He also picked that little habbit up in a Japanese prisoner of war camp, when he was also put in the sweat box for months on end. He used to tye these cats cradles when in the box to stop himself from going mad. Poor bloke never did break the habbit. Bless them and respect to all of them.

 

To finnish on a happier note, Years later, and the day I went to sign up. I made my way to the recruiting office, was it in Winmarleigh Street? Somewhere around there anyway. I had been looking at the displays in the window for a couple of years and watching the changing of the Guard at Peninsular barracks. So I had it firmly fixed in me head that I wanted to join the Scots Guards. Not knowing what to expect, I rattled on the door and made my way inside. The recruiting officer was sat behind his desk. Mornin says I. I?ve come to sign up, how long do I have to sign for? Can I learn a trade at the same time? And how long does it take to complete the forms and be accepted?

 

The recruiting officer stood up, placed his hands behind his back, coughed, and said, I think we will start again shall we? You go back outside, knock, and then you will wait for me to tell you to enter. You will stand there, as he pointed to a spot on the floor??????????????.And I Will Ask The Questions.

[harry hayes]

As far as a book goes, where there's a will...... Henry Marshall was an unfortunate. Spoke to him many times in the cells when he was sober and you couldn't help feeling sorry for him - terrible. When he was drunk... terrible in a different way.

 

When someones only got one leg they get sympathy. When they are wrong in the head, they don't.

 

I wrote some notes about the war and people at that time. Lodged in the library together with my police and army notes.

I've stuck another poem on that section on here - might get round to making a small book of them.

 

Best wishes Happy days

[algy]

I remember when I was a lad and used to go into town I remember more often than not a chap who had no nose and I mean litterally no nose just two holes in his face my mum said that she thought it would have been due to an injury during the war and also the begger with either one or no legs down the alley at the side of the Cock & Trumpet or by the entrance to the market by the Barley Mow, I can't remember whether he played the accordian or fiddle.

[Wingnut]

I think I remember the chap with no legs too Algy. And as I was reading your post, I got a sudden whiff of the old fish market by the Cock and Trumpet. It was a smell that I luvved. I always find it strange that I/we can think of something from the past, and somehow, oddly be able to actually smell that same smell years later. Just like the steam trains going over Jockey bridge.

 

One day, me you and H will have to get together for a brew if you fancy it.

[algy]

Look forward to that mate.